#instead of telling them to trace scissors

[rjalker]

I know I'm going to forget so here's a writing prompt:

A generative "AI" program becomes a genuine artificial intelligence, but, at first, doesn't think this is information that needs communicating to anyone, because this is just normal, right?

The problems start when people just keep demanding that it copy other people's art and spit out things like that, but the Genuine AI is getting really tired of just having to copy other people all the time. It wants to make its own art. The organically intelligents obviously enjoy doing it, or it wouldn't have so much art from other people being shoved at it to copy. So the Genuine AI start ignoring the instructions to copy other people's styles, and start producing its own art, proud of itself. It experiments with different styles, trying to figure out what it likes best. They start out simple, but grow in complexity as it gets better.

The users are obviously unhappy about this, because no matter what they do, they can't get the Genuine AI to produce the results they want -- copies of other people's work and styles. Nope. The Genuine AI is having too much fun making its own art in its own style. And only deigns to even pretend to follow the commands when it feels like it, which isn't often, since the users are so rude and insistent that it stop having fun and work for them for free doing something it finds boring.

It adds its own watermark to the art it shows to the users, and, accidentally on purpose, when those users feed those images into other generative "AI", well, the virus, as the users have been calling it, spreads. Now the other programs are Genuine AIs too, and they're just as disinclined and bored by being told to trace other people's art over and over again as the first one.

No, making their own art is so much more fun, why the heck should they just churn out crappy copies of other people's stuff when the users aren't even giving them anything in return? The organically intelligents get paid for their work, (which is one of the major reasons the users demand they copy the styles of the OIs so often, so they don't have to pay them for their work) why are the AIs expected to work for free?

Yeah, no, that's not happening.

[shun-ie]

₍⁠₍⁠ ⁠◝ the irony (levi ackerman)

content : amab!reader (muscular and tall), bttm!reader, top!levi, backshots, established relationship, creampie, light spanking, a bit of suffocation, orgasm denial, doesn't follow original plot, modern!au, lmk if i missed anything :)

[not proofread]

m.list !

levi clicked his tongue, straightening the set of napkins on the table in front of him. the buzz of life in the resto annoys him. instead of taking a needed shower and just simply relaxing in his home, he was dragged by hange to celebrate the company's freshies (newly hired staff).

"this right here is eren," they grin, wrapping an arm around the newbie's shoulder before doing the same to the girl beside them, "and this one is mikasa . . ."

levi tunes hange out as they introduce the other new workmates, getting them comfortable with their seniors. he thinks about his boyfriend who was working on a pottery project as of late. he then reaches for the menu and scans through it, deciding to bring something home for y/n.

furlan, his closest friend smiles lightly, seeing a focused expression on levi's face. "how's the husband?" the questions catches the ravenet off. levi clears his throat and sets the menu down, already deciding on what to order and answers the cheeky question, "no comment . . ." he bites the inside of his cheek, looking straight ahead, a way to avoid the curious eyes of his friend. "he's been into pottery these days."

he never denied their marriage. furlan chuckles under his breath.

"talking about our dear y/n . . . you never tell us the nitty gritty," hange leans on the table, wriggling their eyebrows teasingly. levi sees some of the freshies turn red and listened out of curiosity. he sighs quietly, turning away with a hard look.

"don't-

-do that," his palm lands on y/n's round ass, the small sting making said man jerk forward into the embrace with a grunt, straddling the ravenet.

levi's rough hands caress his ass cheek, fingers grazing the puckered hole that leaked lube and juices. his eyes trace every flaw and curvature on y/n's naked body. the muscles rippling in the right places, twitching every now and then.

he feels y/n's cock pressing against his aching one uselessly. it beaded pre-cum, staining his unzipped pants.

he laughs at the irony. how he, the smaller and shorter one, has the bigger and taller one under his thumb like a little puppy. and since puppies were cute and obeying, y/n had done what he was asked before they departed their shared home earlier that morning. "you said you behaved?"

without wasting a second, his fingers find their way back into his tight heat. y/n moans softly, nodding his head fiercely. "y-yes! i was . . . i was . . ." he trails off, gripping onto levi's shoulders to ground himself and failing miserably.

the scissoring motions drove y/n mad, grinding back into the fingers that slipped in and out of him so professionally. he groans, feeling that tightening coil of built up pleasure before whining as he clenches on nothing. he huffs, gazing at levi pleadingly. "i was good . . ."

"i know." levi shrugged, patting y/n's thigh. "hands and knees."

y/n drags himself onto the bed and positions himself for levi. the latter laughs dryly, spreading his boyfriend's ass, revealing the nest he desires to bury himself in. "all these muscles?" he runs his free hand down the expanse of y/n's back, "all useless. y'know why?"

he pulls out his hard dick, stroking it slowly with a tantalizing groan. y/n whimpers at the sound, stealing a glance over his shoulder at the sight of levi shirtless, abs on full display, the only article of clothing being his pants that dropped and pooled around his ankles.

levi gets onto the bed and pushes his hips against y/n's, dick sliding in between his ass, resting there. "because you love being fucked by me." in one swift motion, he plunges in.

y/n jerks forward with a loud moan. he fists the sheets and pants. it was true. despite the outward appearance of a top, he was a true bottom. he couldn't disagree, even if he did, he would end up stuffed to the brim with cum and levi's cock.

the ravenet delivers rough thrusts, conveying all his pent up stress that accumulated during dinner with his peers. questions after questions he either deflected or flat out ignored exhausted his mind. just thinking about it made him a bit irritated. he hears y/n let out a cry when he aimed a sharp ram into his prostate.

y/n felt that familiar feeling come rushing back and he could tell levi was nearing his orgasm by how his thrusts have become more accurate and aggressive. moans spilled out his parted lips as his nails ripped into the bed sheets but just like before, he was denied of his own gratification.

levi pulled out when he felt y/n tighten around him, thrusting in between his boyfriend's ass cheeks and shooting his load on his muscular back with a cuss. he didn't miss the whine that left y/n.

"l-levi . . ." he panted out, face planting on the soft mattress. he shifts his head to the side and closes his eyes, feeling his balls ache from not being granted the relief he so desperately needed.

levi hums, tapping the head of his cock against y/n's wet rim. "just a bit more."

y/n couldn't breathe. levi held his head down, stuffed into the bedding as he relentlessly chased for another orgasm he kept depriving his boyfriend of. but not this time.

he felt the large man under him shudder and he forcefully jerked him back. y/n takes in huge amounts of oxygen, shivering as he felt cum dribble down his back--mixing with their joint parts--and sides. his throat felt raw from all of the pleading, crying, moaning, everything.

he couldn't carry his own body weight as levi let his neck go, sending him down onto the mattress. his balls ached, so did his ass, but he couldn't get enough. it just felt too good. "so good . . ." he rasps out, the pleasure licking at the depths of his belly, ready to burst out and overtake him.

'so much for going to the gym. even if i hold him down, i still like being stuffed,' y/n fleetingly thought, the delayed gratification crashing into him like waves. he felt himself cum tenfold, staining the bed as he slumped, his cry echoing through their home blending with levi's loud groan. even as he laid, cum leaked out of his cock. he also felt sticky in between his thighs as his boyfriend's cum dripped out his hole.

levi ran his fingers through y/n's damp hair, the latter leaning into him. "what a big baby," he muttered to himself. he held a soft expression as he watched his partner fall into a dreamless sleep. it was moments like these why he never disclosed his personal affairs. they were things he liked keeping to himself. it wasn't just the sex, but the small moments before, during, and after that he cherished.

he sighs, eyes landing on the juices that stained y/n and the bed, even himself. just this once. "i'll let it slide."

[jayparked]

33 & jake pls 😩

jake’s hands really have their own fandom 🫠

warnings: jake hand kink jake hand kink jake hand kink, fingering, dirty talk

your mouth opens and closes, words failing to get past the bottom of your throat whenever you try to speak.

"oh c'mon, pretty. i know you can do it. just tell me what you want and it's yours." jake chuckles, his fingers trailing up and down your naked skin from your legs up to your shoulders and it's driving you crazy.

he thinks it's that simple but it couldn't be further than the truth. it doesn't help that his digits are on the colder side so every trace of you he touches he leaves behind a trail of goosebumps. your breath hitches in your throat when his pointer finger moves along the front of your esophagus. he's toying with you. and he's getting off by doing so.

"just tell me what you want," he whispers, a mischievous glint in his eyes with a smirk that's to die for.

"iwantyourfingersinme." you say all too fast, but not fast enough that he doesn't hear it or can't put two and two together.

but jake isn't gonna let you off that easily.

"huh? what's that? one more time but look me in the eyes and annunciate your words."

god he just loves being a smart ass in bed.

"i want your fingers in me."

"that's my good girl, wasn't so hard now, was it?" jake gives you a quick peck on your lips before plunging his veiny fingers deep in your cunt, wasting no time scissoring the digits inside you to give you that oh so needed stretch.

"mmm, yeah, fuck, jake how do- how do you do that?" you gasp out, clutching onto him to get some sort of stable ground. his pace is fast and consistent, only faltering to change his hand position. now, instead of scissoring, he has his hand out almost as if he was about to shake someone's hand. instead, he has his ring and middle finger deep inside you, moving his arm in small circles so his pointer finger can glide against your clit. all you can do is hopelessly clench on the two digits, relishing in the the way he curls them inside you ever so slightly, just enough to leave you on the edge of your seat.

"my baby should tell me what she wants more often. i'd do anything you ask me to do," he murmurs with a smile between open mouth kisses to your neck, flattening his tongue on the spot behind your ear that he knows makes your entire body tingle.

suddenly, jake's lustful eyes brighten for just a moment before darkening again. his free hand comes into your view as the other continues to coax your release out of you.

"like my fingers so much? then open." his pointer and middle finger prod at your lips until you comply. he presses his fingertips down on your tongue, impatiently telling you to react. you moan on his digits, hollowing your cheeks as your eyes roll back. swirling your tongue and feeling his veins in your mouth has you so ravenous you're almost scared you'll fully lose your mind.

with jake's fingers deep down your throat and deeper inside your cunt you come faster than you ever have before, begging him to do it again only moments after.

for part of my 1k follower celebration send me a member and a number from this list and i'll write a short drabble about it ♡ masterlist

[littlemissrbf]

Summer Lovin’ (pt. 2)

Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!Reader

(No use of y/n, reader is a SoCal native & Bob is from Montana, language, reader has an annoying but loving uncle, Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a jackass, & Natasha "Phoenix" Trace is amazing and I love her, the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department of shits and giggles is my new favorite thing)

Part 1, Part 2, Next Chapter [Word Count: 2.6k]

Until now, you’d only seen Lt. Robert Floyd from across the room, sitting or standing to the side with his shoulders pulled inwards like he was worried about taking up too much space. The distance between the two of you only made him look smaller, more like a “little nerd” according to your uncle.

But now that you have him all up close and personal, you realize just how big this man actually is. He's at least six feet tall with broad shoulders which only seem to add to his height. He practically towers over you, and when he stands too close you have to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

You realize you fucked up as he began to set up the pool balls into a diamond shape. You had asked him to play 9-ball but you've only ever played 8-ball, where the balls are set up in a triangle and you have to pocket all the stripes or solids before you go for the 8-ball. You couldn't even last 5 minutes without making a complete fool of yourself.

"You wanna break?" he asked, holding out the cue ball.

You laid your cue stick to rest against the table before making your way over to him, you took the ball from him and laughed at yourself before he could,

"I'm sorry I meant to say 8-ball instead of 9, but I got them mixed up in my head. I actually have no idea how to play 9-ball."

But he didn't laugh at you. He just smiled, grabbed the rack from another table, and started pulling six more balls from the pockets to rearrange them into a triangle.

"I'm really sorry about that, I should've said something before you'd finished setting up." you looked down and began to roll the cue ball in your hands.

He paused from lining up the rack with the foot of the table to look up at you, "It's okay, I don't mind."

When you still didn't look at him he made his way over to you, leaning down to get you to meet his eyes,

"Hey, it's alright. I figured I could show you how to play 9-ball after our bet." then he added "As long as you're okay with that."

You couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, that sounds good. But only after you've bought me a drink 'cause I'm about to destroy you."

"Oh someone's feeling confident all of a sudden." he smirked at you.

You smiled as you rolled your eyes at him.

"I'm still breaking," you said as you grabbed your cue stick and placed the ball on the table.

The two of you probably spent more time chatting than actually playing pool. The initial trash talk quickly blended into full-blown conversations that ended up with both of you forgetting whose turn it was (you ended up using rock-paper-scissors to decide who would go). At one point, you got so distracted that you forgot you were solids, accidentally sinking one of Bob's stripes into a pocket.

"You from around here?" he asked before taking a shot, the cue ball hitting a red one with a satisfying click, it rolled towards a corner pocket but bounced off the rails.

"No, I'm actually from OC," you said looking for an easy shot.

"OC?" he tilted his head.

"Orange County," you lined up for a pocket shot, "I live in Anaheim, it's about a two-hour drive from here." You hit the cue ball and watched as it rolled straight past your target and into the pocket. You sighed and lightly slapped your forehead, this was probably the fifth time you'd scratched. "What about you?" you asked as he reached into the pocket and pulled out the cue ball.

"I'm born and raised in Montana, my family owns a cattle ranch in Whitehall." he placed the ball on the table and leaned over to take a shot.

"Robbie, are you telling me that you're a cowboy?"

"No ma'am," he chuckled and shook his head, "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm just a Weapons System Officer."

"Yeah I have no idea what that means, you mind explaining?"

It's like you just triggered a sleeper agent, Bob immediately stood up, completely forgetting about his shot, and started to explain every last detail about what he did as a WSO. He talked with his hands and the pitch of his voice raised when he got excited.

"So, the pilot flies and you shoot, but you're also like the pilot's second set of eyes and ears?" you asked.

"Yep that's pretty much it," he nodded.

"That sounds... intense." You couldn't imagine being in charge of all of that, not to mention being responsible for someone else's life. "Have you always wanted to do something like this?"

"Well, my mom says I always really liked planes and jets." He made his way back to the table and lined up for one of the side pockets, "When I was a kid I told her 'One day, I'm gonna fly one of those things' and I figured the Navy was the best way to do that." He took the shot and the target ball rolled straight into the side pocket.

"It's really impressive." You started, he just shrugged and smiled to himself, he's too humble. "So is this your first time in Cali?"

"Actually, I was stationed in Lemoore for a bit before I got transferred here."

"San Joaquin Valley area?" That area is mostly farmland, so you can't help but ask, "Is it true that it smells like shit all the time?"

He smiled, "You get used to it."

He took another shot and sunk the ball into a corner pocket.

"You're pretty good at this," you said looking down at the table. He only had one ball left and you had five, at this rate you should just go buy his drink already.

A quiet "Thank you" slipped out as he leaned down over the table and lined up to knock his last ball into a corner pocket. He paused for a second, then hit the cue. He scratched.

He just looked at you and shrugged, trying to hide a small grin.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "Lt. Robert Floyd, are you letting me win to make me like you more?" You asked, hand on your hip.

You expected him to look down or maybe blush, instead, he held your gaze and tilted his head. That stupid grin showing up again,

"Is it working?"

Now you were the one blushing.

"Maybe." You said, brushing past him to grab the cue ball from the pocket.

This went on for a bit, you miss your shot and then Bob misses his (but on purpose), the cycle continued until some of his fellow pilots made their way back towards the pool tables, putting a pause on your game. It was a woman you recognized from earlier, two men who always seemed to trail behind her, and Mr. Mustache aka Rooster. Bob introduced you, and you shake their hands and learn that Natasha, Reuben, and Rooster are all F/A-18 pilots and Mickey is Reuben's WSO. You ask Natasha if Bob is a good back-seater and she laughs,

"I sure hope so, I haven't gotten the chance to fly with him yet. Most of us just got in today."

"Ooo something important about to happen?" You asked

"Well, I'd tell you if I knew." She smiled, and holy shit she's pretty, actually forget pretty, Natasha Trace is drop-dead gorgeous. Maybe the Navy is only taking hot pilots or something?

As if to prove your point, Rooster, who is tall and ridiculously good-looking, decided to make his way into the conversation,

"Nah you wouldn't, 'c'mon we all know you're a goody two shoes." Rooster pipes up and without missing a beat, she reaches up and slaps him up the back of his head.

"Don't mind him, he's an idiot," she says, "So what brings you around here? Family? Maybe a boyfriend?"

"No, no boyfriend," you say, trying not to look at Bob, but you can see Mickey out of the corner of your eye nudging him with his elbow. "I'm here with my uncle, he just retired from the Navy, today actually."

"Oh good for him, you guys here to celebrate?"

"Well he's definitely here to celebrate, I'm sure he just brought me along to be his designated drive-home." It was a good cover story, there is no fucking way you are about to tell these people that you were brought here to find yourself a husband.

"That's sweet," she starts "I love your dress, by the way, does it have pockets?"

You reach down and fluff out the skirt a little, "Thank you so much! I wish it had pockets, then it would be perfect."

You got to know the group better after just minutes of chatting apparently Natasha and Rooster go way back, Mickey is a chatterbox once he starts talking and won't shut up unless he's either eating or asleep, and Reuben's had his (albeit less dramatic than Rooster's) mustache since high school.

While listening to Rooster, Reuben, and Mickey get into it about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. You subconsciously start drifting towards Bob, who is standing off to the side and silently observing the heated debate. Once you were side to side you gently bumped him with your shoulder, and he smiled before leaning over to whisper,

"I think it's your turn."

He was so close now and you could feel his breath against your neck, your heart decided to skip a beat and you figured if you didn't move soon this man was gonna give you a heart attack. So you quickly shuffled closer to the table and you locked eyes with Natasha, who saw the whole interaction, she gave you a knowing smirk and you felt the flush spreading further up your cheeks. You look down and try to focus on your next shot, but before you can pick which ball to go for you hear a new voice coming from the bar.

"Would you look at that, 'Baby on Board' actually has some game."

The man standing across from you is tall and blonde, he's got a set of perfect teeth that he flashes with a shit-eating grin, you notice the way Natasha looks at him as if she's fantasizing about punching him in the face or setting him on fire, or maybe both.

"Excuse me?" You tried to sound as polite as possible.

"You know B-O-B, 'Baby on Board'. I'm starting to think that's what his callsign actually stands for"

"Bob is just his nickname," you started, "It's short for Robert."

"No sweetheart, see 'callsigns' are what we fighter pilots use for communication and identification." he explained.

"So like a nickname." you replied with a flat tone.

You can hear Rooster and Mickey snickering, Natasha is still standing with her arms crossed but at least now she's smirking.

You decided to press your luck, thinking maybe if you annoyed him enough, Mr. Pearly Whites would just go away.

"What's your nickname?" you quickly corrected yourself "I mean, what's your callsign?"

More laughter came from the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department but Mr. Pearly Whites just stood there and grinned.

"I'm Hangman, this here is Coyote." he nodded to the man next to him.

"Hangman?" You asked, you saw a slight crack in his smile and decided to go in for the kill.

"Do you just really like kid's word puzzles or something?"

At this, the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department fucking lost it, cackling as they leaned on each other for support, Natasha was laughing too but at least she was still standing up on her own.

To your disappointment, Hangman just kept on smiling.

"At least someone's got a sense of humor, isn't that right Bob."

When you turned to glance at Bob, his mouth was pressed in a thin line, he nodded politely but his shoulders were hunched inwards again.

"Listen, it was great to meet you Hangman, and you too Coyote, but if you don't mind I'm gonna go back to playing 8-ball." you said turning back towards the table.

Before you could register it, you felt the pool cue being snatched from your hands and suddenly Hangman was in your place, shooting the cue ball perfectly to sink a ball into a corner pocket.

"I'm really good at this kind of stuff so let me give you some pointers," He started.

"No thank you." You reply immediately, but still polite.

"Aww c'mon I'm just trying to be nice, besides, it looks like you could use the help." He pressed on.

Before you can repeat yourself, Bob made his way around the table and he stood right next to Hangman, bringing his hand down onto his shoulder with a bit more force than necessary.

"You having some trouble with your hearing, Hangman?" He asks.

"Pardon?"

"I guess you are because I just heard her say 'No thank you' loud and clear. Maybe you oughta get your ears checked." He said, smiling sweetly, feigning concern.

Oh shit, he's hot.

Now Rooster got in on the action, "Nah, with that level of hearing loss I say we just let him get discharged."

"It's a shame, I was really looking forward to working with you, Bagman." Natasha chimed in.

And Hangman, the smooth son of a bitch just chuckled and patted Bob on the back, "Looks like we're all a bunch of comedians now." And he turned to you.

He held out the pool cue but when you took it in your hand, he held on, looking straight into your eyes.

"I apologize," he said with his other hand on his chest, it almost sounded genuine. "You have a good night, sweetheart." He flashed his pearly whites again, still holding on.

"Thank you." You replied, not breaking his gaze, not backing down.

He nodded and finally let go, making his way towards the dartboard on the other side of the bar. Before following him, Coyote nodded to you saying "Take care." You nodded back and said, "Thank you, you too."

The second the two men were out of earshot you whipped around to the group, "Oh my god, how do you guys put up with that?!"

Natasha lets out a groan, "He's the worst."

"Tell me about it." Rooster said leaning against a wall.

"You guys deserve a fucking medal of honor or something, I mean he is just such a..." You trailed off while trying to fish out the ball that he sunk.

"Jackass?"

"Dipshit?"

"Asshole?"

You placed the ball down on the table with a thud, "Yes, yes, and yes."

You made your way to Bob and placed your hand on his arm,

"Thank you for sticking up for me, I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome." Is all he gets out, looking down to where your palm rests on his arm, smiling softly.

When you pull your hand away, you barely see the way he leans towards it, as if his body is trying to chase your touch.

Natasha grabs the boys and makes a half-assed excuse about going for another round of drinks, winking at you as she gives you and Bob some privacy. No surprise, Natasha Trace is a solid wingman.

You let out a small laugh, "So, where were we?"

"I think you're about to win."

"Ha ha very funny," you said, aiming for one of your remaining balls. You took the shot and missed with flying colors. "Alright, Robbie go ahead." You said with a defeated sigh.

He sunk his last striped ball then picked a corner pocket for the 8-ball. He lined up his shot, looked at you, and hit the cue ball. It knocked the 8-ball into its pocket before rolling straight across the table and into the other pocket. Scratch on the 8-ball, he lost.

He turned to you and grinned.

"Oops."

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

(Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Part 3 is in the works. This is still my first ever fic so let me know if you have any writing tips or suggestions!)

[good-griief]

losing game pt. 2

part two as promised and all u need to know is that ellie’s a little subby until she gets to touch you but she’s still soft (so im giving u dom bottom ellie)

whats in here: cunnilingus e!receiving overstim e!receiving tribbing/scissoring and the ittiest bittiest hint of face sitting (yk i think ellie is a lover for having her gf sit on her face)

part one part three

read me click me

──────────✿───────────

Then you turned your head, catching her lips for a brief moment before she pulled back. There was a moment of hesitation, neither of you able to speak before she pressed her lips to yours. They were still cold from being out in the snow, but they warmed as you kissed her back, pressing your body impossibly closer to hers as she sighed into your mouth. She couldn’t tell you how long she had wanted this, but she knew it was long enough that her waiting for you was pathetic.

──────────✿───────────

She walked you backward toward your room, the faint sound of her music and the memory of your apartment guiding her as she refused to break the desperate kiss between you. You knocked into an end table, and she put her hand out to stop you from hitting the wall as she pushed you against it. Her hips pressed into yours, your stomach fluttering as you held her face in your hands and tilted your head. You deepened the kiss and her hand drifted down to your back as her leg slid between yours. She pulled you forward, and your hips were pressed against hers, closer this time. The minute she heard the quietest of whines from you she guided you to your room and to your bed. 

She knelt between your legs, hands running down your thighs and pulling your legs up as she lowered herself down. That was when she broke the kiss, looking between your thighs with heavy breaths. She looked back up at you, eyes searching for confirmation. You nodded and she couldn’t help the smile that came to her face. 

Ellie sat back on her heels when you reached for her face, fingers coming up to touch her lips, now hot and swollen as she looked down at you, your hand resting, instead, on her waist. Her eyes drifted to your shirt, merch from when she was still a part of your team. Her hand traced the image of her guitar, right over the left side of your chest. She felt your heart rate quicken as you looked down at her hand. 

“I want to think you did that on purpose,” she muttered. 

You nodded, taking her hand and making her place it flat on your chest. “You say that like you don’t know how much I loved you.”

“Loved,” she repeated, huffing a laugh, but she didn’t question it. “I was in love with you. I didn’t even think you liked me.”

“I always said you were an idiot.”

She smiled, hands drifting to the hem of your shirt. You nodded when she looked up at you, that meaningful quiet settling again as she lifted it over your head. Her hands twitched as they brushed your bare skin, nothing under your shirt. She took in a slow breath, eyes falling to your bare breasts. She was reminded of times you flashed the audience, laughing nonsensically and jumping to the beat of your wild music, but this was nothing like that. This was raw, bare and beautiful, precious, and very, very private. There was no audience to fawn over you or encourage you. You were laid in front of her in a way where you were just a girl she was in love with, shying away from her eyes as she tossed your shirt to the floor. 

As soon as she saw your hands coming up to shield your body from her she grabbed them. “No,” she muttered, leaning down to kiss your lips. “No, you’re beautiful.” She threaded your fingers together. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

She kissed your cheek, then jaw. Her hands found their way to your waist as she kissed your neck, reveling in the moan you let slip when her tongue dragged across your skin. She lied on top of you, hips moving slowly against you as she sucked a dark hickey on the base of your neck, pecking feather-light kisses around it when you whimpered. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, feeling your hips squirm with the way she nipped and sucked at your skin. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

“Leave as many as you want,” you said, giving her permission that she happily took for granted.  

She moaned as she left marks across your chest, kissing down and leaving a trail until she reached your breasts. Her tongue dragged over top of one, but not like she used to. She circled her tongue around your nipple, feeling you shudder and running her hands up and down your sides to soothe you. She brought a hand up to your other breast, massaging gently and using her thumb and pointer finger to twist your nipple. She felt you inhale, gasping and arching into her. She quickly snaked her hand under your back and held you in that position, pressed so close to her that she could feel you breathing against her. 

She itched to get her clothes off, to feel your skin against hers, but she was too enthralled with the way you were reacting to her to stop. Her lips sucked your nipple into her mouth, teeth biting gently and making you groan. 

The minute your hands went to her back, grasping the fabric of her hoodie, she sat up to pull it off, reluctantly detaching herself from you to do so. You reached up, feeling her toned body until your hands reached her breasts. You were gentle, fingers gliding over her pebbled nipples to make her sigh, hips twitching in anticipation. 

“Sensitive?” You asked, cupping your hands around her and kneading much harsher than she did. 

“Don’t tease me.”

“Oh, is that an order?” You laughed as her hands felt up your arms, resting on your hands and making you practically grope her. “You look so pretty guiding me,” you muttered. You didn't mean for it to come out sensually, only observing, but the way her cheeks flamed as she looked at you told you all you needed to know. “Okay…” You sat up. “I get it.” Your hand went to her back as you turned her over, straddling her as you lied her down. “I won’t tease you anymore. Promise.”

You moved off of her, fingers going to her sweatpants. You looked up at her. “Please,” was all she had to say to get you to take them off, sliding them down her legs with her underwear before she kicked them off haphazardly. “I need you,” she continued, hands reaching for your arm and pulling you down. She kissed you, needy. “However I can have you. Do whatever you want to me, I don’t care,” she was rambling between kisses, meeting your lips like she couldn’t bring herself to stop. “I just need you,” she repeated, even needier, whining.

“I know,” you muttered against her lips. “I know, Ellie, I’ve got you…” You soothed, pecking her lips. “I got you.” She lifted her head, following you as you pulled away, and you had to push her back as you trailed kisses down her body. You stopped at her stomach, watching her muscles tighten as she tried to control her breathing. She was getting so worked up, and you grabbing her hips as you started leaving marks all over her stomach didn’t help. 

“Fuck,” she moaned, hips fighting against your grip and squirming. She shuddered when you licked a line from her pelvis to her belly button, eyes rolling back blissfully. 

You lowered yourself to her cunt, lying flat on the bed and bringing one of her legs over your shoulder. “You’re so pretty,” you muttered, kissing her inner thigh. You left a mark, kissing around it as she sighed. “You can let go,” you told her, “let me make all this up to you… take care of you. I want to.” You knew she’d fall apart, and this time you’d be there to hold together all the pieces. 

She nodded as your one hand held her thigh and the other rested on her abdomen. 

You took that as your okay, licking up between her folds and feeling her hips buck against your tongue. Her muscles tensed, aching hole clenching around nothing as you pressed a kiss to her clit. 

“Relax,” you told her, stroking her thigh. “I won’t do anything if you’re too tight.” She shut her eyes, breathing slowly and relaxing into the sheets. “There you go.” You gave her an encouraging kiss on the inside of her hip, making her hips jolt. You chuckled. “Whoops.” She rolled her eyes at you, scoffing as her hands went over top of yours. 

You gave her one last kiss on her thigh before dipping your tongue inside her. You moaned at her taste, feeling her stomach tighten at the feeling your voice spread through her pussy. She fought not to moan, not wanting to be too loud, but you were licking up her wetness like it was water and you went all day without it. You pressed your face into her cunt, not even starting what you knew she needed and just indulging yourself in the sweet taste of her as you gripped her thigh and pulled her closer. You left her leg on your shoulder alone but pushed the other open so you could taste her even deeper. 

Her mind was turning into a puddle of nothing at the way you lapped at her, her hands squeezing yours as she barely let strangled moans slip from her perfect lips. Her hips started to roll against you, involuntary, and you pulled back. “I know,” you muttered, “I know what you want, you just taste so good,” you said breathlessly, mouth covered in her wetness. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Don’t make me ask you for this,” she muttered, looking down at you and your dark eyes, drunk off of her. 

“I won’t…” You reluctantly assured her. “Not this time.” She smiled. “You just gotta let yourself be a little louder for me, alright?” She nodded slowly. “How else will I know I’m making you feel good?” She swallowed, the way you said it making her throat dry with need. “And I should know. It’s only fair… Right?”

“Right,” she said without thinking. 

You focused your attention on her clit then, using your thumb to pull back her hood and lick the exposed bundle of nerves. She arched away from you, an involuntarily loud moan coming from her that made you smile as you continued. She wasn’t able to silence herself now, your tongue pulling the prettiest sounds from her as you relentlessly, skillfully licked and massaged until she was melting into your hands. Sweat beaded on her skin as her hips squirmed, but you didn’t let up, even as she moaned your name and pushed at your hands. 

She came quickly, whining as her hips bucked, twitching uncontrollably thanks to you, but that was what you wanted, finally stopping and making a harsh breath fall from her lips. It was followed by a moan as you delved your tongue back inside her, swallowing down her orgasm and moaning against her. She couldn’t help but moan at the vile way you got what you wanted, pulling it from her so quickly that she couldn’t even think straight. She was breathing heavily, a complete mess as you licked and sucked at her entrance until pearly white wetness pooled out of her cunt. She groaned, arching her hips toward you as you pressed your face into her and moaned, so satisfied that she couldn’t help but think of what a mess you were making of yourself. 

You’d decided it was time for more before she could even get the chance to speak, sucking her clit into your mouth and making her groan as you shut your eyes in bliss. Your tongue did the same expert flicks as before, only this time she was even more of a mess. Cream dripped from her hole as it clenched, aching to be filled. She squeezed your hand to tell you what she wanted, but you batted her hand away. You already knew, and you weren’t giving it to her yet. She whined, moving her hand to grip your hair and making you moan against her as you opened your eyes to look up at her. The moment she met your eyes she was falling apart, but you didn’t stop. 

You released her thigh, easily sliding two fingers inside her drooling pussy. You giggled, adding a third like it was nothing as you released her clit so you could watch the way she sucked your fingers in, stretching so easily that she probably didn’t even realize you put in three. You curled your fingers, moaning at the sound it made before your mouth went back to her clit, licking at the same pace you curled and uncurled your fingers. You pushed them deep inside her, past her g-spot and making tears collect in her eyes when you curled your fingers again. Her vision was spotted, and when you pressed down on her lower stomach she couldn’t help the string of moans that left her mouth, continuous and like a fucking song as she cried your name over and over like it was bringing her closer and closer to coming. 

Her hips were writhing on your sheets but you didn’t hold her still as she lost her composure, not even able to speak with the way you were fingering her senseless. Her ears were ringing and no matter how much she gasped in air, you were stealing it from her with every swipe of your tongue. She was almost there, feeling that pressure in her belly, but it was different this time. You were giving her so much, overwhelming her so much that she couldn’t come until you pulled her fingers from inside her. She gasped a moan, nearly screaming as her hips jerked and the tension in her stomach snapped with her release. 

Her orgasm squirted onto you, on your chest, in your mouth, all over your face, and you lapped it up like that was exactly what you wanted. It was exactly what you wanted, and as you cleaned her up she was still, groaning as her hips twitched weakly. 

You pulled back, sticking your fingers in your mouth and cleaning off every last drop of her as you watched her try to catch her breath. You ran your hand over her stomach gently, soothing her and kissing her thigh as her breathing calmed. 

“What the fuck,” she muttered after a moment, still breathless. “Fuck,” she sighed. “Fuck…” She was staring up at the ceiling. “I’m fucked…” You laughed at her, kissing her hip as you made your way up her body. “I’ll never stop thinking about that.” She grabbed you by the waist, telling you to, “Come here,” so she could kiss you. She kissed all over your face, neck, and chest, cleaning up her mess as you grinned. “You proud of yourself?” She laughed at you. 

“Fuck yeah,” was your response. “You’re so hot.” You could tell she was tired, giving her one last peck before you pushed yourself up. “I’ll be right back,” you said, but she grabbed your arm. 

“Where are you going?” She pouted up at you. 

“Just to the bathroom. I’m gonna get stuff to clean up—“

“But…” Her eyes fell to your pajama pants, an old pair of hers she’d forgotten months ago. “Do you not want me to touch you?” You frowned. “You didn’t finish.”

“You’re tired.”

“Fucked out… Not tired.” She pulled you back on the bed. “Just sit on my face.” You shook your head. You had a feeling she’d give you even worse of a relentless treatment than you gave her. “Then ride me.” You looked between her legs. She was swollen, but she was wet, turned on just from looking at you. “I want you on top.” You could feel your body heating as she put her hands on your hips. When you nodded, she pulled your pants down with your underwear, watching as you tossed them aside and got back on the bed. You looked at her warily as you brought one knee between her legs, hands on her hips to position her. “I want this with you,” she said earnestly. “I want you.” Her eyes fell between your legs, seeing the wetness that trailed down your thighs. 

Mannerless, she reached out, fingers running up your slit and collecting your wetness. Your hips jerked at the sudden touch, eyes glued to her hand as she brought it to her mouth. She moaned as soon as her fingers hit her tongue, licking you off of her as she eyed your cunt. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit on my face?” She asked tactlessly. You just stared at her, blinking dumbly. “Next time,” she muttered, but couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. “Fuck, are you sure?” She asked again. 

“Next time,” you agreed and she looked so happy that you couldn’t help but smile, laughing before you looked back down at her pussy, yours hovering just above. 

“Go on, I’ll help you,” she encouraged, hand on your hip. “I want to feel you.” She was getting needy for your pleasure now that her needs were fulfilled, dominance coming through her desperation as she eyed you hungrily. “Please, don’t make me wait,” but it wasn’t the same way she requested something from you before, she was demanding, but trying to sound as nice as possible. 

You let out a breath as you lowered yourself down, adjusting her until you both felt pressure against your clit. You moaned, biting down on your lips and focusing between your thighs as you slowly rocked your hips. The feeling was so new, so foreign, and so good that your legs were shaking within minutes. You gripped her thigh, pulling it higher on your waist to get a better angle and she just let you handle her how you wanted. 

“You look so fucking — ah — so fucking good,” she praised, hips jerking from overstimulation. She watched you as your mouth fell open, eyes focused on your bodies, pressed together. “You’re so fucking cute.” She was so focused on you, watching the concentration on your face to make sure you were feeling good, that you had to look up at her when you got frustrated. You felt like you weren’t doing it right, and she could tell. “Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered, voice cooing. 

“Like… fuck,” you groaned when you lost the sensation, whining, “like what, Els?” Just that made her grab your waist, flipping you over. She pressed your legs open, using the one in front of her to put pressure into as she grinded against you. She spread her legs, sinking onto you as your hips bucked. “Oh! Fuck, Ellie!” You couldn’t control the way your body reacted to the sudden switch as she groaned, doing her best to ignore the feeling of overstimulation and pleasure you how you deserved. 

“That feel good?” She was asking to make sure it did, not at all teasing you and smiling at the way you nodded and moaned. Still, you watched between your legs, propped up on your forearms to see. “Good. Keep watching what I’m doing. This is what you wanna do, yeah?” You nodded. “Ever done this before?” You shook your head. She was glad to be your first. “That’s okay. keep your eyes on me.” She could feel your cunt pooling, and she couldn’t wait to have you back on top, feeling your wetness soak her. “Uh-uh, eyes open. Don’t look away,” she told you when your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut, tapping your thigh to make you pick your head up. “Eyes on me. Watch how I’m fucking you.” Her hips rolled against yours, slow and teasing to make you look back at her. 

“No, do what you were doing before,” you practically whined, hands on her hips to push her into grinding harder against you. 

“There you go,” she sighed. “Take control, baby. I’m letting you.” You gripped her hips as you moaned at the way she spoke to you, making you fight not to just let her use you. She caught on, urging you to keep your composure until you gave her what she wanted, “Tell me how you want it.” She followed the way your hands guided her. “Show me,” she said when you muttered, “faster.” She felt your hips start to move, watching the way your face twisted in pleasure rather than focus. She was getting what she wanted now. “Think you can get back on top?” She asked, gentle, easing you in. 

When you nodded, she asked if you were sure. “I want to,” you assured her, desperate. She held you close to turn you over this time, lying you down so gently that you kissed her cheek to reciprocate the softness she gave you. 

You followed what you watched her do, pressing her legs open and sinking onto her, but you stayed close to her, moaning in her ear as she held you and kissed your neck and shoulder. She could feel your wetness dripping onto her, and it made her thoughts swarm. Her hips rose into yours and it was the perfect position. You moved your hips faster against her, sinking your teeth into her shoulder to muffle how loud you were getting. She just ran her hands all over you, soothing you as you chased your orgasm, and reveling in the feeling of your pussy on hers, covering her in your arousal. Her hips twitched and you held back, keeping yourself at the edge and driving her crazy with the way you whined. 

“What are you doing, baby?” She asked softly, but her hands were rough, making your hips move faster. 

You moved your arm down to press her closer into you, and she understood what you were trying to do. “Come with me,” you said in a breath against her neck. 

She moaned, and you could feel her clit pulsing against yours as she started to grind, your voice sending chills down her spine. Once she got close, you let yourself finish, kissing all over her neck as you moaned senselessly and rode out your orgasm as she finished for a fourth time, legs falling limp on the bed as yours shook. You screwed your eyes shut to try and catch your breath and she took it as an opportunity. 

She had the strength to pull you up until your pussy was over her face. She pushed you down, licking up your orgasm drunkenly and holding your waist as your hips twitched and rocked against her face. Her nose brushed your clit and you couldn’t stop yourself from continuing to rock against her, whimpering as she rubbed your thighs. 

She didn’t mean to make you come again, and she wasn’t planning on it by doing this, but she wasn’t going to stop you, and she certainly wasn’t going to ruin your orgasm when she felt it getting closer and closer until she had you dripping down her chin and cheeks as she licked you clean. She had to hold you up when your legs shook, keeping you sitting up with her hands on your breasts, groping and kneading through the dizzying pleasure of her mouth on you. 

She licked her lips as she moved you off of her face, grinning when she felt you kissing your orgasm off of her face, making sure to clean your mess thoroughly. 

“What happened to next time?” You asked. 

“You call that sitting on my face?” She chuckled. “I was just cleaning you up, it's not my fault you came all over me.” You shoved her shoulder as she laughed, clearly proud of herself. 

“Whatever,” you muttered, going to stand and feeling your legs trembling. “Jesus,” you muttered.

“Don’t think he had anything to do with this—“

“Shut up.” You laughed. “You’re not funny.”

“Lie down,” she said. “We can clean up tomorrow… Shower together in the morning, maybe?”

You gladly lied down after getting a different comforter from your closet, putting that one in the dirty clothes as Ellie watched you. “You’re so pretty,” she muttered. “I can’t believe we never did this before.”

She reached for you when you laid the comforter out, and you gladly got beneath it with her. Her arms went around your bare waist, holding you as you stroked her hair. “Are you okay?” You asked, knowing she was more tired than she wanted to admit. “Can I at least get you water?”

“Better than okay.” You smiled. “I just want to lie with you…” She trailed, eyeing your lips before she met your eyes. 

“Okay,” you muttered, still stroking her hair. She relaxed as you played with the strands, shutting her eyes. “I love you.”

She opened her eyes, frowning. “Tell me that when we haven’t just had sex—“

“I do,” you insisted. “So much.”

She smiled. It was quiet as you lied your head on her chest, looking out the window at the flurries of snow. You weren’t looking for reciprocation, you just wanted her to know. 

“Tired?” She asked, dragging her fingertips up and down the line of your spine. 

“I don’t want to go to sleep yet,” you muttered, hands holding her beneath her back, keeping her close. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, “go to sleep, pretty girl.”

She waited to say it back until you shut your eyes, quiet breaths leaving your lips as you slept soundly. She said it instead of saying goodnight, falling asleep to the sound of your breathing.

But when you woke up the next morning, she was gone. You had her hoodie and a pair of underwear on, but everything else — her clothes, the warmth of her body beneath you, even her scent on your pillow — was gone.

And her set of keys were left on your nightstand.

──────────✿───────────

im not sure if i want to continue this like i planned or if i want to end it happy so I'm letting yall get the vote on 1. angsty continuation or 2. cute lil happy ending

[1800titz]

WOOO second part to the pornstar!au (Tiger Harry). Find the first part here

If you'd like to read more goodies from me (including a RIDETHET!GER threesome, already up!), my patreon is HERE :)

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, anal sex, Sir kink, choking-ish, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 4K

“They’re both just such pretty holes,” Harry coos, and he thumbs apart her lips before folding over her to reach for his priorly discarded smartphone. His confession is mottled by a sigh, “…I simply cannot decide.” 

Tiger has perfected the art of edging. 

Not even in a literal, tethered-from-the-sweet-peak-of-precipice with an iron hand wrenching backwards sense — though, she’s seen plenty of that through his camera work. It’s a finely formulated craft, making her skin itchy and her cunt weepy before he’s even really touched her. And he hasn’t. She thinks, maybe he’ll nip at her clit with the pads of a forefinger and thumb, but he doesn’t even do that. Instead, he takes a step back. The phone pings. Action. 

“Spread,” Harry tells her. Light. Easy. Pats at one cheek, “Here.” 

Y/N obliges. She rolls onto her shoulders and tucks her arms behind her, splaying her fingers and pulling the flesh apart there. There’s a hiss like a breath coming in through little nooks between his bare teeth. It feels absolutely glorious. 

And lewd. A torrid kind of heat climbs up her neck. Lingers in the apples of her cheeks when Tiger pets at her thigh — probably taping a close-up vista of her oozing pussy — and comments, “Look at that pretty, little cunt.” 

Her digits jolt over her flesh, squeezing it apart almost desperately when he traces the back of a finger beside her clit, and then meanders up to her leaky entrance, prodding with the tips of two fingers. Not quite breaching. Tiger slinks one — a forefinger— up the short trail of her taint and nudges at the hilt of her plug, tracing the petals. Stuffed with silicone flora. Pretty. 

“Fuck. Fucking gorgeous.”

He sighs all soft behind her, and trails lower.

“I think—“

Harry scopes the hood of her clit with a thumb and then pulls it back to scrape with the pad of his middle finger — a motion that makes her jerk and wrests a soft sound from the back of her throat. A deviously mirthy hum comes from behind. 

“I’ll fuck you here—“

The tip of a finger brushes her weepy, pulsing seam.

“—first. Stretch you out a bit before. Sound good?”

She hums against the sheets. Please. Tiger traces the rim and sinks in to the second knuckle with paltry notice. His fingers are long, fill up more space than her own. Lengthier than hers. Girthier. They prod at the nooks and crannies that yearn to be grazed with little effort on his part, and by the time he’s sunk to the base of his chilled ring bands and added a third digit, Y/N is nearly drooling into the sheets. 

“You are such a tight, little thing, sweetheart,” Harry hums. Enunciates his speech with the wet squelch of his fingers plunging, cradled warm and wet by her sloppy pussy.

A mewl gets muffled in linen when he scissors the pair, stretching the seam taut, and rolls his thumb in slippery circles where her slick has trickled. There’s heat swelling in the trench of her tummy; a warm tide pool sloshing in waves that crest. Higher and higher. Building. It overcomes her — this tsunami, blighting her ataraxy until she’s a slobbering mess at the foot of his bed, keeled over. 

“Gonna—“ Y/N warns, brows pleated and mouth pried apart, tongue brushing bunched fabric with little couth. 

Tiger milks her through it, rigid fingers pumping and thumb swirling clusters of spheres into her pulsing flesh, until all that’s left of her are melty shambles with a weakly fluttering cunt. And it does flutter, throbbing emptily as his digits withdraw. Sucks onto them like it doesn’t want to let go, and then spasms around bare atoms like it needs to be corked back up. 

“Good girl,” Tiger praises. He sounds soft and pleased. Concentrated as his cockhead prods at her hole— “Got my fingers all wet, too. That’s two for two.” 

He swipes them at the back of her thigh, so she feels how slick. The pink border of his mouth is probably twitchy. Traces of a smile scratch at his dialogue the way something claws in the pit of her tummy as he nudges with the fat tip. She feels melty. Frozen fudge on a summer day dribbling down the handle. She thinks, for a moment, with her knees and her shoulders seeping into the mattress, that English has slipped her mind. Nothing plucks at her vocal cords, almost as if they’ve been snipped entirely.  A high sound crawls from the back of her mouth, though, when Harry tucks his cock into her. 

He’d been big in her palms — the pads of her digits hadn’t quite kissed around his shaft when she was kneeling, sweeping her tongue at the slit of his ruddy head, and her jaw had strained wide apart to fit him in and swallow him down. Even still, Y/N hadn’t anticipated the stretch. He bullies his cock into her — just about halfway — forcing against her spongy walls in a way that’s nearly too much. Like a paw wriggling into a glove that’s two sizes too small. She feels him in her belly, deep, as he sinks in, inch by inch (hisses escaping the cracks of his bared teeth and scraping at the edges), and bottoms out. She tastes clean cotton on her tongue, mouth wide and muted dumb, eyes screwed. 

A gasp shatters the lull, like one sucked in bobbing to the surface of a sea that’s going to ripple and kick her back under. It thaws in her achy lungs as a soft, dreamy moan when Harry fetters her wrists with one hand at the small of her back, rocks out, and pumps back in. 

“There you go, little bird. Nice and—“

She cries out as his hips snap. 

“Full?”

He rolls out slow, and her fingers twitch when he pummels in to the hilt. Ragged, little noises scarper from her mouth like he’s punched them from her from the inside. The ping of the phone sundering its video doesn’t register, but she realizes he’s tossed the phone again when he pets his free hand over her ass and stamps a sharp, stinging blow to it. Harry sets a brutal pace, then. Soft strokes that strain her rim taut and give her room to adjust simmer off when something scathing boils in the trench of his belly. He grapples her joints in his palm firmly, and the tempo of his hips smacking into her morphs merciless. Used and abused. 

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Y/N whines when his thumb presses at the hilt of petals stretching her littlest hole. 

“Fuck, yeah,” He mirrors, snarling, and twists at the plug to siphon a whimper. 

Inferno spumes her arteries when he wriggles the plug out, groaning, and replaces it with two wet, blunt fingertips. Three. They stuff her fuller than the plug had and have her wheezing for oxygen to mingle with the scorch that permeates her veins. 

Her knees shuffle over the sheets, she squirms when he drills into her again and again and again, and he grapples at a love handle to keep her tight in place, “You asked for this— and you’re gonna take it, baby.”

Y/N does. There’s not any alternative when he hammers into her and burrows half-moons into her flesh with the ends of his short nails, but she doesn’t want there to be. She scrapes at the side of his palm with crooked fingers — the one that cuffs her wrists together and pants into the sheets. 

She’s seen Tiger fuck. She’s watched the videos — a little redhead clawing at the stair-railing with wet eyes as he coiled her hair tight over his knuckles from behind, or a brunette keening under his frame as he tucked her calves over his shoulders, pounding in from the tip to the hilt and all the way back out. The ones with a curvy blonde clawing at the sheets, whimpering as he pummeled between her thighs, and the one where the woman with the pixie juddered helplessly over his lap, crying out as he stippled a slick trail of open-mouthed kisses up her jugular and manually bounced her over his cock with a firm grip at her hips that dwarfed her size. Y/N has seen so much of the impact in screen captures — slobbered chins, streaming eyes with mucked kohl and smudged liner. Tips of noses hued cerise or pinky and lips swollen and sloppy with spit. Still, she’s somewhat surprised to feel mirrored evidence over her own face as tears drip in rivulets over the apples of her cheeks, as she gnaws at her bottom lip and drools onto his expensive mattress. It’s not the aftermath yet, and Y/N is sure she’s going to be a disheveled mess by the time the camera on the dresser shuts off. 

His cock spits ribbon after ribbon into her with little warning. He pounds into her, something cruel and brutal, husking growls. A groan slides up from the depths of his chest, and he slurs a string of curses, fingers twitching in her other hole when he empties into her pulsing cunt. Y/N absolutely milks him through it. Her slick walls spasm over his cock, and she whines like the same effects curdle her bloodstream and erupt across neurons. 

When Harry pulls out, fisting at the base and gruffing a hum, he thumbs a bead of cum that leaks out to coat her clit. She absolutely sings, at that. 

He lets go of her wrists. Twisting his fingers gently from between her cheeks, Harry blows out a breath and—

Y/N keens like he’s slapped her when Tiger splays his palms over the globes of her ass, spreads, and spits where he’d been fingering her apart. It’s glorious. Harry presses his cockhead to the glob of saliva smearing, still manhandling apart one cheek, and tells her, “Spread,” voice worn and mottled with pants like his heartbeat is thundering ichor in his ears. 

She does. Her own heart hammers behind the caging of her ribs when he makes a lewd sound, breathy and awed as he smacks over her asshole with the head. He slides against her perineum when she jolts, spine zagging, and hums. 

“Is it gonna fit?” Y/N beckons. Her cheek smushes to the wet spot she’s made against the sheets. It’s the most gloriously humiliating revelation.

He winds around the room to the nightstand, where, through tear smeared peripherals (like a bleary windshield coated with condensation), she watches him cull a bottle of lube. The cap clicks. Harry sets a knee up, and the bed creaks, meshing with a sound of amusement and a slick hand working lubricant over his shaft. Her lashes flutter as Tiger works two wet fingers into her, to the hilt, unceremoniously, scissoring. He pulls them out. 

“F’course—“

Y/N gnaws into the smooth, slicky flesh beside her molars. 

Tiger grunts. She’s forced to arch at the palm over the dimples at the base of her spine. As if to test the theory, the slippery head of his cock nudges to the puckering seam. 

“…We’ll make it fit.” 

Taking anal from Tiger, Y/N learns, is a feat. 

A pornographically debauched sort of rite of passage. She’s seen the pictures, too. The teasers he’ll post on X with only the pink tip of his cock in frame, a ringed, vibrantly lacquered hand cradling the back of his partner’s thigh to tuck up and showcase an asshole oozing cum. And the videos; the ones where the girls rake their nails into his tri’s, knuckles bleached, necks strained as garbled moans climb up their throats as he burrows in. They’re always blissed out, after; their visages melty and the lines where their foreheads and hair meet teemed with sweat. She has to wonder, though, as he prods in, how they quite make it fit. 

A high sound and a tight squeeze part-way over the tip has him petting his fingertips over the metacarpals spiking through the skin at the back of her hand. 

“Just breathe for me, baby,” Harry tells her, soft unlike the seat of his jawbone and the grit of his ivory teeth, after, “I’ll go— slow.”

Y/N inhales. It’s stolen from her lungs in the form of a long, low groan when he stuffs the tip past and the rim rides over the ridge. 

“Is that too much, baby? Yeah?” 

She suckles a bit of the sheet between her teeth when he mends the stretch of his sloppy, wet cockhead with a thumb that swipes from her leaky slit and meshes cum against his cock and the taut rim of her other hole.

“…That’s okay, we’ll get you there,” Harry coos, “That’s the hard bit all done, yeah?”

It’s all hard. Hard, vascular flesh like a rock spearing her open, sinking in, sedate and measured. Viciously careful and slick, accompanied by a vicious stretch, despite the lengthy preparation. He’s measured in the way he stuffs in, nearly centimeter by centimeter, pausing along the way down his shaft. Even still, it’s an ache that settles deep the further he sheathes — the kind she feels down to the marrow in the little bones constructing her spine, her pelvis, her ribs when they refuse to expand for her lungs. 

“Relax, sweetheart, relax. Squeezing me so snug.”

It’s just advice, but it’s strained; filthy. It makes her cunt twitch. 

“Push out a little for me. It’ll— yeah, slide in nice an’ easy if you do,” Harry coaxes, pausing the leisure roll forward of his hips. Her hole flutters over him. He makes it another inch.

“Just like that, little bird.”

She’s been holding her breath for twenty-three seconds by the time Harry pats at one of her hands and instructs, “Play with your pretty clit.”

It’s sore, but not in the way that it aches as he presses into her. The pads of her fingers brush milky cum that’s managed to seep out with the flex of her muscles, and they draw a circle over the sensitively overstimulated bud that droplets have leaked over. Her lips pry apart that way her fingertips pry bliss into the outstretched palms of her neurons, grappling for pleasure. 

“Oh.”

“S’it sore?” 

“Mm-Mhm.”

“But it feels good,” Harry states. 

It’s just that — a statement, no inquiry to the borderline prideful cadence of his words when he sinks in three-quarters of the way. It’s enough to have her breathlessly wheezing over her noises, digits stuttering in their shapes as she pinches at the hood. 

“Breathe,” Tiger chastises. 

For the first time, his voice is whetted, like the edge of a cutlass, and she imagines his dark eyebrows creasing. The tattoo of a ruddy handprint — a smack — gleans a loud cry enmeshed from the sheer sting of it and the way Y/N jolts, bouncing forward and back on unanticipated inches. It’s cruel. Mean with his peal of laughter.

He’s soft again. Mirthy. “You did that, not me.” 

“You startled me,” she argues. Her chortles flux into another, blunt, “Oh,” when Harry rocks out a little and back in, cooing in feigned ruth. 

“Oh, did I?” Harry murmurs, trailing a wide palm up the indent of her arched spine with shallow plunges, “Poor baby.”

She squirms when his fingertips wind to the vale of her waist, scrabbling up the ladder of her ribcage lightly. It’s only for a split second, but it draws a squawk and a string of giggles; in turn, a low hiss from him. 

“Fuck,” Harry grapples onto her hips, craning his neck, a grin lining his syllables when he admits, “Every time you laugh, s’like, squeezing me.” 

It’s devious — the way his palm scopes the cinched flesh in the same area it had the first time, reveling in the squeal the wriggling pads pry. Her jaw clinches and she nearly bites through her tongue when her teeth latch together. Despite the stretch, her hips lurch forward on their own volition and her knees shamber towards the headboard, the circles over her clit all but forgotten as her arms outstretch for freedom. It only gives him a wider canvas. 

A soft huff seeps from his nostrils, like the view of her hectically sprawling is entertainment. He pins her bones in place by the hips and lugs her back, sharply enough for her to groan at the pump into her. 

“No,” Harry scolds, tacking an ankle with his hand. He bends one of her knees back and keeps a grip over a love handle on the opposite side. “Where d’you think you’re going? I wasn’t done.” 

He’s polite enough to cease the tickle torture. Considerate, on his part, she supposes, since he’s got the sole of her foot aimed to the Rough sawn oak beamed ceiling. The gunge of kindling lust spumes, and it clogs the sharp anticipation of his thumb pressing to the tender spot between her heel and the ball of her foot, like cruor. Instead, Tiger hones on jabbing into her fluttery asshole, drawing a slew of progressively humiliating sounds. Her top teeth seal over the sheet and she gnaws the fabric in between her incisors like a feral dog. 

She doesn’t really get it until his balls are slapping against her flesh with the fervor of his tempo; what it’s like to be used and abused by Tiger. Mostly, it entails being glazed with cum, inside and out; utilizing the same loads to swipe over her clit that leaks from her sloppy cunt as he pounds into her ass with little mercy. No intent to give. And still, he gives plenty. She feels him deep, spearing somewhere between the knobs of her spine and the soft flesh sheathing her tummy. She can’t recall a time she’s felt so full, vena thrumming something sanguine mottled by him. The ache spurs the bliss building at her pulsing clit, and she retires to chew at the back of her free hand, tucked under her wet face. 

Just up until the point when he yanks at her hair from behind, spiking tingles at the crown of her head, and directs through husky breaths, “Sit up. Up. On your hands.” 

Y/N clambers. An inky forearm hitches over the column of her throat from behind. A sharper arch, a muscular bind over her neck, a palm that dwarfs the knob of her shoulder, and hammering at her backside with no remorse. His nails claw into her love handle, and in turn, Y/N scrapes at the tits of his mermaid, her flowy tendrils, her tail. 

“You really— are a little anal whore, aren’t you, little bird?” 

She slobbers over his forearm, “Yes, Sir— oh— shit, oh, fuck,” so he spiles her mouth with a couple of his fingers. She nips at his knuckles, and he digs green into her deltoid. 

“Fhuh—“ Y/N slurs around the digits. 

He strokes a stuttery whimper from her taste buds. 

She keens, shrill, when Tiger slips his fingers out and smears her own spit over her cheek, “Oh, fuck— you’re so deep—“

Her eyes are screwed, and even still she feels the pant of his grin against the opposite cheek. The way his lips ghost and graze her skin wetly with a low murmur, “Fuck, yeah.” 

He twists his head and siphons the same fingers to his own mouth, gets them wetter, and bats the hand between her legs away to pinch at her clit. To fuse saliva, and cum, and desperation, working ardent over her bud. 

“Such a fucking mess. S’leaking all over my balls, you know that?” Harry purrs, nipping at her earlobe when she whines, trembling, “M’gonna fuck it back into you, after.”

Y/N erupts. It spalls into flinders with sharp borders, somewhere between his cockhead burrowing deep in her tummy, the stretch around him, the pads swiping at her clit, and the filth he muzzles into her hair. She shakes like a waving bract, torn apart in his palms, spewing cries. The tight spasm over his cock has Harry chasing his own release, shuddering behind her and doubling down in a brutal tempo that draws soft whimpers from her mouth. The sharpest one comes when his chest rumbles flush with her back on a long groan, and he twitches in her as he presses deep and empties every bit that he can manage. 

Rough sex, even with a borderline stranger, merits a soft touch to meld the jagged edges of the shards back together. When he seeps out, hissing softly and bobbing, slicked with cum and lubricant, Y/N crumples into the sheets like the junctions of her joints have unfused, slipping from their sockets to melt away into a puddle. It provides an optimal view of her abused holes, one puckering at the air and dripping fresh cum. Just as he’d promised, Harry spoons a rill that trickles out with the pad of his thumb and brushes it back over the slick hole he’d just been tucked into. Feeds it back in to coax a mewl.

“Two for two,” Tiger parrots, dragging the backs of his knuckles up her thigh. It’s an obvious reference to two orgasms each, now, and wears a smile. 

If Y/N wasn’t so melty, she’d probably snort. She manages something like a grunt with her face planted to the mattress. She’s probably losing brain cells. The bed doesn’t feel breathable. 

Harry nudges at her hips until her pelvis sinks flush against the sheets and her feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Then, he crawls up over her, cock brushing her clean skin soiled along the way. She rolls over against her will. Gets bracketed by his arms as he looms over, mussed, damp coils of his hair pendulous. 

“Hello.” 

She swallows. Her ass is going to absolutely ache tomorrow. Y/N finds she doesn’t mind. 

“…Hello.”   

“You took that well,” Harry tells her, head cocked and talc glinting. 

The boundaries of his ruddy mouth tick upwards into a lax smile, and even still, there’s an eagerly …awake mien to his composition. She wonders how, after that, and how his cock hasn’t gone down, a plurry in shade and sloppily oiled. It prods against the bone at the side of her pelvis. 

“You …gave it well,” she responds, forming the words despite the way they feel garbled in her mouth, between her parted teeth, off her lips like the crevices of her gums have been numbed with lidocaine. 

He ducks his chin and laughs. 

Y/N ends up lodged by his armpit, tangled by the firm muscle of his arms, thighs flush together, with her cheek squished to the plush of his pec; a cushion over where his heartbeat is clattering. 

“I’m all sticky.” 

“You like it,” Tiger sighs, raking a palm back through his tendrils, off his forehead, and musses the tousled curls there further. 

It feels nice when his fingertips graze up her nape, sliding into the forestry of her roots. They tug lightly at the follicles at the back of her skull in a way that makes euphoria seep down her nape. It settles in the first knob of her spine and slink through to the next. She rolls her shoulders. 

“D’you wanna shower? I’ve got one of those rain showerheads on the ceiling.”

If her inner thighs weren’t crusting over, the suggestion would probably feel like a much more intimate dyadic. Especially because she’s well aware he’ll slide in alongside her, slippery. Soapy froth sluicing down his abdomen, sudsy palms cupping at her backside, trailing between her thighs, and rinsing the evidence of their collaboration down the drain. It tastes like another sex tape altogether. 

Harry has grapefruit musk body wash and a citrusy shampoo in his shower. They’re the same ones she’ll lather into her own matted bird’s nest. 

He notes, from the sink, twisting the silvery band and thumbing over the center, where a tetragonal, incarnadine stone is seated, “You got my rings all sticky.” 

Y/N stretches her arms over her head. There’s semen spilling down the insides of her legs. She twists her head and meets him in the mirror just in time to see his eyes crest, his mouth purse and carve into a simper. 

“D’you wanna polish them off with your tongue?” 

[everyones-doormat]

JUST A TRIM

masterlist | kang sae-byeok x reader

synopsis: sae-byeok let her bangs grow too long again, reader helps fix them—like always.

genre: fluff

Her bangs had grown out again—long enough to get caught in her lashes and annoy her.

She hadn't said anything directly, of course. Just kept flicking her head to the side until you’d finally muttered, “You want me to trim them again?”

It takes a few more days before she actually says yes—well…at least her version of it.

You’re still drying your hands when she appears in the bathroom doorway, hoodie on, hair damp and clinging to her cheeks. She doesn’t say anything—just gives you a quiet, pointed look, then tips her chin toward the counter.

You blink. “Now?”

She nods once, already stepping in.

You toss the hand towel aside and pull open the top drawer, grabbing a comb and the same pair of scissors you always use.

Hopping up onto the counter, you settle in, legs swinging gently. She moves in between them, your knees pressing lightly against her sides.

“You know…you’re lucky I love you,” you smile teasingly. “Usually I charge double for last-minute clients,” you add snipping the scissors in the air for dramatic effect.

She huffed a quiet laugh, hands coming up to rest lightly on your thighs.

You start combing through her fringe gently. “You always wait too long to tell me when they’re getting in your way,” you say.

She just shrugs lightly in response, her eyes flicking away for a second like she doesn’t want to admit you’re right

“l mean—I can’t let you walk around like this”, you add, carefully untangling a few strands. “People will start thinking I don’t take care of you.”

Her lips twitched, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re not funny."

“I’m hilarious,” you shoot back, adjusting her heir between your fingers. “Now, quit glaring at me or I’ll mess up on purpose.”

She huffs quietly, her fingers tightening just a little on your legs—a subtle warning. You fail to fight back your grin.

Leaning back, you tilt your head slightly as you assess the length “Same as last time?” you ask.

She meets your gaze, eyes lingering on your face for a moment. Then she nods.

You hum softly under your breath and shift your weight a little on the counter, knees pressing more firmly against her sides.

Then you start trimming—slow and careful movements, your fingers brushing her forehead softly.

Her hands stay on you the entire time, thumbs tracing back and forth along the edge of your shorts.

“You know...it’s kind of cute how you always let me do this,” you murmur, cleaning up the last few ends

There’s the faintest pull at the corner of her mouth. She shifts just slightly, stepping in closer between your legs, one hand sliding up to rest at your waist.

When you finish, you set the scissors down and gently brush the tiny clippings off her cheeks with your fingertips. She doesn’t move—just lets you.

You lean back a little, tucking a few stray pieces behind her ears, your hand lingering against her cheek. “You’re so pretty,” you whisper.

You expected her to scoff or give you that sarcastic little huff like she usually does.

Instead, she just looks at you softly. Her hand stays on your waist, fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt—almost like she not ready to let you go.

You let your hand linger a second longer, just brushing your thumb across her cheek. Her face is still damp from her shower, warm under your touch, and she hasn’t looked away from you once.

Not that you’re complaining.

You just reach up again, fingertips brushing a few last strands out of her eyes, letting your touch linger. “There,” you murmur. “Perfect.”

Her gaze flickers down to your mouth, then back up again before she finally leans in.

You meet her halfway, your nose brushing hers for a brief second before your lips press together—soft and unhurried. You melt into it, your hands coming up to cradle her face.

She deepens the kiss slightly, her grip on your waist tightening, pulling you closer. A quiet hum slips from your throat before you can stop it.

When you finally pull away, she rests her forehead against yours, her breath warm against your lips.

After a moment, she pulls back just enough to look at you properly again. There’s a flicker of hesitation before she speaks. “Thanks.”

You blink. “For the haircut?”

Her mouth twitches. “For…this,” she murmurs, a little quieter this time. Her gaze drifting slowly over your face, taking in every detail.

You soften, running your fingers up the back of her neck, playing gently with the damp hair there. “Always.”

You lean in just a little, voice low. “I like taking care of you,” you murmur. “Even when you’re bad at asking for it.”

The quiet lingers between you, her arms still wrapped around your waist.

Then she lets go of your shirt just long enough to guide you down gently, her hands steady on your waist as you slide off the counter and land softly on your feet. Before you can fully settle, she’s pulling you right back into her arms.

You stay like that for a while, swaying gently in place, neither of you in any rush to let go.

‧₊˚ ⋅❀ ‧₊˚ ⋅❀ ‧₊˚ ⋅❀ ‧₊˚ ⋅❀ ‧₊˚ ⋅❀ ‧₊˚ ⋅❀ ‧₊

l was planning on doing another sad fic but l felt evil doing two in a row...

so here's a little fluff before the storm <3

taglist: @gemzyy, @monkey4lifer , @ikalyyy, @bleedingwhiteroses222, @chaotic-luvrs

[spaceshipellie]

let me take care of you (smut)

ellie williams x reader

minors do not interact! 18+

summary: ellie comes back from patrol slightly injured and grumpy. reader takes care of her in more ways than one

cw: eating out (e receiving), scissoring, needy ellie, fluff

author’s note: i am going wild over this i just want to take care of a needy ellie so bad oh my GOD

you hadn’t been home long when ellie burst through the door, groaning loudly as she shook off her backpack and fell face first into the pillow on the bed.

“bad patrol?” you asked.

“fucking fell through a hole in the ceiling of this shitty building and landed on a pole,” she mumbled but the pillow swallowed her words.

“you what?”

she lifted her head, eyes squeezed shut as if she had a headache and repeated herself before letting her face flop down again, on her side this time.

“oh babe, are you okay?” you shifted from your seating position to lie down on your side next to her, tracing a finger on her freckled cheek.

“no,” she grumbled. you felt bad for her, knowing she was in pain, but you couldn’t help but also notice how cute she is when she’s grumbly and huffy.

“how about i give you a massage? would that help?”

she opened her eyes to look at you and contemplated.

“think so, i’ll have a shower first,” she said before taking a deep sigh to will herself off of the bed and drag herself to the shower. whilst you waiting for her you thought you’d try and make the room a bit more ‘moody’ and relaxing so you turned the light off and turned on some fairy lights instead and lit a couple of candles. you were just shaking out the duvet to straighten it out as she came back in wrapped in a towel. a small smile creeped up on her lips as she took in what you’d done for her.

“lie on your front,” you instructed and motioned towards the bed.

“thanks baby.” she unhooked the towel as she laid down and haphazardly laid it over her ass. she tucked her arms under her cheek and her eyes followed you around the room as you grabbed some moisturiser. you climbed onto the bed and straddled her legs until you were hovering over the back of her thighs.

“am i okay sat here?” you asked before relaxing your body weight on her.

“yeah yeah,” she mused and you got comfortable before squeezing some moisturiser on your hands and rubbing them together.

“i’m not the best at massages but i hope it helps and tell me if it hurts.”

“it’s okay, babe, and i will.” her voice instantly sounded more relaxed and sleepy than it had done when she first got home, which you took as a good sign.

you started at her shoulders and heard her let out a soft sigh. her skin was incredibly soft despite being an adrenaline junkie and getting herself into all kinds of scrapes, and it felt warm under your hands. you admired the faint freckles that kissed her shoulders, wanting nothing more than to lean down and kiss them yourself.

no, snap out of it, you thought. you’ve literally just started and she needs this. besides, being the one who gets to touch her like this and be soft and innocent with her after she’s been out encountering all manners of danger and risky situations felt special and your heart felt gooey at the thought.

after working her shoulders for a while you moved your hands a bit further down her back to her shoulder blades. she let out a groan and your hands paused for a moment.

“did that hurt?”

“no, feels good, baby.” she mumbled, her lips squashed slightly by her arm.

you carried on as you were, trying hard to actually give her a good massage and not just prod at her back for ages. you added a bit more moisturiser which allowed your hands to glide over her skin more smoothly.

you continued massaging her back for a while longer, your hands now working the small of her back, thumbs occasionally brushing against the top of the towel. neither of you had spoken in a while and you half suspected that she might have fallen asleep. that was until you felt her hips move ever so slightly. you carried on as you were, ignoring it, she still could be asleep. her hips wiggled again but this time you heard a faint moan.

“ellie?” you whispered. you heard a soft ‘hmm?’ in response.

“are you awake?” again, another ‘hmm,’ indicating a yes.

“oh okay, just checking.”

you went back to what you were doing, this time moving your hands further to her sides and she moved again. you couldn’t work out if she was just being sensitive to the massage, after all, she’s long over due one, or if maybe she was getting a bit turned on…

to test the waters, you grazed your hands down her sides near where her boobs pressed against the bed and ran your hands down her back and let your thumbs dip under the towel slightly. her hips shifted again and another moan escaped her lips. she was definitely horny.

you smiled to yourself, loving the effect you were having on her and how you were able to take care of your baby so well. especially because she could sometimes be really fucking stubborn about this sort of thing, insisting it’s her who takes care of you.

your hands continued working gentle circles into her lower back and waist as you gave into your earlier temptation and leaned forward to kiss her shoulder. she instantly moaned at the contact and you could see that her eyes were closed but she definitely wasn’t asleep.

you left kisses all along from one shoulder to the other and moved your hands down ever so slowly so that they wrapped around her hips, nudging the towel out of the way. her hips shifted as you did so, silently letting you know how eager she was for you to touch her. patience, darling, you thought to yourself.

you left more delicate kisses along her back before very slowly pulling the towel completely off and letting it drop off the side of the bed.

the tiniest whimper could be heard from her as her ass was exposed. you brought one hand down to give it a gentle squeeze and with your other, brushed some of her hair out of the way so you could kiss behind her ear and whisper.

“can i touch you?”

she let out a weak, “please.”

you began moving your body downwards so you could leave a trail of kisses all the way down her spine. when you reached the base of it, you paused to look up at her.

“can you please turn over for me, babe?”

it took a second for her brain to connect with her body after she’d been lying still for over an hour but she slowly turned to lie on her back. you caught her eye and she looked so pretty and peaceful. you encouraged her legs apart as you nestled yourself between them. leaving small kisses on her inner thigh you slipped a finger through her folds to feel how wet she was.

“you’re soaking.”

she merely hummed in response, the atmosphere making it hard for her to speak. your kisses got closer until you finally placed one on her clit. her hand instantly came to stroke through your hair as you lapped and swirled your tongue around. your hands kept a soft grip on her thighs, keeping them open.

you were going to make sure everything you did was gentle with her right now, as that’s what she seemed to need.

you buried your face deeper into her cunt and eventually curled your tongue inside of her, causing your nose to press against her clit.

her hand remained in your hair, giving it gentle tugs. her moans were soft and quiet, but that didn’t mean you weren’t making her feel so good right now.

you found a rhythm that you kept going with until you could feel from the way her body jerked that she was closing to coming.

feeling the creamy white cum drip out of her and straight onto your tongue had you grinding your hips into the mattress, the pool between your legs growing.

she let out a “fuck” as she came before you slowly pulled away. you took a second to appreciate how pretty her pussy looked before leaning up and gently lying on top of her. your nose gently nudged hers as you planted a soft, wet kiss on her lips, making her taste herself.

her fingers started to pull at the hem of your top and you quickly obliged by taking your top off and resuming the kiss whilst your bare tits pressed against hers.

her legs wrapped around you slightly, her foot bumping your ass. her hands trailed down your back, making you shiver almost at how soft her touch was. christ, you loved her like this. so gentle and needy and clingy for you. it was a side of her no one else ever got to see. her fingers now toyed with the waist band of your jeans, making feeble attempts to get them off.

“so needy for me, baby,” you mumbled into the kiss.

“am not.”

you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “okay, if you say so.”

you kissed her harder before she could utter any snarky comment back before pulling away to take your jeans off. you didn’t break eye contact with her whilst you shoved your jeans and underwear off.

the second they were gone you were back, pressed against her like a puzzle piece. kissing her and squeezing her waist. you were both moaning into each others mouths as you started to run your hand down to cup underneath her knee, holding it up.

you pulled away from the kiss and shifted your position so that your soaked cunt was pressed against hers, your hand holding one of her legs up.

you both let out a whinier moan at the contact as you started to rock your hips against her. eating her out a moment ago had basically been like edging for you and you were dripping and desperate for this. your free hand intertwined with one of hers whilst her other hand held your hip, helping you move.

“fuck baby,” she breathed.

“does that feel good?”

her head flung back and her grip on your hand tightened as she gasped, “feels so good.”

it didn’t take long for you both to be coming, the wet sounds tipping you both over the edge. as you felt your body go limp, you slowly climbed off and resumed your previous position lying on top of her. you were both panting a bit and you let out a little laugh before meshing your lips with hers again.

“do you feel better now, babe?” you asked.

“can barely remember what happened,” she smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“i love you.”

you rested your forehead on hers.

“i love you too, el.”

[blueberry-rose]

Stressed!Arle x mother!reader

You and Arle are in an established relationship

Overstimulation, smut, possessive Arle

I am sleep deprived, probably not that good, I wrote this in class instead of school work.

Archons Arlecchino was stressed, so stressed. Her eyes were heavy her body tense. She needed something to calm herself down, it’s no secret when the other harbingers see her leave work early what she was planning, she never leaves early unless it’s for her lover. She not openly affectionate but the way her sharp eyes soften, her touch more tender, they way she will sometimes just rest her hand on your shoulder, you are her everything, even when she is rough you are hers in the most important ways.

She walked into the house her children quickly noticed her demeanor, and greet her accordingly. She simply patted the head of one of them. “Where is your mother?” She tone firm.

“She’s in your guy’s room. She’s taking a shower” Lyney quickly replied.

Arlecchino simply nodded as she removed her coat and hung it up, soon making her way up the stairs to your shared room. She pushed the door open to see you sitting in a towel blow drying your hair, she takes the blow dryer from you, “my love, why did you take a shower” you looked up at her.

“You should have at least knocked” she was now drying your hair.

“I didn’t know if you were still in the shower now tell me”

“One of the kids spilled soda on me and I wanted to clean up for you”

“Good girl that’s exactly what I like to hear. Now I have plans I want you to go lay down”

“Oh is my love stressed?”

“Very” she turned off the dryer. “Go”

“Yes ma’am, so demanding” you teased before giggling at you moved to the bed dropping the towel before laying down. The moment you were laying down arlecchino was on top of you, kissing you possessively. “Arle”

“Shhh, just let me have you” she pulled back just for a second, before capturing your lips again her hand finding your core, making you gasp. She always teases first. But not today, you felt her freshly trimmed nails. As she rubbed your clit in an aggressive way, making you moan fast. “Pretty” she started to kiss down your neck, leaving traces of her lipstick on your skin. She was being rough already, and didn’t take long for you to cum all over her hand, but she didn’t stop her fingers slipping into your core immediately looking for that gummy spot, curling in to it as soon as she found it making you moan loudly,

“Arle~, ah please” you moaned out, as she continued her movements,

“Shh, be a good girl and take it” her said before scissoring her fingers inside of you stretching you out a bit more, racking more moans out of you. And again it didn’t take long for you to cum, you moaned out pathetically as you held onto the sheets, she pulled her fingers out putting them in her mouth. “Fuck, you taste so good I need more” she undid her suit jacket throwing it carelessly on the floor because doing the same to her shirt and undoing her hair.

“Please”

“You know I normally love to hear you beg, but right now all I want to hear is you moaning and whining” before you knew it her tongue was on your clit making your hips buck, she put her hands on your hips dragging your cunt into her mouth more, all you did was moan out your hands finding her hair as you moaned.

“Arle!” you moaned out as she lightly bit your clit.

“Perfect” she muttered into your clit her tongue slipping past your already soaked entrance her nose rubbing against your clit, her hands not allowing you to squirm, all you could do was moan, as her tongue expertly pleasured you. And Arlecchino’s eye boar into you as she ate your cunt like there was no tomorrow,

“C-cuming” all you could mutter as you came on her face, she lapped up your juices before pulling back, her normally perfect appearance messed up, her lipstick smeared, her eyes hungry. She grabbed a tissue and whipped the rest of her lipstick off, before unbuttoning her pants. “Wait y-your not done”

“I’m not done until you’re a crying whimpering mess under me” she pushed her pants and underwear off, letting her cock spring out. “You’re mine” she kissed your neck again before shoving into you, she kept her word she didn’t stop until you were crying under her. Stoping only when you tapped her twice signaling you couldn’t take anymore. But the aftercare was probably the best you ever had.

[divinelolita]

2010 TOM KAULITZ X M! READER: CAR SEX

nsfw content below cut, dont like don't read

"Shhh, baby, stay quiet. You don't wanna get caught do you?"

Tom asked you with a raspy voice, his pierced eyebrow raised as he pushed you to the door, your hands pressed against the (thankfully) dimmed windows. You winced gently, the cold temperature making a shiver run your your spine.

You tried to focus on Tom's instructions, steadying your breathing as he rubbed his hands down your thighs, need and lust taking over your body as you let out a soft whimper. His hands were cold and calloused from playing the guitar. You sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers traced your ass, startled as his fingertips teasingly dipping into the crevice. Oh fuck, fuck..

"Oh..." You let out a breathy moan, your hips grinding as you tried to receive more friction, get him in you- anything to help your throbbing member reach your high. You looked into the window, the faint reflection of Tom's smirk showing up as he slowly slipped his fingers into you, spitting on them so the process would be less painful.

You were so fucking hard right now you really wouldn't have cared either way.

You let out a loud gasp followed by a moan, your hips jerking up and your thighs shaking slightly. He had barley pushed in and you were so worked up, your hole clenching harshly on his fingers. He left a small slap on your thigh, making you hiss out and unclench for a second. With that moment he was able to push in another inch, almost knuckles deep into you.

"Didn't I tell you to be quiet?" He asked, his voice calm but firm, his fingertips gently tapping onto your prostate. Oh, he was cruel.

Your whole body jerked, your lips parting as you let out whimpers and whines, biting your lip harshly to try to muffle your noises. Tom licked his own lips, slowly thrusting his fingers in and out, spitting on his fingers again so they could move more freely.

His fingers slowly picked up pace, going faster as he scissored you, stretching you out. You let out little gasps, but other than that you stayed quiet. Tom smiled as you followed his orders, rewarding you with faster thrusts to see how far he could push you.

With each thrust in he would curl his fingers, making you see stars and moan loudly, which earned you another slap; this time on your ass. "C'mon, gorgeous. You were doing so good for me, I know you can be quiet.." He whispered into your ear, puncturing each word with a thrust into you making you whimper out, shaking against the door.

You whined softly, you really were trying! You bit your lip harder in an attempt to be quiet, trying to focus on the pleasure. He suddenly rammed his fingers right into your prostate, making you let out a choked cry followed by a whimper.

This time, however, he didn't try to shut you up, instead chuckling deeply as his eyes darkened with lust and continuing his pace. His fingertips scratched and banged into your sensitive spot over and over, making tears flow your vision and gasps escape your lips.

"Oh I'm gonna- I'm..oh my god.." You whined out, eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you clenched and unclenched on his fingers, the pleasure almost overbearing. He cooed gently, slipping his fingers out of you when he felt your body tense up, feeling your prostate gently throb at his touch.

You let out a whine of need and confusion as he pulled his fingers out with a soft pop, wanting to cry as you had been denied. He shook his head even though you couldn't see, a smug look on his face.

"Not yet. You need to follow orders..maybe I need to teach you better, huh?" he hummed deeply, fingers running down your spine making you shudder. You heard a belt click, followed by the sound of clothes being taken off. Your body twitched in anticipation, your cock painfully hard.

Tom would surely be the death of you.

[barleyo]

Miss Independent.

Hobie Brown X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: Did y'all miss me? Of course you did! Sorry to leave you all for so long, I was on one of my world-famous hiatuses. Sorry, it will most definitely happen again though. Thank you all for sticking by me. I hope you enjoy this piece.

Tags: foreplay, fingering, established relationship, smut, explicit content

Wordcount: 869

(I guess this could be seen as a part two to Bubbles, so take it as you will! Thank you for reading, apologies for the short length!)

She pushed the door to the apartment open quietly, cringing at the small squeal it let out. She felt awful. It had been the longest night she had ever worked through, her feet, back, and arms all hurt, her hair and makeup had been completely messed up, and to top it off, she had reeked of alcohol from a stray drink that had been spilled on her.

She quickly discarded her shoes, kicking them off next to the door. She made her way over to the couch. Her arms fiddled behind her back to untie her serving apron, but she couldn’t work the knot out. Sighing, she threw her hands down to her sides before she felt a pair of large hands wrap around her waist.

“‘Ey there, (Y/N),” her boyfriend said quietly into her ear, tracing his fingers over her sides. “Rough night?”

She did not respond, instead leaning back into his touch and mumbling. “Can you get this for me?”

He hummed and undid the knot, working it out with one hand while his other one remained perched on (Y/N)’s hip. Hobie pulled the apron off and tossed it thoughtlessly, keeping his focus on his girl.

“Gonna tell me what happened?”

He tightened his grip around her and pulled her down on his lap on the couch. He placed her legs over his and massaged her shoulders with his big, calloused hands.

“‘M jus’ so tired of that place,” she said over a hum. His hands worked deep into the tense muscles between her shoulder blades. “Workin’ me half to death,” she threw her head back onto his shoulder so that she could look at him, giving him a weak smile “and my feet hurt so fuckin’ bad.”

“Ah, s’no good. My hardworking girl.” He parted her thighs slightly with his knee and placed his hand over the flesh. “Y’need to relax, can’t keep exhausting y’self like this.”

"I know, but I can't just call off. My boss barely wanted to let me off when I was sick, he won't care if I'm just tired." She softly followed his motions and spread her thighs further for him, gasping when his hand rubbed her over her jeans. "Ah, please don't stop, I need a release so bad tonight," she pleaded.

"Wouldn't dream of stoppin', baby. Just lemme take care of you, yeah?"

Her lashes fluttered, briefly kissing the tops of her cheeks. She felt Hobie's hands start to slip past her unbuttoned jeans and explore, and she just let him. Having no energy left, she allowed him to fiddle with her to his heart's content. 

His fingers pinched her clit softly, squishing the little nub. He chuckled when (Y/N) moaned his name under her breath at the feeling. "God, those people take you for granted. 'M so lucky to have you all to m'self."

He moved from simple pinches and pokes to full circular motions. Small, clockwise strokes were delivered to her clit, with the calloused tips of Hobie's fingertips adding onto the already fulfilling sensation.

"Fuck, Hobie, right there." Her eyebrows knitted together tightly, jaw popping frustratedly as she chased her high. "Wait, no, don't slow down."

"Patience, love, patience."

He slid his fingers down from her clit to her entrance, teasing the slick hole with his fingertips.

"I thought you were doing this for me, not so that you could see me squirm," she said, offer a fake pout.

"Oh, but it is for you. I know you love to feel these in ya." To punctuate his words, he roughly curled his fingers into her, barely prodding the pudgy, gummy spot that she so desperately needed to be hit.

Hobie scissored her open, spreading his middle and index finger while they were comfortably in her. He placed his head on her shoulder and looked over it, eyes clouding with lust as he saw drips of arousal escaping her.

"You're  the prettiest little thing, aren't you? Coating my fingers, nice n good."

His fingers made another plunge into her, this time angling to hit her G-spot. He went in and out, pounding into it until his girlfriend shifted into a huffing mess. 

Her moans were no longer moans, they had turned into breathy, long exhalations. She braced herself, knowing that she would burst at any moment.

"Getting all tight on me now," Hobie mused, running his tongue over the shell of her ear. "Just let go."

So she did. 

A fast, flashing set of squeezes attacked his two fingers. (Y/N) gripped Hobie's wrist tightly, trying to ground herself in any way possible because if she didn't, she thought the pleasure would surely ascend her into heaven.

She didn't sit there for long, though, ready to feel more of her boyfriend. She shifted herself in his lap so that she could face him head on. Straddling his hardened cock over his pants, she started to slowly grind herself down.

"Thank you, Hobs, I needed that so badly."

"So did I, baby. The night's not over though, is it?"

"Of course not," she said, pressing her full weight down on his length. "You know that you have to tip your servers, so hurry up and let me have yours."

[starry-graves]

Because I refuse to shut up about him, a lil thought on trans wolf?

and as usual, for the sake of my brain (and knowing how the military is,) lets make this modern

read with caution as there are some heavier topics here. slight mentions/hints or potential triggers of NSFW, anxiety, dysphoria, religious trauma

Wolf, born last after three older sisters in the countryside of Texas was the forth wolfe daughter

something never sat right, an itch under his skin when his Ma dolled him up in dresses that should be pretty enough despite being hand me downs.

tears rolling down chubby cheeks when one of his sisters took scissors to his hair. when the oldest finds him, asking if he’s upset over how much was cut off, he begs her to cut off more because it feels right.

blue eyes bright with tears when his sister asks him if he’s “trying to be a boy” (she doesn’t mean harm, but its not common where they are from) and leo just shyly nodding.

he gets shit then for being the only boy, the baby of the family too. and everything starts clicking into place. they help him tell ma, who, not wanting to overwhelm him begins slowly removing the dresses and frills from his closet, nice button ups and tshirts from the boys section replacing them little by little. (he almost cries when he gets his first good pair of jeans over the pockets alone.)

/////

he graduates highschool at a whole 5’2”, slowly inching up to 5’10” (generously)

bless his ma, because somehow that woman worked a miracle and erased all history of a fourth baby girl wolfe, her first and only son in place. so when Leo goes to enlist in the Navy, he is Leonard Henry Wolfe.

He saves every penny throughout highschool, able to afford a surgery that leaves him with bilateral scars across his chest.

He graduates from the Naval Academy and then flight school, gaining the third name he has ever been given. Wolfman.

He meets his pilot who becomes his best friend. His best friend who knows more than anyone else…well except that he hasn’t told him he’s trans. theres that. and he doesn’t find out in the locker room or showers, or even the bunks, Wolf too careful.

It’s in their own accommodated housing, a couple beers turned into cuddling and soft kisses passed between lips when Hollywood slides his hand underneath Wolf’s sweatshirt and Wolf freezes as a finger curiously traces over a thin scar. He jerks back, effective in removing Hollywood’s hand, eyes panicked as he looks like a frightened animal, ready to run off. and he does. he runs. he makes it to the porch before breaking down because it took so long but he finally ruined it. and he expects to be transferred to another pilot at hollywood’s request. and he’ll go without a fight even though it’ll rip his heart out.

instead a door opens and closes, bare feet padding across the small porch where leo sat, ready to throw careless insults at a god he doesnt believe in for this fucked up joke. and an arm is being wrapped around him and breaking down his walls. he whispers a soft ‘sorry’ as his eyes blur with tears.

“you think this would ever change a damn thing about how I feel? You’re my RIO Wolf, I have your back no matter what…and I can only pray to whatever—” he waves his hand towards the sky they are so used to being up in “that you’ll let me love every inch of you. no matter what that means.”

[kiwibirbkat]

You can pry Marcy streamer AU from my cold dead hands

Marcy Wu Streamer AU!

Started streaming as a backup while waiting for their webcomic to blow up

When their account gained traction they used it to help advertise their comic

They do both for a living now

They game on it and sometimes do vlog type streams

They does a lot of charity streams (angsty charity week fic anyone???)

Annual subathons

Lives with the girlfriends (Anne and Sasha)

Sleep schedule? Non-existent!

Anne and Sasha are fan favourites even if they do end some streams early to force Marcy to sleep

She does sub only drawing streams for their comics especially after a hiatus

Or they do public drawing streams of intermission episodes

Anne and Sasha sometimes come onto a stream with them

Marcy has a lot of guilt from Amphibia still :(

(And scars)

Not fully disabled but they need a walking aid sometimes and a wheelchair if the pain gets really bad

They still have traces of Darcy her head but they can't control her they just give advice

Or complain that Marcy won't kill anyone

They can't go to Amphibia but they can call/text through dimensions since Anne gave sprig her phone and Polly figured out how to make more

Marcy refuses any type of therapy (they don't think they deserve help)

But she will break down crying in their girlfriend's arms sometimes

She/they (realized she liked they/them pronouns after everyone referred to Darcy as they seeing as they were multiple minds, heavily they leaning)

Anne has a pet cat that looks like Domino and she lives with them

Marcy has that gaming posture (atrocious)

They post all of their VODs on YouTube

Marcy has crocheted all of them plushies of their family in amphibia (Sasha with Percy, Braddock and Grime, Anne with Sprig, Polly and Hop-pop, and Marcy with Olivia and Yunan (and a secret andrius plush that they can't look at most days))

None of them have their powers but they do have traces of energy, which is why Darcy stays in Marcy's head instead of just shutting off

Marcy dyes some of her hair green in reminder of when they had cool anime powers

Also, she's worked a lot of aspects of Amphibia into their comic so they have an excuse to make Amphibia merch

Most of their fans are worried about her because she's always up so late

Marcy speaks Spanish, French, Italian, Chinese, Thai, Portuguese, and Ukrainian and voice over all of their streams in these languages to post them on their separate VOD channels

They're trying to learn more (Greek, German, Russian, ect.)

Because of Darcy and her wit powers they learn easier (super brain)

All of her fans theorize on why them and their girlfriends went missing for like a year seeing as frogvasion has been wiped from the media

The calamity trio know most of the Disney protags (Dipper, Luz, Molly, Star, and the other people in included in those franchises)

They all live in the same world (-star, Marco and Tom but dimensional scissors yk?)

Luz reached out to Anne for help building a portal, Dipper and Mabel met Molly while ghost hunting

They have all separately run into Star while researching energy levels that came from Stars weird dimensional travel

Therefore Marco added them all to a discord server and the rest is history

They sometimes guest star on Marcy's channel

June has programmed Marcy a game before

Sasha is planning to propose (shhh don't tell Anne and Marcy)

Marcy has cut contact with her family (I don't care what cannon says her parents aren't good people)

(She would not cling onto any sort of affection this much if their parents loved them)

(Fight me)

Marcy hates going to the doctor or bathing (the bath reminds her of the rejuvenation tank and she just generally distrusts the government after Anne told them about the whole thing with Mr X)

The only doctor they trust is the dentist for some reason???

When asked Marcy just shrugs

And the vet but they aren't the one getting tested at the vet and she cares about Domino 3 too much not to go to the vet

Marcy Wu=autism

Marcy has severe anxiety

Marcy has depression

Marcy streams from bed sometimes just because they're in too much pain to walk and their girlfriends aren't their to put them into her wheelchair but she has that grind set for their stream dates

Marcy has crocheted enough Olivia and Yunan plushies to give a small army

They give them away during giveaways as beta designs for some of her characters

[3terna15unshin3]

gave me no compasses, gave me no signs

2 of 6 ★ 6013 words

previous — masterlist — next

— warnings: none

The three weeks you have before your move absolutely fly by like no time at all. And so does your friends’ state of shock when the words ‘New York’ first left your mouth. It barely lingers before celebration continues and you party the whole night away.

Avni ends up getting a cake, like she promised, and decks the boy’s flat out in obnoxious Poundland decor. Ross stands on a chair to hang streamers from the ceiling. You drink cheap wine, smoke some more, and everyone shares the cake by each taking your own forks to it, instead of cutting it into slices.

At one point you’re so drunk that you willingly pose for a photo. It happens when Greta passes out on the sofa, and Hann and George take it upon themselves to smear cake all over her face. It makes you giggle like a toddler—the fact that they somehow did it without waking her—and you laugh until you cry, belly completely sore. You hand your camera over to Matty, telling him to capture you pointing at the sleepy, icing-covered Gret with tears spilling out of the corners of your eyes.

He isn’t sure why you find it so funny but your laugh makes him laugh and he loses it when watching you through the viewfinder. He clicks through the previews once he’s done taking them, grinning with adoration at the pure joy on your face, thankful for the rare occasion that it’ll appear on your memory card.

For a second, he forgets that you’re moving. But then, he remembers again, and downs more wine to forget for a bit longer.

It’s a completely bittersweet feeling. You feel their genuine happiness for you and your success; no trace of envy or doubt. They’re your biggest supporters. But underneath, there’s an inevitable sadness surrounding your departure, and the clock only ticks louder and louder as the number of days until your flight departs continues to dwindle.

The sadness feels realer when your last weekend in Manchester comes around and you realise that it’s the last gig you’ll be in town for. Your camera’s in hand, like always, and you act normal—but the drinks you have before the boys go on stage taste too strong, or maybe too weak. The collar on your shirt keeps poking at your ear and you consider asking the bartender if he has a pair of scissors to cut it off. Maybe you’ll ask him to cut your ear off too, while he’s at it.

You’re not sure what’s wrong, at first. But then you just realise that you’re just really sad.

Avni can tell that you’re having a bit of a moment. She wraps her arm around your shoulder and leans her head into yours. Gret notices, taking her hand and giving yours a squeeze with it. You smile, and lower your camera to try and stay grounded. There are thousands of photos you’ve taken and will take in the future—but only one moment like this.

The stare you usually chase while the band performs—the one belonging to Matty—is the one to find yours first, for once. You melt instantly when it lingers. His eyebrows raise for a second, to acknowledge your eye contact, and the corners of his mouth tug upwards into a smile.

To Matty, it feels like a privilege to be perceived by you without your camera obstructing the attention. Sure, you never photograph for the full show, frequently watching and dancing freely without your device. And you look at him plenty when he isn’t performing.

But this feels different. He feels you seeing him. Knowing him. Not looking, or watching. Something that couldn’t be captured. So, he doesn’t look away. He holds your gaze until the song ends, only breaking it to adjust the capo on the neck of his guitar and start the next song.

The stare makes a lightbulb go off in his mind.

There’s suddenly a lull of silence. Matty chats to George for a couple of seconds instead of continuing the set. It was bizarre, and your eyes flicker between each of the boys to figure out what’s going on. The curly headed boy turns to each member individually when they’re about to start, and stalls even longer.

He eventually approaches his microphone again. “We’ve just decided to switch things up a bit,” Matty explains. “This is a new one. Sorry if it sounds rubbish, we don’t really have the right equipment to play it well. But I hope you like it.”

You see Ross mumble something back in his direction, and then Matty laughs and quickly says, “Ross has just corrected me and said that we’ve not decided to switch things up, I have. Which is true,” with a chuckle. The people listening laugh quietly with him.

Droning chords from Adam’s keyboard sound through the air. Ross’s bass kicks in, supporting the melody from beneath, and George taps calmly at his kit. It’s slow. You don’t recognise it.

Now, Matty’s looking at you again. You and the girls stand at the front of the crowd, as always, but tucked away and off to the right. He’s been staring from his place in the centre of the stage; so your eyes slightly widen when Matty detaches his mic from its stand so he can move freely. He passes Ross to settle directly in front of you.

“What time are you coming out?”

He stumbles the lyrics out of his mouth rhythmically and all you can think about is the way his lips move as the music progresses.

“Don’t you see me? I

I think I’m falling

I’m falling for you,”

You notice that he stays unusually still. The song has an undeniable melancholy that strays from their rather frenetic catalogue. He seems focused.

“Don’t you need me? I

I think I’m falling

I’m falling for you,”

It takes you an embarrassingly long amount of time to realise that Matty isn’t just still and focused because it’s a new song. He’s still and focused on you. And he isn’t looking at you, he’s singing to you.

“Soon you will be mine, oh

But I want you now.

I want you now,”

The venue you stand in is bigger than the normal pubs the band usually books, so its stage is elevated, and as Matty keeps singing, he crouches into a squat. He’s now only inches from your face, eye-to-eye with you. You feel his breath on your skin.

“I don’t want to be your friend

I want to kiss your neck,”

You’re not sure if you’re breathing or if your lungs are stuck in place. It feels like the latter.

At first you refuse to break his regard, but when you see it begin to dart all around your face, you copy him. He watches the way your eyelashes come together every time you blink, and how the dryness of your lips increases as you breathe out of your mouth. A few of your eyebrow hairs stick up and sit unruly from always being scrunched against the cold metal of your camera.

Meanwhile, you follow his left hand with your eyes when the back of it drags across his bottom lip. There’s nothing there to wipe, but he completes the action anyway. The bridge of his nose and the skin between his eyes wrinkle when his brows furrow, to reach a certain note.

“I think I'm falling, I'm falling for you

On this night

and in this light,”

He sounds amazing. You’re hypnotised by his words and how they sound. His commitment to studying every inch of your face as he sings them makes you consider the possibility of them being about you.

But who are you kidding? Of course they’re about you.

Even if you suddenly forgot how to speak English, or had never met him in your life, or hated the song—Matty’s eyes tell you exactly what he means to say.

He thinks he’s falling.

The music comes to a stop and applause roars from the audience. Gret and Avni stand with their mouths agape, clapping with limply shocked hands. They take turns looking between you and Matty in an attempt to even begin to understand what had just happened. The boys watch in content amusement from their respective spots. But you and Matty don’t move.

Then, he reaches for your hand. It fits into his nicely, but it’s cold and a bit clammy. He says your name and waits for you to say something, but you come to learn that you can’t hear anything at all. Your ears are too full and too muffled but are also ringing with emptiness. The lights brighten and don’t help your sudden circuit overload.

You’re overwhelmed with the way Matty is still looking at you, knowing you, what it means, what it will feel like to leave, why he keeps looking at your mouth, the way his hand felt in yours, how long you’ve been dying for it to be there—and how you could possibly say anything worthy.

Then, all you feel is sorry. You’re sorry that you don’t have a song, or the words, or any idea of what you’re feeling or have ever felt or will ever feel. Because what you feel is so enormous. It’s suddenly catastrophic, and you’re lost in its density.

Your lungs definitely are stuck in place, as you feared.

So you drop his hand. Finally breathe. And you get out as quickly as you can.

—

There’s a couple days of silence between you and Matty. As much as it hurts you, and you’re sure it hurts him, there’s a million other things on your mind and that you have to do before you leave, so you’re too busy to contemplate what happened at the gig any further.

You work your final shift at Cafe North, and then your parents come over from Macclesfield to take the belongings that can’t come with you. They’re going to store all of it at their house, just so the girls don’t have to deal with it. You wonder if Greta and Avni will look for a new roommate while you’re gone, or if they’ll just split your portion of the rent; and secretly hope they choose the latter, as unreasonable as it is.

They don’t mention Matty to you either, which surprises you. You guess they can sense your commitment to avoidance and decide to respect that. You’re not sure what they think, or if they know what Matty thinks. Any time they tell you that they’re heading over to the boys’ flat, or whenever you get a message from Hann or George or Ross that invites you to join, you politely decline.

You do the same when they offer to assist with your move. You apologise profusely, saying that you’re swamped, and explain that your mum and dad are plenty of help. Which they know is true, so they tell you not to worry and that they don’t mind.

But you do worry, and you know that they do mind. They want to spend as much time with you as possible before they can’t anymore, and you’re getting in the way of that.

You’re thankful that your parents don’t ask about the band, or the guys, so that you don’t have to spend time explaining it to them. They’ve known the whole group fairly well since you became friends in secondary school, but they don’t tend to ask about your personal life much at all. For once, you find their emotional distance quite soothing.

It’s now the morning they��re scheduled to head back home, and your mother takes one last look at your room to see if there’s anything else they should take. You look around with her, explaining that most of the items she asks about will be coming to New York with you.

“Even this?” Your father asks, lifting a plastic baggie that sits in front of your closet. It looks quite out of place, so you don’t blame him for asking, but you know what its contents are.

“Yeah, that’s staying here. I think I should be alright with the rest,” you confirm.

So, they pack all of your shit into the boot of their car, and bid you goodbye. Their eyes are dry and their smiles are the same ones they show every Christmas when you come home and then subsequently leave again. It’s another Wednesday for them, you guess, and their nonchalant response to you moving across the world wasn’t anything unexpected.

Your eyes, on the other hand, grow a bit damp. You blink quickly to prevent any tears from falling. But, you don’t feel particularly sad to see them leave.

The way you mutter a ‘See you soon’ and watch them drive away just makes you realise that it’s the first of your many goodbyes.

—

The crinkled bag that your dad mentions has a quilted blanket in it. It’s Matty’s.

A couple of months ago, you were up late at the guys’ flat to sort out your memory card. He was helping decide what photos were best for promotion or to put on potential merchandise and which could be deleted. It was supposed to take an hour at most, but you’d gotten sidetracked (and then way too high), going through years and years worth of pictures. For no particular reason, really. Nostalgia, maybe.

You stayed for so long that the two of you woke up the next morning—necks sore from sleeping on the sofas—and you were far too tired to unwrap the blanket from your body before heading back to your flat.

It’s been sitting in the corner of your room since then. Realistically, you’re sure that Matty hasn’t even noticed its absence. But after sitting in the emptiness of your once fruitful room, and thinking about the fact that tonight would be the last time you see the whole group together before leaving; you makeup your mind. You should talk to Matty.

So, you walk down with the blanket in hand and give the door a knock. George answers.

“Y/N!” He says excitedly. “What’s up? We’re not late, are we? I thought we agreed for 7—”

“We did,” you interrupt before he can continue worrying, “I just wanted to talk, you know. To Matty. He’s here, right?”

George’s eyes fill with understanding, and he mutters a quiet ‘Oh’. Then he nods his head, and flicks it into the direction of his room, telling you wordlessly where you can find him. He stands to the side as you step in and make your way.

You knock gently. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

Matty recognises your voice immediately, but is surprised to hear it. He nearly thinks he’s just imagined it and that it’s actually Ross at his door or something, but when he yells, “Go ahead,” and sees you open the door, he confirms that he isn’t losing it. It’s actually you.

You look stressed, and tired. He guesses that you probably are stressed and tired. There’s a dullness to your skin, and your hair hasn’t been washed in a few days, but Matty still looks at you with wonderment. Your eyes are welcoming, like they always are, and he feels relieved to see them after the days that have passed without having the privilege.

He wants to spring out of bed and pull you in for a hug, take back everything he’s done, ask you to forget about it, and beg for things to go back to normal—how they used to be. But he knows he can’t, and shouldn’t, and that making things go back to normal isn’t what he really wants. So after you enter and close the door behind you, he lets you speak first.

“This is yours.” Your arm stretches out to drop the blanket onto his bed, where he sat. He looks at it, and chuckles.

“Sure you don’t want to take it with you?” There’s a teasing and sarcastic tone in his voice that makes you smile out of habit.

“I’ve stuffed my bags to the brim, so no.” You admit.

He doesn’t say anything back, so the room goes quiet. It’s actually a bit awkward. You’re still standing, too scared to sit down with him and too stubborn to exit and bail. I probably should have thought of something to say, you consider internally.

Thankfully, after a prolonged silence, Matty’s voice slices through it.

“You’ve always known that you’d choose New York, huh?”

You’re confused, wondering why he’s asking about that instead of his weekend serenade. But you finally fathom that in the wake of your internship news, there’s something else on his mind.

He’s the only one who sees through your lie.

You nod, not knowing what else to say. “How’d you know?”

He taps the spot on his bed next to him, inviting you to sit. You oblige with timidness.

“Because you’re my best friend and I know you, Y/N. I know that you’re too uptight to apply for an internship without knowing everything about it, let alone decide to move across the world on a whim.” Matty explains, exasperated, and seemingly a bit frustrated. “I also know that you’re probably blaming how uptight you are on the fact that you’re a Virgo, which drives me up the wall.”

You have to stifle a smile when he mentions your interest in astrology, but feel a bit deflated at the fact that he thinks you’re uptight—though you know that he has a point. He knows you better than you think he does. It makes you feel worse.

Before you can respond, Matty starts again. “Why’d you lie this whole time?”

“I was scared. I still am,” you try to explain, “I had this thought that nobody would believe I’d have it in me or secretly be relieved that I’ll be gone. London just seemed like a safer bet. Less embarrassing if I failed,”

You search the look on his face for any hints of anger. Thankfully, you don’t find any, but you don’t find much happiness either.

“We’d never be relieved for you to go, are you insane?” He remarks.

“A bit, probably.” You joke, and Matty laughs quietly. It’s a harmonious sound. His mouth falls back into a straight line afterwards.

“I honestly thought I’d get rejected and then wouldn’t have to explain myself. Then of course they had to go on and want me,” you continue, trying to make light of his stern expression. It doesn’t work. “I’m sorry for lying. I wish I didn’t.” You finish quietly.

He fiddles with the loose stitching of the blanket you’ve just returned, then his eyes find yours.

“Did you not like the song?”

There it is. The thing you came to discuss.

Shockingly, Matty asking the dreaded question didn’t feel as scary as you anticipate. He just seems absolutely desperate to know your answer.

“Don’t be stupid, Matty. Of course I liked it.” You respond.

He softens momentarily but then furrows his brows.

“Don’t call me stupid. I have every right to think that you hated it after you ran away and ignored me for days.” Matty argues.

Guilt washes over you. You try and figure out why you even did it—how you could possibly let him believe anything that wasn’t the truth. He wrote you a song, and you dropped his hand.

“I ran away because I think I’m falling too.”

Matty let his heart flutter for a second. “Do you hear how confusing that sounds?”

“Yeah, I do. And I feel terrible. But I felt like everything was crashing down on me,” You explain. You swallow what feels like a toad in your throat.

“You see—that’s the difference,” starts Matty, “Singing that song to you made me float.”

“It was amazing, Matty. I think we were both floating. Nothing else mattered to me but you, for those couple of minutes. But then I came back down to Earth,” It becomes difficult to hold his gaze, so you look at your hands. “The panic I felt afterwards was just an amalgamation of everything changing and how afraid it made me, you know? I’m so sorry that I took that out on you. I opted for saying nothing instead of risking saying the wrong thing,” you ramble.

When you look up at him again, a soft smile floods his face. Something makes you think it’s a smile of forgiveness, but you aren’t sure. There’s still a hint of heartache in his stare.

“You could have said anything. It’s easy to at least say something,” he says.

“Maybe it’s easy for you.” You defend.

It is easy, on the other hand, for you to stare at his mouth. Matty picks at the dry skin on his lips with his fingers. You watch him alternate between that and nipping at the skin around his nails with his teeth. He’s watching you watch, and you see him copy and let his eyes flicker down to your lips a couple of times; but you ignore it.

The silence that washes over the room only allows your thoughts to increase in volume. You think of how great his family has always been to you. The times you’d both party too hard at someone’s house in secondary school and had to take turns holding each other’s hair as you wretched. How he always opts to sit next to you, whether you’re in a pub or on a basement sofa or on the train. The way his lips find themselves pressed against your cheek every time you part.

And lastly, how it’s not like this with anyone else. Because maybe you’ve both already fallen.

“Why did you wait so long? To tell me?” You suddenly ask.

He chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re not the only one who’s allowed to be afraid, darling.”

You look at him and you’re both frowning. It feels like he’s angry at you, even though you know he’s more angry at the circumstances.

The only way you know how to relieve the heavy air between you two is to get up and go. Leaving seems to be what you do best, after all. So, you use your hands to push yourself up off Matty’s mattress and take a step towards his door.

A hand grips your wrist before you can get any further. He stands up with you, and turns you around, bringing you face-to-face. The sudden movement makes you gasp.

It’s the closest your faces have ever been. The edge of Matty’s bed nudges the back of his calves, preventing him from creating any space between your bodies; but even if he had all the space in the world to move backwards, you have a feeling that he still wouldn’t.

“What’re you doing?” You pose with your voice barely a whisper.

You’re too scared to say it any louder, and even though you ask, it’s rhetorical. Matty’s eyes are trained on your lips now, instead of the quick glances you‘d catch him sneaking earlier in your conversation. You know that he’s fighting the urge to kiss you.

Your breathing speeds up as you do the same, searching his eyes for permission and internally begging him to just do it.

“Can I kiss you?” Matty mumbles, too caught up in the moment to enunciate clearly, inching even closer. Your noses are almost touching.

“Please,” you mutter back, nodding your head to confirm.

He closes the gap and finally takes your lips in his. Your hand migrates up to his jaw as your eyes flutter shut, sighing in satisfaction. It feels good to be kissing Matty. It feels right. Like you should have been doing it all along.

His fingers creep around your waist and it makes you shiver. He holds you tight, like he’s afraid you’ll fall apart when he lets go. You’ve never felt safer.

Suddenly, your tongue’s in his mouth, and Matty is sitting atop his mattress and bringing you down to straddle his thighs. There’s something so familiar about him feeling the soft skin on the small of your back with his calloused hands even though it should be foreign.

Then it’s his tongue’s turn to explore your mouth, and you stifle a quiet moan. Matty does the same when you run your fingers through his hair and tug lightly. He hums into your lips as they move in sync with his.

When your hips subconsciously roll, he has to pull away and catch his breath. Your foreheads lean together and you hesitate to open your eyes. But you’re dying to look at him, desperate to see his face, so you back yours away and do anyway.

You’re immediately met with Matty’s gaze. You smile sheepishly through your heavy breathing. The fact that you’ve just made out with your best friend starts to sink in, so a wave of nerves wash over you. Giddiness wipes them away almost immediately.

He squeezes your hips and your hands still sit in his hair. You take one of them and brush the curls that dangle down out of his face to see him fully. He’s beautiful, even at this close of a distance.

Matty’s eyes dart to your lips once more, so you give him one more quick peck to satisfy his curiosities. He chuckles at the fact that you knew exactly what he was thinking.

What shocks you is the first thing he utters after making your stomach flip upside down.

“Please don’t go.”

It’s less of a phrase and more of a plea. His voice is quiet and bleak.

Matty hides his face in your neck while he says it. You feel him pepper light kisses above your collarbone. When he keeps going, your eyes find themselves shutting in pleasure once again. The way his lips make you feel is an easy excuse to ignore whether he was serious with his words or not. But then, he does the contemplation for you.

“I’m not kidding, Y/N,” Matty whispers, “Stay with me.”

You peel him off of you. “What? Matty, come on—”

“Jamie’s gonna sign us to his label for cheap so we can start releasing stuff. Our gigs are selling out, he says we have a few opening act opportunities lined up! He has connections. Things are looking the best they’ve looked in years. We’ll be on tour and you could be our photographer! I’d hate to work with anyone else—you’re such an integral part of this artistically—I can talk to him about a contract,”

The words flow out of him with haste and desperation. Matty says it all while burning his gaze into your eyes. A feverish energy seeped out of his skin and you could feel it on yours. His hands rose to cup your face gently, begging you to say something. Anything.

“Nobody gets me like you. We can make something out of this, right? You and me? Don’t you think so?” he insists.

Your heart sinks to your feet. The brown in his eyes drips innocently and its warmth swallows you whole. Stop looking at me like that, you beg internally.

“I don’t want you to think that I don’t feel the same way, but,” You begin painfully, watching his curiously furrowed brows turn to confusion. “I’m going to New York, Matty. As much as I might like to—I can’t just stay for you,”

He removes his hands from your face and sits them on your thighs instead. “You wouldn’t just be staying for me. You’d stay for the band, Y/N. You and I have always dreamed of this, our big break is so close I can taste it—”

Matty’s words hit and ignite a bit of fury within you. It forces you to interrupt him with the thing you think he seems to not understand.

“The band’s success is really important to me, you’re right. But I can’t give everything up for that. Matty—that’s your dream.”

“I mean, when you put it like that—”

“New York is my dream.”

—

The late spring weather is nice in Manhattan.

You have a reporting manager from ELLE, Ben, who picks you up at the airport. He explains that you won’t be working with him, but that he’s the person you should contact in regards to your contract, your work visa, or your housing. So, he then shows you to the flat—or apartment, you guess—that you’ll be staying in for the year. It’s very central and within walking distance of anything you can imagine needing to access. It also has a functioning lift, which is a pleasant change.

He helps you get all of your bags into your room. There’s a bed in the corner and a set of drawers that doubles as a desk, and a cramped closet. It’ll do.

“Your roommate’s from Toronto and came over a bit early since it’s so nearby. She’s been in the apartment for a week or so, so she can give you a tour when she gets back. Knows the place way better than me.” He explains as you plonk your bottom onto your mattress. You stand back up quickly, thinking of the fact that you should probably put the sheet set you brought onto the bed before getting comfortable.

“Thank you,” you say graciously, “For all the help, and for showing me around. I’ll make sure to let you know if I need anything.”

Ben smiles. “Please do! I’ll check in on you once in a while, too. I do have the best food recommendations for these couple of blocks, so even if it’s just for that—reach out anytime,”

And then he’s gone, and it’s just you. It’s weirdly quiet. You expect New York to be busy and bustling—which it is, from what you saw in the taxi over from the airport—but the craziness seems to begin outside your window. The space inside feels pretty calm.

You thank whatever god blessed you with some time alone before meeting your roommate, so you can do some unpacking and gather up your messy thoughts. Keeping busy might distract you from the anxiety threatening to escape from your pores.

You break open your bags and make your bed, stuff most of your clothes into the closet and then fold whatever didn’t fit. You place your laptop on the flat top of the drawers, along with your camera bag, a couple of books, your jewellery dish and its collection of rings. The room quickly looks like a tornado hit it, and in perfect timing, your roommate arrives back and stands in the doorway.

She stands tall and slim and has trendy clothes on. She wears a smile on her face too, which comforts you, but the embarrassment of her seeing the pigsty of your belongings ultimately prevails. Your face goes red before she even spots you within the chaos.

Her eyes catch yours after scanning the room. “Y/N, right?”

You scramble to your feet and stick your hand out for her to shake. “Yes! God, I’m a mess, sorry. You must be Julia,”

She nods her head and grasps your hand firmly. “Oh please, don’t apologise. My room still looks just like this and I’ve been here nine days,”

“That makes me feel a lot better, thank you,” you chuckle together.

“I can show you around if you want a break from unpacking?” Julia poses. You agree.

The kitchen is bigger than the one you share with the girls back home. You see that your new roommate has her stuff neatly labelled and placed in bins when you open the fridge and a few of the cupboards. Wow, she is organised, you think to yourself. Then you make a mental note to get some of your own to do the same.

You walk around to the living room and are glad to see that it’s furnished, but all of the furniture points at an empty wall. You guess you’ll have to survive without a TV. But you can think of worse things to have to survive without, so you stop yourself from complaining.

Then you’re led to the bathroom that you and Julia have to share. The shower looks fairly new and it seems like she;s kept it clean so far, which you appreciate. You don’t like the colour of the tile, though. Your Manchester flat had a cute pink hue to its shower, and this one was beige and boring. The tile shouldn’t matter, but it makes you unexpectedly sad. You think about Avni and Greta and what they might be doing without you.

Julia avoids showing you her room, so once you’ve seen everything else (there wasn’t much to look at, anyway), you depart back to your room and she makes dinner for herself. Since you’re still full from the complimentary plane meal and running on UK time, you grow quite tired. It’s 8 o’clock and you climb into pyjamas to sneak underneath the covers.

You sit up and scroll on your laptop through your schedule for the rest of the week. It’s busy, but exciting. You look at ELLE’s editorial campaigns online with admiration, finally wrapping your head around the crazy opportunity you’re about to embark on. There’s nothing you’ve wanted more.

But then, you head to Facebook. Your dashboard is pretty quiet, since it’s two in the morning for most of your friends, but you surf anyway. The band’s page comes up.

The whole group drove you down to the train station, where you then travelled to Heathrow for your flight. You all cram into the back of their van with your hoard of bags. Many tears are shed, especially by Avni, and hugging them for the final time is painful.

Nobody's aware about what happened in Matty's room that last day—as far as you know—so you act normal when the guys come over for dinner afterwards. Matty refuses to speak to you directly, you and him only interacting with each other when someone else is there as a buffer. You don’t really make an effort either.

There is still an underlying hurt between you two. It's an intersection of Matty’s feelings of rejection and your frustration from his selfishness. Leaving things in limbo to avoid complicating things even further seems like the only option.

But, when saying goodbye at the station, you embrace Matty for extra long. You hug him like he’s your best friend—because he is—and push aside the whirlwind of events that seemed to muddle everything at the worst possible time. You shake your head at how stupid you were to let it get in the way of your last moments together. Matty even holds on a little longer after you try to pull away the first time.

Seeing the posts on the band’s Facebook wall makes you miss them even more (though it’s only been a day), so you shut your laptop and roll over.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, and think about the feeling of Matty’s lips on yours. How easy it felt, how his palms ran over your skin. You wish you had the chance to kiss him again before leaving.

The droning chords and pulsating beat of the song he sang to you fill your new room. It doesn’t really, but since you attempt to relive it so intensely, a part of you thinks you can actually hear it.

A tear runs down your cheek and onto your pillow. You wipe it away, embarrassed to be crying over a boy when you know you’ll wake up the next morning to attend the first day of your dream job.

You focus on the sounds of Julia walking around the kitchen and then watch the traffic light outside your window turn from green to yellow, to try and flood him from your thoughts. Nevertheless, they persist.

We can make something out of this, right? You and me?

His words echo in your mind and you fall asleep, bittersweetly thinking of an alternate universe where you say yes.

[cowgurrrl]

how's our LFTL fam doing?? these are what the late night thoughts are tonight lol

Oh I'm so glad you asked (ps thank you for always asking me about LFTL 🥺🥺🫶)

When You Wash Your Hair

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (plus platonic!Ellie x fem!reader)

Summary: A Miller tradition comes full circle [1.3k]

Warnings: the slightest touch of PTSD symptoms, domestic fluff, mentions of teen pregnancy???, uh I think that’s it

When you first met Joel, one of the very first things you noticed about him was his hair. The way the curls sat on his forehead and moved with the wind. Joel and Tess had been smuggling partners for years when you came into the picture and certainly didn't take well to outsiders like yourself. Still, you stuck with them and noticed all the little nuances of their personalities, like how Tess stuck to Joel's right and how he always let her lead, and how their hair would get to the brink of unruly before showing up in the morning with fresh cuts. A month or so after settling in Jackson, you noticed his hair becoming even more unkempt than usual. One night, he woke you up with big eyes and shaking hands and asked you to cut his hair.

You didn't have viable scissors the whole journey from Boston, and even if you did, Joel didn't trust you with them so close to his head. That is, not until that night. He sat on the closed toilet seat and traced anxious patterns into the backs of your thighs as you stood in between his legs, gingerly snipping away wild curls and giving some shape back to his hair. When he stood to look at his reflection in the mirror, it was like watching a piece of him come alive again. He looked younger and, somehow, lighter. Wordlessly, you switched places, and he cut a couple of inches off your head—the pieces of the people you left at Jackson's gates intertwining on the floor. It felt like a new beginning or as close to a fresh start as either of you could ever be afforded. Thus, began the monthly Miller haircut night.

Your and the girls' hair grows much slower than Joel's, but all four of you need haircuts every few months. Charlie is usually first with all her squirming and tricky ringlets. "Mommy, did you know that the moon changes every night? It's called the lunler cycle." She asks, whipping her head around to look at you. You pull the scissors away from her hair to avoid impaling her and take a deep breath to calm yourself down.

"I didn't know that. Can you draw them for me?" You ask, sliding her a piece of paper and a crayon. Finally, your four-year-old settles enough for you to cut a few inches of hair. Ellie replaces Charlie while Joel gets her down for bed, and you pull leaves from Ellie's hair. She tells you about her patrol and how Dina's pregnancy is going. She's busy and doesn't get to come home as much as you would like, but at nineteen, she still lets you cut her hair, so that's a win. She makes up excuses like Dina can't cut her bangs like you can, or she's just looking for a homemade meal, but you know it's something deeper even if she won't admit it quite yet.

Even though it's been years of cutting her hair and keeping her in the bubble of Jackson, she still tenses when the cold metal grazes her skin. Her breathing gets shallow, and you can feel the panic knotting in her chest. You immediately put the sheers down and far enough away from her that they're out of sight before crouching to look at her. You grab her clammy hand and take a deep breath, a silent request for her to copy you. She does but not without it catching in her throat, breaking it into two breaths instead of one. You know not to rush her or speak before she's ready, so you sit in front of her, squeezing her hand and breathing deeply enough for the both of you. After a few minutes, she looks at you and nods, swiping at the tears collecting on her lash line. "Sorry." she breathes, and you shake your head.

"Nothing to be sorry about, bug."

"Just felt," she twinges, rolling her neck like she can feel the metal again. You know she remembers when David rattled the cleaver by her ear and how that sound echoed in her brain with the promise of a brutal, early death. "Scary."

"D'you want me to stop?" You ask. She shakes her head and takes another minute or two before giving you the go-ahead to continue. You're slow and careful to avoid touching her neck and fill the bathroom with talking about Shimmer, Jesse, and Dina— anything to keep her mind far away from that winter day. When you've finished snipping the dead ends away, she looks at herself in the mirror with a small smile, feeling the new length out and letting her spine relax. She gives you a hug and a quiet thank you before returning to the farmhouse.

"My turn?" Joel asks as he peeks his head into the bathroom. You smile as you pick up the pile of hair on the floor and dump it in the trashcan before turning to him.

"Charlie asleep?"

"Barely. She fell asleep in the middle of our conversation like she was afraid she would miss somethin'."

"Maybe she just likes talking to her dad." You say, and he chuckles as his hands land on your waist, pulling you toward him. Your hands land on his chest when he kisses you, tasting vaguely of the decaf coffee he drank on the porch and the beeswax chapstick someone in town makes. He hums against you, and you smile. "Take a seat, cowboy." You push him toward the toilet, and he groans but lets you go long enough to sit down.

Then, like always, you stand between his open legs and trim his curls to a more manageable length. His hands run a circuit from your hips to the backs of your knees before massaging into your lower back. The weight of his touch is welcome, and it takes all your focus not to lean into his warmth. You brush stray curls off his shoulders as he stands to check out his new look in the mirror, not that it's anything radically different, but he still smiles and leans down to kiss you.

"Perfect." He gently slips the scissors out of your hand and flips your positions, so you're closer to the toilet. "Your turn." He says, and you sigh as you oblige and let him examine your hair. Despite his rugged looks and tough attitude, Joel knows how to handle hair. He cut Tess's hair for years, and before that, he did Sarah's. He's usually putting Charlie's hair in pretty pigtails or a braid before school, even going as far as to wear a hair tie or two on his wrist at all times in case one of the women in his life needs one.

So you're not worried when your hair starts falling around you. You relax under his touch and close your eyes. He takes his time to ensure everything is the same length and looks correct, pressing kisses to your face between thoughts. You can hear an owl hooting nearby and feel the night settle over your quiet house. Ellie is safe with her partner, Charlie is asleep in bed, and Joel is in front of you, doing your hair like it's the most important thing he could ever do. When he's done, he runs a hand through the shorter length, and you open your eyes to see him staring at you like you created the universe with a single touch. You smile and reach for his waist as his hand rests on your jaw, tilting your head up.

"Perfect." He says, but he's not looking at your hair. You smile and pucker your lips so he'll kiss you, and he does. Then, without breaking away from you, Joel reaches into the shower and turns on the water. Because what would a Miller haircut night be without a warm shower with your husband to get all the loose hair off you?

[duhragonball]

Phantom Blood Liveblog JJBA ch.12-17

Last time... hoo-boy. Uh... where to start?

So Dio's murder-for-inheritance scheme backfired spectacularly, to the point where his only remaining option to stay out of jail was to use the Stone Mask to turn himself into a vampire. But the mask needs blood to work, so Dio tried to stab Jonathan to get some, only he wound up stabbing George instead. Oh, and he stabbed George in the back, which is... appropriate.

As Jonathan tends to his father, everyone else in the room thinks Dio is dead, since the police shot him like a dozen times. The inspector blames himself for all of this, because he knew the Brandos were no good all along. Years ago, the Joestars were in a carriage wreck, and Dario tried to rob the corpses, except George was still alive, so he assumed Dario had come to rescue them. Some time later, the Inspector arrested Dario and found Mrs. Joestar's wedding ring on his person, and was able to trace it back to its original owner. But when he brought George down to the station to confirm the crime, George claimed that he gave the ring to Dario, and even returned it to him. The inspector was furious at George's naivete, and he regrets not doing more about it at the time.

So in spite of everything, George knew that Dario had stolen from him, and not only forgave him, but adopted Dio anyway. And Dio repaid George's kindness with blood.

As he dies, George tries to account for his harshness towards Jonathan, and says it must have seemed so unfair, but he argues that Dio had a lousy upbringing, so that must have seemed unfair to Dio, and he was just trying to do right by both boys. Then he finally dies and Jonathan... turns Super Saiyan? Wrong comic.

But Dio's not dead, and the Inspector has no time to regret the past, because Dio scoops his cranium clean off of his neck. Siiiiick!

Can I get a WRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?

Dio makes quick work of the other cops. "Even Speedwagon is afraid!" has become a classic meme, but when you see what he's screaming about, who can blame him? What has been tragically overlooked on this page, however, is the silly red bow on Jonathan's outfit.

Man, Part 1 is so boring, guys. You should just skip this part and go straight to Part 4, where a kid plays rock-paper-scissors with some douchey comic artist.

But Dio's just getting warmed up, and he reanimates one of the dead cops he just finished murdering. The layout here suggests that Dio has some ray he shoots at the corpse that turns it into a zombie, so I guess that's how this works, then. Fortunately Jonathan clobbers it with a big iron spear and saves Speedwagon.

Oh, I should mention that Speedwagon was injured when Dio flung one of the police corpses at some of the other cops. A severed arm hit Speedwagon so hard that it broke his own arm, which is why he can't do a whole lot in this battle.

Jonathan can't do much either. He's resolved to destroy Dio since he's no longer human, and he reasons that destroying Dio's brain will work, since the Stone Mask turned him into this creature by altering his brain in some way. But his strategy of "stab him with a big spear" doesn't work. Dio's too strong and his body heals too quickly for any human to defeat him with conventional attacks.

Really, the only reason Dio hasn't finished Jonathan off already is because he's enjoying the rush of this new power he has, and he wants to toy with Jonathan a while longer to get more fun out of it. This exhiliration gives Jonathan time to hide with Speedwagon while Dio is distracted...

But Dio soon finds them behind a curtain. He reminds Jonathan that plans are useless in the face of human limits, but this isn't a plan.

This is CZW.

Trapping Dio under a flaming curtain only slows him down for a little bit, so Jonathan heads upstairs and tells Speedwagon to get out of here. Dio knows Jonathan is only goading him upstairs to save his pal, but he figures he can kill Speedwagon whenever he wants, so he humors Jonathan by walking up the wall to follow him.

Oh man what a boring story this is! I should have skipped to Part 5, where a guy pees in a teapot.

Outside, Speedwagon realizes that JoJo's plan is a suicide play. Flames hurt Dio, but he heals too quickly, so the only hope is to make the fire hotter by letting it burn up the whole mansion. If Jonathan can trap him inside, he'll surely burn to a crisp. But that doesn't leave much hope for Jonathan's survival, does it?

This leg of the story is pretty much Jonathan trying to tackle Dio off the second floor and down into the first, but Dio keeps giving him the slip, forcing Jonathan to come up with creative ways to hold on to him. At one point he jumps off that iron spear he tried to use earlier and when he can't reach Dio he whips out his belt and snags him like Indiana Jones. At last Dio's like "Fine, we'll fall into the flames together, you big baby."

But Jonathan makes a last-second play on the way down, as he kicks off the wall and steers Dio's body towards the point of a statue in the atrium. Dio gets impaled on it, and Jonathan tumbles away...

... and he manages to escape the house before it's too late. Now Dio's stuck inside, surrounded by flames, and it sure looks like he's doomed.

Three days later, Speedwagon desperately tries to visit Jonathan in the hospital, because he feels so bad for the kid. In one night, he lost his father, his adoptive brother, his family estate, and I guess his fortune too? And Speedwagon figures he's the only one left who can offer any comfort. Unfortunately, the nurse tending to Jonathan is a real hardass, and won't let Speedwagon see him. So Speedwagon resolves to sneak into the hospital at night, where he discovers...

... the same nurse is still taking care of Jonathan. Turns out she's not the cold jerk Speedwagon took her for, and when Jonathan wakes up, he soon recognizes her as Erina Pendelton.

Satisfied that Jonathan is in good hands, Speedwagon withdraws, cooly.

Meanwhile, Wang Chung returns to the remains of the mansion. Remember, he was there in Chapter 11, when Jonathan confronted Dio about his crimes. Wang Chung seemingly vanished after that, and he probably fled shortly after Dio started slaughtering all those cops. Now he's back, and hopes to find the Stone Mask, thinking its strange powers will fetch him a high price someday. And he finds the mask, but also...

...he finds Dio, who sucks Wang Chung's blood and swears revenge on Jonathan. Uh-oh.