#it just sucks being an afterthought all the time

[xwonderlandresidentx]

Being a black geek, or just a geek of color in general, is so hard. Sometimes I'll be scrolling through art and fics for the various fandoms I'm interested in and see a bunch of great stuff made about all the white characters and I'll think "Man, all this stuff is so great, why don't I interact with these fandoms more often?" And then I'll check the artists' and writers' blogs and see so many of them whitewash poc characters, and describe black characters as "tan", and strip away indications of their culture, and completely change their personalities, and then I'll remember "oh yeah, that's why."

[communixm]

Gang i am feeling bad rn

[taesanrot]

[cool with you] leehan x f!reader | 3.8k words f2l, college au, smut (oral m.receiving, making out), alcohol consumption note. most graphic fic ive written so far so proceed with caution, also sorry to anon for taking so long to write this thank u sm for sending requests! hope u all enjoy :3 @onedoornet

"hey guys, this is my friend, leehan. is it cool if he sits with us?" jaehyun's chirpy voice interrupted the current discussion at your table. looking up, you saw a boy with glasses and fluffy hair smiling shyly.

"is this the guy from your health class, hyung? my name is taesan, whats up?" the long haired boy's slightly quieter presence fit into your group perfectly; you, belle, and taesan being the same age as him only made it easier for him to talk to you guys.

to be honest, with how big of a group you hung out with, leehan and your conversations often got drowned out, you being pulled over to ningning and giselle while leehan was caught up in discussions with shinyu and jaehyun.

while you had nothing against the boy, you never really found yourself with the opportunity to get to know him one-on-one, and his presence in the group was merely an afterthought to you.

…

slumping into a seat in your 9 am lecture, you yawned, already regretting taking a morning math lecture. unluckily, you'd completely forgotten to register for the class until just before the beginning of the semester, leaving you no choice but to sign up for the morning section.

as you begrudgingly pulled out your notebook, your text buzzed with a message.

leehan: is that you?

yn: huh

leehan: in mr.shin's math class

leehan: look behind you

you whipped around to see leehan sitting a couple rows back, waving at you with a small smile. he donned the same black glasses he always wore, hair messily fluffed and his figure draped in a loose hoodie. smiling back, you quickly gathered your things, moving to an empty seat next to him. his eyes widened watching you walk over.

while he was on the shyer side, you most definitely were not. plus, you were more than thrilled to see a familiar face in class.

slightly out of breath from walking over, you whispered to the boy next to you.

"hey, how are you?" you were smoothing your hair down and reorganizing your things as you spoke.

looking down at his sweats, leehan wondered how you managed to look so put together at nine in the morning.

"good, i didn't know you were in this class." the boy replied quietly.

he glanced up slightly to see if the professor had arrived yet. you sucked in a breath seeing the boy up close. his side profile enticed you, but you recovered quickly, not wanting to make a fool of yourself.

"yeah, it's a requirement for my program, i suck at math, though." you frowned slightly, fiddling with your nails.

"don't worry, i can help you out." leehan smiled easily at you, earning a surprised look back.

"what? i like math." he retorted. and with that, you finally got to know the long haired boy beyond the snippets of conversation you two shared at lunches.

the two of you frequently hung out, using the excuse of working on homework to get food together, waste time at the library, or hang out at your apartment.

despite his quieter demeanor, you found that you clicked with the boy well. the two of you talked about anything and everything, whether it was your favorite movies or some dumb prank myungjae decided to play on giselle.

sometimes, you felt like no one else knew leehan as well as you did. or rather, that you were the only one who witnessed this version of leehan -- the person he was around you. the serious and quiet mannerisms he had kept up like a wall fell quickly around you. hearing his name made you think of late nights at the uni library, cold ice cream after a difficult exam, and loud laughter at his stupid jokes.

"what does a mermaid wear on her boobs?" leehan's question pierced the calm silence of your study session. looking up from your laptop, you quirked a brow.

"huh?" you were slightly in a daze, the quick shifting of your attention and the warm air of the courtyard jumbling your thoughts together.

"an algebra!" the boy in front of you barely spat the answer out before bursting into giggles, his honey voice bringing you back to earth. you sighed in fake frustration, making him laugh even harder. he dropped his pencil and notebook to hold his stomach as his laughing fit continued.

in that moment, surrounded by the soft grass of the courtyard and hair blowing in the slow breeze, leehan was a sight to behold. your breathing faltered, lungs utterly failing you as you watched his eyes crinkle adorably and as your ears filled with the sound of his pretty laugh. you felt your heart beating in your ears, bringing a hand to cup your cheek.

it was warm, and you'd be stupid to think the sun was the only reason for it.

…

you tapped the excess powder off your makeup brush delicately, finishing the final touch ups on your makeup for the night. you were sitting in your roommate, belle's, room with ningning and giselle. the four of you were getting ready for a party, like any other friday night.

"here." you clicked the tin of your blush closed as you turned towards giselle, who handed you a shot glass with clear liquid. you grimaced slightly at the sight, looking past giselle's outstretched arm to see your 2 other friends with matching shot glasses and similar looks of disgust.

the four of you clinked your glasses together before throwing back the rancid liquid. your eyes screwed shut and you reached for the nearest beverage to chase the shot.

opening your eyes, you made eye contact with ningning, giggling as she smiled at you.

moving over to stand at belle's desk, you poured another round of shots for your friends, opening your phone to play some music in the background.

2 rounds later, you were satisfied with the level of buzz you felt, sitting next to belle on her bed and leaning a head on her shoulder.

"tired already?" she laughed at you, poking your thigh teasingly. you shook your head.

"can't sleep now, y/n, or you'll miss seeing your boyfriend." ningning's voice was singsongy as she teased you. you pulled your head off of your friend's shoulder to flip ningning off.

"he is not my boyfriend." you protested, cheeks burning at the mention of the long haired boy.

"seriously, y/n, we all see how you guys are together." giselle spoke lazily as she straightened her hair, throwing a sarcastic look at you.

"yeah, it's like you guys are in your own little bubble. it's disgusting actually." belle agreed. before you could land a soft punch on her shoulder, her phone screen lit up with a message.

it was a message from taesan. you couldn't make out the full text, only catching a glimpse of his contact picture.

"speaking of the devil, he and the boys are about to head over there. we should get going." the timing worked out perfectly as giselle had just finished doing her hair and ningning had finally picked out her outfit.

you checked yourself in the mirror one last time, doing a quick once over of your outfit. the denim shorts and white halter top complimented you well, and you smiled triumphantly as you tucked some of your hair behind your ear.

you wondered if leehan would like your outfit, stomach flipping at the idea of seeing him soon. he usually didn't enjoy these types of functions, but the boys convinced him to come for once.

"y/n! hurry your ass up!" giselle's voice snapped you out of your daze, and you ran out the door to catch up to your friends.

…

music pulsed through your veins as you pushed open the door. the party was louder than you expected, and you could barely hear belle yelling at you over the music.

"let's go to the kitchen!" her voice was almost drowned out by the music, and she grabbed you hand to pull you in the right direction.

you friends found a bit of solace in the kitchen, as well as the drinks.

"let's take a round of shots." ningning smiled deviously, pouring out four shots of some clear liquid from a bottle you didn't recognize. somehow you had a feeling tonight was going to be more eventful than usual.

a couple rounds later, you and the girls were sufficiently drunk, finally deciding to look for the rest of your friends. before you could turn and enter the crowd of bodies, you felt someone grab your shoulder and pull you in for a hug.

looking up, you were met with taesan's smiling face, making you laugh and hug him back.

"we thought you guys died!" he yelled drunkenly, moving past you to say hello to the rest of the girls. behind him, you saw shinyu and myungjae's flushed faces. the boys clearly pregamed more than you guys did.

as taesan pulled belle and ningning out into the living room to dance and the rest of your friends filed out behind them, you were left in the kitchen with none other than leehan. he was still standing near the kitchen's entrance.

you walked over to him, almost tripping over your foot in the process.

"hi." you giggled. the long haired boy's eyes widened with concern at your unstable steps, hand reaching out to grab your shoulder.

"how drunk are you?" he asked with a small smile on his face. he thought you looked so cute like this, cheeks slightly pink and eyes crinkled. you shrugged teasingly.

"dunno. did you drink?" he seemed a bit more composed than the other boys.

"yeah, i'm just tipsy though." you nodded in acknowledgement before breaking out into another dazed smile.

despite the intoxication running through your system, the two of you fell into conversation just as easily as usual. your head felt foggy as leehan rambled about his day and how he and the guys had gotten to the party. the boy could read you like a book, noticing the way your eyes looked at him but felt far away.

"what're you thinking about?" he asked curiously. you snapped out of your chaotic thoughts. not uttering a word, you brought your index finger up and lightly pressed the skin underneath the boy's right eye. leehan's eyes widened at your boldness, not knowing what you were going to do next.

"your glasses …" you mumbled. you traced your finger under the boy's eye and across the bridge of his nose, where his thick frames usually sat. it was the first thing you'd noticed when you finally approached him.

"do you miss them?" he asked with a small smile on his face, amused at the way you were so perplexed by the lack of the accessory. you shook your head fervently, confusing him.

"no, i like this." you stated, tapping the bridge of his nose. "i get to see more of you."

leehan felt his ears burning at the sweetness of the words melting off your tongue. you giggled again, he didn't know why.

before you could drop your hand back to your side, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist delicately, eliciting a small gasp from you. breathing slowly, he moved your hand so it cupped his jaw, laying his larger hand over yours.

he slid your fingers down his neck, laying the pads of them over his pulse point. you bit your lip slowly, mind still spinning. you weren't sure if you were imagining it but you swore you could feel his pulse thrumming unimaginely quick under your touch. the mere thought made butterflies erupt in your stomach, and suddenly the kitchen was too warm and too stuffy.

"can we get out of here?" leehan smiled at your timid question, intertwining his hand with yours and letting them both drop and hang in the small space between the two fo you.

craning his neck to the side, he looked to make sure your friends were okay, sighing in relief at the sight of them all dancing together in the living room. turning back to you, he grinned.

"let's go."

…

leehan’s face is flushed red, and he’s happy it isn’t from the alcohol.

it’s you sitting on his lap so delicately that's making his skin feel like it's burning and his lungs feel like he’s underwater.

your fingers comb into his fluffy hair, ruffling it gently as your lips suck on the soft skin of his neck.

you don’t know how long you’ve been here, kissing leehan all over like you’ll never be able to lay a finger on his pearly skin ever again.

the two of you stumbled into your apartment. you barely even made sure the door was locked before pushing leehan onto your living room couch. as you sat yourself down on his lap, you mentally cursed your friends for how well they knew you — your thoughts when it came to the quiet boy were all but innocent.

his hands landed on your hips easily, tilting his face up so you could capture his lips with yours.

in a drunken stupor you almost missed his lips, but the two of you settled into a rhythm easily, like you'd been doing this forever. leehan's long fingers caressed the exposed skin of your side, brushing up and down until your skin filled with goosebumps.

your arms wrapped around his neck as his tongue brushed your bottom lip, coaxing your lips open. you swore you saw stars as he pushed his tongue into your mouth, the wet muscle brushing the inside of your cheek.

the lewd noises you two were making only egged you on further, and when leehan pulled away to catch his breath you tilted your face and attached your lips to the curve where his neck met his shoulders.

the feeling of your plush lips and warm tongue against his throat pulled a loud moan out of him, and his hands instinctively pressed into your shoulder blades, pulling you into him more and more.

pulling the neck of his shirt down slightly, you moved to his collarbone, biting it softly before stroking it with your tongue. the boy threw his head back, pressing further into the couch as his heart pumped impossibly fast.

while adjusting yourself in his lap to get a better angle, you felt something hard poking your thigh. smiling against his neck, you unclasped your hands that wrapped around his neck and let them drift down. your fingers danced across his chest and abdomen, landing at the waistband of his pants. you captured his lips in another searing kiss as you unbuttoned them clumsily.

before you could get to the last button, leehan pulled his mouth away from yours, large hands landing on top of yours on his crotch.

"are you sure about this? you're still kinda drunk." leehan asked breathlessly. he wanted you, that was without question, but the last thing he wanted to do was ruin your friendship because of some drunken impulsivity.

the corners of your lips curved upward as you looked at the boy catching his breath beneath you. you slipped off on his lap to sit on the floor, hands pushing his knees apart.

"leehan, i've wanted you for so long now. let me make you feel good." you cooed at him, and he moved his hands to help you slip his pants and boxers to his ankles.

his dick sprung out, tip red and leaking, and you spit into your hand lightly before wrapping your hand around the top half. leehan groaned as you ran your thumb over the tip, spreading his slick before giving him a few experimental strokes.

the boy was already shaking, sensitive and aching for your touch. after a few more pumps, you licked your lips and grabbed his hand with your free one, guiding his hand to your neck so he could hold your hair for you.

he complied in a daze, combing his fingers through your hair and holding it back, caressing your neck with his other hand.

you smiled up at him before leaning forward to kiss his swollen tip. something in your stomach burned when you heard him hiss, his grip on your hair tightening slightly.

you delicately wrapped your lips around him, brushing the tip with your tongue once before sinking your mouth further down on him.

a moan ripped through the boy as he felt the warm expanse of your throat. you took as much as you could, wrapping your hand around the last few inches. swallowing harshly, leehan used all of the strength he had to not thrust into your mouth.

you moved languidly on his dick, swallowing more and more. your other hand rested on his hip bone, and the boy removed the hand resting idly on your neck so he could hold your empty hand.

the feeling of your mouth full made you moan, the sound sending vibrations through leehan’s body. he tensed and writhed under you, eyes screwed shut. the sight of him unraveling underneath you only spurred you on even further.

you moved up and down on his length at a quicker pace, his tip hitting the back of your throat in a way that made your name spill from his mouth over and over.

he guided your head slightly so he could keep kissing that spot with his dick, eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head.

when you swallowed around him he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from screaming your name.

you could tell he was close by the way he squeezed your hand and the way his abdomen was tensing sporadically.

"where-" the boy stuttered, almost unable to think straight.

"can i cum in your mouth?" he managed to spit out between moans. you tried your best to nod, squeezing his hand.

as his climax approached, leehan’s whole body writhed and you pressed your hand down on his hips. breathing in deeply through your nose, you sank down and took almost all of him, his tip hitting the back of your throat roughly. that was enough to send him over the edge, and his whole body stilled as his vision went white.

his cum spilled into your throat and you gagged slightly before swallowing it all. dragging your tongue on his length, you removed your mouth from him with a pop.

you looked up at leehan as he caught his breath. giggling at his dazed state, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

“that was amazing” he breathed out, pulling you back onto his lap.

his hand cupped your neck as he pulled you in for a soft kiss, before pulling away and tucking some of your hair behind your ear. you smiled as you let him smooth down your ruffled hair and wipe the tears that had gathered in the corner of your eyes.

“gonna go get some water.” you lifted yourself from his lap slowly, stretching out your legs slightly before padding over to the kitchen.

you returned with a glass of water and a pair of oversized sweatpants from your room.

“do you wanna change? i think these might fit.” you asked, thrusting the pants forward in his direction. he stood up slowly, smiling at your gratefully as he nodded, grabbing the sweats and walking to your bathroom.

when he came back out, you were sitting on the couch mid-yawn, having changed into an oversized tshirt and some pj shorts.

turning to meet his eyes, you smiled and stood up. grabbing his hand, you led him to your room, slipping underneath the covers and holding them up so he could join you.

“wanna watch a movie?” your voice pierced the silence, and leehan chuckled. you were adorable. from how droopy your eyes were, he knew you wouldn't be awake for much longer, but he reached over to your nightstand and grabbed your laptop anyways.

after picking a movie, you placed the laptop on leehan's lap, snuggling against his shoulder. he wrapped and arm around you, pulling you into his side and resting his head on top of yours. you tangled your legs with his, sighing in contentment. leehan smiled down at you.

he was right -- within 5 minutes you were asleep, having shifted to lay down fully instead of leaning against your headboard. leehan smiled fondly at your sleeping form. he felt so lucky that you felt the same way about him as he did you.

setting your laptop away and plugging in your phone to charge, the boy shifted so he was laying down next to you, throwing an arm over you. you stirred slightly in your sleep, arms reaching out to hug him and cuddle into his chest.

…

you woke up before leehan, rubbing your bleary eyes. you were still sleeping against his chest, tilting your head up slightly to look at his sleeping face. he looked ethereal, hair mused slightly. as you reached a hand up to smooth down the messy strands, his eyes opened, a smile forming as he made eye contact with you.

"morning." his raspy morning voice made your cheeks burn. him leaning his head down to place a wet kiss to the side of your head didn't help either, and you were sure your ears were cherry red.

"i have an idea." the boy mumbled, and you tilted your head in curiosity. yawning, he tightened his hold on you, nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

"you should let me take you on a date today." you couldn't stop the grin from forming on your face, giggling. you nodded into his chest, pressing yourself further into him and breathing him in.

his fingers suddenly jabbed into your side, making you shriek. you laughed, pushing the boy away from you.

"i wanna hear you say it!" he said teasingly. you were trying and failing at swatting his hands away, eyes crinkling as you smiled.

"yes! yes! i'll go on a date with you." you exclaimed between giggles, sighing in relief as the boy finally stopped tickling you. he grinned, folding you back into his arms and tucking your head under his chin.

"let's sleep a little longer first."

…

while the two of you were still asleep, your friends sat in the dining hall, grabbing lunch.

"look what i have." belle spoke giddily, grabbing the attention of taesan, myungjae, shinyu, giselle, and ningning.

turning her phone around, she showed them a picture of you and leehan asleep in your bed. it was in the early morning, and you were cuddled into his chest.

"that's where he went!"

"i KNEW they were into each other."

"shinyu! you owe me $15 dollars."

it was safe to say the two of you received a plethora of text messages when you finally woke up.

[constantmourning]

Silly

[Buggy x AFAB!Reader]

Summary: Not being allowed in Buggy's meetings was hard, especially when you craved his attention. So, you came up with a foolproof plan on how to get his attention back on you.

Warnings: 18+! MINORS DNI! Fingering, finger sucking, thigh riding, Buggy calling you baby, not beta read

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Buggy got me in a chokehold... He's plaguing my mind... I've only watched OPLA, and haven't finished it just yet, so I do apologize if this is OOC.... I just want him, carnally. My friend sent me two prompts so this was formed from that!

“Please,” You ran towards one of Buggy’s crew members. “I need you to give this to Buggy.” You held an envelope.

“Um, he’s in a meeting…” She gave you a concerned look. “He said to not bother him-”

You pouted at her, “It’s so important! It’s for his eyes only! There is no way Buggy is going to let me in the meeting, considering what happened last time…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “But, really, this is important. He needs to see it.” The crew member narrowed her eyes, about to protest, “I won’t let him do anything to you! I promise! He’ll know what it means!”

She agreed. You thanked her. You hightailed it back to Buggy’s quarters, a smile pulling at your lips the entire time. You waited, and waited. And waited. Then you finally heard it.

Buggy’s wrath.

His scream rang through the ship and you grew giddy. You threw your clothes off and jumped into his bed, covering yourself up with just a sheet. You bit your lip in anticipation and waited for the door to open.

Buggy’s foot slammed into the door and it came swinging open. You smiled at him as you lay waiting. His for the taking. Buggy slammed his door.

“You sent me pictures of you naked while I was in a work meeting!”

His voice was full of anger. His fists were balled and you noticed crumpled papers in one of them. You stared at him with an innocent expression. You sat up and let the cover fall slightly, exposing your cleavage.

“They’re nice, aren’t they?” You cocked a brow at him. “The pictures.”

Buggy growled and your stomach flipped. He held up the photos and let out a guttural noise, and you were sure you could not get anymore wet. He took a step closer and you saw the two photos in his hands. One was your wanted poster, but instead of your face it was your naked body, head out of the shot. And the other was you lying on Buggy’s bed, also completely naked.

Buggy tensed, the papers crumpling in his hands. He looked at you with a darkness in his eyes you had not seen before, and it was extremely hot. “Alvida saw one.” His teeth were gritted.

“Oh!” That wasn’t supposed to happen… “What’d she think? Does she still think I’m ‘just a cutie’? Or is her opinion different now?”

“Why does her opinion matter?!” Buggy was on you in a matter of seconds, caging you in. 

You swallowed hard. "I mean, it doesn't I guess-" Buggy was inches from you, "I'm just being-"

"Silly?" Buggy asked, head cocking to the side. "You know, I really think you have forgotten what silly means…"

"No, not really," You speak without thinking, "how can I forget when you're so silly!" You smiled widely at him. Buggy did not move, he watched you unblinking.

Finally he threw himself off of you and stood up, grumbling, "You're just as bad as the lion…"

You pouted. Buggy was not looking at you though, he was looking at the crumpled pictures of your naked form. You leaned forward, pulling your knees up and pressing your chest to them. "I can make it up to you… after all, I am all yours." When Buggy turned to you, you continued, "I was being silly sending those, but fuck, Buggy! I'm so tired of feeling like an afterthought. You're with Alvida or scheming to get that map-" Buggy dropped the photos to his side and looked at you. "I just want attention sometimes." You placed your chin on the top of your knees and played with the cover.

The papers dropped from Buggy's grasp and he crawled back onto his bed. His gloved hand moved to your chin and he forced you to look up at him. "All you have to do is ask," his eyes stared into yours, his voice low and full of lust. "But I'm afraid I can't stand for the stunt you pulled today…"

"That's what you said last-" You stopped yourself. You did not want to ruin whatever it was Buggy was about to do.

"Hm?" Buggy was not going to let you be quiet. "When did I say that?" He questioned you. "When you decided to act out during the last meeting I let you in? When you were grinding against my thigh and you thought no one would notice?"

Your face was on fire. You nodded.

"And then-" Buggy was inches from you, "-you moaned so loud I had to kick you out?"

"I get it…" You looked away from him. You were just horny and needed an outlet and when Buggy wasn't giving you attention, what were you supposed to do? “My fingers just aren’t cutting it…”

“I can fix that,” Buggy smirked, eyes crinkled. “But, first-” He sat on the edge of the bed and motioned to his thigh. You cocked your head. “You’re going to get yourself off. On my thigh.”

You blinked. “No spanking?”

“‘Cause that worked so well last time, didn’t it.” Buggy rolled his eyes. “Come on, don’t be shy now.”

Your face, going down to your neck, was on fire. You scooted towards the other side of the bed and stood up, making your way towards Buggy. He smiled at you; a knowing, shit eating grin. Your heart jumped into your throat. You settled on Buggy’s clothed thigh and inhaled sharply. Your fingers moved towards your clit and Buggy was quick to grab your hand.

“No.” His voice was stern. “Use my thigh. Just my thigh.”

Your hands moved to his shoulders and you gave him a shocked expression. You swallowed hard and began to grind down. Your arms wrapped around Buggy’s neck and you looked down, noticing his pants becoming wet from your pussy. Buggy grabbed your chin and forced you to look up at him. He was smug to say the least.

Buggy moved one of his hands to your hip and helped you. His leg bounced slightly and you let out a whine. Your grinding continued, you only grew wetter and hornier as you did so. You wanted nothing but to be fucked and Buggy had you using his damned thigh.

“Tell me,” Buggy drawled out, “what do you want?”

“I need you.” You whined, still rocking and grinding. A heat pooling in your stomach. You pushed forward slightly and your clit rubbed against his pants. Your brain malfunctioned briefly. “I need you to touch me-”

“Just cum for me, baby,” Buggy whispered. “I’ll give you everything you want if you can cum for me.”

You let out a whimper and moved your hips faster. Your hips rolled and bucked into his thigh, each time you felt pressure on your clit you whined. Finally you could feel it, your orgasm was getting close.

“Buggy-” You moaned his name, eyes shutting tight, “I’m gonna-”

Buggy’s hands moved to your hips and he stopped you from moving. You froze. You let out a low whine and looked up at him. He cocked his head. “What?”

“Buggy!” You wanted to scream, “I was about to- I was-” You stuttered and stumbled on your words.

“I know, that’s what happens when you pull silly stunts.” Buggy smiled. “But, now… Do you want my fingers?”

You were going to go mad. You could not answer fast enough. “Please! Please, just touch me Buggy. I want to feel you.”

“Anything for you, baby.” Buggy brought his hand up to his mouth and bit his glove, pulling it off in one swift motion. He pulled his other glove off and placed his hands back on your hips. He flipped you easily onto the bed and was looming over you. He watched you for a moment while his hand slowly slid down your side. Goosebumps rose on your skin. Once he reached your pussy, you were sure you were going to combust.

One of his fingers slid into you and and your hips bucked upwards. His fingers reached spots yours could not. He knew what he was doing. Not like you didn’t. But Buggy’s fingers were a lot better than your own, by a long shot.

You wrapped your arms around him once more and pulled him closer to you, close enough for you to kiss his neck. He slid in another finger as you kissed his neck and he was easily making quick work of you. You were puddy in his hands, and he couldn’t enjoy it more. His fingers pumped in and out of you, before he found your clit and rubbed over it. Electricity jolted through you.

“Buggy- Mph!” You mewled for him, “I’m so close. Please-’ Please let me-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Buggy decided to be generous at that moment. All he said was “Okay,” and you were coming undone by his fingers alone. Buggy You bucked and cried and pulled Buggy as close to you as possible. Buggy laughed in your ear, and you arched back. Another cry escaping you Buggy started to slow down. He pulled his fingers from you and immediately, without seemingly thinking, popped his fingers in his mouth, sucking.

You watched him with wide eyes. His fingers popped out of his mouth and he smiled down at you. He lowered himself to your face. “You taste delightful dear… It’s a good thing we have all night.”

“You don’t have any other obligations?”

Buggy chuckled, “Not tonight. I’m all yours.” Buggy pushed himself up and over you. “And you are all mine.”

“All yours,” You agreed, nuzzling into him.

“Now, where did you get those pictures taken, hm?” Buggy questioned.

“That’s a secret.” You laughed. “A silly little secret.”

Buggy did not like that answer. He was going to get it out of you one way or another…

[giamee]

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐘!

╭─────────────────────── ( 🫀 )

there's a certain beauty and pain in being with someone carnally, and nothing more than that

› 〉 📂 .ೃ | friends with benefits, more angst than smut, like this is basically all angst no smut lol, kinda short too mb

header art (left to right) by pcrow ; artsquirre ; _sekidesu

╰─➤ 💌 ₍₁₎ being in a situationship is all fun and games until u catch feelings fr 😕. anyways. let's go thru that pain in this. lowkey i wanna make a part 2 to this with a happy ending cos im SOFT lmaooo

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 ALHAITHAM.

BEING IN... WHATEVER THIS RELATIONSHIP COULD BE CLASSIFIED AS was not good for your mental health. in the past weeks that you and alhaitham had started sleeping together, you had been plunged into one of the worst emotional rollercoasters that you had ever been on.

what didn't help was the way he treated you so differently depending on the setting. you understood not wanting people to know, but did he have to ignore you entirely in public?

he wouldn't even spare you a glance as you walk past each other in the halls, eyes stubbornly trained ahead, leaving you steamrolled in his icy trail. and if you dare to try and talk to him- he'd look at you like you've grown a second head, completely shunning you and walking away as quickly as possible.

but it's a different story behind closed doors- in private, he's the sweetest man alive.

he'll whisper such sweet nothings into your ear, wipe your tears so tenderly with his thumbs like a lover would. he'd prop himself up with an elbow just so that he can gaze into your eyes as he pushes into you, even smiling at you as he watches the way your expression changes.

and the way he kisses you is what really throws you- always with such desperation and urgency, like he needs you in order to breathe when it's quite the opposite. he kisses you like he loves you, and the sensation is dizzying, perplexing when those fantasies are ripped from you in favour of reality.

but you know that you won't ever be his. not properly.

if it was meant to be, he'd at least smile at you as he passed. the more rational parts of your brain screamed at you to call it quits before you're sucked in too deep, but some part of you still held onto the hope that one day he would see you then smile.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 THOMA.

IT TRULY HURT TO REMEMBER THAT you weren't actually dating thoma. it was easy to get fooled- he was a gentleman, making sure to treat you right even when you weren't fucking. he'd make sure that you were okay, and he never kicked you out as soon as it was over.

he'd ask about your day, take interest in you and what you're doing. and arguably, worst of all, he wasn't afraid to be seen with you. the details that blurred the lines defining your relationship seemed like an afterthought, if the way his arm wrapped around your shoulders indicated anything.

you were his, unofficially or not. it only took a glance to be able to tell.

you liked to think that he was yours, too. that you meant something to him- more than just a pastime and a stress reliever.

there were moments where it was easier to believe it- with the way his eyes remain transfixed on you as you writhe in pleasure, cries of his name leaving your lips- his little coos and reassurances buttering you up, having you right in his palm, so pliant and willing for him.

maybe he got off on knowing that he makes you feel good in every sense of the word. seeing you happy acting as some sort of foreplay, all so he can claim you as his in every way except the one that you wanted most.

the urge to tell him how you feel, those three little words that dangle on the tip of your tongue and fight to be freed, are a constant struggle. but something inside you, some sick gut instinct, stopped you from blurting it out every time.

the fear of his reaction- disgust? confusion? kept you uncertain. a part of you would die if he didn't reciprocate your feelings. it was better not to know, and keep living in the make-belief of being his without the label.

you could only hope that you would be proved wrong one day.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 WRIOTHESLEY.

DESPITE EVERYTHING, YOU COULDN'T HELP BUT crawl back to him every single time. a never-ending cycle- one that you couldn't escape even if you wanted to.

both of you knew how it goes. you unblock him, play coy for a few messages before he's telling you to come over. you fuck like it's the last time you ever will- it never is- and then you spend the night.

he'll hold you, play with your hair, even kiss you, and you pretend that it's enough. if you're lucky, he'll even lend you a shirt that smells of him to sleep in.

and this facade is fine- while it lasts. but then you remember why you blocked him in the first place- the forced indifference, his refusal to open up. the way it hurt your heart to be pushed aside.

and then you go and ask him what you mean to him. he'll smile at you without mirth, the both of you knowing how this conversation goes. he doesn't want anything serious. you want more.

and then it's tears, you ripping off his shirt and throwing it back at him, storming out of his place and blocking his number with shaking fingers.

you cry yourself to sleep in your cold and empty bed- already sorely missing the warmth of his body as he holds you close to him in his sleep, whether he's aware of that or not.

and you're fine, you tell yourself. you can live without him. and you do, for a little while. honestly, he's the last thing on your mind as you distract yourself with work or seeing your friends.

but then a lonely night gets the best of you, abd you find your finger hovering over the call button next to his name. and you press it, cursing yourself for doing it.

he picks up at the third ring, voice smug as if he knew you couldn't go much longer without him.

and he's right, unfortunately.

you're already out the door, on the way to his apartment.

𝜗𝜚 genshin impact masterlist

[linomilkers]

part 2 of the Minho/Felix/Reader threesome! Let me know if you want more!!

part 1

[warnings: oral (male receiving), kissing, use of the nickname 'Puppy', Felix and Reader being whores (endearing)]

ii.

Y/N and Felix are both filthy.

Minho had always known they were to some extent, from late night conversations and a few too many glasses of wine. It was one thing to hear about their perverted thoughts and lewd desires, and it was another thing to witness it -- to be apart of it. All it took was him agreeing for them to jump into it; there was no slow build up. The last few months with them had been the slow build up, when Minho thinks about it, every flirty comment and caress and short skirt or low riding sweatpants leading to this moment.

They both keep kissing him like they'll wither away if they don't; like the inside of his mouth has something to keep them alive. It's messy and wet, Y/N sucks on his tongue while Felix kisses down his throat, and Minho's cock throbs in his pants almost painfully. Their hands are everywhere on him, and they feel so similar to each other that he has trouble telling who is where. The only thing that even kind of helps him differentiate who is who was that Y/N dances with more feather light touches, skimming along spots that tickle while Felix was more firm, going for his nipples, the space above his waistband.

When Y/N needs a break to breathe, Felix replaces her, their tongues pressing together for a moment when they switch spots (Minho sees it, he has to close his eyes immediately after so he doesn't cum). She kisses Minho's cheeks, down the opposite side of his neck Felix was preoccupied with. In between sponging her lips to his throat, she murmured, "We wanna taste you," her hands pushed the hem of his shirt further up his chest, revealing his torso -- normally Minho is hesitant about letting others see his bare stomach and chest but he couldn't even focus enough to worry about it, "Can we? Wanna feel you in my mouth."

Felix parts so Minho could answer. He's blinking fast, like he's trying to make sure the image of them won't blur and fade away into the afterthought of an immaculate daydream. He nods and Y/N smiles wide, like he just told her he had a gift for her, and she wastes no time peppering kisses down his chest. Felix titters, low and warm, his voice sounds so much deeper like this, "Thank god," he drags his fingers through Minho's hair, threading through the strands, "If you'd denied her this, she probably would have cried."

"Shut up," she grumbled, her lips moving against his skin, "You want to just as bad." There's no heat behind their banter -- it's playful and practiced in a way that tells Minho they've done this before and it makes something burn in his chest. He'd never claimed not to be a jealous person, and the fact that someone else. . .potentially multiple people. . .have gotten to experience this in the way he is. . . .he has no right to be jealous but he is.

He definitely felt something for them, he could admit as much. What that something is he doesn't know, and he's never cared to explore it, but what he does know is that he feels comfortable with them. More comfortable than he's felt with many people, and he's let them in on aspects of his life that even his closest friends aren't privy to. One day he should probably dive into it, figure himself out.

One day, but not today. Today, he's going to enjoy this for all it's worth.

Y/N undoes his belt with deft fingers and wiggles the jeans down as Felix slips down to the space beside her -- he presses Minho's legs open further to accommodate the both of them more readily. The sight of them both between his thighs is enough to make his cock twitch again, throbbing hard in his briefs. They see it; Y/N coos excitedly, smiling wide when she leans in and noses at the bulge, "So cute," she murmured, while Felix drags his top row of teeth along Minho's thigh. Her tongue lulls from her mouth, the broad of it strokes along the fabric stretched over his erection and Minho gasps "Ahh, I wanna make you cum so badly."

Felix giggles, warm and low, and the hand he isn't using to grip Minho's calf reaches up to pet at Y/N's head, "She's kind of messy, Hyung," he warned blithely, "Acts like an overexcited puppy. If she's being too much you can scold her like one too, she likes that."

She whines but doesn't deny it, fingers snaking in the waistband of his underwear and pulling it down. Minho's cock rises, unrestricted by the fabric and she waits all of three seconds before opening her mouth wide and taking the tip between her lips. With a gasp, Minho's hips twitch, shoving him a little further inside and Y/N accepts it graciously, even when he gives a breathless sorry for the sudden movement. "You don't have to apologize," Felix supplies, slotting his fingers into her hair and gripping at the root, "She likes when you're a little mean. A disgusting little puppy, isn't she?"

Minho is gathering that Y/N likes the humiliation of it, or at least he hopes so, because Felix is hitting kind of hard with it. She doesn't confirm or deny whether she's into it or not because she's slurping and sucking him down like she was made for it. Felix combs his fingers through Minho's hair, brushing it back from his face -- he'd let it grow longer than he usually would. That may or may not be because when he said he was going to get it cut they both pouted at him and begged him not to, and he's nothing if not a sucker for a pretty face pleading with him.

"Lix," Y/N whines from between his thighs, her mouth just barely ghosting over the tip and when Felix hums in response, she huffs through her nose, "Come help me, he's too big to handle all by myself."

She's playing it up, sure -- Minho isn't small, but he isn't so huge that she couldn't handle him alone. Still, the words make his cock throb hard because he's only a man and the thought of someone thinking he was too big for anything sent him in a tizzy. Precum oozes from the tip, and Y/N licks it away just as fast.

Felix, chuckling, lowered from his spot half way on top of Minho and halfway on the couch. He slips down to the floor and squeezes beside Y/N in between Minho's legs. Minho has to close his eyes tight, his head tilting back as he took a slow, shaky breath, "Heyyyy," Y/N dug her nails into his thigh, "Watch us."

"I can't," he swallowed thickly, "I'll fucking cum immediately if I do."

"But --"

"Be nice Y/N," Minho can feel Felix's breath wash over his cock, and he twitches hard because of it, "Hm? Don't you want to be nice to our Minnie?"

It's so interesting, Minho thinks, how vastly their dynamic changes when this is the context. Y/N is normally the one guiding Felix but he does so with such efficiency right now, you would think it was like this all of the time. She listens to him too, easily, shown in the way that she stops whining and instead traces her tongue over the spot on his thigh where he knew her nails had left little claw marks. Like an unspoken apology, and Minho reaches out blindly, finding her head and stroking her hair, his silent, It's okay.

At first he isn't sure who licks him first, their tongue soft and flat, confidently sliding from the base to the tip. Then Y/N outs that it was Felix, a soft murmur of, "Is it good?"

"Mm," he feels a hand around the base, small, gentle, tilting it toward her, "Why don't you see for yourself?"

Y/N isn't hesitant, pulling the head of his cock between her lips with zero preamble and both she and Minho moan in tandem. She doesn't pull away, instead her tongue lulls around the tip like she's trying desperately to taste all of him. Minho does finally peek his eye open, because he has to -- when she's making noises like the one's she's making, he needs to see what she's doing, and god, it's filthy.

She's got just the head tucked into her mouth but she's not hovered over his lap in a way that obscure his view. No, Minho can see quite clearly how her lips encase just the tip, and how her eyes flutter closed when she experimentally suckles, drawing more precum into her velvety mouth. Her face is soft, her features scream nothing but content.

Felix still sits beside her, his gaze fond, his hand -- the one not on Minho's hip, is petting idly at the back of her head, down toward her nape, "You're being greedy, pup," he chided, "You want it all to yourself, hm? Want his cum to fill your filthy mouth?" She nodded, whining a pitiful sound, "And what about me?"

As if he'd just reminded her, her eyes flutter open and she opens her mouth, pulling away from Minho's cock. Spit and his juices cling to her lips, thin, web-like trails that bow and snap between them and her fucked out gaze lands on Minho for a moment before she pouted and looked at the brunette beside her, "Sorry Lix," she murmured, then opens her mouth obediently, despite Felix having said nothing.

Turned out he didn't have to, because apparently this is just a thing they did. Felix leans in and licks into her mouth, like he's tasting Minho off of her tongue. He sucks on it and her bottom lip, the hand on her nape firm, his fingers curled into her hair but Minho thinks that he probably wouldn't need to keep her still, she would have stayed put all by herself.

His cock twitches at the sight before him, another pearl beads up at the tip and trickles down the head like a tear, sad at being forgotten. Of course he doesn't have to worry about that with the two sluttiest (he says it endearingly) people he's ever met sat between his legs. Felix guides her over toward Minho, their lips still attached, and they stay attached, even when he's in between.

The head of his dick is between their lips as they kiss, and he throbs so violently he thinks it was probably felt through the whole block like a shift in the ground. They're soft, and filthy, and it's so wet as they pass him back and forth, slurping him up, then licking over each other's tongues, and someone's hands slide down to play with his balls, that are slick now, from all the spit dripping down his shaft. Minho is surprised by how long he'd lasted up to that point, but all it takes is for both of them to moan softly, like this alone was all they needed to get off, before he's cumming.

It was intense -- probably the most intense orgasm he thinks he's ever had in his life. His toes curl and his back arches and the first ribbon spurts from the tip between, high into the air. Y/N makes a sad noise, the same sound she makes if she drops part of her snack on the ground, and fixes her lips around him to catch the subsequent shots. But it seems like Felix had taught her a lesson in sharing because she doesn't keep it to herself, she opens her mouth and lets him lick it out of her, and jesus christ his cock doesn't show any signs of flagging. Not after he's finished cumming, the last bits of it drooling over the tip while they swallow and turn their attention back to him.

Both of their lips are swollen and red as they kiss up his torso, carefully avoiding is sensitive, still twitching erection. Y/N's fingers curl up in the fabric at the front of his shirt, and Felix sinks his hand into Minho's hair now, guiding him into a kiss. This time, Y/N patiently waits for her turn instead of whining -- she sponges kisses on his neck, against his drumming pulse, then up his jaw, and peckish, more tender kisses against his reddened ear and his cheeks.

Minho is overwhelmed in the best of ways, with Felix's tongue in his mouth and Y/N's lips all over him. Their hands smooth all over his chest, thumbing over his nipples, dragging their nails carefully over his hips, his stomach. They're delicate and soft and gentle. He moans -- he's usually not that vocal, but it's hard to keep himself quiet with how good this feels.

Whenever Felix parts from him, Minho gets one second to suck in a breath before Y/N's mouth replaces his. Y/N is more urgent now, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth, "Be careful with him," Felix murmured tenderly, and Y/N listens, her movements a little softer. Minho shivers when she parts her lips for him, lets him slip his tongue inside and lick the taste of himself.

When she finally backs away, Minho is sucking in lungfuls of breath, trembling. Felix coaxes Y/N over to his side of the sofa, and she carefully crawls over Minho's lap to get to him. She leans back against him, her back pressed to his torso, but she's sunk a little lower so her head is resting against his shoulder. Felix rolls the hem of her dress up over her hips, takes her thighs in both of his hands and pulls them both up, spreading her out and slipping them between the pits of her knees, "Look how messy her pussy is for you, Hyung," he murmured, and Minho really didn't need the direction, because he was already staring. The fabric was cotton and soaked through, he could see the outline of her puffy pussy right through it. His mouth watered and he blinked rapidly, biting on his bottom lip so hard he's surprised he doesn't chew right through it.

"Does your pussy always get this wet?" Minho inquired, but before Y/N could answer, Felix answers for her.

"Only when I bring you up," he pressed his cheek to the top of her head, smiling, "She thinks you're dreamy, don't you Puppy?"

"Mhm," Y/N agreed, "Will you -- will you fuck me please Min? I promise I feel good, Lixie always says I do."

Minho thinks, maybe he should play into it. He's usually much better equipped with a sharp, filthy tongue when it comes to sex but they had thrown him so completely off guard he'd lost his usual bluster and finesse. But he clicks his tongue, places his hands just below Felix's and lets his nails dig into the flesh of her thighs, "Is that right?"

"Yes, Hyung," his cheek is still pressed against her head, and the both of them are looking at him with such fuck me eyes that Minho could explode, "A warm, tight, wet hug -- she squirts too."

He trembled, scooting closer.

"I guess I'll have to feel for myself then."

[thetriplets3]

Hi I have a request! In Taylor's new song there's lyrics "in the world of boys, he's a gentleman" could you do something about matt or chris with it??

❝𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧❞

matt was the first person to show me what love looked like. i had only been in one relationship that lasted 5 months then he “got bored” and started seeing someone before he even broke up with me.

i had my fair share of blind dates my friends insisted on setting me up with but none of them left me feeling loved. i always felt like an afterthought on these dates. they walk in the restaurant and head to a table leaving me trailing behind like a lost puppy. they’d spend the whole night talking themselves and finding a way to make it about them barely letting me get a word in, and they’d always ask for separate bills. those were the better of the dates. some of them would text me all day telling me how excited they were to see me and as soon as it came time for our date i was met with radio silence. i sat at countless tables repeatedly telling the server “he should be here soon”. i was embarrassed to be in this situation, especially since it isn’t the first time it’s happened.

there were plenty of times guys showed they were really just boys.

the last date i was on the guy wanted to take me to a fancy restaurant, saying i deserved to be given the best treatment. that was a lie. i’d been waiting in this high end restaurant alone for nearly an hour waiting. all my texts to him asking where he was got left on read. i was feeling self conscious, suddenly aware of everyone giving me pitiful looks, i don’t belong here i stand out like a sore thumb and it’s very obvious i’ve been stood up. my phone buzzed, causing me to immediately pick up my phone hoping he’d finally texted me back. a sigh escapes my lips when i see it’s a text from nick checking in on me.

nick

sooo how’s mr fancy treating you??

me

he ain’t shit. i’ve been waiting for him for almost an hour i feel like an animal at the zoo being stared at this is fucking embarrassing

nick

wtfff that’s horrible i’m so sorry. men suck

me

correction boys suck

nick

i say give him 20 minutes, if he doesn’t show up by then, leave

✿

~third person pov~

what she didn’t know is that nick had mentioned her situation to his brothers and without hesitation, matt headed to his room and changed into nicer clothes. nick and chris weren’t shocked when they saw matt all dressed up and heading out the door without a word. they know their brother would do anything for that girl, which is why he told her to wait, knowing matt would be there in minutes.

she has been by their side since grade 4. her and matt have always been closer than she was with the other boys. they were the perfect pair, they were meant for each other, just too shy to say anything. they didn’t need to admit anything though, their feelings showed through their actions.

matt pulled up to the restaurant and quickly made his way in scanning the dimly lit room for her beautiful face. within seconds his eyes meet her heartbroken face. he practically sprinted towards her, out of breath and ready with a fake excuse as to why he’s late.

hearing heavy quick steps in her direction, the girl whips head up only to be met with the person she really wanted to show up. a smile replaces her frown as she gets up, shimmying the hem off her dress down, and meets matt’s open arms.

“i’m so sorry i’m late, chris hurt himself so i had to bring him to the hospital. i would have texted you but my phone died and i was too panicked to try and call you” he says loud enough for people around to hear, before pulling her chair back to let her sit and tucking it in before seating himself. “once they saw chris i left and came straight here. i really didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long. i’m sorry love” he says, eyes boring into hers with sincerity.

“that’s okay you’re here now. i’m glad you were there to help him” the girl said, playing along with his story.

after finally eating, he paid for their meals and led her to the exit of the building with a gentle hand on her lower back. before heading outside he took off his jacket and put it on the girl.

“it’s cold out” he softly started, before holding the door open for her as she walks out the door with a true smile and a growing blush on her cheeks.

“thank you matt you didn’t have to do that. i was perfectly okay with leaving and getting an uber” she said as she gave him a hug and placed a delicate kiss to his cheek.

“you might have been okay with doing that but i’m not. you don’t deserve to get stood up and you got all dolled up i’d be mad at myself if i didn’t come here and just let you sit there even longer looking all pretty with no one there to appreciate you. i’d do anything for you in a heart beat, you know that” he said before holding her warm face in his hands, his eyes searching hers for approval. with a subtle nod and a glimmer in her eyes he wastes no time placing a sweet and loving kiss to her lips.

✿

~reader’s pov~

it wasn’t long after that night when matt asked me to be his girlfriend. he makes sure to show me everyday what it’s like to truly be loved. it’s the little things; subtly switching sides with me if we’re about to pass a group of creepy men or drunk boys; he’ll reach his hand behind him if he’s in the middle of a conversation or busy with something to hold my hand, letting me know he hasn’t forgotten about me; he always has extras of things i use often with him either in his car, his room or his backpack he’s got it. if my hairs bothering me and i forgot a hair clip or hair tie, he’s got one clipped to his bag and a hair tie around his wrist. if i need lip balm he’s got about 3 with him at any point, and he gets a taste of the strawberry lip balm each kiss, he can’t complain; knowing how clumsy and spatially unaware i am, any time i bend down to get something his hand is right there to stop me from bumping my head on it. he’ll brush my hair and attempt to braid it which usually ends up with him just playing with my hair, knowing how relaxing i find it. he can read me like a book he knows me better than anyone else and he’s always one step ahead of me, going that extra mile.

he makes me feel seen like no one has done before. i am his never ending thought, never an afterthought, like every boy made me feel like i was. matt has shown me what it’s like to be loved, i don’t know why i put up with being treated poorly for so long.

he’s a gentleman in a world full of boys

(not the lyrics but close enough)

taglist:

@antisocialties @iluvmatt @dwntwn-strnlo @fake-coolbeans @opheliaofficial07 @angelcake-222 @oneirophobic @strniolo @lollibumblebee @ssturniolo @20nugs @abbie13sworld @strniolo @luvsturniolo

[bettyfrommars]

Handcuffs & Crab Rangoon

(also known as How I Met Your Mother)

playgirl!Eddie x Reader

By Request! From this ask, directly inspired by this delicious artwork by @sporelium (run don't walk if you haven't seen it yet) but also inspired by the 1995 Peter Steele Playgirl cover. Peter notoriously kept his joystick hard for most of the 6-7 hour shoot because he thought readers of the magazine would enjoy it more than if it were flaccid (I'm fine either way, but damn, thanks baby). wc: 4.3k

18+Only, mature content, smut, rockstar!Eddie, oral (f receiving), protected p in v, reader wears overalls, pet names, fingering, mention of Eddie's scars, accidental edging, sex on the job, sneaky sex, she/her is used once, no y/n, reader is a tough cookie, but Eddie is magic. It is the mid-90's.

Playgirl!eddie afterthoughts

---------

You’d been helping out a photographer for risqué magazine shoots as an assistant for almost 5 months now.  It was the fourth job you had just to keep yourself afloat while trying to live an independent life in LA. To make it in show business you had to be extremely talented, drop dead gorgeous, backed by generational wealth, or just plain lucky, and you were none of those.  So, you broke your back to make ends meet while taking night classes and working on the script you were writing with two other friends.

The studio loft on the second floor was an expansive space with windows overlooking the industrial district all along the wall.  Sasha, the photographer, stood adjusting her camera on the tripod, while the makeup artist touched up the rockstar you were working with that day, and Need You Tonight by INXS played low from the radio on a nearby shelf.  

You saw him from the back first; long, dark wavy hair hanging down over the white robe he wore to protect his modesty for the time being.  You noticed that his hands were strong and calloused as they hung at his sides.  June, the makeup artist, was on a step stool to blot his nose with powder and fix the crown of his hair.  

June saw you coming and introduced you, causing Eddie to turn on his heel, tightening the sash on his robe as he did.

You sucked in your bottom lip to hold back a whimper at the zing you felt when his warm hazelnut eyes met yours.  His full, soft lips parted in greeting, a long strand from his bangs bouncing on his eyelash, his gaze rolling over you from head to foot indulgently.

Of course, you’d heard of rock star Eddie Munson from Corroded Coffin. At one of your other jobs, a girl you worked with had his magazine cutouts taped to the inside of her locker.  Last year, he was Cher’s date to the Grammys.  He was getting ready to go on tour, and procuring tickets was all any of your friends could talk about.

But, goddamn, he was much better looking in person than any tabloid or tv show could've ever prepared you for, and the chemistry vibrating in the space between the two of you was palpable.  

“Eddie…Munson, you say?” You squinted, as if you were trying to place him, like the name sounded familiar but you didn’t know why while June fixed the back of his hair. “Football player, right?”

The tip of his tongue sipped out to wet his lips, curling one side of his mouth up in a half grin.  “I love a girl who knows her sports.”

There were a few loaded seconds there when the two of you just sank into a sexually charged stare-down, both unwilling to budge.  

Sasha called your name, snapping you out of it.  She came over to let Eddie know what your role was, and encouraged him to let you know if there was anything you could do to help him relax.  She finished explaining a few things to him while you brought over a glass of lemon water.  

Sasha walked away and he took a sip, keeping his eyes on you over the glass, smirking.

“What?” you mirrored the smirk.  “This will be such an easy job for me because I know you rockstars don’t have any problem taking your cocks out and being admired in public.”

“Oh, you know me, huh?” He challenged.

You worked your jaw, pussy clenching, wondering what he looked like out of his robe.  “You’re all the same, aren’t you? Arrogant, over-sexed, and too pretty for your own good.”

“Well, you got me on the pretty part,” he winked.  “But nah, I’m not a rockstar.  I’m just a small-town freak who got lucky and, this has all been fucking overwhelming to tell you the truth.”  Eddie was tall, with broad shoulders, and your mouth dried up a little at the tattoos on his forearms that peeked out from under the sleeve of the robe.

You took the glass from him when he was finished.  “We have the small town thing in common, at least,” you said with an incline of your head.

It was time to get started, but even as Sasha motioned him over, he paused next to you, so close that the ends of his hair grazed your shoulder.  “So, if I can’t get relaxed on my own, then that means you have to help me?”  He whispered it, but forcefully, so you could feel his warm breath on the side of your head.  You could smell the mix of spearmint and tobacco.

Keeping your eyes straight ahead, you swallowed hard as the woodsy spice of his scent hit your nostrils.  “I’ll do my best for you, Mr. Munson,” and then you dared to glance up, your breath hitching as he unfastened his robe and lowered it from his shoulders right in front of you, only a few feet away.  

You tried not to show emotion because you knew he was watching, but you closed your mouth to keep a yearning mew from escaping.  There were tattoos scattered around his defined muscles, but there were also fascinating scars like floral blooms along his neck, chest, and stomach. Your eyes ached to travel down to the V-shape that cut into his hips and the treasure below, but you refused to give him the satisfaction.  Not yet anyway.

You were just about to tell him he could keep the robe on until he was comfortable, but he threw the article of clothing over for you to catch.  “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.”

Half of the people Sasha photographed were too shy to take the robe off right away, and maybe Eddie would have hesitated in other circumstances, but you had a strange feeling he was doing this for you.  If Sasha wasn’t asking him to look at the camera, his eyes were always banking in your direction.  

“I think we should try the handcuffs,” Sasha said to the room, but mostly to you.  

You made your way over to where the props were, knowing that Eddie’s eyes were keeping pace, and playfully dangled the silver cuffs from your thumb and forefinger as you retrurned, wiggling your eyebrows; a gesture he was happy to return. 

“Front or behind?” You asked Sasha.

“Behind for now,” she answered.  “You okay with that Mr. Munson?”

“My god,” he chuckled, putting his hands behind his back for you to have easy access to the tender skin of his wrists.  “Call me anything but Mr. Munson.  Eddie is fine.”

You always tried to keep things very professional, but not only that—you’d been around so many naked bodies, they all started to look the same to you.  This was your job, and mostly it never even occurred to you to see the models in a lustful way..  You never let your eyes hover too long on the private parts of your clients; maybe just a glance and that was it.  But the job of fastening Eddie’s handcuffs had you taking in the firm structure of his ass like it was a visual last meal.  

You stroked your finger a few times in his palm.  “Is that too tight?” 

The combination of your touch and the way you whispered gave him chills in the best way possible and his fingers flexed, as if trying to reach out for you.  “I hope you have a key for these things,” he mumbled.

“I do,” you assured him.  “But I’m about to swallow it.”

“Hey,” he hushed over his shoulder before you could walk away.  “Should my dick be hard for this?”

You wanted to kiss his arm, you wanted to bite it.  Instead, you put your hands together and intertwined your fingers.  “Do you want it to be?”

Eddie lowered his chin, voice barely audible.  “Are you offering to help, sweetheart?

Sasha took a few more photos as he was, standing to the side, eyes flicking to where you stood behind Sasha’s shoulder.  When it was time for you to take the handcuffs off, Eddie stretched his hands, turning to face front. “No chick wants to look at a flaccid dick when they buy magazines like this,” he announced.  “Give me a second to…get ready? If you know what I mean?”

While Sasha and June went out for a smoke break, Eddie put his robe on, and headed for his private dressing room, but he paused in the door and turned to find you. His eyebrows popped up a few times,  motioned with his hand down low for you to follow him in.  You knew  you could lose your job for fornicating with Eddie during a photo shoot, but at that moment, you couldn’t have cared less.

Once you were in, Eddie closed the door and leaned back against it, his robe falling open.  He clutched a fist into the front of your overalls, pulling you closer.  Your fingertips feathered down the ridges of his scars, thumb caressing over his missing nipple, and he jutted his head forward to meet your mouth, but you were too fast, dropping to your knees to taste his cock, taking your job and his request a bit too seriously.  

“Wait,” Eddie sank his hand around your throat, guiding you back up to full height.  “Kiss me first,” he swiped the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip.  “And then you can kill me.”

While the tiny person in charge of your brain ran around inside your skull screaming, your  lips met his, tips of tongues introducing each other first, and then echoed moans, opening wide to take each other deeper.

“I know what will get me hard,” he told you in a breathy rush.  “Take these off,” he motioned to the overalls you were wearing.  “And sit on the counter.”

He walked forward so that you would back up, his hands supporting your waist.

You looked back at the counter top. “But we don’t have much time to—” 

“I don’t need much time,” he said, swatting a stool out of his way so it crashed to the ground.  “I want you in my mouth.”

You shivered and obeyed, unhooking your overalls, letting them fall to the floor.  You were in nothing but a tank top now, ass on the cool edge of the Formica, and he pulled your underwear down your legs, salivating and biting his lip as he did so. 

 “Fuuuuck, you are so wet,” He pushed your knees wider with his strong arms and sank his tongue into your glistening folds, flicking the nub a few times.  “Did you get this wet just for me? Hmmm?”

“Yes Eddie,” you whimpered, bracing yourself on the beige counter next to the vanity, watching him drag his chin all the way up your slit, and then pull and twist his tongue down, darting it into your hole.  His eyes met yours again, his mouth latching onto your sweet spot and sucking there.  You wrapped your legs over his shoulders and sunk your heels into his back.

His fingers dug into the meat at your hips, his mouth diving deeper, sucking in while his tongue flicked. He reached a hand down between his legs and started stroking himself, getting more and more turned at the way you were gasping and twitching.

You grabbed the top of his head.  “Fuckkk Eddie fuck just like that.”

His eyes were closed now while he devoured you, but the look on his face spoke of how seriously he took the task, rolling his tongue and working you in a way that made your eyelids flutter and a choke catch in your throat.

But then there came a knock at the door.  

It was Sasha, and thank god she didn’t try the doorknob because you hadn’t locked it in your frenzy to get on Eddie’s joystick.  . 

“Coming!” You shouted nervously, dropping to your feet, stepping into your underwear and then your overalls.  

Eddie sucked in his bottom lip, licking what was left of you from his mouth.  He caught your elbow as you were fastening the second clip.  “Can we finish this later?”

The way he asked it was almost shy, as if his face hadn’t just been between your thighs.  Meanwhile, your engorged pussy was soaking your underwear, begging to be finished.  You saw that his chin was still wet from your arousal and whisked some of it away with your thumb.

He bent to let his lips graze at your ear as he closed his robe. “I like the way you taste.”

Back out on the floor, you let Sasha know that Eddie was talking your ear off about something, but that he would be out any second.  Sasha and June exchanged a look, mostly in regards to the way the straps of your overalls were all twisted and buttoned wrong, but neither one of them addressed it.

When Eddie came out and took his robe off again, he was hard, rolling his big hand around the head a few more times as he got on the prop bed that was there for the next set.  There was a model named Cindy in lingerie there to be in the shots with him, and you felt a jealousy rise in you that didn’t make any sense.  It rose so hot in your gut while their mouths hovered inches apart, pretending they were about to kiss, that you had to look away.  Every so often, he’d glance over at you while he had his cock in his hand, determined to keep the beast hard, and you wondered if he was thinking about having his tongue inside of you.

Because, you were definitely thinking about it.  You took a little private time around the corner just to touch yourself through your denim, working your fingers at your core, wondering if you should just finish yourself off and be done with it just as Sasha finally called for another smoke break.

You tried not to be too obvious, casually strolling back to Eddie’s dressing room, making sure the model Cindy was comfortable and fetching her the sparkling water she asked for while Love Bites by Judas Priest played on the radio.

Eddie was already in there waiting, yanking you inside by the wrist so he could lock the door, planting hot, hungry kisses down along your neck. 

You dropped your overalls like they were on fire, caressing his hard length in a way that made him moan. “I need you so fucking bad,” you breathed, pulling your tank top up and over your head so that you could be flush with his skin, to feel the ridges of his scars.  “That last set was almost two hours,” you were still talking as he backed you further into the room.  “How is your cock still hard?”

His fingers slipped down through your folds and he hissed at the way you were dripping.  “Just the thought of this, sweetheart.”

There was a floral couch against the wall and when your calves met with it, you plopped down into the cushion and Eddie followed, knees to the wood floor, wrapping his arm around your thighs to take your sweet bud into his mouth again, teasing it with his nose first.

“Fuck fuck Eddie, I’m already so close,” you took a fistful of his beautiful hair, careful not to mess it up too bad and bucked against his mouth.  “You’re so good, I love it when your tongue fucks me.”

Your hole was clenching around nothing, needing more, and that was when two of his fingers slid in, the ones with the chunky metal rings, they stretched you out suddenly, making you curse with pleasure.  Eddie zig-zagged his tongue rapid fire over  your clit, groaning at the way your hole gripped his fingers.  His cock was leaking pre-cum and he thrust his hips into the couch as he felt your walls begin to ripple.

“Fuck Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum…so hard….” the orgasm seemed to snap your body in two, pulsing a waves of pleasure up your spine, making your mouth freeze open on a sharp inhale.  And then you were babbling, “cummincumming so hard, Eddie!”

“Turn over,” he demanded in a deep voice once you were able to catch your breath.  “I need to clean you up.”.

And so you got on your knees facing the wall and held onto the back of the couch, trembling at the way he spread your cheeks and lapped you up all along your drenched slit.

“We’re ready if you are!” Sasha called from out in the studio making you spin around.

“Oh shit,” you breathed, looking down at how swollen and ready his cock was.  “I can’t leave you like this.”

“I can wait, sweetheart,” he mumbled, standing to pull his robe back on and offer you his hand, tossing his hair back over his shoulder.

By the time the photo shoot was over, Eddie would’ve been edging his release for over 4 hours, and he didn’t seem phased at all about it.

It was time for the handcuffs again.  Eddie wanted a cigarette, and Sasha encouraged him to have it in a seat by the window and she’d get a few shots of him there.  He held his wrists close together in front of him while you secured the cool metal, his chocolate orbs fixed on your face.  He liked how your fingers quivered as you cuffed him, and his erection had finally softened enough to not be obnoxious, but it was still making your mouth dry up with desire.

He wanted to light the cigarette himself, so you passed him the lighter.  He spread his legs, hitching one heel up on the leg of the chair, exposing the patch of hair at the base of his cock and around his balls 

“That’s perfect,” Sasha told him, finger tapping on the shutter button, producing a blast of fast clicks..  

You glanced up at the clock, knowing your time with Eddie would be over soon.  Cindy the model could’ve gone home, but she’d decided to stay and wait to watch the rest of Eddie’s shoot, her eyes sparkling with lust.  Maybe she would be the one to get Eddie off and not you.  She was physically more what you assumed his “type” would be since, in your mind, all rock stars were the same.

You didn’t have to wonder for long which woman he’d rather fuck, because he was eyeballing you from across the room as he put his robe on and said a few last words to Sasha.  The dressing room door was hidden around the corner and down the hall, but you decided not to follow him straight in like you had the last two times; your carnal needs were making you sloppy.  This time, you went out into the stairwell to the back entrance and knocked, hoping he would get the hint because it only opened from the inside.  Eddie pushed it open with a hard metal clank, and then your hands were in his hair, and wordlessly the two of you fell into each other.  He was doing the work of unfastening your overalls while you were coherent enough to ask about condoms and he presented a string of them out of the pocket of his robe.

“You came prepared,” you stumbled over your clothes, yanking your shirt off as you went.

“Nah,” Eddie cocked his head.  “I had my gofer bring me these.  The guy is quick.” 

“How do you want me?” You kissed down his chest, flicking his one salty nipple with your tongue, making him groan.

He ripped one of the condoms off the pack and tore it open with his teeth, and then spat the paper edge out.  “I need to be able to see your face,” he crashed his nose against yours diving in for another kiss.

“Sit,” you told him, urging him back into the wooden chair in the corner of the room.  It was right next to a full length mirror so he could watch you fuck him from the side if he wanted to. There were no arms on the chair, and he complied, licking his lips, eager for whatever you had in mind while he rolled the condom on.

You kicked  your leg over him like you were mounting your motorcycle and sat your hungry, soaking hole down on the tip of his cock.  Eddie took hold of your hips and guided you down, releasing one long moan as you went.  You whined, coming down flush with his lap, his cock stretching you out in a way no one ever had before, settling yourself first before you began to move.  You pushed up from the balls of your feet, riding him, and Eddie clamped a hand onto each of your ass cheeks, creating a rhythm, using his strong arms to help lift and lower you.

Your foreheads came together as you moved, hard nipples grazing his chest. You watched him grit his teeth and gasp.  “Damn, you’re so tight.  I’m close, I’m so fucking…close,” he bit out.  

Your clit rubbed against his patch of hair as you worked, and it wasn’t long before you began to hiccup with the contraction of your own release.  Never in your life had you cum this soon and this close together.  “You’re gonna make me cum again, oh my god.”

“Yeah?” He pulled his head back.  “Look at me.”

You met his eyes as you bounced, his hips snapping up to meet you every time you bottomed out.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly, finding the yearning in his stare too much to handle.  “Like, right now, right…fuck, Eddie I’m cumming!” Your head dropped to his shoulder while the tremors rolled through you, walls squeezing his cock, making his toes curl and his hips jerk erratically, the chair legs squeaking from his weight.

He held you flush to him, his release hot and plentiful; so much so, he might’ve worried about the integrity of the condom if he hadn’t been so pussy drunk on the way your hole was still clenching him like a fist.  You locked your chest to his and he caged you with his arms, locking you there.

Your knees threatened to turn to butter and betray you as you dismounted the ride of your life, both of you finding the footing to scramble around and retrieve your clothes. Eddie could stay in the dressing room as long as he wanted, but you? You were only a shell of the employee you normally were that day and you feared that Sasha was probably coming to look for you at that moment, ready to tell you to take a hike.

Eddie pulled his shirt down over his head, adjusting it over his jeans and flipped his hair from out of the collar. You snapped the first buckle on your overalls and gave him a tilt of your head. “Hey stranger, I almost didn’t recognize you with clothes on,” and then you fixed yourself in the mirror quickly before planting one more kiss on him on your way to bolt for the door.

“Hey, wait,” he called out, making you turn around. “Is that it? This is goodbye?”

Eddie Munson was a beautiful rockstar. Eddie Munson was in music videos on MTV. Eddie Munson could have any woman he wanted in the world, single or taken, and so no---you hadn’t expected more to come from this. You thought maybe he had a new fuck for every day of the week and you just happened to fall into his lap at the right time when he was bored and had some time to kill.

“Did you need anything else?” You asked it in your professional assistant voice, your work voice, and put your hands in your pockets to patiently wait.

He sat down on the couch to put his Converse on, absorbed in his task as he spoke to you. “My hotel is just up the street. Are you busy tonight? We could have dinner. Anything you want, my guys will get it for us.”

“I’m busy tonight,” you lied.

“What about tomorrow?” He pushed, tying the next shoe. “I wanna hear more about this small town you grew up in. I’ve really been missing home lately.”

You softened. “I refuse to believe you are anything but a spoiled city boy.”

He stood to his full height, stretching his chest, and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, giving you a shrug and a familiar smirk. “Just think about all the ways I could prove you wrong if you came to hang out with me tonight. I might even surprise you.”

You got all awkward for a bit, fighting with yourself over why you weren’t on your knees begging for this man. Regardless of your silence, he found an old receipt for a tin of mini mart pretzels in his pocket and wrote his room number and hotel on it.

Passing it to you pinched between his two fingers, he added without meeting your gaze, “I’d really like to see you again.”

But then Sasha was calling for you, needing help with equipment, and you were scurrying out of the room with your heart in your throat.

You paused with your hand on the doorknob. “Crab Rangoon?”

Eddie scoffed. “What did you call me?” He was jutting his arms up into the sleeves of his leather jacket when you favored him a glance over you shoulder.

You swiveled to face him and made a circular gesture with your hand as if the implication was universally understood. “If there happens to be some crab Rangoon at your hotel tonight, I will stop by.”

Eddie’s face was blank, totally unreadable for a few seconds, and then a smile teased at the corners of his mouth, crept across his face, and jumped to his eyes. He gave a nod, “crab Rangoon it is then.”

---------

[thatfanficstuff]

For the writing ask _

😀😝 xo

Oh, I love this gif. Thanks for sending it!

***

Angry

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

When you broke up with Elijah Mikaelson you'd expected many things from him. Disappointment, irritation or maybe even indifference. What you hadn't expected was his anger.

He didn't yell or argue, he simply narrowed his eyes and walked away. Every time he saw you after that he stared with a clenched jaw and sharp gaze. No words had been spoken between you since that night three weeks ago.

Now you were spending the evening with his siblings at Nik's request. After an hour or two, Elijah disappeared. Once you noticed, you rolled your eyes. Really. The man was a thousand years old and was acting like a toddler. Frankly you were tired of it.

"I'll be back," you told the hybrid.

He smirked and took a sip of his drink. "Take all the time in the world, love. None of us are going anywhere anytime soon."

You shook your head and left the room to head to Elijah's personal library. It was technically his study but there were far too many books for it to be anything other than a library.

You stepped into the room without knocking and shut the door behind you.

Elijah stood at one of the windows with a drink in his hand and his back turned toward you. "Why are you here?" he asked after a long beat of silence.

"Why are you so angry?"

His head snapped in your direction with a look of confusion on his face. "You can't be serious."

You arched a brow and shrugged.

His long strides ate up the space between you until he was standing right in front of you. "Perhaps you recall the ending of our relationship."

"Of course, but I don't see why you are upset about it. It's not as if you were invested in the relationship. I needed more. I told you that." What you didn't say is that you were head over heels in love with the man in front of you. That you had cried for weeks before finally ending the relationship.

Sure, he called you his girlfriend. He bought you trinkets and spent time with you when he could be bothered. And that was the problem. You were an afterthought. A woman that filled a role and the space by his side when he needed to keep up appearances. And it wasn't enough for you. Not anymore.

He pointed at you with the hand holding his glass. "Not invested? You think I wasn't invested?"

You just looked at him, uncertain what answer he was looking for.

He sighed and set his glass down on the table beside him. "This. This is why I am angry." He studied the floor for a moment before looking back up at you. "I am angry with myself for ever making you feel that way."

You sucked in a little breath, surprised at his words. He gave a sad smile and stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hands cupped your face as he looked you over.

"You are the center of my universe. My entire being revolves around you and I am devastated for ever letting you believe that it doesn't." He licked his lips as his eyes darted down to yours before looking back up. "Please, please, come back to me and let me love you the way you deserve."

You saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "I love you so much, Elijah. But I can't do this if you don't love me the same. No more pushing me away. I won't survive the heartbreak a second time."

His lips pressed against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. After a long moment, he pulled back only to lay his forehead against yours. "I swear to you, I will never give you reason to doubt me again."

A/N: so this turned out way longer than expected.

[chihoshisai]

Guitarist Ace

Ace x Reader

Part 1

cw : self-sabotaging Ace, drinking, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, cursing, Ace needs serious therapy // wc : 3.8K // I'm really loving toxic guitarist Ace to the point i'm planning on writing more of him ♡

tagging : @littleleelee @taylor4taytay @seillarium @acpola01

A Drowned Temper Part 2

Ace wasn’t sure when he blacked out. But when he did wake up, the harsh colors of sunset were creeping all around his apartment. Irritating every cell in his body as he winced while the feeling of consciousness regained him. His brain thumped in his head. His eyes burned. Everything seemed to feel too bright or too noisy. And worst of all, the wretched heated sensation that started to make its way up from his stomach to clog at his throat, before getting released once his head had found the toilet bowl. God, he just wished for every part of his body to stop throwing a tantrum and behave so he could get ready to go on about his business. 

Right, now that his emotional probation day had passed, now that he had drunk away his feelings, it was time for things to get real again. The routine — head to his part-time job, go to the studio to practice and maybe hit the bar with his friends. Practice being the highlight until the time they settled for dripped away. Which was a mere two to three hours. As for food? A mere afterthought. Whenever he had time to grab a bite or two in between transit from one place to another. Things were too hectic for him to slow down. 

In all honesty, with the way his body felt, almost like it was mutilated, Ace did not have enough willpower to think about you. Nor about the things he had said that had driven you to exit his apartment with a rainfall of tears staining your features. Right now, all he could do was dissociate. Put his brain on autopilot, and do the things he usually did when he wasn’t completely wasted. 

The truth was that he feared to take a step back, to consider and analyze things, and that in turn he would come to realize the ugly truth behind his reality. That he needed help. But why ask or seek for it when dreams and opportunities are right around the corner? Why sacrifice lifelong efforts just because you’re having a hard time? Ace was the type to suck it up, letting it explode inside of him rather than coming to terms with his weaknesses. Even if one of them was you. He owed you not one, but many apologies for his shitty behavior. And even if he wasn’t ready to properly own up to it, what with refusing to change and treat himself better, then he’d make up for it with what he did best. Music. Signing, flowers, soft yellow fairy lights mixed with an astonishingly sweet and romantic candlelight homemade diner. The perfect combo that he would accompany with pleading eyes as the cherry on top.  

Yet again, you weren’t the priority right now. Finding pain relievers was. 

Ace busied himself through a disheveled morning routine — a quick shower, the first clothes he saw and the usual skipping of breakfast as the finishing touch. He would make it up to you eventually. He truly would. But only after the storm that raged inside him and between the two of you yesterday had passed. After all, you were his brightest light of hope and inspiration.  

Eventually he made it outside, grunting under the sunlight that discomforted his still present hungover. He survived work, as easy going as it was by working in an instrument shop and using his expertise to guide the clients that wandered in. Work was a breeze of fresh air for Ace. A way to connect and be in constant proximity with his interest while also not being too demanding. And let's not forget the discount, a blessing for not only him but also to his members, providing a comfortable cushion for the otherwise rigid budget spent on instruments and tech. Surprisingly, the pay was good and for some reasons the tips he received were even greater. It was a given that he was attractive, even if he never considered himself that way, but Ace preferred to believe that his sales skills were the cause rather than suspecting his appearance.  

With the relief that work had brought on the sensitive body of Ace, late afternoon had managed to come by and announce the end of his shift. As such, he bid farewell to his coworkers and headed to the studio, his feet's dragging along the sidewalk with the nearing of his demanding reality. He sighed, sliding his hands in his pocket, thinking how positive he had to be for the infinite time in front of his band. It was so so fucking exhausting. If not for his believing in his skills and worth, along with his member's, he would've screwed the whole thing a long time ago. Most probably spiraling in the unknown reality that would've welcomed him like a cold shower. Hanging in there was hard. But giving up and trying to pick things up again after some time, with the past possibly repeating itself like chains pulling you down, seemed even harder. Scarier in fact. 

Therefore Ace readjusted the guitar case on his back, feeling it heavier than usual as it was the reminder of his journey, clenched his jaw and instead thought ahead for which way to uplift his friend's mood. 

The studio in which they regularly performed was situated upstairs with the first floor being for dancing, giving off a cool air with its black walls while also looking quite elegant with leather couches in the lobby. Ace arrived with a yawn that quickly got replaced by his customer service smile upon greeting the manager and a slight bow once learning that the price had been paid and the others were already inside. 

However, the true colors that etched at his heart quickly clawed their way to his face once his back had been turned to the lobby's counter. And it was with a scowl that Ace led his feet amidst the corridor, recognizing each door with the inhabitant it housed as a potential threat before stopping in front of one. The only threat behind it being himself. At least once he had stepped in. And his members also. If we forget the other bands and the industry, the greatest obstacle an artist could face was inevitably themselves. 

With those last thought echoing in his mind like a warning to give his all for the upcoming three hours, Ace's lungs found themselves rising before emptying themselves of all the inhaled air and consequently providing a counterfeit comfort to his nerves, before a firm hand opened the door to allowed the muffled voices and instrument symphony to pass through the forged smile that stretched Ace’s lips. 

There it was again.

The subtle stolen glances of worries. The averting gazes when confronted by eye contact. The pretending to appear busy by fiddling with the instrument. The compassionate smiles.

Ace did not ask for any of it. And because their concern was genuine, he turned a blind eye to it all as there were more pressing issues at hand than nitpicking his bandmate's expressions. 

With his positive facial features, he closed the door behind him and let a greeting that had been polished for such situations slide from his dry throat. “Hi, it's good to see you guys are always so early!”

“And you're right on time,” the bass member Marco pointed out nonchalantly. 

The drummer Yamato, who until now sat on his chair, rose with a smile. “To be honest, I was starting to wonder where you were, but now that you're here I'm relieved.”    

“Sorry, got a busy day at work,” Ace laughed through his lie, depositing his instrument case agaisn't the wall to take out the guitar. 

Truth be told, it was quite rare for Ace to arrive remotely at the appointed time, but with the rough evening he's had with you, let's just say that things had hit harder than usual. His feelings. His tears. His anger. His frustration. His increased alcohol intake. His black out. No wonder coming here almost felt like a chore, especially when he was aware that you knew the band's practice schedule. 

“Is your girlfriend not coming over tonight?” The pianist Izo asked, his serious expression piercing through Ace's mask.

His smile twitched at it's corner, but by placing the guitar around his body and keeping his gaze on the strings while tuning them, it was enough to appear unbothered despite the complex hurricane that bit his insides. “I don't know, she didn't tell me anything.” His heartbeat raced in anxiety by placing the blame on your silence.

After making sure that the guitar had been plugged in the amplifier, Marco went on to change the mood that started to appear like a morning fog. “Alright then, since we're all here let's get started.” 

“Let's play loud enough for everyone outside to hear,” Yamato cheered.

“You're overestimating the sound proofness of these walls,” Izo pointed out with arched eyebrows.

“Who cares, we have to be able to make our music reach the people standing at the far end of the audience after all,” Ace grinned, taking his usual position in the center, turning his neck with a nod to give Yamato the signal.

Three drumstick click traveled through the room, before the harmony of different instruments went on to echo through the walls. Ace, who despite all things considered had been waiting for this moment allowed his voice to be carried by the melodic notes. His sense of loss and failure, mixed with the complications of relationships seeped through his pore by his every breath. Record companies be damned. Auditions be damned. And fuck romance for being so damn difficult. So damn demanding. 

Even if he loved you.

In that single moment all that mattered was the polishing of their skills. Until the exhilaration of the practice came to an end, the heated up muscles relaxed, puffed breaths came to be heard and the intensity that once seized the room came to be blown away by the silence of instruments. Their time was up.  

“Good job y'all, tonight was a good one!” Ace praised in between breaths, turning to face his band with a proud smile now that his passion has been fueled. Looking at them and the sweat that dripped from their skin was enough to remind him of his faith in them, as well as how he could keep on doing this vice cycle over and over again. 

If he wasn't broken, he could keep going. If his fingers still moved, he could keep playing. If his voice wasn't gone, he could keep signing. If his heart was still ablaze, he could keep the band living. 

With everyone busying themselves with packing up, Marco took that opportunity to slide himself beside Ace. “You probably shouldn't tag along with us after this. Go and get some rest,” he hushed in a whisper.

Offended by the words, Ace's lips thinned in a line, “what makes you say that?”

“Just some concern for our leader, you know,” he placed a hand on Ace's shoulder, squeezing it in compassion. “I'll handle stuff here so get some rest at home, okay?”   

Deep down, granting himself a distraction through the evening merry of eating and drinking with his friends was what Ace desired the most. It would in turn cloud his return home, with an unfocused mind that would cease to think of the difficult stuff and lull him to sleep proficiently. But going home sober meant facing a reality he had yet to swallow. A reality that had been postponed by his hangover. And with his mind finally free from the haze, he would undoubtedly think of you. Of the vile speech he gave you all while standing in the cold night veil of his apartment. Alone. Clear headed. In silence. More than anything, he dreaded the direction his thoughts would take towards himself in the solitary confinement of his head.

“What are you guys whispering about,” Yamato asked with furrowed eyebrows. The drums belonged to the studio, meaning that he only had his sticks to pack. 

Bending to pick up his guitar case before putting it on his back, brushing away the hand simultaneously, Ace gave an innocent smile. “It's nothing,” he spared no look towards Marco, knowing full well he failed to answer his question. 

“Then let's go eat already,” Yamato chirped, wrapping an arm around Ace's shoulders.

“About that,” Marco began, forcing both to look in his direction, along with Izo who had just finished packing his piano and turned to join the conversation, “Ace won't be able to join us tonight. He's quite tired you see.”

The nonchalant attitude almost made Ace burst out in anger. But his mind knew that the words were spoken out of worry for him, and therefore used that knowledge to lock in the emotions alongside the thousands of others ones who had met the same fate, preventing them from seeing the light. Instead, his lips pursed in a weary way while he nodded.   

“Is that so. Then get some rest,” Yamato voiced with a nod accompanied by an encouraging smile and a fist bump on Ace's shoulder.

“Get home safe,” Izo added in turn.

The words forced to come out of his throat with an unsuspicious tone while anxiety dreaded in the pit of his stomach unnerved Ace. “Yeah, I'll see you guys tomorrow.” He forced a smile to crack on his features before silently following the group outside and parting ways with a wave of hands.  

As his body neared home, every muscle dragging Ace in an aching manner made him aware of the truth. He was physically tired. Thankfully that wasn't a lie. But that didn't guarantee that the exhaustion would travel to his brain and shift him to sleep like alcohol would. Once the habit was settled, there was no getting out of it quick and easy. As such, with the brisk night air pricking his skin, his thoughts, while reenacting the events of practice, made Ace take a mental note to pick up more of the bittersweet substance after dropping off his guitar at home. The last memories of your times together were still too fresh for him to analyze them radically. 

Having finally reached the floor of his apartment, Ace momentarily froze.

Shit. 

He considered turning back. Pretending he saw nothing. Maybe even crash at one of his brother's place under the excuse that it has been a while since they met. Even crazier, go back to the orphanage in which he grew. Anywhere. Anywhere would do.

But he had spent too long considering his options because your eyes turned to fix him with a blank look. Running away now would only add oil to the fire. However his heart could not permit him to fumble twice in less than 24 hours. But it was far too soon for you to show up. Far too soon for the shrouding feelings that swelled inside Ace to have cooled down. 

His brain hurled profanities, while his legs headed towards the door in a slower way, his face trying to remain calm as he eyed you crouching by his door. Meanwhile his mind was completely panicking. Trying to pinpoint the reason behind your presence. Almost choking him by entertaining the thought that a breakup would follow. God this was awful. A bitter taste settled in his throat while time stretched into eternity. 

As the distance closed, Ace watched you stand up, your body language bare from any sort of emotions when his feet stopped inches away from you. The fire of yesterday shouldn't have extinguished in you yet. Maybe you were here to pick a fight in turn. What a poor consolation these reflections were. He remained silent, unsure of the correct approach to take and hoped you would voice your reason for being here. 

“You're back early today. Did you skip the after practice hangout?” You asked with genuine curiosity. 

Ace couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes. “Yeah well, things happen.” He shrugged. Frankly it annoyed him — that you were making small talk after deciding to show up unprompted and how he wasn't ready to deal with you just yet. He had never expected you to come for him when it should have been the other way around and now he wished you'd get to the point before his temper got the best of him again. 

“Is it okay for me to come inside?” You pointed a finger towards the door.

“Of course,” Ace brought out the keys from his pocket, tinkering them inside the lock. Best have a talk inside than out for the whole world to hear. Plus with you inside, it would overwrite the self isolating scenario that would've happened otherwise. 

An increase of heartbeat found itself ringing in Ace's chest. While he deposited the keys. While he put down his guitar. While he ran a hand through his hair. While he sat down on the couch. While he watched you stubbornly stand across the room, refusing to sit. Everything made him and his poor heart uneasy. Terrified. Palms sweating. Eyes unable to do nothing but fixate on the ground.  

The reality was that he should have given you an apology the moment he saw you. Begged for forgiveness even. It might have been enough to salvage the situation. It might have prevented this thick tension from staining the air of his home. And because he hadn't spared you a single thought throughout the day, he wasn't ready. Now with his skin growing hot with the passage of time, he sat awaiting for your judgment to come.

“What's wrong?” Your words, softly spoken, carried over while you eyed Ace.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed, and finally after getting inside he looked at you. 

“I'm asking you what's wrong,” you began. But as the confusion remained you further added, “you were right to say that I can't understand all you're dealing with since I'm no artist. But I think there's more here than simple frustration over a rejection. Speak to me not as a musician but as a person.”

Ace parted his lips as if to say something, but quickly shut them. It felt too anticlimactic. And he wasn't going to jump on the opportunity to make amends without addressing the elephant in the room. “Do you have nothing to say about yesterday?” His gaze found the floor again in guilt.

You sighed. “Not particularly. I just came at the wrong time,” you admitted. Truth be told, your entire being had grown soft towards Ace, almost like a sponge that would absorb all of his ugly and release it through your personal methods for the sake of your sanity. You loved him enough to make a sacrifice. The tears. The pain. The misery. All were temporary. But the happiness. The laughter. The warmth. It was enough to overwrite the bad and fuel your down bad passion for this man. Even while being aware that the whole thing felt like the thorns of a rose.

“Don't give me that crap,” Ace raised his tone in annoyance. “I owe you an apology,” he mumbled sourly, clenching his now intertwined fingers, unable to face you still.

“And you think you can give one in this state?” You asked with an arched eyebrow. 

God did Ace hate being sober.

“But if you want to talk about yesterday then fine. Why did you say those words to me? Why did you push me away? Why did you treat me that way?!” Your voice grew in melancholy with each sentence bringing back the ache of another day.

Ace racked his hair once more with a hand, according occasional glances at you. Your tone ripped at his heart even though he was the one that brought forth the conversation. “Because I was drunk,” he whispered in shame, cheeks reddening in self awareness.

“What?” You scoffed, baffled.

“Because I was drunk okay!” he raised his voice along accusatory eyes in your direction at the sound of your bewilderment before regretting it through a sigh. “Look I'm sorry.” He said in a softer tone.  

You crossed your arms, “that's just your excuse!”

“Then what do you want me to say?!” Ace's voice threatened to reach the roof. To him, this was his reason. His truth. And to see you blatantly deny it proved quite painful. Almost unfair.

“Alcohol is a bridge between your pent up emotions and your mind. So I want you to be honest with me,” you paced the room, closing the distance that fermented the argument.

With you standing so close, Ace found his sight robbed of the ground and instead directed an annoyed look to your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?!” Truly he had no idea. All he wished was for you to accept his apology and move on. But now that you were the one who ambushed him, holding the reins of the conversation it made the struggle quite difficult. It unsettled his mind, leaving him feeling vulnerable. Being sober didn't help either.

“I'll ask you again. What's wrong?” One of your hands, ignoring his temper, slowly went on to stroke Ace's cheek, exchanging warmth as a reminder of the affection that existed between you two, before parting ways while your eyes egged him to answer. Yesterday had made you realize how deep Ace had fallen. How far gone he was. How unaware he remained. Therefore you weren't about to allow him to slip further without trying to catch him. Even if it meant drowning with him. 

Blaming him would be too cruel.

Blaming the alcohol would be too immature.  

Ace took in a deep breath, having calmed down at your touch. “I don't know. I can't understand what is happening to me,” his lips trembled, “so how can I explain it to you when I can't rationalize it for myself,” his voice cracked while his nose sniffled. The burning sensation that scratched at his eyes mixed with the prickle of his throat made Ace take notice of his first words of truth. How he had laid bare a reality he ignored for far too long. Rather than making him feel relieved however, it made his muscles tense, his heart palpitate in an uneasy fashion and his mind to grow apprehensive towards the future. A part of him wanted to blame you for bringing forth this side of him. However, his thoughts were far too agitated to fight back against your ruling of the conversation.     

“That's okay,” you wrapped your arms around his neck in an embrace, pulling him close until his head nestled in your stomach while he remained sitting. “That's all I wanted to hear. You did well telling me that,” your hand stroked his hair in an affectionate way, “let's figure things out together from now on, okay?” 

Ace nodded while raising his arm to circle you in turn. “I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry,” he whimpered.

“I forgive you.” 

[bri-cheeses]

Jerseys vs Hoodies - Part 6

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 871 | Part 5 is here | @krispykidgarden this one’s for you in honor of the fact that finals suck :) |

-

Evan doesn’t know what to say.

He’s looking at Barty, who in turn is gazing at him with a soft smile and a questioning look in his eyes. Evan thinks he needs someone to just pinch him, because there is no way that this is real. No way that he poured out his heart to Barty and wasn’t sent away with it in pieces.

No, he hadn’t been sent away at all. Quite the opposite, actually. But that just made it all the more unbelievable.

Evan should say something poetic and romantic, should smile back and kiss Barty and tell him that he wants to try to be something more with him, but all he can do is stare dumbly and say, “Is this real?”

Barty chuckles, and Evan’s heart melts.

“I could pinch you if that would make it feel more believable,” he offers.

Evan laughs and lets his forehead fall against Barty’s chest, shaking with amusement and giddy joy as Barty’s hand smooths away some of his curls.

“Nope,” he says, and can’t believe that this is happening to him, “I think the fact that you just said that did the trick.”

“Good.” Evan can hear the smile in Barty’s voice and looks up to see it resting in place, aimed at him fondly.

“So…” Barty ventures, “what do you think?”

Evan knows what he means without having to ask. Slowly, he says, “I think that we’re two idiots, but two idiots who could be less of dumb if they just kissed. And actually meant it,” he adds as an afterthought.

It doesn’t seem possible, but Barty’s grin stretches even wider as if it can defy all logic.

“That seems about right,” he agrees.

And then his mouth is on Evan’s, nothing else existing except for the two of them sitting in a library and figuring out a whole new way to fit together.

“Evs,” Barty breathes once they finally pull apart, and Evan smiles so wide he feels as though his face may break in half. There’s no way Evan could ever get tired of hearing Barty say his name like that.

“You know,” Barty tries again, “I really think that you wearing my clothes should be a regular occurrence.”

He tugs on Evan’s sleeve, where the fabric hangs a little from being too long, and seems to be slightly distracted as he mumbles, “You look really good in it.”

Evan blushes and swats Barty’s hand away.

“We’ll discuss the details later,” he says breezily, still smiling. “Just don’t ask me to wear your jersey. I think I’ll leave the whole “jersey wearing thing” to Reg.”

He was just joking, but a horrified expression crosses Barty’s face as soon as Evan finishes his sentence. It immediately causes Evan’s heart to fall through his stomach.

“What?” he asks worriedly, his smile long gone.

Barty shakes his head and grabs Evan’s hands, easing his fears slightly. “Rosie, do you know what this means?”

Evan shakes his head, still confused.

“This means that we owe Reg for the start of our relationship,” Barty says, and looks as if he’s seen something truly harrowing.

And suddenly Evan gets it.

“No,”’ he gasps. “We can never tell him, or else he’ll be absolutely insufferable.”

“Too late,” says a voice from somewhere between the stacks of books, and then Regulus is standing at the edge of the table, bag strap looped around his shoulder and looking slightly worse for the wear.

Barty and Evan turn a horrified glance to each other.

“Please tell me that you weren’t here the entire time,” Evan finally says.

Regulus shakes his head, and Evan feels slightly mollified. Only slightly, though, as Regulus then says, “I just came back a little bit ago to come and get you two for dinner, and you looked as though you were having a… moment.” Regulus wrinkles his nose. “Please never kiss in front of me again.”

Barty just grins and slings an arm around Evan’s shoulders, even as Evan’s face turns red.

“No promises,” Barty says, then turns around to peck Evan on the nose. Evan can’t help but smile at him. Regulus makes a sound of disgust.

“I’m going to be sick,” he pronounces, then gestures for the pair to stand up. “Come on. We’re late for dinner.”

Barty sighs dramatically, then stands and extends a hand to Evan.

“Shall we go, sweetie pie?” he asks in a ridiculously sweet manner.

Evan sniggers, “Of course, snookums,” then places his hand in Barty’s and allows him to haul him to his feet.

“I’m leaving now,” calls Regulus, already walking away as Barty tucks an arm around Evan’s waist. Evan never wants it to leave, and somehow, he gets the distinct feeling that Barty doesn’t want it to leave either.

“So, what do you think, Rosie?” Barty murmurs. “Shall I escort you to dinner?”

Evan smiles up at him, taking in Barty’s adoring gaze and lovely dimples. Then, because now it’s a thing he can do simply because he wants to, he tilts his head up and pecks Barty on the lips.

“That sounds lovely, Bee,” he says, then starts off towards the Great Hall.

Barty’s arm doesn’t leave his waist.

-

(The End!)

[n-agiz]

ATTENTIONㅤgamer! boyfriend! nagi seishiro x fem! reader — smut [ 0.9k+ wc ] cws d/s dynamic + oral (m) + nagi is kinda condescending and there's some mild degradation — part of my 'you know i hype you boy' series ! MDNI

ㅤsometimes all you wanted was to please nagi, wanted to have to fight for his attention by pleasuring him, even if that meant getting nothing in return.

nagi always made you feel small.

he was tall, the years of playing football showing in his wide, sculpted frame, everything about him so big it was almost overwhelming. he made you feel tiny, not much effort needed for him to make you feel helpless, at his mercy — and although that wasn't something he purposefully played into every time, whenever he did it was always memorable, something about it bringing out a specific side of either of you that nothing else did.

"you can do better than that, can't you?" he was always more dominant in these moments, his tone more demanding and his requests more stern. he pushed you to do your best, the few words he said more than enough to make you want to focus on pleasing him only, your own pleasure an afterthought — the contrast to his usual persona truly showing in that aspect, the dynamic you usually shared one of reciprocation, one where you strived to touch one another, make each other feel good, not have it as centered on just one of you like right now. that was part of what made it so enjoyable, though, the break in routine mixed with the underlying challenge of having to please him all by yourself something you craved every once in a while.

nagi sat comfortably on his chair, thumbs flicking away at the console's controller, eyes focused purely on the screen in front of him and muscled thighs spread just enough to have you sat comfortably between them. it all felt condescending, the way he barely even looked or showed you any attention only making more of your arousal pool between your legs, soaking through the material of your panties, cunt already begging to be touched even if barely attention had been put on you — better yet, even if no attention had been directed towards you, no action of nagi's in that moment even closely resembling one that could imply he wanted to touch you, all of his scarce words only ever demanding what you should do next to please him, not the other way around.

"suck on it, don't use only your hands. you know you can do better than that" nagi mumbled, spreading his legs even further apart, a silent invitation for you to move closer to his crotch. you didn’t reply, rubbing your own thighs together in a helpless search for some friction while doing what he asked without a single word.

your fingers were already wrapped around his cock's base, both hands busy as you moved closer, letting your tongue peek out past your lips so you could lick up his tip, pressing lightly against his slit and humming at the salty flavor his pre-cum left on your tastebuds, enjoying it. nagi didn't show any reaction, attention still focused elsewhere, so you kept going, wrapping your lips around him and swirling your tongue over the same spot, sliding it down his dick's underside as you took more of his length into your mouth, only stopping when you felt yourself start gagging around him, a few inches still left to go.

"you can't even take all of my cock, pathetic…" nagi remarked, his tone somewhat haughty as he did so. you took it as motivation, though, pulling back completely and catching your breath while stroking his entire length before diving back in, this time being able to fit all of his cock inside you, willingly pushing your nose against the short hairs at the base of his cock, staying there for a second before finally pulling back again. you looked up at him after it, tears brimming the corners of your eyes and trails of saliva staining your lips, and although nagi didn't say anything this time, you could see the slight, almost unnoticeable, curl of a smile begin to stretch his features.

without waiting for any other instruction, you started sucking him off again, using your palm to stroke the bit you couldn’t fit into your mouth with every movement while bobbing your head up and down, your free hand starting off just resting at nagi's thigh but eventually moving to play with his balls, your fingers careful as they fiddled with them. you matched your paces up perfectly, exactly the way you knew he liked it, paying close attention to the small grunts that slipped out every once in a while and repeating whatever combination of movements was enough to make his hips subconsciously buck up into you. nagi didn't say anything else, but from his reactions, you knew he was close — your estimative soon being proven right once you felt his dick start twitching hard and his balls tighten up, ropes of white shooting into your mouth and filling it up as he let out a deep moan, grunting while relishing in his orgasm, finally throwing the controller to the side and giving you his attention.

"that's it, just like that" he groaned, both hands placed at the back of your head and trapping you down against his pelvis, only letting go once the pain of overstimulation started to kick in, giving you a satisfied grin when he watched you swallow his cum without needing to be told to do so.

nagi went back to his usual self as soon as you were done, pulling you to his lap and kissing your temple carefully, his game now long forgotten and all his attention finally focused on you.

N-AGIZ '22ㅤ REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED !

[milffies]

Hiiuuu luv hru!? ❤️ you're LITERALLY my favourite writer who writes angel devil so well!! If you're well and still into csm, is it possible for u to write for him? Maybe more nsfw? (Feel free to ignore this if you don't feel like writing this!) MISSED U SM

hiii nonnie , i'm good , just real busy!!! i'm so glad u like my writing :3 i'm still into csm, just haven't seen the fandom that active but i love angel a whole lot so i enjoyed writing this sm . <33

— ౨ৎ : warnings angel devil x chubby! reader . basically a smutty character study, very tame.

to start things off, angel is terribly gullible !! either he doesn’t care enough, or hasn’t been exposed to people for that long to understand when he’s being 'played'. sweet boy is very, very mallible !! <3

with that said — getting him into a contract that’d allowed for you to freely touch him without risking your lifespan wasn’t all too difficult. once again, it’s between equally likely possibilities that angel let this happen because he admittedly craves touch, or simply didn’t expect himself to get tricked. if you’d ever ask him about the matter, all you’ll be met with is a lazy shrug and an ‘i’dunno’ on his end.

butbutbut!!, once you’ve introduced him to physical contact, and he see’s that it’s something enjoyable, angel very quickly becomes a lovey, mushy, needy puddle. calls you his ‘favorite human’ and all !! though, he is still a devil before all else, and combined with his already nonchalant personality, he’ll process emotions ‘n whatnot very differently. give the poor thing time, though — he’ll get better at this for you !!

the first time you touch angel’s hand — you note that it’s surprisingly soft. after a second of thought, though, you conclude it isn’t too shocking considering this is angel devil. the devil with big, expressive eyes and pretty pink lips. lips you often times find yourself imaging not being lethal.

he jerks his hand away from yours after you’d two had made a contract that’d give you free reign to touch him. you watch as he looks at his hand as if you were the one that could drain his very life essence away. the thought makes you wonder if devil’s even have the life force to even get sucked away.

those same doe-like eyes of his blinks in succession a few times before landing on you.

“soo,” you’d drawl, a small, knowing grin on your lips. “i feel fine. i’m guessing that didn’t take off any of my time?”

you’re met with a shaky nod from the smaller figure. he licks a stripe over the thin expanse of his lips your eyes still haven’t fully moved from.

“can….can you touch me again?”

the only, truly proper way to describe an early ‘relationship’ angel is as a needy kitten. the ones that very and visibly clearly want affection and attention — but never initiate physical contact first. at times, he’ll reluctantly sprawl himself on you, a guiding hand on your wrist being led to his head. nono — of course he doesn’t need your attention !! you just happen to be a convient source of it (he convinced himself this to be the reason why he likes being around you.)

as angel is exposed to more affection and touch — and you bring him to the revelation that it can be sexual — a noticable spike in his clinginess is very obvious. constantly seeking out reassurance when nestled into you — a shy, reluctant: “we can uhm…cuddle…right?”, an unsure: “work was soo tiring today, can we hug ‘n stuff…?” to the suprise of none; he didn’t really do any devil hunting — but that’s an afterthought to him when you coddle him as if he’s some little, helpless thing. he’s too precious like this, how can you not take advantage of the moment !! <3

if you’re chubby: angel is all over you even more !! so soft, so warm — you’re pratically his own heated, weighted blanket. angel knows he’s more petite and lithe, by human standards, and clearly by devil standards. loves how nice his smaller frame slots so perfectly against your own larger body though, constantly nuzzling up against the softest parts of you.

“stop movin’ s’much,” a muffled voice murmurs, the owner of the voice’s head comfortably buried in your chest.

“tryin’ to get comfy.” angel lazily says, gazing up at you, his pretty long lashes obscuring parts of his irises. he’d been that close to probably having the greatest nap in his life, but he couldn’t find himself fully drifting off because of you shifting around. truly, you were a blessing and a curse. cozy and soft to the touch, but always moving — interrupting his plans to laze around. </3

with a small smile and a hand to his scalp, a muttered apology is given to him. how can you not adore him like this?; pressed so close to you as if he’s trying to melt into you, breathes shallow and not completely taken with the bratty front he usually puts up.

angel feels your own rising chest even out, letting out a content sigh. finally, it’s hard trying to get proper shut-eye when your human pillow can’t stop moving.

“thas’ better…” the devil murmurs, pretty eyelashes fluttering, before closing.

like i wrote about in this post, angel, like everything else, is very lazy when it comes to him and sexual encounters. this doesn’t in specific mean that he’s not a good partner, or unattentive to your needs — he just doesn’t know. that, and, he never puts extra energy into anything he does, even if this, (to him) unknowingly jeopardizes his own pleasure. baby doesn’t just yet grasp the concept that, the thing that already makes him feel good and overwhelmed, could somehow be better !! </3

very, very sweet and absorbed in what makes the two of you feel the best. especially you. kissing this part of you makes you let out those pretty noises for him? noted. pressing, and rubbing his fingers in unsteady circles has you closing your doughy thighs around his hand? angel’s certainly keeping that tucked away in his head. will want you desperately to talk him through it, guiding him where to touch, suck, and kiss. actually puts in effort when you praise him, don’t acknowledge the fact he lives off this though — he pouts !!

angel’s hips rolls against your own softer ones at a languid pace, occasionally pistoning down to give a proper thrust.

“w—warm…” he lets out — the sound a mix between a murmur and a whine. he bites his bottom lip and hides his face in your neck to cut the sound off prematurely. feels too good for him; too squishy, too syrupy. god, how did he manage existence for so long without ever feeling this ?

“yeah?” you tease, a hand coming to comb through his slightly damp locks. at the touch, angel properly lets out a whine, his hips giving one, two, then three quick thrusts into your too-tight pussy. though his moves are uncoordinated, the shakey rocking of his pelvis against yours has your pussy rewarding his movements with tight clenches. and of course—

“yeah.” he echoes — he whimpers. "feels s’good — feels good f’you too…right?” how eager he is to please. though, he’d never admit it. but you can tell, especially with how he’s zeroing in on rolling his hips in tight circles — knows that gets you to tighten up around his pretty cock and let out hushed moans of your own.

“good boy, angel.” you sigh, head lolling back, prompting him to bury his face deeper into your sweaty flesh. needs to be close to you, needs to know this is real.

angel’s too precious like this — not fully understandant on how to please sexually. the small devil is unintentionally edging you, you’re so close to making a sticky mess over the petite man — if only he was a ‘lil bit more experienced.

though, that’s what you’re there for, right? <3

[literaila]

just barely 

tasm!peter x fem!reader 

summary:

“okay, peter. are you afraid of spiders?”  “no.”  “then can you go get the one in my apartment?”

warnings: angst, grief, mentions of gwen, arachnophobia, fluff. neighbors au. 

a/n: i am. so sorry. and actually i love this one so much so feed my ego, thanks

*

peter met you four months into college. 

sitting in his apartment, sewing up a suit that he should've gotten rid of years ago. pricking his fingers with the needle and telling himself that he was going to be more careful this time. 

he never was. 

and when you knocked on his door for the first time, he pricked his finger again. 

he almost swore out loud--flinging his hand in the air like the pain was going to fall off--but briefly remembered how thin the walls were. 

maybe because he could hear you breathing on the other side. 

it was late. peter always knew when it was late. 

and it was raining. he was inside because it was raining. 

and someone was knocking on his door. 

peter, with his finger in his mouth, sucking away the very essence of his life and every ounce of patience he had, did not want to deal with it. 

he didn't quite feel like a human being that night. 

and besides, if it wasn't someone delivering a pizza to his door--no, he didn't order but he might pay if that was the case--peter didn't want to know. 

and then there was another knock. 

so peter, begrudgingly, sliding on a jacket because he was only in sweatpants, went to the door. 

just barely sighed as he swung it open. 

and there you stood. dripping from the rain. 

"hi," you said, the word quick, breathless, like an afterthought. "we haven't met. i'm y/n. i moved in two weeks ago. i've seen you carrying books around and coming in late sometimes but i haven't--" you took a breath in. shook your head. "nevermind. my point is, i'm y/n." 

peter stood there. unsure what to say. he barely took it all in.

he stared at you and your shaking hands and dripping hair. 

he wondered how you got on his doorstep.  

"okay," you said, in lack of an answer. "this is really weird. you probably think i'm crazy. which was... not my goal." 

"i don't think you're--" 

"i have arachnophobia." 

peter blinked. 

"and it sounds crazy--because it is--but there's a spider in my apartment and i just--i can't. i'm cold, and i just got home from work, and there's a spider, like, right by the door, and i can't get it. or walk through the door." you paused, staring at him with wide eyes. "because i'm crazy." 

in a lack of words or any description for this situation, peter ran a hand over his jaw. 

he watched water drip from your hair. drip on the ground. 

you blinked at him. "you have a cut on your thumb, by the way." 

peter looked at his hand. clenched his fist until it was so tight that pain meant nothing but a blur of emotion. 

"oh," he said, stupidly, unknowing. "yeah, i know." 

you cleared your throat. "what's your name?" 

"peter." 

"okay, peter. are you afraid of spiders?" 

he might've laughed at the irony, if not given the fact that any conversation skills--that he may or may not have had--seemed to evade him. 

"no," he shook his head. "no--i, um. no." 

you breathed out, laughing a bit manically. "would you help me with the spider in my apartment then? i'm sorry to bother you, really, but i would like to change my clothes." 

"oh," he said, again, stupidly. "sure. sure." 

"you will?" 

he shook his head. tried to put on a smile that didn't exist. "yeah, of course." 

the words were slow and slurred and nothing like he'd meant them to be. 

peter, just barely, recognized the fact that you were his age. that you were pretty. 

and that you looked almost insane. like you'd said. 

"thank you," you breathed out in relief. "do you want to... um, put some shoes on first? if you're busy i can--" 

"probably shouldn't try anyone else," peter responded, assuming and stupid, and just. "it's three in the morning. i don't think they're awake." 

you opened your mouth, maybe to say something--peter couldn't tell--and then shut it. 

you stared at him like you were sure he was lying. 

like you were annoyed with him. 

he cleared his throat, walking forward a bit, and simultaneously pushing you back. "i don't need my shoes. uh, lead the way." 

he shut the door quietly behind him. 

you nodded. taking ten steps forward to the apartment right across from his. 

"you live right there?" 

while unlocking the door, you nodded your head. water dripping onto your shoes. 

peter briefly considered that he was an asshole. 

"why haven't i seen you before?" 

you looked back at him, swallowing. "i usually work night shifts. um, i mean, i've seen you before, so." 

peter nodded his head dumbly. 

and then you took a step back, staring at him. 

expectedly. 

"oh, you want me to go first?" 

"please." 

so peter walked through, searching the floors for any specimen that he may or may not have been related to. 

you just barely followed behind him. slightly lagging. 

"where was it?" 

"the wall in the back. it was big." 

peter looked back at you, a bit concerned by how nervous you looked just from walking through the door. 

"i don't see it." 

peter looked up and down the walls. followed his feet to the floor, making sure that he hadn't stepped on anything. 

and this is the point where he figured that he'd leave. let you get back to your business. 

maybe think about being more cordial to his neighbors. 

but you just barely said his name. quiet against the rain. 

he looked at you. "hmm?" 

"this is ridiculous, but, would you just--just look for it. like. in the other room. i won't be able to fall asleep, and--" 

peter was quick to nod. "yeah. i got it." 

and so he searched through your living room. feeling only slightly weird that he was looking through a stranger's house, while said stranger stood right at the doorway. 

but after around three minutes, he noticed a spider crawling on the opposite side of the wall. about an inch big. 

but he wasn't judging. 

"okay," he called to you, allowing the bug to crawl up his hand. "i got it." 

"the window doesn't have a screen." 

peter allowed himself a quick laugh--because, above all else, this was the weirdest three am he'd had in a while--and let the spider crawl outside, whispering a quick goodbye. 

and then he walked back to you, scratching at his thumb. 

you awkwardly thanked him, reaching your hand out to shake his. 

when peter stared for a moment, confused, you dropped it. 

and then you waited. 

and peter probably should've just left your apartment. 

that was what a considerate neighbor might do. 

"you're really that afraid of spiders?" 

"um, yeah," you shook your head, scratched at the back of your neck, and looked more uncomfortable than peter had ever seen another person. "it's--it's a feeling thing." 

peter tilted his head, curious. 

"well, like, just imagining them crawling around. or up and down my skin." you shivered, and peter assumed it wasn't from the cold. "i mean, i know that most spiders can't do any harm." 

peter coughed. 

"but still... it's hard to explain." 

"no," peter nodded, watching as your eyes fluctuated from the wall to him, from the ground to the ceiling. "i understand. they're creepy." 

"i guess. i know that they're important. thanks for not killing that one." 

peter just barely blinked. 

"well," you said, smiling at him. "you should go to sleep. i'm sorry for keeping you up." 

"it's no problem." peter swore. 

he'd forgotten all about the rain. or his suit. or the tiny little cut on his thumb. 

"have a good night, peter. thanks for your help." 

you smiled at him--this time, sincere and appreciative--one last time. 

peter met you four months into college. he'd whispered his goodbyes in the rain and was unfathomably interested in his neighbor. 

and maybe he'd always known that he was going to fall in love with you. 

*

"hey," you whisper, late enough for the words to feel strange on his spine. 

"hey," he says back, but only because it's what he should do. 

you run your fingers along his forearm, leaving terror in your wake. 

"how are you?" 

you ask him. 

and peter can't really answer that. 

*

when peter saw you again, it was with his backpack slung over his shoulder. 

with papers and the weight of thousands of dollars in debt piling up in one bag that probably shouldn't have been carrying it all. 

but when you smiled at him, peter shrugged it off, and just smiled back. 

"hey," you said, quickly and carefully, unlocking your door. "how are you?" 

"good." peter nodded. "um, you?" 

you laughed, maybe because of the long pause between the words. "i'm okay. it's nice to be out with the sun." 

"yeah. haven't seen you around." 

"not like you did before, either." 

peter nodded again. his eyebrows were ready to run right off of his face. 

you were carrying bags in your hands, one on the ground, turning back around to your door because peter hadn't offered anything significant to you. 

so he cleared his throat. "did you--do you want some help?" 

you looked down at the ground, seemingly surprised by your own grocery bags. "oh, yeah." eyes met his. "i don't want to bother you again." 

"it's no bother." 

and so peter picked up the bag on the ground. he reached his hand out and barely felt it when your fingers passed his. 

or when you smiled at him, grateful again. 

"i don't mean to keep using you," you said to him, finally unlocking your door. "you just seem to be there." 

"it's only twice." 

you nodded, moving back so that he could walk in. "for now." 

peter snorted, feeling uncomfortable as his shoes hit your carpet. 

"i like your apartment, by the way. it's nice." 

more trinkets than his. a home full of things that peter didn't recognize. 

and still, it was brighter than his apartment. 

you lead him into the kitchen, pointing to where he should set the bags down.

peter could feel your eyes on him. sort of creeping. sort of subdued in a casual way. 

"thanks. i like it," you answer. "or, i like it when there aren't any bugs crawling around."  

peter let his lips twitch. he moved back, giving you the room to start putting the perishables away. 

"are you always getting pulled into everyone else's apartments?" you asked him, biting your lip and looking up. 

your eyes were quick, lit, and less emphasized than they'd been when it was three in the morning. 

peter frowned. "what?" 

"yesterday i helped someone move a couch into their apartment. and last week mrs. rivers needed some help with her tv. i just meant that you seem helpful. dependable." you shrugged. "do people ask you for help a lot?" 

"no, not really," peter answered, words still confused. "i don't 'run into' people very often. and i don't think they would ask me." 

you blinked, closing a cabinet and turning away from him. 

"why not?" 

"i don't know anyone very well." 

peter breathed out and you hummed, unbagging things that peter couldn't see. 

"sometimes mr. smith from down the hall asks me to water his plants when he goes to see his son." 

you nodded, like this made perfect sense to you. 

"but that's about it." 

"how long have you lived here?" 

"almost five months." 

"hmm." 

you emptied another bag, not watching as peter leaned against your counter. 

he felt like he should go. that he was intruding on some boundary that he shouldn't have been. 

but he stayed because you hadn't asked him to leave. 

"what?" he asked, shaking his head. 

"are you a busy person?" 

in this game of twenty questions, peter seemed to be answering everything. 

and ignoring the gentle curiosity aimed his way. 

to complain would be hypocritical. 

"i guess. school and work. why?" 

you shrugged, again. "that's probably why you don't know your neighbors. if you're not here a lot..." 

peter crossed his arms. there was something in your tone of voice. something in your eyes and strange way of speaking. 

"i know my neighbors." 

you just barely smiled. "yeah?" 

"yeah. you're y/n. you've lived here four weeks, and you're afraid of spiders." 

you laughed. "that doesn't count." 

peter frowned. licked his lips and let the adrenaline control any next statement. 

"mr. smith lives in 3C. he's got two kids. if you listen late enough at night you can hear him calling his son in florida." 

you looked at him again, pausing. 

so peter continued. 

"ms. baker is divorced. she got the cat, which is good because she loves that cat more than life itself. she makes brownies and then leaves them to rot on her windowsill. or she used to. until she started leaving them in the mail room." 

you laughed. leaned against the counter next to him and crossed your ankles. 

"david, the building manager, loves halloween. if he could, he would decorate the whole place. but it's a fire hazard, so he just decorates the laundry room." 

"isn't that a fire hazard too?" 

peter considered it. "probably." 

you laughed again. 

"the girl in 6B, moira, is a single mom. her daughter doesn't like thunderstorms, so she's always crying. unless moira swaddles her and puts on old sixties music. and mrs. alvera gets flowers every week. jason blasts music on the weekends but no one complains because everyone is scared of him."

peter continued. he wasn't thinking about leaving. 

"there's a little boy down the hall, henry, who loves trains. his dad sends him some in the mail. mr. johnson has a dog who he hates." 

and there's something in your eyes. 

peter breathed out, chest a bit tight. he'd never been very good at defeat. 

"so," he said.

"so?" 

"so i know my neighbors." 

you smiled at him. turned towards the fridged and grabbed two water bottles, one to offer to him. 

he took it, but only for something to do with his hands. 

"and you're peter," you say, slowly. 

"parker." 

"peter parker. you're always coming and going at odd times. you're a student--probably at esu--and you're nice." 

and then peter smiled. he was willing to admit that. 

*

"what're you doing?" you ask him, stepping into the room and dropping your bag on the floor. 

peter barely flinches at the sound. 

he blinks up at the clock, noticing numbers that he should have an hour ago. 

"hey," he says, dumbly. "you're home." 

you lean down to kiss his head. he can feel your smile. "yeah. what're you doing?" 

"just fixing some holes." 

peter gestures down to the suit. looks up at you and tries not to falter at your eyes. 

you’re staring at him. 

you look tired, had been at work all day, and still--you offered him a smile.

the same sweet smile he'd been getting for a year and a half. 

"don't hurt yourself," you whisper to him, laughing just a bit. 

peter looks down at the needle between his fingers.

he barely just caught the joke as you walk out of the room to go change into your work clothes. 

and theres the tiniest part of him that feels relieved for the silence.  

relieved to not have to stare at you. 

and face the goddamn reality. 

*

peter had been getting used to the knocks on his door. 

he recognized your specific weight, the sequences, and cadence in whatever you needed from him. 

and he wasn't as hesitant to open the door. 

"hey, peter," you said to him, a bit breathless. "do you have a wrench?" 

peter blinked. "what?"

you made a strange hand gesture. "you know, the thing that you twist stuff with?" 

peter's brow furrowed. he opened the door a little bit more, noticing your wet pants and the lack of shoes or socks. 

"i know what a wrench is," he said. "why do you need it?" 

"sink's leaking." 

his lips pursed. he waited for more of an explanation, but you offered him none. 

"yeah," he said, finally. "i have a wrench. come in." 

and then he swung the door open and left you to fend with it yourself. 

and listened to your footsteps as you followed him to his supply closet. 

"i don't think i've ever been in here," you said from behind him, voice echoing in his empty hallway. "not what i expected." 

peter looked back at you with a raised brow. 

you raised your hands in defense. "you seem like a poster kind of guy." 

"there's a poster in my room." 

"of what?" 

"a spider." 

you scoffed from behind him, and peter had to pay close attention to his face--just so that he didn't laugh back. 

he dug through his shelves, looking for a tool kit that he'd hidden away. 

unused, because he didn't want it. 

because he didn't need it anymore. 

"here," he said, handing you the wrench, initials branded on the side. 

"why thank you, peter parker." 

you smiled up at him, a mark on the side of your face--peter couldn't tell what it was. 

"sure," he agreed, shutting the closet behind him. "why don't you just call maintenance?" 

"hmm?" 

"for your sink." 

"oh, um. well, i need to use it. and it's almost six so there's no time to call." 

"do you know how to fix a sink?" peter allowed a cautious raise of his brow. a curiosity that he wasn't really allowed appeared in his throat, swallowed right back down by guilt. 

"i know how to use google." 

"so no." 

 you raised a finger at him, looking defensive. "it can't be that hard." 

peter laughed. 

"what?" 

"i hope that your apartment doesn't flood." 

"mean, peter," you frowned at him. "i could have a talent for fixing sinks." 

and then you turned around, leaving him no room to argue, and headed for the door. calling another thank you as you opened it. 

but peter opened his mouth before you could leave. 

"why didn't you ask?" 

you turned back, wide eyes. "what?" 

"if i could help. you didn't ask." 

"can you fix a sink?" 

"yes." 

peter would've liked to lie. maybe if you had been any other person, he might've. 

you grinned. "i've already used you enough. i'm working on my dependency." 

peter shrugged. "never hurts to ask." 

your lip twitched the barest amount. 

you played with his wrench, swinging it from hand to hand. "i'll bring this back." 

"okay." 

peter let the interest fall off of his shoulders and onto the ground. 

he had things he needed to do. like, putting a cup of mac and cheese into the microwave. 

and read for his class tomorrow. 

and consider every failure he'd ever made. 

but you called his name, just once more. 

"yeah?" he opened the door, a little bit wider. 

"wanna help me fix my sink?" 

peter, now, considers that you might've been pitying him. poor peter, all alone on a saturday night. 

but then he just blindly nodded. 

forgot all about consequences. 

*

"peter, you can't just get ice cream." 

peter looks down at his shopping bag. he frowns. "there's chips too." 

"where are the meals?" 

he smiles at you. "in your basket." 

"we already agreed that i'm not cooking for you anymore." 

peter pretends to consider this. "you know, i actually changed my mind about that. statistically, you probably won't burn down my apartment again." 

"statistically, i'm going to hit you one of these days." 

peter holds a hand to his heart, mock offended. "violence," he protests, taking a step back as you try and push him. 

"go get something to eat." 

"i'm going to eat all of this." 

"okay," you grin at him. "go get something that you probably won't eat." 

peter groans. this time, you actually push him. 

"we'll order pizza tonight if you get some actual groceries." 

"why are you always nagging me?" 

peter says it, but with a smile on his face. 

you laugh back at him. pat his cheek like you're his grandmother. "go." 

peter sighs and listens. 

and it's fine. for today. 

*

surely enough, peter couldn't manage to avoid you. 

it might've been that you lived right across from him. peter realized that. 

or it might've been the world, laughing and laughing at him. 

because he really wanted to avoid you. 

he wanted to stop answering the door; to keep you at a safe distance--that being ten feet away from him at all times--with a wall between the two of you. 

he wanted whatever he felt when he saw you smile--which was nothing, he swore to himself, over and over--hidden in a closet somewhere. 

someplace that he could just forget about it. 

but he couldn't seem to forget his neighbor. 

his neighbor who, like always, seemed to leave the house at the same time as him. 

"oh, hi," he said, carefully avoiding running into you. 

you looked up, hands cradling a pizza box, bag dangling from the side. and you smiled at him. 

because you were a smiley person. 

peter hated it. 

"hey, neighbor," you said, easily, stepping past him. "going out?" 

peter swallowed. "just to the store. i need some... salt." 

what he really needed was to get out of the house. 

what he needed was to stop going through the pictures under his bed this late at night, and stop allowing himself to feel any sort of adoration for the girl in them. 

what he needed, peter thought, was a reality check. 

a time machine. 

but he wasn't going to tell you any of that. 

"salt?" you repeated, laughing. "i have salt." 

"no, i need, like, a salt shaker. a big one." 

your brows furrowed. 

peter rubbed his hands together, slightly cold. slightly irritated. 

and guilty, because he hadn't wanted to be rude to you. he wanted to be polite, a gentleman like may taught him. 

but time did strange things to people. 

and he'd been living alone for more than half a year. 

"the grocery store is probably closed by now," you said, checking an invisible watch. 

"i'm just going to the cvs down the block." 

you laughed. "i don't think they have salt shakers." 

he scratched at the back of his neck. considered clawing his own eyes out. 

"you can borrow mine, though," you said to him, softly, as if no one else was supposed to hear. "if you're in a pinch." 

"no," peter shook his head. he repeated the word in his mind until it was branded against his skin. "that's... okay." 

you raised a brow. 

"i don't--i'm not, like, using it, right now. i've just been meaning to pick some up. and i don't have anything to do right now, so." 

if peter could go back and tell himself not to say a single thing, he would've. 

he would tell himself never to speak to you ever again. 

but you laughed because peter was funny. because you felt bad for him, in some strange, uncomfortable way. 

"do you have anything to do tomorrow morning?" 

peter shook his head. still. 

"then why don't i give you enough salt for breakfast tomorrow, and then you can go to the store and get a shaker afterward." 

peter swallowed. "i wouldn't want to... impose." 

"i'll even give you a slice of pizza." 

"that's okay." 

"peter," you sighed, almost begrudgingly. "c'mon. i owe you, at least one. and i can't eat a whole pizza myself." 

he bit the inside of his cheek. 

if there were warning bells, he would hear them clearly in his ear. 

"or, i can," you smiled. "but i probably shouldn't. and you probably shouldn't go out this late." 

peter frowned at the implication. 

"it's okay," he said. "you shouldn't--" 

"you don't even have to stay. just come and get some salt." 

peter's eyes flickered down to the pizza box in your hands. 

he thought about being alone. 

about going back into his room and running into memories that would punch him right in the face. 

that would beat him until he couldn't feel anything else. 

he thought about salt. 

about your smile and how much he wanted to stay away. 

he thought way too much. 

but nodded anyway. 

probably because he was an idiot. 

"lead the way," you said, finally opening the door. 

and peter went. 

*

"come on," you say to him, voice soft and haunted. 

quiet and eery. 

and peter doesn't want to. 

he doesn't want to be close to you right now. 

but your hands are soft against his shoulder, warm and welcoming, and he knows that you're waiting. he knows that you don't deserve this. 

he knows you. 

"peter," you say to him, calling and calling. "it's alright." 

your voice is different. 

not as smooth. not as beautiful. 

"come back to bed." 

peter lets your hands lead the way. 

he lets you pull him down, push him under water and sit on his chest. laugh as he struggles to get up. 

he lets you wrap the covers back around his back, saving him from the cold. 

he cuddles close to you, breathing in your skin, cheek on your chest, listening to your heartbeat until it's the only thing he can hear. 

"it's okay," you say. "it'll be okay." 

and he knows you're lying. 

peter is familiar with the concept. 

with breaking the rules until no glue can help repair them. 

and he hears a very specific gasp in his head. a pleading and crying and dying all over again. 

but your heartbeat is right in his ear. 

your words are close to him, holding him down. 

*

"i swear to god--" you kicked at a rock somewhere on the ground. 

peter blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus. 

"--i'm going to murder someone." 

he squinted at you, trying to see anyone else. held his jacket even closer to his body. 

"hey," he whispered, hand jerking out when you startled at the sound of his voice. "sorry," he said, keeping you steady. he could see his breath in the air. 

"peter. was it you?" your voice had a hint of an edge. your eyes were fire. 

he frowned. "what?" 

"did your smoke detector go off?" 

"no," he shook his head, looking back at the building. "i was asleep." 

"okay." you nodded, seeming to believe his lie. "i'm going to go ask everyone else." 

peter kept his hands on your shoulders, holding you back. "woah," he said, looking into your eyes. "what's the rush?" 

"i'm going to punch whoever was burning down their kitchen at four in the morning." 

"i think maybe you should take some deep breaths." 

you mocked inhaling and exhaling. "there. mr. smith!" you called. 

peter clasped a hand over your mouth. 

you glared at him. speaking against his hand. 

peter quickly moved away, trying to remember himself. trying to remember that he was only three feet away from you. 

which breaks the foundation directly in half. 

he raised a brow, a bit amused, slightly delirious from exhaustion. "you should stay here. it'll only be ten minutes till we can go back inside." 

"who starts a fire at four in the morning?" you whine to him, almost falling against his chest. 

his hands go back on your arms, keeping you up. "an asshole," peter agreed. "were you asleep?" 

"no. i got home thirty minutes ago." 

"ah. were you trying to go to sleep?" 

"i was trying to..." you paused, looking away from him. "nevermind. yes. i was sleeping." 

peter laughed. "okay. you can get back to..." he shakes his head, an allusion. "whenever the fire department shows up." 

"it's cold," you complain to him. "and i didn't have any time to put on my shoes." 

"i'm glad you're alive." 

that night, peter avoided his sensibility. he didn't want to talk to it, thanks. 

he took off his jacket, handing it to you. "here." 

"peter. you'll get cold." 

"you're in shorts. put it on." 

because you were fed up with every other thing, you didn't argue. just hurried to put it on, snuggling into your own skin. 

"thanks." 

"no problem."

it was silent for a moment; no sirens in hearing distance. 

other people had gathered into groups, neighbors gossiping about neighbors. 

peter thought that you might've been one of them if you weren't stuck next to him. 

"bad night?" he asked you, avoiding the silence. 

"what?" 

"i've never seen you... angry? irritated?"

"oh." you looked down to the ground, a bit sheepish. maybe embarrassed. peter couldn't see your eyes, so he couldn't tell. "yeah. i worked two shifts in a row. and it's tuesday, so everyone was mad." 

"where do you work?" 

"a bar a couple of blocks away." 

peter nodded.

"sorry about..." you laugh, gesturing to something he couldn't see. "all of that." 

"it's okay. you're tired." 

"yeah." 

so was peter. 

and he was insane because he really couldn't stop looking at you. he couldn't even have an internal debate about it. 

"peter?" you whispered to him, smiling a little bit. 

"what?" 

"your jacket smells nice." 

*

peter listens to you speak, appreciating the gentle smile in your voice. 

he watches as your eyes change. as your hand gestures towards something. 

he watches you. 

and there's no one there to tell him to stop. 

*

this particular night, peter knocks on your door. 

he'd decided, after lots of thinking, that the best way to avoid you--was to just get over himself. 

was to just pretend to be a normal neighbor. 

to start acting normal and stop being an idiot. 

which, in all fairness, wasn't as easy as peter thought it might be. 

especially when you opened the door in a big t-shirt and no pants. 

but of course, you just smiled at him. didn't even blink. 

"hey," peter says, quickly. "are you busy?" 

your eyes met his, a gentle question behind the smirk on your face. "no. what's up?" 

"i was gonna, um," peter's face twitched. he cleared his throat, trying to smile even though he'd forgotten how. "i was going to watch a movie. alone. but--" he shrugged. forgot how to speak. "i thought that you might be home. and, just, do you wanna watch with me?" 

you were amused at him. but peter appreciated that you didn't laugh right in his face. 

"what movie?" 

he handed you the case, biting a hole in his lip. 

"back to the future?" 

"if you wanna watch something else, we can--" 

you shake your head, handing him the case back. "no, that's good. let me go grab my phone." 

and then peter had you over to his apartment for the first time. 

he watched a movie with you and didn’t even feel guilty about it. 

*

peter needs a break. 

just a night, an hour, a couple of minutes away from you. 

away from the possibility and the words stuck in his head. 

the words that he would like to avoid. 

the words that he wants to throw in a hole somewhere. bury them where no one will ever find them. 

especially not you. 

especially not him. 

but that's not an option, see. because the words are printed on his arm. they are wrapped around his heart in a brand of shackles they don't manufacture anymore. 

and peter lost the key. 

so he needs a break instead. 

conveniently, you're working. you kissed him goodbye, walked out the door with a smile on your face. 

and peter felt so bad that he was relieved to see you go. 

relieved because he doesn't want to tell you. 

he doesn't want the words to slip. 

he doesn't want any of this. 

and he needs this break. 

he needs a moment to repair his intelligence. to stop acting on a whim. to distance himself from the idea--from the guilt that pounds on his chest like a knock on his door. 

he needs a break. 

a break from sensibility and rational thinking. 

and peter doesn't really need a break from you. 

but he's taking one anyway. 

he can't wait for you to come back. 

*

"you have class tomorrow?" you asked him, chewing on a piece of popcorn. 

"yeah. eleven am." 

"who takes a class at eleven in the morning?" 

peter frowned. "it was convenient." 

you laughed at his face, throwing some popcorn at him. he caught it in his mouth and pretended not to feel some pride at your awed expression. 

"this movie sucks," you said to him. but you were still watching it anyway. 

you'd been sitting on his couch all day. just entertaining him with commentary about whatever movie was on cable. 

peter was glad for the company. 

he was trying to get out of the mood he'd been in. 

trying to get comfortable in this friendship. 

"we can watch something else." he moved to grab the remote, but you stopped him with a nudge of your foot. 

"no," you said. "it's okay." 

and so it was. 

*

"you're going back home next weekend, right?" 

peter nods. he chews on a cookie that you've just pulled out of the oven. 

you glare at him, playfully. 

he smiles back, mouth full. 

"gross, peter." you toss a dish rag at him. he catches it without a blink. 

"may asked if you wanted to come." 

you blink at him, curious. "she did?"

"yeah. she likes you." 

"oh, she likes me from the one time she stopped by your apartment to drop off a box and caught a glimpse of me in the hallway?" you ask him, dryly. 

peter appreciates how your voice shifts from high to low. a style of music all on its own. 

"she likes you because i tell her about you." 

you frown. "you do?"

peter nods, curious about your reaction. 

"what do you say? 'the annoying girl from across the hall asked to use my shower again because--'" 

he pulls you in a little bit closer, ignoring the protests as you drop a spatula on the counter. 

"i tell her that you're nice. and about your cookies."

you smile, reluctantly. "she wants me to come?" 

peter nods, letting you go, returning to his cookie. 

"would you mind?"

peter freezes. 

he prefers not to think about it. 

he prefers to pretend that there is no significance in this interaction. 

because there isn't. 

peter kisses the top of your head, looking down at you. he shakes his head, nonchalant. 

"really?" 

"i wouldn't mind." 

"because i love may." 

peter laughs. "i know." 

"i will ask her about your baby pictures." 

"don't think she has any," peter shrugs.

"oh, you liar." 

he laughs again. grabbing another cookie. 

*

"peter," you walked through his door with no greeting, going immediately to the spot on his couch that you'd claimed as your own. "i want a cat." 

"you can't get a cat." 

you pouted and peter laughed at your face. at the very idea you were in his house.

"why not?" you whined, sliding down his couch. "give me one reason." 

"the building doesn't allow pets." 

"give me two reasons." 

"you'd have to leave the cat alone all day." 

you smiled at him. "not if i had a co-owner." 

"i'm not getting a cat with you." 

you waved a hand, offended. "i didn't mean you. i meant jason." 

"jason would kill the cat. then you." 

"he's really nice." 

peter raised a brow at you, sitting down on the couch finally, just waiting for whatever purpose there was for this visit. 

"hey," you said. "don't you have work tonight?" 

"i switched shifts with a coworker." 

"oh. how come?" 

"they had a birthday party to go to tomorrow." 

you smiled at him, teeth showing. "that was nice of you." 

peter shrugged. "i don't have classes this week, so." 

and here, peter knew, was the last warning sign. 

it was that night that he stopped caring. 

"why aren't you that nice to me?" you put a bare foot on his leg, trying to get him to flinch away. 

he just pushed it off of him. "because i like you." 

"that's twisted, parker." 

"want to watch a movie?" 

you moved back, rubbing a hand over your eyes. "can we play a game or something, instead? i might fall asleep if we watch a movie." 

peter frowned. "you're tired?" 

"no," you shook your head at him. "not really." 

"you should go to bed."

"are you kicking me out?" 

and peter, despite what he wanted to say, shook his head again. 

not sure what he meant by it. 

and then you beamed at him. 

you blinded him until he didn't care about seeing anything ever again. you broke him down until peter was sure that you were his friend. 

that you were his best friend and there wasn't anything he could do about it. 

"how do you feel about connect four?" you asked him. 

and you stayed. 

peter wasn't sure how he felt about that. 

*

gwen. 

peter had nightmares every month. 

he had conflicts and ideas and non-relenting feelings that wouldn't just leave him alone. 

they didn't escape, even when you were around. 

despite what deliberate mistakes peter kept making. despite the conscious failures he kept bundled up in his pockets. 

and whatever peter wanted to feel for you. 

he couldn't. 

he wouldn't do that to her. 

he wouldn't do that to you. 

he wasn't allowed. 

*

the first time peter kissed you, it was a mistake. 

it was reckless. it was pushing and pulling at him until he was stretched thin, until he was so close to you that he couldn't think. 

and peter had been thinking about it for a while. 

he noticed the lingering at your lips.

he noticed how warm you were.

how intriguing how perfect. 

he noticed everything about you, no matter how many times he'd told himself to stop. to stop being your friend and stop thinking about anything except being close to you. 

when he kissed you, it was stupid. 

it was nothing. 

it was so so much. 

"what?" you'd asked him, in the dark, on his couch. 

he was already having a bad day. he was already too close to the edge. 

he'd had a dream about you the night before. instead of her. 

he'd dreamt of your skin, and your hair, the smell that you left behind when you walked out his door. 

he dreamt of touching you, of being closer than he would ever dare himself to be. 

and he was having a bad day. 

peter shook his head. he swallowed and told himself to stop looking at you. "nothing." 

so you turned away from him. 

so you were still close. 

and it only took a split second for peter to forget. 

to forget about guilt and all of its complexities. 

to allow himself to like you, for just a moment, for just a second too long. 

and then his hands reached out--heart clasped in their grip--to touch your arm. 

to feel your skin and savor it. 

your brows furrowed. you looked at him, confused. 

and peter couldn't get anything more than "i just--" before he closed the distance between the two of you. 

before he slammed the door in his own face. 

and kissed you. 

*

neither of you put a name to it. 

you had agreed, peter knew. 

you weren't his girlfriend. 

you weren't his friend. 

but you stayed the night. you watched movies with him. you made out with him on his couch and it wasn't much. 

it wasn't anything. 

there was no name for the thing between the two of you. 

and peter liked it that way. 

at least then he could pretend that it was all okay. 

*

"peter," you were trying to get him to pause. 

you were trying to track him down because he hadn't talked to you in a week. 

he hadn't dared to see you since that night. 

"peter, hey--" 

he unlocked his door, feeling the guilt pour down his stomach like gasoline. 

it tasted the same. 

"i just want to talk," you pleaded with him. "you don't have to say anything." 

"i've gotta go," peter answered, short and stern. 

"please. just two minutes." 

"it's been a long day, y/n." 

"it's been a long week," you hissed at him, stopping his door with your foot. "this isn't fair." 

and peter knew that. 

god, he was aware. 

but he shook his head. "not tonight. not right now." 

not ever, he thought but didn't say. 

"please, peter," your eyes were desperate. your voice had softened, like maybe if you used a euphemism all of this would mean so much less. 

it didn't work. 

"i'm sorry," you whispered. "i didn't mean to." 

peter couldn't have asked what you meant even if he wanted to. 

none of this was your fault. 

he had burned his own bridges. and now, amidst his own problems, he was hurting you. 

so he was just going to stop. 

"it doesn't have to mean anything," 

you said the words, so smoothly, so truthfully. 

wide eyes, as scared as peter had seen them on the first night. he was the new spider on your wall. 

"it doesn't mean anything. we can pretend it never happened." 

peter might've been able to do that. 

he might've been able to just pretend it was fine. 

but he'd kissed you. and now he couldn't stop thinking about it. 

even as you stood by his door, pleading with him. he was staring at your lips. he was waiting for that smile so he could kiss it away. 

"peter. you're my best friend. i don't want to lose that." 

if the words meant anything peter couldn't hear it. 

"i'm sorry," he said, and he wasn't sure to who he was apologizing.

"please." 

"i can't." 

"i'll never bring it up again. i won't kiss you. i won't even complain when you pick out a bad movie. i just want--" you breathed out, a bit panicked. 

peter could see it in your eyes. 

"i just want you peter. that's all. it doesn't have to be more." 

and it didn't. 

he could see it in your eyes. your voice. the quick ticking of the clock in the background.

peter saw his own desperation, reflected in your eyes.

so peter opened the door. he let you inside. 

and he told himself that if he kissed you again, well. it didn't have to be more than that. 

*

peter presses his lips against yours. 

he can feel your smile; leaking into him like poison. like a steady stream of toxin, infecting his blood. 

but he doesn't stop. 

he pushes against you, pulls you even closer. 

he teases at the hair against your neck, he cradles your jaw in his fingertips, and marvels at how soft and smooth you are. 

he bites down on your lip, appreciating the gasp that falls from your lips. 

his hand slung around your waist, traveling up and down your back in a steady motion. 

peter feels as you press against him. as you crave that distance that he's been trying his best to avoid. 

he presses his lips against yours. 

he does it over and over again. 

and despite the gasps of air the two of you need, peter doesn't ever want to stop. 

he could live there; in a blinking moment. 

he applies glue to the edges, tells himself that none of it is going to fall apart. 

his lips travel down to the skin of your neck. tasting you until the rest of it is a blur. 

peter kisses you. 

he tells himself that you don't mean anything more. 

the feeling in his chest is just guilt. 

*

"hey," you poked his shoulder. "what's wrong?" 

peter blinked. tried to focus again. shook his head. "nothing." 

"you look..." you tilted your head, looking right into his eyes. "concerned?" you guessed. "worried?" 

"i'm fine." he grabbed your hand and kissed the knuckles. 

it made up for the lie, peter was sure. 

"what're you thinking about?" 

"nothing." 

you laughed. "peter parker, you mean to tell me that nothing is going on in that giant brain of yours?" 

"nope." 

and you just smiled at him. he appreciated that; you didn't press on the wound. 

only stood there idly while he bleed to death. 

he preferred it that way. 

"are you hungry?" he asked, pulling you up from the couch with him. 

"not much." 

"do you want to go to the park?" 

you'd been teasing him about going earlier. about sitting on a bench and staring at all the birds that walked passed. 

you frowned at him. "you hate the park." 

"i like the park."

"you like the pretzel cart right next to the park. you don't actually like the park." 

"i can like the park if we get a pretzel." 

you snorted. smiled at him, because you were happy. 

because peter knew you. 

because he was sure of it. 

"i suppose we can arrange that," you said to him, rubbing at the skin of his palm. 

and so the two of you left. 

peter forgot all about it. 

how he was looking at you instead of a box of pictures under his bed. 

how that killed him, just a little bit. 

*

peter paces around his apartment. 

you're not there. 

you're not here. 

peter takes a moment to think about where you might be. 

you had plans tonight. 

you had things that you were supposed to be doing with him. 

"dinner and a movie," you said, smiling at him as if he'd just told you a secret. 

and peter smiled back because you were just that cute. 

but you aren't here. 

you aren't answering his calls. 

and you didn't come to your door. 

so peter paces around his apartment. 

he waits for you to arrive, but the time spent thinking about it only allows him to overthink it. 

to picture you, somewhere alone. 

someplace that he won't be able to get you back. 

*

"what's this?" you plucked the picture right off of his shelf. 

you intruded on every carefully sanctioned rule peter had. 

you were in his room. 

and peter didn't have time to stop you before you drifted over to his bookshelf; before you unlocked a secret that he'd been struggling to keep. 

you looked over to him, just curious, eyes just soft. "who's she?" 

as soon as you said the words, peter knew that it couldn't have gone anyway else.

he knew that he couldn't have resolved, reflected, or kept himself from saying anything he wasn't supposed to. 

like a selfish child, he grabbed the picture from your hands. he put it back on the bookshelf, reminding himself how to breathe. 

he couldn't look at you to know that you were concerned. 

he couldn't see beyond the boundaries that had been broken. 

gwen, and gwen, and gwen. 

and you. 

because you were a pest on his wall. 

peter breathed out. he considered stopping right then and there. 

"peter?" you asked, "are you okay?" 

eyes unmoving, dangling off of the edge of the world. his world. 

gwen. 

he looked at the picture--the one from graduation. the only one he had the heart to keep. 

the only one he'd forgotten to lock away. 

"peter?" you repeated, carefully, a gentle hand on his back. 

as if to keep him grounded. 

and that was enough. 

he kicked you out of his apartment. 

*

it was a bad night. 

it was one of the nights when peter woke up in a sweat. where he panicked and fought and tried to kick his way out of any reality he lived in. 

it was a night where only one image was burned into his brain. 

where there was only one person to blame. 

and it wasn't you. 

it wasn't you when your hands grasped at his face; when you tried to bring him back down to someplace safe. 

someplace where he could breathe. 

bring him back to you. 

it was a bad night. one of the nights when peter just forgot to breathe. 

where he just forgot how to think, how to be a person instead of a shell of anger, of denial and grief and all of the things that he'd never managed to break free from. 

it was a night. 

another one and she still wasn't there. 

he still hadn't woken up from the nightmare. 

"gwen," he gasped out because he'd forgotten. 

because you were there. you were right there next to him. 

and you weren't supposed to be. 

you were breaking the rules. 

you were betrayal, knocking at his door every night, ridiculing him with every cruel word. 

"peter," you say, softly, bringing him back down. reminding him of where he is. 

and he breaks free. 

he breaks all over again. 

right into your hands. 

*

he doesn't have a word for it, the way you look at him. 

he doesn't have a firm grasp on how much he cares about you. 

but he worries all day. 

he worries about you, about where you are, about what you're doing. 

he worries that he cares too much. that this is too far. that this means too much. 

that everything has intruded on his careful nothing. 

and he misses you when you're gone. 

and he calls you when he gets the chance. 

and he smiles at you. 

doesn't know how to define the way he feels. 

but it doesn't have to mean anything. 

*

"i'm sorry," he tells you. "that wasn't fair." 

you haven't said a thing. 

you haven't pushed him, having kept your eyes from handing him a letter of resignation. 

i can't do this anymore, you say, with just your eyes. 

"i'm sorry," peter repeats. 

"what do you want, peter?" 

he shakes his head. he contemplates the idea until he forgets where he is. 

"i don't know," he says. "i don't--i'm not sure." 

"well, i am." 

the words are short. 

they are the end of an end. 

peter watches you, waiting for you to leave him--knowing that you'll only hurt him this once. 

that this feeling won't drift into another decade. 

two years of knowing you, he thinks. two years of this. 

"i can't do this anymore, peter." 

he hears you but doesn't understand. 

he thinks but draws no obvious conclusions. 

"i'm sorry," he whispers. 

he doesn't know what he's sorry for. 

"god," you scoff at him. 

a reprimand is thrown against the wall. it ricochets back into his chest, tearing his heart out. reminding him of the things he’s done, again and again.

he kicked you out. 

he threw you away. 

he pushed you so hard and so far that he barely recognizes your face, even now. 

even as you stare at him--begging him to change. begging him to do the one thing he feels most incapable of.

he'd refused to love you for so long that he'd left bruises fighting you. 

peter breathes in. 

"i love you." 

the words throw him a branch. he drops it. he pushes it even further into the ground. dirt and disease and all of the things that he deserves.

he waits for you to leave and leave and leave. 

"peter, i love you.”

it’s a different sentence. it hurts even more.

“are you sorry about that?" you ask him, your anger burning holes in his heart. "are you sorry for letting me love you?" 

he says nothing. 

this means nothing. 

"i can't--i won't sit here and pretend like i don't anymore. i won’t be your statue.”

a beautiful statue, peter realizes.

something to return to. the thing to remain when everything else has been turned to ash. something hidden and secret and just for him.

he thinks of you, stone and iron and every impenetrable thing.

he blanches at the prospect.

“i'm sorry, peter,” you say, and it’s cruel. “because it's not fair to you. i know it's not. but it's not fair to me either." 

tears gather in your eyes. they drown peter in their silence. 

he tries to speak but his words are too quiet. he tries to tell you but his voice has been stolen.

"i'm sorry," you tell him. 

and then you're gone. 

*

"you don't have to tell me," you'd said to him. a long time ago. "whatever it is, i don't care." 

peter thought that you might. that if you knew the truth, you might care. 

that you might not want to be around a murderer like him. 

but he didn't say that. 

"peter," you'd wrapped an arm around him, supported him with all of your weight. "i care about you, you know?" 

it was a question that didn't require answering. 

peter couldn't say it back. guilt had its chains wrapped around him, and was controlling his every move. 

"okay. as long as you know." 

"i don't care," you'd said to him. 

but you would. 

*

peter sits in his apartment alone. 

it's the first time in weeks. 

usually, you're there. usually, you're filling his rooms with laughter. brightening every doorway you walk through. 

you’re there with a warmth peter doesn’t care to describe. a smile he doesn’t want to see; eyes that go beyond a simple conclusion.

you’re there, changing everything. one second at a time.

you distract him until he doesn't need distraction. 

but tonight he's alone. 

tonight he's staring at the pictures he still has of gwen. 

and despite the pain. 

despite the guilt. 

despite all of his attention focused on the photographs in front of him. 

despite it all. 

he's thinking about you. 

*

when peter knocks on your door, he tries not to wince. 

he tries to collect himself into a neat picture. into a semblance of a person. a complete idea. 

he struggles and scrambles around for something spare, something he left behind. 

but he can't manage to find it all before you open your door. 

before you're standing in front of him, eyes puffy. 

it's been a night. 

one night without you and peter's already back. 

some cruel part of him laughs. 

"hey," he says. 

he repeats apologies in his head. tries to print them out into the world. he wants you to know. he wants to tell you.

he wants to just fix this.

you stare at him, mouth open the tiniest bit. unexpected and shocked and everything peter was worried about.

peter scratches at his neck, ashamed. "i know you're still mad. and that i shouldn't be here. i wanted--" he swallows his courage. "i wanted to give you some space, but i..." 

he stops. looks at you. your eyes. a phantom of a smile. and idea he’s lost one too many times.

"i don't want to lose you." 

he repeats the words like a record in his mind. 

your words, he realizes. 

"i can't lose you," he repeats. he feels the grasp on his heart loosen. he breathes out, shakily. "can we talk? i want--i just want--" 

and he falters on the edges of the words.

he can feel the pain, steady as air, crawling up his skin, laughing at him over and over. it presses up against him, whispering that he can’t do it. it ceases to exist at all.

it holds him hostage. he’s not allowed to do this. he’s not supposed to be here, looking at you.

but he wants to feel it. he wants you to hear him clearly. he wants to push this wall away. and he—

if he could just say it.

you open the door. 

because you've always been more forgiving than him. 

*

its a couple of weeks later. 

a couple of weeks of finally understanding what denial can do to a person. 

of finally defining the meaning of you. 

of you and your smile and your forgiveness. 

the strength you've leant peter, even when he hasn't deserved it. 

it's a couple of weeks later, and you're sitting on peter's couch. 

you're there, now, and peter doesn't feel guilty about it. 

he can't. 

he doesn't let himself think about what it means. 

instead, he runs a fingertip up and down the skin of your arm, he tries to pay attention to the movie you're both watching and fails. 

he looks over at you, admiring the light on your face. 

the depths and lights and pictures that a camera could never capture. 

he smiles at you, unknowingly. 

you look over to him. "what?" you ask, teasing voice, a brow raised. 

but you're smiling too. 

peter shakes his head. he tilts your chin up with his finger, getting a better view. 

there's a look on your face that peter never wants to go away. 

there's a feeling in his chest--more than pounding, more than strength--that he recognizes most. 

you mean something to him. that much is clear. 

"peter," you sing, trying to get his attention. 

"what?" 

"you're not even watching the movie." 

peter smiles. "that's okay." 

"want to change it?" 

peter shakes his head, he doesn't need to say a single thing. 

you sigh and look away from him, but there's a grin on your face that peter wants to put in his pocket. 

for a rainy day. 

he keeps staring at you. 

doesn't need to watch a movie when you're right next to him. 

and peter defines it. 

because he knows.

and he's pretty sure--amidst all of the mistakes and lies--that he always has. 

“hey,” peter says.

he doesn’t need to worry about restrictions. about ideas and actions that he’s made.

you smile at him, despite it all.

“change your mind?” you ask him, so very close.

he can feel your breath on his skin. can taste the eagerness in the air.

yes, he thinks,

you wait for him. you stare at him until he speaks. “peter,” you whisper, like a beacon of hope.

like a light to go home to.

peter smiles again, ready.

“i love you.”

*

my masterlist here. 

tags: @moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life  @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah​ @localrockstargf​

[lexcellence]

When I heard Gerry Duggan get asked on Cerebro, white boy to white boy, about the unfortunate optics of announcing and then immediately murdering the least white team of X-Men in years, I knew we'd be in for some shit. Man, did he deliver - after some evasive waffling about how ORCHIS is meant to be fascist, and how the story's point is to put the collective back of mutantkind even more against the wall than it was any of the last six times something like this has happened.

And, honestly? That's fair! This year's Hellfire Gala is ultimately the first part of a larger story, and history shows it's not going to last forever — hell, does anyone remember what the status quo was immediately before HoXPoX? At least this time most of the characters have implicitly just been sucked into Mother Righteous's magical Poké Ball, rather than outright killed; if anything, that's an improvement. I was fully content to just think "hey, not for me," and get back to ignoring everything beyond Immortal and Sabertooth, secure in the knowledge that certain topics are bound to be handled poorly when almost everyone in the room is white, when Duggan said three words that stopped me in my tracks:

"Keep the faith."

See, that struck me, because for a lot of us, this entire era of comics has been about nothing but faith. I've been reading X-Men, and engaging with fans since I was eight, and I've never seen the kind of collective buy-in from other marginalized readers that I have with Krakoa. X-Twitter (or, I suppose, X-X) has been Blacker, queerer, more disabled, less homogeneous than the fandom has ever been, all of us buying in to the implicit promise that this time things would be different. Sure, the line was headed by a presumably straight white guy, but there were other voices in the room for a change, and it really felt like they were going to be listened to. We thought we'd moved past clunky metaphor, past queerbaitimg and awkward racial gaffes. Storm and Kwannon were getting to do stuff, Arakko was full of amazing characters of color, Cyclops and Wolverine were probably fucking, we were hooked, and we turned out.

It's hard to overemphasize just how wild this was to see in real time. X-Men has always been allegory, sure, but it's traditionally allegory by and for the majority. For years, the readers who might really feel that resonance, those of us who have been hated and feared for the unforgivable crime of being who we are, we were afterthoughts, tolerated at best. We got scraps, "representation" from creators who seemed to be offended by the implication that we would ever want something other than being fetishized tokens. We were, as Hickman so succinctly put it, told that we were less when we knew we were more. And then, out of nowhere, Krakoa made us inescapable.

The two biggest X-Men podcasts, X-Plain the X-Men and Cerebro, are hosted by queer people. X of Words has been rocking the Black, queer experience like no one's business, Mutant Watch has been a joy to listen to and to be on. Not just podcasts, either, in everything from criticism to fanart to cosplay, voices have been elevated that were previously silent. I mean, hell, I've gotten paid to talk about comics, that shit never would have happened four years ago.

All of that was based on faith.

Faith that we were being celebrated, for once, instead of just used. Faith that for whatever growing pains there might be, things were going to be better.

And let's not fuck around here, there were growing pains. In the first year alone we dealt with everything from blatant whitewashing, to queerbaiting — any Sunspot fan can go into detail there, assuming you can get one of us to stop crying for long enough. While that was going on, we watched Bryan Edward Hill (the only non-white writer in that initial wave) put out a book that was, let's face it, at worst aggressively mid, only to be excoriated by certain portions of the fandom, and dropped by the office, while significantly worse books managed to hold fast — er, hold on. Not to say that Fallen Angels was without sin, mind you, the book was packed with enough orientalism to make Chris Claremont blush. But, at the same time, Wolverine's first year ended with him doing what he does best: trying so hard to be Japanese that I had to check to make sure he wasn't Marvel's editor in chief.

Through all of that, we kept the faith.

Things didn't really get much better, of course. Arakko was a fascinating concept, and felt like it damn near doubled Marvel's characters of color. And yeah, the ending of X-Factor was one of the most poorly handled racist messes I've seen this side of… well, any given day on Twitter. Sure, the whitewashing has never stopped, to the point where everything from X-Corp to this week's Hellfire Gala has had to be hastily edited between previews and release. Maybe we keep dealing with stuff like butchered AAVE, even more queerbaiting, Kate Pryde's funeral, the genocide of almost all of those Arraki characters, and whatever the hell was going on with Lost in Way of X. Maybe there's a very real argument to be made that there's something insidious about three straight years of voting to determine if characters like Monet (who, by the by, has been retooled from "basically Superman" to "Black woman with anger powers") deserve the honor of being written by a white man who's stayed writing with his foot in his mouth. I mean, hey! All my white friends in the scene say he's nice, just like Williams, or Howard, or any number of other crusty crackers who are still proud of tripping over the bar Claremont left on the floor in the 80's!

And dammit, we kept the faith!

Even before the issue dropped, the Fall of X has had a lot of us wary. After all, all of the promotion leading up to it has been white guys saying the minority allegory has had it too good for too long, which, whatever, press copy. We all know they've gotta sell books — they, in this case, being the almost exclusively white, almost exclusively male creative teams attached to all of the books in the line. Sure, as Duggan said, the 616 has a fascism problem, but it’s hard not to see this as a deliberate step back from the almost double digit number of non-white creators these past few years — almost as if Marvel has realized they can make space for a fourth ongoing by their favorite white boy if they just throw out a Voices special every couple of months as a containment zone for the darkies. And, hey, considering how good ol’ C.B. got his foot in the door, I can’t even fake surprise. At this point, it’s a minor miracle any time a person of color is tapped for anything that’s expected to last beyond one issue.

In this issue, as a reward for keeping the faith, we got to see something astounding, something that'd bring a tear to the eye of even the most cynical reader — a team that was only half white. My god. And sure, their brutal murder in favor of a team with Kate "Hard-Arrr" Pryde and the Kingpin(????) was only a pit-stop between the resurrection of the suddenly ashy Ms. Marvel and Lourdes Chantel being killed off for the sake of a white woman's angst yet afuckinggain, but ain't that the dream that Malcolm Ten or whoever died for?

The Krakoan era, ultimately, has been the same as every other. Empty promises by white men who show us time and again that there was never any point in expecting anything better. Any meaning we've found, everything of worth, has been what we've made for ourselves.

We've spent years keeping the faith, Gerry, while you and yours have continued to let us down. What the hell do we have to show for it?

[haunted-headset-alt]

I was wondering if you're okay writing an Angel Dust. M!Reader. More specifically Drag Queen Angel Dust. A one-shot if perfect, but you can do whatever you want. You can do this as angst or fluff, it doesn't matter! Have a great rest of your day!!

𝕭𝖆𝖉 𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖎𝖈𝖊

summary: Val convinced you to sign the deal. & Angel Dust is terrified.

warnings: swearing, angst, Valentino is his own warning, mentions of SA, alcohol & drug consumption, mentions of a breakup, mentions of abuse, brief mention of suicide, gn!reader (except for the use of the nickname "princesa" & being called "gorgeous"), arguing

a/n: i saw this ask & immediately wanted to make this into a series!

tags: (as always, just tagging a few people i think would be interested in this, please let me know if you would like to be on the taglist!) @o-kye @lil-stormcloud @zuuriell @strangleetomz @xxtalulahlovesyouxx @vibestillax @zoexia @ax-y10 @stars-around-scars-collective @blu3-lemonad3 @myheartticks @joviepog @mochamuff1n @unbeleevable @danvstheworld

"C'mon, toots, just come to my drag show! You've been cooped up in ya room all day." Angel Dust pleaded, pacing back & forth in your room.

You were a newer resident of the Hazbin Hotel, mainly staying there to be with your friend Angel Dust. Redemption, however, was just an afterthought to you. Heaven didn't seem like that much fun. You were still supportive of Charlie's dream & helped in any way you could.

"What if he's there, Angel? What if he tries to hurt me again?" you sighed, burying yourself further in your pile of blankets.

"You really think I'm gonna let that dickhead fuck with ya?" Angel Dust raised a brow. "If we see him, we'll leave. How's that sound, suga?"

After a few moments of thinking, you slowly sat up in your bed. "Fine. Only because it's your show & I want to be supportive." Angel Dust smiled wide & gave you a hug while muttering a few "thank you"s.

"Go get ready, toots. I'll see ya downstairs."

"You're completely sure he won't be here?" you asked nervously.

"Dollface, even if that dickhead was here, you're too hot for him to approach," Angel chuckled. He opened the door for the club & let you walk in first, & your senses were immediately overloaded with the sight.

Bright neon lights flashed vibrant colors to the rhythm of the music, & the air reeked of drugs, horniness, demon sweat, & booze. You could hardly see anybody no more than ten feet ahead of you due to all of the dancing sinners in your way, all of which were either bouncing around to the music or heavily making out, tongue & all, their mixed drool dripping onto their chins & sometimes the floor.

You turned around to look for Angel, but somebody looking for a good time (or just a cure for boredom) dragged him away, leaving you all alone. Not knowing what else to do, you started looking for the bar. You had to push multiple sinners on your way (which resulted in heaping amounts of "Fuck you!"s & "Go kill yourself!"s in response), & when you finally got there, the seats were sticky in a mixture of mystery substances (that you had no interest in figuring out) & the bartender looked like she was one spilled drink away from ending it all.

"What can I get for you?" her monotonous voice distracted you from the scene of the bar.

"They'll be getting your best martini, on me," a mystery voice said behind you as a hand slithered up your back & landed on your shoulder. When you turned on, you were greeted by the sight of a fashionable moth man with a cigarette in his fingers, the pink smoke wrapping around you like a fuchsia vine.

"You're gorgeous!" the moth man exclaimed. "Do you need a job? How many dicks can you suck?"

You stayed silent & raised a confused eyebrow.

"Eh, you look like you can," the moth man shrugged. "The name's Valentino, princesa. Want me to make you more money than your pretty head could ever comprehend? It'll make you & me beyond rich. Sinners eat up demons like you, believe me."

You couldn't get another word out before a contract & pen appeared out of thin air. Valentino quickly talked about where you needed to sign, but you were spaced out. Somebody wanted you to work for them? Somebody wanted you? With a giddy smile on your face at the idea, you signed your name on the contract. You had just finished signing before you were covered by a tall spider. Angel Dust.

"What are you doing, Val?" Angel Dust asked angrily.

"Angel, baby, this princesa is your friend?" Val smiled. "Relax, Angel, I'm just making sure their looks are put to good use." Val was then brought somewhere else by two female sinners who looked like they were in desperate need of sex.

Angel whipped around & gripped your shoulders. "Please tell me you didn't sign those forms, toots, please."

You smiled sheepishly. "I-I kind of wanted a job-"

"Are you fuckin' crazy?!" Angel exclaimed furiously, shaking you a little. "Are you braindead?! Why the fuck would you sign that contract?! He owns your soul now! I've told you how much I hate that bald bitch!"

"That's who you work for?" you raised a brow. "I-I'm sorry, Angel, I didn't know that was-"

"Save your apologies," Angel huffed. "We're going back to the hotel." He grabbed your arm & dragged you out of the bar.

"Hope you like being exploited."