#its when i actually get to it that they become concrete

[liquidstar]

woe the agony of having a funny idea for an oc comic with characters i haven't even designed at all yet let alone shared publicly

[arolesbianism]

If I had the freedom of not knowing there is going to be future new lore stuff added to oni I would do unspeakable things to so many of these guys. Or Id just make them normal guys who just sorta exist. Either or.

[be-good-to-bugs]

crying shouldnt cause headaches, thats just cruel honestly.

[witchywithwhiskey]

first and last

pairing: childhood best friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: after more than a decade away from your home town—and your childhood best friend—you return. everything is exactly the same, but also, entirely different.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, angst, smut, drunken antics, some arguing, drunk masturbation (f) with an audience, semi-public, choking, dirty talk, praise kink, begging, boundaries, very light bdsm vibes, references to past sexual intimacy (piv sex, oral sex [f receiving]), nicknames (buttercup, baby), aftercare

word count: 8.8k

a/n: this is my entry in @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar Challenge, and i've been working on it since june so i'm very excited to post it!!! i wanted to make a sundae i'd actually eat so i used the prompts Butterscotch (childhood friends) and Caramel (drunk/delirious/not in their right mind). it also might be a bit literal to have Steve working at an ice cream shop but whatever!!

i mentioned when i teased this fic that i'd thought about turning it into a much longer story/potentially saving it for a novel, but honestly i just don't know when or if i'll ever have time to do that. but these scenes don't necessarily follow right after each other, so if they feel disconnected, that's why. they're just the ones i wanted to write 😅

The sidewalk of Brambleberry Cove was warm from a full day under the August sun, the concrete gritty with sand beneath your bare feet as you walked the rest of the short distance to Seaside Scoops from your rental house a few blocks away. 

The sun dipped low on the western horizon, casting long shadows over the coastal town like stretching fingers reaching for the Atlantic Ocean. You could hear the steady sound of the crashing waves over the near distant sand dunes, their rhythm a background to your walk. 

It could’ve been a peaceful moment—you were back in your home town, surrounded by familiar sights and sounds and smells. But you were in a wretched mood, and all you could focus on was everything wrong with the world and your current place in it.

There was, of course, the throbbing pain in your big toe from when you’d stubbed it moments ago on the cursed, charming sidewalk, as well as the slight sting on the sides of your foot where your flip flop straps had torn. Your ruined shoes dangled from your fingers because Brambleberry Cove didn’t have a trash can on every street corner like the city you were accustomed to living in. 

In addition to those grievances, the straps of your bathing suit—which you hadn’t worn in far too long and hadn’t realized had become too small—were digging into your shoulders and hips uncomfortably. And, though you’d only been walking for five minutes from the little bungalow you were renting, your thighs were already beginning to chafe beneath the simple dress you’d thrown on. 

All told, you were not in the mood to appreciate the simple beauty of Brambleberry Cove. Instead of admiring the sun-bleached cottages that gave way to the small coastal shops lining main street, and letting yourself sink into the comfort of being back in your tiny beachside home town, you were fixated on everything wrong in your life—both in that moment and the larger scheme of things.

In your defense, though, there was a lot wrong in your life. There’d had to be to get you back to your home town after so long away. 

There was the dream job you’d lost, the ex who’d left you for someone else, and the friends who’d all promised to be there for you, but then vanished when you actually needed help. The only people who’d come through for you were your parents, who’d had a friend willing to rent a little Brambleberry Cove bungalow to you for a fraction of its normal summer price since it was already August and they weren’t going to make much more money anyway. 

You’d had to pack up and leave the city where you’d built your life for 15 years, and move back to your home town, which you hadn’t seen in nearly that long since your parents had moved out west shortly after you’d graduated high school. Being back home made you feel like you weren’t only taking a single step backward, but moving leaps and bounds in the wrong direction. It made you feel like a failure. 

But you tried not to think about all that on your short walk to Seaside Scoops, instead focusing on the pain in your toe and the digging ache of your bathing suit. 

By the time you saw the familiar neon sign for the ice cream shop, it felt like finding an oasis in the desert. You picked up your pace, ignoring the way your body protested, the soles of your feet no longer used to walking on the sandy sidewalk like you’d done countless times growing up in Brambleberry Cove. 

You could see through the window that there was a short line in Seaside Scoops, and you hurriedly pushed through the door of the shop. Once inside, you breathed in the familiar scent of sugar and hot fudge and reveled in the feel of the air conditioner ghosting over your sun-warmed shoulders. 

Surreptitiously, you shoved your ruined flip flops into the garbage just inside the door and got in line behind the couple with their two small children. You glanced around the shop, not really taking it in, and hoped whoever was working behind the counter was still lax on the ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ rule that had theoretically been in place since before you were born—but had never been enforced in practice. 

Finally looking to the counter, wondering idly if you’d recognize who was working or if it’d be some local teen that had been a baby the last time you’d been to Brambleberry Cove, you were shocked to see who was working at Seaside Scoops. Your belly swooped like you were standing on a boat on the choppy sea, your heart racing when you recognized the man behind the counter. At one time, he’d been the boy you’d shared so much of your childhood with, so many of your summers with. 

When you got a good look at him, you were almost surprised you recognized him so fast. He was no longer the scrawny teenager you’d left behind when you’d gone off to college and never looked back. He looked so different from the boy you’d known well enough you could recall his face in perfect detail, but, in so many ways, exactly the same.

On the whole, it was a shock to see the man Steve Rogers had become. 

Sandy brown hair fell on either side of his handsome, suntanned face, swept back like he had a habit of running his hands through it countless times a day. A short, well-kept beard decorated his strong jaw, bracketing a set of soft pink lips that were curved in a devastating grin. His bright blue eyes sparkled beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop, and when he spoke to the family in front of you in line, his voice rumbled like the distant roar of the ocean.

Seeing Steve Rogers for the first time in over 15 years made something loosen in your chest, anxiety uncoiling from around your heart and shaking free for the first time in a long time. A sense of safety and comfort washed over you, and you had the sudden thought that this was how you were supposed to feel about coming home. 

But you shoved that thought aside and continued your perusal of your childhood best friend, making note of all the ways he’d changed from the boy you’d known.

Thick, golden biceps were bare and bulging beneath the edge of his white t-shirt, and dense, brown hair covered corded forearms as Steve folded his arms on top of the ice cream case. He was tall—tall enough to lean over the case to talk to the kids with the couple in front of you, asking them about their favorite ice cream flavors and if they’d like to try anything new.

The kids, a boy and a girl, both stared up at him with wide eyes, shyness and wonder clear in their twin expressions. They looked to their parents for permission before shyly revealing what flavors they’d like to try. Steve gave a deep, hearty chuckle at their timidness, and complimented them on their choices, which seemed to make them both loosen up a bit.

Inexplicable heat flushed through your body at the sound of Steve’s deep laughter, and the easiness with which he interacted with the kids. You’d never been particularly good with children, mainly because you’d never had much of a chance to interact with any, and you’d never felt any particular desire to be around them. But seeing Steve looking like he did talking to those kids made your belly swoop again and something inside you pulse with a need you didn’t want to fully unpack.

Shoving those thoughts into a box in the back corner of your mind, you forced yourself to look away from your childhood friend and up at the menu that listed all the ice cream flavors. You’d been to Seaside Scoops hundreds of times in your life, if not thousands, and, at one time, you’d had the list memorized. 

Hopefully you still had that knowledge tucked away somewhere in your brain, because you weren’t taking in anything you were reading as you not-so-patiently waited for Steve to finish up with the customers in front of you.

It felt like forever, and by the time the family took their cups and cones of ice cream toward the side door that opened up into an outdoor seating area, you’d already cycled through three rounds of the same argument with yourself about why you should leave Seaside Scoops without talking to Steve. You couldn’t imagine your first conversation in 15 years going well.

But you couldn’t leave without talking to him. Not when he was right there and it had been so long and you were dying to know everything that he’d done in the last 15 years since you saw him last. 

Still, it took you a few extra seconds to gather the courage to lower your eyes from the menu board and finally look at your childhood friend. When you did, your gaze caught immediately on Steve’s, and your heart gave a little flip at the devastatingly charming smile on his impossibly handsome face.

“Hey there, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, his tone as friendly and familiar as it had always been. All of a sudden, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

“Hi, Steve,” you said, trying for the same casualness he’d achieved, but your voice sounded faint and faraway in your ears. The corners of your mouth flickered in a tremulous smile.

You couldn’t understand the surge of emotion filling your chest and rising in your throat, pricking at the backs of your eyes like you wanted to throw yourself into your oldest friend’s arms and sob about everything wrong in your life. 

The same deluge of emotion had hit you when you’d stubbed your toe on your walk to Seaside Scoops and you’d had to stand there by yourself, sucking in deep breaths of salty Brambleberry Cove air, nails biting into the flesh of your palms to keep yourself from breaking down. 

Just as you’d done then, you beat back the emotion, blinking your eyes rapidly to rid them of tears. Still, a thought needled you as you stood across the counter from Steve—the knowledge that if you did let yourself break down and cry, he wouldn’t hesitate to fold you into that broad chest of his, wrapping you up in his thick arms and holding you so securely, the world might not seem so grim anymore. 

You chalked it up to nostalgia and the rough time you were having, forcing yourself to take a deep breath and paste on a bright smile. Casting your eyes around Seaside Scoops, you pretended to give the place a real look, though you didn’t really notice much as you continued to blink back tears. 

“You work here now?” you asked lightly, looking at the new standee in the corner.

It was a cartoon shark holding up a sign advertising Seaside Scoops and their many ice cream flavors. But what caught your eye was that it looked a bit like the shark Steve had drawn for you when you’d gotten a bad grade sophomore year and wanted to cheer you up. It even had the same little sailor hat sitting perched on top of his head—which only made sense because sharks didn’t have blowholes, he’d told you at the time.

You’d smiled then, and you smiled again remembering it.

“Uhh,” Steve started, and you turned tear-free eyes back on your old friend, your gaze drawn to the way his bicep bulged against the sleeve of his t-shirt as he scuffed the back of his neck. There was a little bit of a sheepish tinge to his smile. “I actually own Scoops now,” he said in a rush, like he was confessing to something, though you couldn’t imagine what. “I bought it when Mr. Wallace retired down to Florida.”

“Oh,” was all you could think to say, glancing around the ice cream shop with a keener eye.

The shark standee wasn’t the only new thing in the place. Everything, from the tables and chairs to the menu board and counter, looked slightly newer than you remembered. Nothing was wildly different, which was why you hadn’t noticed it when you first looked around. Everything just looked better than it should if it had aged a decade since you’d last stepped into the shop.

Something about it made you think Seaside Scoops looked exactly like your memory of it—but the polished, perfect version in your head, instead of the place as it had been. Yellowed with age and a lack of upkeep. It was genuinely astounding what Steve had done with the place and it took you a few moments to find the right words, though they still felt pale in comparison to the bittersweet nostalgia in your heart.

“The place looks great,” you said with a half smile as you turned back to Steve. A small thread of pride wormed through your heart at seeing what your oldest friend had accomplished and your smile widened when he brightened under your praise. “I like the shark,” you said, hooking a thumb over your shoulder at the standee. 

A bit of pink tinted Steve’s cheeks above his beard, and he cleared his throat. 

“Is a dipped twist still your favorite?” he asked, clearly trying to change the subject and your smile dimmed just a little. The Steve you’d known had been shy about showing his art to anyone but you, and it seemed that you’d been gone long enough to be lumped in with everyone else. 

You swallowed back a lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah, that’s still my favorite,” you answered, more than a little surprised Steve remembered your order.

Sure, you’d gone to Seaside Scoops together countless times as kids. It had been your hangout spot for most of your childhood, and even into your teen years. You’d study together over a cup of cookie dough with sprinkles for Steve and a cone of vanilla and chocolate softserve dipped in chocolate sauce for you. But that was more than a decade ago.

Your heart gave a heavy squeeze when you remembered the night before you’d left Brambleberry Cove, the way Steve reminded you of the promise you’d made as children—that you’d always be friends. Your stomach twisted into knots as you were confronted with the reality that you hadn’t kept up your end of the deal. You’d left, and you’d allowed your oldest friend to become a stranger. 

You wondered if Steve remembered the promise you’d made, the reminder he’d given you as a parting gift, or if he’d forgotten. You wondered if he’d ever want to be friends again.

Steve’s back was to you, his wrist flicking expertly beneath the softserve machine as he filled up a sugar cone with the twist of chocolate and vanilla. You forced yourself to push aside the memories of the past, blinking back more tears before Steve could catch them in your eyes. 

You and Steve weren’t friends anymore, and you needed to accept that. It was unreasonable to hold him to a promise he’d made more than two decades ago, especially when you were the one who’d left and had barely tried to stay in touch between college classes and exploring your new city.

With a great amount of effort, you kept your mind blissfully blank as you let your gaze trail idly over Steve’s broad back, unable to stop yourself from noticing just how wide his shoulders were, or the way they moved beneath the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt. He really did fill out the shirt well, his sides tapering down to a thin waist. And his ass looked particularly good in the curve-hugging denim of his jeans. 

As Steve turned around, you raised your eyes quickly and arranged your expression into one of innocence. Steve paused, giving you a shrewd look like he would’ve done when you were teenagers and you were hiding something from him, but then he just shook his head and laughed under his breath, turning to the chocolate sauce where he’d dip your ice cream cone. 

“So, what brings you back to Brambleberry Cove, buttercup?” Steve asked, his gaze focusing on dipping your ice cream just right, a look of determination on his face that was endlessly endearing. 

You grimaced at the exact moment he glanced up at you, and he chuckled at the face you made. The sound was smooth as warm caramel and sent a new wave of heat rolling down your spine. 

“That bad, huh?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone.

Although there was a point in your life when you could’ve told Steve anything, and the urge to do so still lingered deep in your bones, you knew your relationship was different. You couldn’t dump all your problems on your childhood friend after not talking to him for 15 years. You didn’t even know if you were still friends anymore. 

Plus, there was a small crowd gathering behind you as the late dinner rush started to filter into Seaside Scoops. Even if you’d wanted to tell Steve everything that had happened to you in the 15 years since you’d last seen him, it wasn’t the time. 

So you just gave him a sad smile and accepted the ice cream cone from Steve’s hand, ignoring the butterflies and ticklish warmth that fluttered through your body at his touch. You gripped the sugar cone tight—but not too tight—so you didn’t fumble it. 

“Yeah,” you whispered in answer to his question, leaving it at that. There was an awkward beat, and your eyes dropped to the ice cream that was already beginning to melt despite the air conditioning in the shop. Thankfully, you had an easy way to move past Steve’s questions. 

You pulled some cash from the wristlet where you’d also stashed your phone and I.D., asking, “What do I owe you?” because you figured it must’ve been more expensive than what you remembered. And you didn’t want to risk looking up at the menu and catching Steve’s eye, not wanting any of the emotions or heat that seemed to flood you whenever you looked at him.

But a large, warm, golden hand closed over your fumbling fingers, startling you enough to look up into the sky blue eyes of your childhood friend. Your lips fell open in surprise as tingling warmth worked its way up your arm from your hand, wrapping around your heart and making it beat harder. 

For a long moment, you simply stared at each other. Steve really had grown up and changed so much, the evidence in the weathered grooves of his forehead and the lines between his brows, but his eyes still looked the same—soft as clouds, warm as the summer sun. 

“It’s on the house,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, the thrum of some emotion you couldn’t identify laced through his words. “It was nice to see an old friend,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before he pulled his away.

It wasn’t until Steve straightened up to his full height that you realized he’d been leaning over the counter, and your faces had been very close together. Heat crept into your cheeks at the realization that Steve had been in your personal space, and all you’d thought about was his eyes. 

Shoving all the money in your hand into the tip jar, you muttered, “Thanks, Steve.” As you zipped up your wristlet, you noticed that some of your ice cream was in danger of dripping onto your hand.

Without thinking, you licked quickly around the edge of the sugar cone, a soft moan slipping free when the cool sweetness of the ice cream hit your brain.

Steve made a strangled sound that dragged your attention away from your treat, finding your childhood best friend looking away and coughing into his fist, a deeper pink flushing his cheeks. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion when he looked back at you, but his expression gave nothing away and you had to wonder if you’d imagined the noise. It had almost sounded…aroused.

Shaking that thought clear from your mind, you gave Steve a smile and began to step away from the counter so he could help the next customer.

Steve’s eyes lingered on you, and he offered you one last charming, friendly smile, raising his hand in a wave. “Don’t be a stranger, buttercup,” he rumbled, his low words managing to reach your ears over the chatter in the shop. He gave you a long look, emotion swirling in those familiar eyes of his, and your breath caught in your throat.

The intensity of his gaze and the warmth in his parting words hit you straight in the gut, and you stood stunned in front of the register while Steve turned and walked to the other end of the ice cream case to help the next people in line. 

For a long moment, you couldn’t get over the way Steve had been able to read your mind, to pluck the thought that you were strangers to each other out of your brain and then tell you he didn’t want that to be the case. Your mind raced with questions. Did he still think of you as friends? Did he remember the promise you’d made all those years ago to always be friends? How did he know the exact right thing to say? 

But then the rational side of your brain resurfaced from wherever your heart had momentarily buried it, and you remembered his farewell was a normal thing for people to say to each other. Especially people who hadn’t seen each other in a while and likely would again because they both lived in a very small town. That’s all it was, just a normal goodbye. 

Not Steve Rogers somehow reading your mind because he knew you so well. 

With those rationalities ringing in your head, you dashed out of Seaside Scoops and it wasn’t until your feet had carried you to the next block that you remembered your broken shoes and stubbed toe and chafed thighs. 

But those problems didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Not with the delicious ice cream cone in your hand, and the sunset casting Brambleberry Cove in gorgeous, golden light—and especially not with Steve’s warm, honeyed voice ringing in your head, calling you buttercup. 

It had felt so normal to hear the nickname roll off Steve’s tongue that you hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t realized how long it had been since you’d last heard it. But, just as it had when you were younger, it filled your chest with a bright, golden warmth. You grinned to yourself as you strolled back to your little bungalow, licking up the melting ice cream as fast as you could.

Your mood was decidedly better, and you enjoyed the walk home, refusing to think too much about why exactly you felt lighter and happier and less miserable about being home in Brambleberry Cove than you had before going to Seaside Scoops. It was just the ice cream, obviously. There was no other reason.

“You’re staring.” Steve’s voice was low, the undercurrent of laughter in it almost mixing with the sounds of the distant waves. You could hear them through the open windows of his truck as he eased the vehicle down the winding road leading away from the docks on the north side of Brambleberry Cove. 

His comment dragged you out of your drunken haze, and you took a deep breath to get your bearings. Your lungs filled with the salty nighttime air of the sea and the earthy leather interior of your childhood best friend’s truck, a small smile curling the corners of your lips and your eyes sliding closed. When you forced them back open, you realized he was right.

Huh, you really were staring at Steve. 

Your head was swiveled to the side, your cheek pressed to the brown leather of the seat back, your eyes fixed on the profile of his face that was highlighted in the glossy silver of the moon and warmed by the golden light of the town’s street lamps. 

You couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed or ashamed for staring at Steve, though. And it was at that moment you realized you were drunk. 

It didn’t surprise you. After all, you were the one who’d thrown on some jean shorts and a cute top and then took yourself to Shanty’s, the only place in Brambleberry Cove to go if you were a local looking to avoid tourists. 

You’d been happy to see Bucky Barnes, your other oldest friend after Steve, manning the bar. But you’d been much less happy with him when he’d insisted on calling Steve to take you home after you’d downed more than your fair share of liquor. 

It was probably for the best, though. You were drunk and horny and if you weren’t careful, you would’ve gone home with Brock Rumlow. Just thinking about it made you grimace at yourself and your poor almost-decisions. 

Focusing back on Steve, you couldn’t fault Bucky too much for calling your old friend to pick you up—not when it had ended with you able to watch his side profile while he kept his eyes on the road. It felt practically shameful to indulge yourself so much. That is, if you’d had any shame left, but you’d drowned it all in alcohol.

“You’re still staring, buttercup,” Steve rumbled, the humor clearer in his tone. The edges of his mouth were flickering beneath the silvery golden light of Brambleberry Cove at night and you knew he was trying to suppress a smile. It was fascinating to watch, but then Steve rubbed his hand across his mouth, scrubbing through his beard, and it broke you free of your drunken trance.

“I just can’t get over how different you look,” you huffed, raising your arms and flopping them back against the seat in your best approximation of a shrug. “And how exactly the same.” 

Steve barked a laugh, the sharp sound bringing a smile instantly to your face. You’d never heard him laugh like that, and you couldn’t help but love that you were still discovering new things about him, even after knowing him all your life. 

He glanced over at you, his expression bemused like he was sure you were drunker than he’d thought. You probably were, but that didn’t stop you from being right, and you tried to convey that in the brief moment he looked at you. 

Steve’s gaze slid quickly down your body, not like he was checking you out—more like he was checking to make sure your seatbelt was still buckled and you weren’t in danger of doing anything ridiculous. You were only in danger of saying ridiculous things, at least, according to him apparently. He shook his head after he’d turned back to watching the road.

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, buttercup,” Steve said, a little bit of gruffness in his tone. He cleared his throat before he went on. “Usually when someone we went to high school with comes back, they tell me they never woulda recognized me.” 

You gave an unladylike snort, drawing another surprised laugh out of Steve before he bit off the sound to let you speak.

“Well those people should have their eyes checked,” you muttered scornfully, pushing yourself up from where you’d been slumped against the warm leather seat. You twisted your body in your seat so you were facing Steve, your eyes tracing the lines of his face from across the cab. “You still have the same eyes,” you pointed out vehemently, as if Steve was arguing with you, even though he wasn’t. “And your nose still has that little bump in it, and your lips are still so soft and full…”

You trailed off, realizing far too late that you were saying your inside thoughts out loud. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you watched Steve as he processed what you’d said—the way his fingers scratched a little nervously at his beard, those twin lines forming between his brows. Your gazed traced every curve and line and divot in his face, examining his expression, wanting to memorize it and save it for the rest of your life. 

“I don’t think any of those people noticed those things,” Steve murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the slight breeze drifting through the windows while he drove through town. 

Your heart lurched at the implication of Steve’s words, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take them back, even if they were dangerously close to revealing something you hadn’t even had the courage to admit to yourself yet. 

Instead, you focused on your anger at the hypothetical people who weren’t recognizing Steve just because he’d grown up, gotten tall, gotten buff, grown out his hair and his beard and looked altogether very different to the skinny teenager he’d been.

“If they didn’t see those things, they didn’t really see you,” you muttered to yourself, indignant on Steve’s behalf, but trying to keep it to yourself. Apparently, you weren’t good at moderating the volume of your voice, because Steve snorted at your remark. 

“No, no one ever saw me as well as you did, buttercup,” Steve said, his voice low and warm, and your heart promptly rioted in your chest. 

There was something so dizzyingly wonderful about hearing Steve say such intimate words to you in that deep, caramel voice of his, genuine affection shining through his tone. It took your breath away for a moment, and your brain short-circuited. 

It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him…something. The thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself yet. But you were still you, and your brain tripped at the last moment, and instead you blurted, “Do you ever think about our first time?”

Steve choked on a snort, his eyes darting to you with honest surprise. You couldn’t blame him. You’d had no idea those words were gonna spill from your mouth until they were out, but you supposed they weren’t as bad as what you’d almost confessed, so you didn’t try to take them back or change the topic of conversation. You waited with bated breath for Steve’s response, and whether he remembered your night together when you were both 18.

When he saw you were anticipating his answer, he spluttered, “You mean when I came three seconds after getting inside you?” 

You began to smile, because he remembered, but then Steve continued talking.

“Y’know, I told Bucky about that once,” he said, his eyes fixed so fully on the road that you got the impression he didn’t want to meet your gaze and your stomach plummeted. “I was drunk, and didn’t know if it really counted as sex. Bucky was no help, of course—he said he didn’t know either since it was so quick.” 

Something new was swirling in your gut, and for long moments you could only sit there on the warm leather of the truck and stew in that hot, feral feeling. It must’ve showed on your face because, when Steve finally looked over at you after you’d been quiet for so long, the truck lurched forward, his foot pressing too hard to the gas.

“Don’t worry,” he rushed to say, guessing at what was upsetting you and guessing wrong. “I didn’t tell him it was with you.”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarled, the words bursting out of you with a ferocity you’d never used in your life, let alone when talking to Steve. But you were furious all of a sudden, and it wasn’t until the words were spilling from your mouth that you understood why you were so angry. “Don’t you dare try to take this away from me, Steven Grant Rogers.” Your voice was seething and barely recognizable, but you couldn’t stop. “You were my first, and it was perfect—because it was you.” 

Steve glanced over at you, something like shock written across his face, but when he looked back at the road, his brows settled low over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw popped and you knew he was grinding his teeth together, taking his time to gather his thoughts before he spoke. It took him a long moment to respond.

“You deserved better.”

The noise of your scoff was loud, even to your ears, and you strained against the seatbelt still buckling you into the passenger seat as you leaned toward your childhood friend.

“You ate me out until I came three times, Steve!” you cried, holding up three fingers as if the adult man your friend had grown into somehow didn’t know how many three was. “No man has ever made me come so many times in one night as you did then.” 

When Steve still didn’t look at you, just kept driving with his hands gripping the wheel and the muscle in his jaw popping, you huffed an exasperated sound and flopped back into your seat. Your back was to the leather as you crossed your arms over your chest and stared out at Brambleberry Cove through the open passenger side window. 

The silence grew until it was suffocating, and you needed to break it. So you said the first thing that came to mind. Again.

“You’re who I think about when I touch myself, Steve.” Your words drifted from your side of the truck to the other, carried on the light breeze floating through the cab. “I think about you and that night, and it gets me off every single time.”

Steve made a strangled kind of sound, like a growl that was torn free from his throat against his will. Then he was quiet, and he was quiet for so long, you thought that was the only reaction you’d get to admitting the truth. Until…

“I think about you, too, buttercup.”

The confession hung in the air between you, settling heavily onto the leather bench seat in Steve’s truck, the air rushing in through the open windows buffetting around it. 

You didn’t feel Steve’s admission sink into you. There was simply a before and an after. And in the after, you were moving. You were unbuckling your seatbelt and scooting across the seat toward Steve until your bare knee brushed against the denim of his jeans. 

He shot a startled look in your direction—which, in a distant part of your brain, you registered as completely adorable—before quickly pulling over to the side of the road. He was just throwing the truck into park when you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs and pressing your chest to his. 

“We should do it again,” you purred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and leaning close. When Steve didn’t respond right away, just kept giving you that surprised look, you thought he might not have understood you, so you explained, “Have sex.”

Steve closed his eyes and a light tremor shuddered through his body as his hands settled respectfully on your waist, a few of his fingers brushing the skin where the edge of your tank top didn’t quite meet the waist of your shorts. Then, it was your turn to shudder, the feeling of his warm, calloused hands against your bare skin making heat flood between your thighs, your core warming and your body melting into your old friend’s hands.

“Please, Steve,” you whispered, tipping your head forward until your lips were a hairsbreadth from his, so close you could taste mint chocolate chip ice cream on his tongue and it took everything in you not to lick into his mouth desperately. Your voice was practically a whine as you went on, “Let’s see if we can do better this time.” 

Steve’s hands shifted to your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to almost hurt, and you thought he was going to give in. But then he swallowed audibly, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he pushed you gently away, his head tilting back against the leather seat so your lips no longer teased him with an almost-kiss.

“You’re drunk, buttercup.”

Steve’s voice was a delicious rasp, and you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound of it even as the meaning of his words settled into your drunken mind. You pouted at your childhood friend, hoping the fact that he hadn’t pushed you off his lap entirely meant he wasn’t saying no.

“And horny,” you said, the words slipping from your lips on another whine. Of their own volition, your hips squirmed on your oldest friend’s lap, trying to get closer, trying to find some kind of friction to work against the aching heat pulsing between your thighs. But Steve’s firm grip held you in place. “Stevie.” His name was nothing but a pathetic whimper. 

A low growl rumbled in Steve’s chest, and then one of his hands was abandoning your hip to cup your face, tilting it up so he could loom over you. The lines of his face were hard, stubborn, and the look in his eyes left no room for argument. 

“You know I won’t touch you when you’re drunk,” he bit out, his voice soft, but as firm as his hold on your body.

A memory slammed into you—you and Steve planning your first time together. You’d made a deal at the start of high school that if neither of you lost your virginity through all four years, then before going off to college, you’d lose it together. 

When the time came, you’d been a little nervous, even though it was Steve, and you’d joked that you could take some wine coolers to the beach and get it over with, just like all the other kids in your school. Even then, Steve had looked at you stubbornly, and said, without a shred of willingness to waver, that he wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk.

Back then, it had sent a shiver down your spine, and it had much the same effect more than a decade later in his truck. Your body trembled with arousal, and you pushed feebly against Steve’s hold—not really trying to break it, just enjoying the feeling that came from realizing how strong he was. Those biceps and corded forearms of his weren’t just for show.

“What about just the tip?” you murmured, the words tumbling past your lips before you could think better of them, knowing there was no use trying to argue with Steve when he’d made a decision. But you were clearly thinking with something other than your brain, because the words kept coming. “That’s not sex, just the tip—please, Steve.” You were begging shamelessly, but your shame and embarrassment were still nowhere to be found since you were still definitely drunk.

Steve’s jaw ticked so hard, you could’ve sworn you heard the muscle pop in the quiet of his truck as he ground his teeth together. 

“Buttercup,” he growled, a warning in his tone. “That’s not happening.”

Your fists gathered in the front of Steve’s t-shirt and you yanked on it restlessly, not trying to do anything more than annoy him. “Whyyy,” you whined, drawing out the word until it was nearly a wail. Unslaked heat burned in your blood and, while you knew why he was refusing to have sex with you, in the moment, you couldn’t understand why your oldest friend was torturing you.

Steve’s hand slid down from your cheek to wrap around the front of your throat, and you stilled immediately, something about the possessive, dominant gesture making you calm. That was new, Steve hadn’t done anything like that when you’d first been together, but you liked it more than you would’ve expected. Your lips were still parted, your panting breaths gusting out of them, your heart racing, and you were finally calm and quiet.

Your oldest friend’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your reaction. At first he seemed surprised, but then a glint of something you’d never seen before sparked to life in the depths of his blue eyes. You watched his gaze drop to your mouth, and nearly whimpered at the way the corner of his lips flickered in the ghost of a smirk. But then he fixed his gaze back on yours, pinning you in place with that stubborn look in his eye, though it was slightly dimmed in favor of that new, hungry glimmer. 

“I won’t fuck you only to wake up tomorrow and find out you regret it,” Steve said, enunciating all his words clearly despite the fact that his teeth were grinding together “That you only wanted it because you needed to scratch an itch.” 

Your lungs dragged in a soundless gasp and you finally understood his reticence, even if you couldn’t imagine ever regretting doing anything with Steve. But when you opened your mouth to protest, Steve’s fingers squeezed the sides of your throat. 

Your words died on your tongue, and your mouth went slack, your eyes going hazy with pleasure. You couldn’t have been more obvious that you liked the way Steve choked you if you tried. And he read your enjoyment easily from the expression on your face, that look of hunger sparking brighter in Steve’s eyes before he went on.

“When I fuck you again,” he growled, his words a promise. “I don’t want you drunk on anything but my cock.”

“Stevie,” you whined his nickname again, the name only you were allowed to call him, your lips forming into a pout. It hadn’t escaped your notice that he’d said ‘when’, and not ‘if’, about having sex with you again, but you didn’t want to push your luck. And besides, unslaked need was still burning brightly through your body, consuming most of your focus. “I need…something, please.” You let out a little whimper and squirmed in his lap again, unable to stop yourself.

Steve huffed a laugh, his thumb stroking down the side of your neck, over your thrumming pulsepoint, while the fingers of his other hand slipped half an inch into the waist of your shorts, only far enough to dig harder into your soft curves.  

“I’m not going to touch you more than this, buttercup,” Steve began, his voice a low, delicious rumble that you swore you could feel in the clenching of your core. “But I didn’t say anything about stopping you from touching yourself.”

Your eyes widened in excitement, and you wasted no time in acting on the implication in Steve’s words. Holding his gaze, one of your hands slipped free from his shirt and trailed down your body. When you reached between your thighs, the backs of your fingers brushed against a thick bulge in the front of Steve’s jeans. 

It twitched against your soft touch, and you gasped in delight, loving the proof that Steve’s body recognized you just as much as his mind.

But when you twisted your hand, intent on giving Steve’s bulge a friendly squeeze, his hand darted down from your hips to your wrist, his fingers circling around you and stilling your hand. “Buttercup,” he rumbled, another warning. 

A shiver raced down your spine and you reveled in the way it made you feel to hear Steve say your nickname like that. It occurred to you that it was new—you’d never heard him say it quite like that before, with frustration and arousal flooding his tone. 

You wanted to hear every flavor of your nickname on Steve’s tongue. You wanted to hear him whisper it like a prayer, and groan it into your lips while he kissed you. You wanted to hear Steve shout your nickname while he came with you. 

But the look in Steve’s eyes was stubborn again, and you knew you’d have to wait to hear all the ways he could say your nickname. 

“OK, Steve, ‘m sorry,” you mumbled, twisting your hand in his hold and pressing the tips of your fingers to the seam of your shorts, your hips jerking forward to seek more of the friction you offered yourself. 

Steve’s hold loosened, but he didn’t let go of you entirely, like he didn’t trust you just yet. But you didn’t care, your fingers were pressing into your clit through the thin denim of your shorts, and you were rocking your hips to grind against them, your wetness soaking through your panties almost immediately.

The moment when your fingers found just the right spot, you sucked in a sharp breath, your spine arching and your hips pressing down hard against your hand. Your head tipped back, your eyes narrowing into slits as you held Steve’s gaze. You moaned while you rubbed tight circles against your clit through your shorts.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly fast,” you huffed in warning, your chest heaving already with labored breaths. 

But Steve only smirked, a touch of smugness in the curve of his lips.

“Don’t worry, buttercup, I remember exactly how sensitive your sweet little clit is,” he rumbled, and you moaned loudly. His fingers flexed against your throat, digging in enough to quiet your sounds and making your eyes widen as your hips lurched in their rhythm. He chuckled at your reaction before continuing on.

“I remember sucking on your puffy little pearl, your thighs squeezing my head, my fingers buried deep in your tight, warm hole,” Steve purred, seemingly knowing exactly what to say to drive your pleasure higher. “I remember the exact way your pussy gripped my fingers when you came, like you wanted me deeper—deep enough that you could feel me in your belly.” 

“God, Steve,” you groaned, your head falling back listlessly on your shoulders, too heavy to keep it up. But Steve’s fingers dug into the back of your neck, and you understood the wordless command immediately. You lifted your head and caught your oldest friend’s eye while you kept rubbing your clit, pushing yourself closer to coming apart in his lap. 

“I remember how big your cock felt inside me,” you confessed, spurred on by Steve’s own filthy words. “I remember how long it took for you to sink your thick, fat cock into my tight pussy.” You paused only to take a quick, hitching breath. “I was already so close when you came, and I remember, I thought, maybe if you hadn’t been wearing a condom, maybe I would’ve come, too.” 

The lines of Steve’s face shifted, hardening, his jaw ticking wildly and his eyes going molten fierce, like the blue at the center a campfire that burns too hot to sit near. 

“Don’t fucking say that, buttercup,” Steve growled, his voice gravelly like he was chewing on seashells. “If I hadn’t been wearing a condom, I would’ve come so much faster—I never woulda made it all the way inside you. Woulda been coming with just my tip inside your warm, wet pussy, baby—woulda been too risky, buttercup.” 

Your eyes wanted to fall closed as you moaned, but you didn’t let them. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from Steve, not with that furious and ferocious hunger in his eyes, his desire for you etched into every single line and curve of his face. 

You were so close. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Fuck, Steve, I know I shouldn’t, but I love the thought of you coming inside me, filling me up, making me yours,” you confessed, the words bubbling up from the very depths of your soul. It was on the tip of your tongue again, that thing you hadn’t admitted to yourself. Instead of letting it free, you moaned, long and loud, your fingers rubbing faster against your clit and your hips grinding against your hand. 

“Christ, baby,” Steve gritted through tightly clenched teeth. His fingers were digging into your hip again, diving further beneath the waist of your shorts, nearly skimming the edge of your panties. His other hand tightened around your throat and dragged you into him, until your face was right in front of his and he could watch every twitch and change in your expression as you pleasured yourself. 

“Come on, baby,” he said, his voice urgent with need. “Come before I do something we’ll both regret.” 

The hand that wasn’t wedged between your thighs pressed to the center of Steve’s chest, just above his heart, and a moment later, you felt his warm palm cover it. He was still holding your throat, his fingers digging into the sides hard enough that you knew he could feel your fluttering pulse beneath his touch. And you could feel his heart pounding beneath your palm, the rapid pace nearly matching the frantic one in your chest.

“Come, buttercup, come for me,” Steve commanded, his eyes holding yours. For a moment, it felt like he could see straight into your soul. It was a scorching intimacy you hadn’t felt since that night you’d first been with Steve, and you were helpless to it.

“Stevie,” you cried his name as your pleasure rose up and consumed you, sending you over the edge into a earth-quaking orgasm. Your body writhed in Steve’s lap, your hips grinding gracelessly against your hand as you collapsed forward, leaning into the grip of his hand around your throat. You sobbed your pleasure, the waves of your release wracking your body for long moments.

Eventually, the final swell ebbed and the last of your energy receded with it. Your damp forehead fell against Steve’s cool, dry one and you struggled to catch your breath. His hand slipped from the front of your throat around to the back of your neck and he smoothed it down your spine. 

He held you close, whispering in your ear, “Such a good girl, buttercup, you did so good.”

Once you finally settled, Steve shifted, his beard grazing your lips as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

“Can I take you home now?” he asked.

You huffed a laugh and slumped against his chest, laying your head sleepily on his shoulder. “I don’t think I can move yet,” you said, slurring your words with tiredness. And drunkenness.

Steve chuckled, but made no attempt to move you. You only felt him lifting his arms around you, though his hands didn’t settle on your body. 

“If you see Sam while you’re back in town, don’t tell him I did this,” Steve murmured in your ear. Then you felt the truck rumbling to life and getting back onto the road and you realized where your oldest friend’s hands were. He was driving you home, with you still sitting boneless in his lap.

When Steve arrived at your rental house, not too long after, he helped you down from his truck and looped an arm around your waist, getting you into the bungalow. Thankfully, you were sated from your release in his truck so you didn’t try to proposition him again, just dutifully did as he said, changing into your pajamas in your bedroom while he waited outside the closed door. 

Then he let you lean against his broad chest while you brushed your teeth and washed your face, before guiding you back to your room and tucking you into bed. Last, he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead that was so comforting, and made you feel so safe, your eyes fluttered closed and a soft smile curled your lips.

Before he could leave, your hand darted out and grabbed Steve’s wrist with surprising precision given your state and the fact that your eyes were closed. You dragged them open again, blinking away the bleariness until your childhood friend’s face came into focus. 

“I don’t regret anything we’ve done together, Stevie,” you mumbled, the side of your mouth hitching up in a lopsided smile. “I’m glad you were my first.” You lost the battle with your eyes and they fell closed. You also, apparently, lost the fight against biting back your feelings, murmuring sleepily, “I want you to be my last.”  

For a long moment, Steve was quiet. He seemed to wait until you were just on the edge of sleep before responding to your drunken confession. 

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk, and I’ll believe you, buttercup,” Steve murmured, ducking down to press a kiss to your hand, still wrapped loosely around his wrist, before carefully extricating himself. 

You were snoring before Steve closed and locked the front door of your bungalow behind him. He walked down the short path to his truck, which sat at the curb, a subtle smile on his lips and a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

[formulawolff]

fanboy behavior - t.w.

pairing: female driver!reader x toto wolff

word count: 1.3k

warnings: an older man having an insanely large crush on a woman thirty years his junior, ONE-SIDED PINING (LOTS OF IT OKAY), allusions to smut/sexual fantasies, toto is a mess, mentions of divorce, common fic tropes, yadayadayada

a/n: this is sort of a prequel to alkaline! this is set one year before the events of the 2024 bahrain grand prix. toto is super down bad in this already, so expect lots of pining and him being a flustered mess hehe! i figured this would provide some context/background for the first chapter of alkaline <3 (ALSO PLS LISTEN TO ALKALINE BY SLEEP TOKEN!!! IT REALLY ENCAPSULATES TOTO'S YEARNING!!)

his mind is other places.

he should be invested in the current conversation with his engineers and drivers, discussing the current status of the car and the potential modifications that needed to be made before sunday.

but he's not, his foot tapping against the concrete floor absentmindedly, body on autopilot.

it's almost as if his brain was short-circuiting, desperately trying to compute any sort of coherent thought in correlation with the task at hand. yet, if he tries, it just sputters, trailing off, veering towards something else.

well, someone else.

he's thinking about a driver, merely a few paddocks down.

a williams racing driver, actually.

the american girl. barely twenty-one, a rookie in the second williams seat, preparing to compete in her first formula one race in approximately twenty-four hours.

her eyes were like starlight, bursting with a torrent of emotions and complexity, pulling you into their depths, begging for you to get lost within them. her hair was absolutely gorgeous, complementing her features no matter its state.

and her physique?

fuck, the team principal felt like a teenage boy very time he stole a glance, his slacks feeling a little tighter than usual.

with a smile that lit up every room she was in, a radiant aura brimming with kindness and humility, as well as a fiery determination to compete, she was comparable to the sun.

the woman who was starting to become routinely embedded in his daily pondering.

ever since that fateful day in december, when his eyes first drank in that photo of her, hand interlocked with james in front of that williams car, she was the last thing on his mind before he dozed off. and well, the first thing his mind wandered to in the mornings.

she even made an appearance in his dreams, the sound of her voice almost haunting him, so tantalizingly sweet and angelic.

fuck, he was a goner.

this was the third month now where she consumed every crevice of his brain. a continuous loop of all of the sins he wanted to confess, the ways in which he wanted to touch her, and the burning desire to take her under his wing, teaching her all of the ins and outs of racing.

was he obsessed with her? surely not.

not that he memorized every single one of her f2 stats or anything. not that he spent a majority of his free time lately invested in interview clips with her, jotting down all of her favorite things. not that he doodled her during meetings or anything.

not that at least twelve times a day he fantasized about her in a mercedes suit, his fingers carefully tugging down the zipper.

this was normal behavior after a recent divorce. completely normal behavior, actually.

the team principal clears his throat, "i need to step away for a moment. i can barely think straight right now. please, continue. i will rejoin the conversation once i get my shit together."

he can't help but notice the way his drivers exchange a concerned glance, lewis coughing slightly.

"um, all right. toto, is everything okay?"

not quite.

he was going absolutely insane, his mind already reeling at the anticipation of potentially catching a glimpse of her. he wasn't even sure if he would or not, but that possibility sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

those endless possibilities are what kept him up at night. what sent the blood rushing in the mornings, the stiffness in his boxers nearly pulling him out of his slumber. what had him pacing some days in his office, desperate beyond belief for some sort of way to break this spell.

as he strolls out of the garage, a warm breeze rolls through the track, strands of hair blowing all over. he curses slightly, running a quick hand through the tousled mess.

just to his left, a flurry of voice catches his attention, his head swiveling, searching for the source.

besides james is the object of his every desire, the apple of his eye.

as the sun dips below the horizon, he can barely make out her expression. she appears frustrated, her brows furrowed together, a deep frown etched across her lips.

"i just don't fucking understand why that dickhead felt the need to ask me if i was on my period!" she groans, shaking her head, "what the fuck was i supposed to do? let that slide?"

there's a sternness plastered across james' face, yet his voice is soft, laced with sympathy, "i know, but you have to realize that you're going to be asked questions like that because there are misogynists within the sport. no matter how much you prove to us that you deserve this seat, there are going to be pricks out there. we can do a little bit more media training, if you'd like. or, i can hire a publicist for you."

"a publicist? are you fucking kidding me?" her eyes widen, her tone growing more and more frustrated, "i'm not fifteen. i can speak for myself, james."

"it was just a suggestion," he shrugs, sticking out his hands, "look, i know you had a rough day, but let's focus on tomorrow. all right? you're tenth on the grid. that's monumental for your first race. you could win us points."

"we'll see," she scoffs, the toe of her shoe scuffing against the pavement, "i'm sorry for getting upset with you. i'm just really nervous. and well, scared."

scared of what? you have nothing to fear, sweet girl. you're one of the best drivers i have seen step foot on the grid.

toto narrows his eyes, lingering for just a moment longer.

"i just don't know if i deserve this seat," he can sense the falter in her voice, how it shakes, "i don't even know if i deserve a spot in formula one. i mean, look at me! i'm this upset over a dumb question. and i'm just scared everything is going to go to my head tomorrow and i'm going to overthink it."

james wraps his arms around the driver, pulling her in for a tight embrace as a sob wracks her body, "hey, when you're in doubt, you have alex and i. we will always be there for you. i know you're nervous, but you have to realize how special and talented you are to be in this position. you've deserved everything that has come your way, and you will continue to deserve this. i promise."

his biceps flex as he folds his arms against his chest, every fiber of his being resisting the urge to just walk over there and casually sweep her off her feet, squeezing her against his chest as he murmurs in her ear how fucking special she was.

james, she wasn't just special and talented.

she was a fucking star. a star that deserved to shine and hold every ounce of that spotlight.

just like the sun, she deserved to cast her rays of light all over the world.

the world deserved to know who she was. where she came from. how she got here. why she was a worthy competitor and excellent driver.

and by god, toto wolff was hellbent on making that happen.

one way or another.

he just had to be patient. play the long game.

every move from here was to be carefully calculated.

as toto harbored a plan. one that had been brewing the second that speculations swirled around the world of formula one that the first female american driver would be signing to a team.

he was going to have her by his side at mercedes.

fuck, he had been yearning for her this long already.

how much harm would a few more months do? a year?

he could wait a year. he was a patient man.

well, he could wait that long.

as long as that hunger gnawing away at him didn't kill him first.

[cinhomi]

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: boyfriend's best friend Hwang Hyunjin x fem reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you should've left your boyfriend sooner considering the man of your dreams, his best friend, has always been there for you... but the faithful event you were hoping for finally occurs and you find yourself at his house, in his arms, in his bed.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst?, smut, fluff, aquaintances to lovers

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cheating (but not really, you'll see), reader is in a toxic relationship, explicit descriptions of sexual acts, unprotected sex (it's sexy but use protection babes), fingering, pretty vanilla.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.4K

I have a thing for sex while it rains, it seems... and like this I post something after months. I'll work this storyline in the future too for Hyunjin, but for now, enjoy!

It's strange how sometimes we believe to be in the right place to later find out we were living in a lie, a product of our fervid imagination, just to not accept reality and the fact that life, or even our past self, played a good and structured not-so-funny prank on us.

These lies we tell ourselves most of the time are a response to our awful experiences, but they can become harmful in numerous types of ways, and we should learn that instead of letting us be tempted by sweet beliefs. When we find ourselves facing reality it's hard to accept it, it's ugly, but ugly things are part of life and we should try and accept them nonetheless, they may reveal themselves as lessons or the best things that happened to us, with various meanings to that.

What pisses people off the most is the "waste of time". And that's how you feel too, like the rest of humankind, angry because you wasted time. You would very gladly prefer to be in the denial stage of the whole thing but it's so evident that you can't even pretend to be doubtful, to question what you saw, to give him a chance to explain himself.

The car is still cold even if you already reached the destination that popped in your mind right after what happened, salty tears adorning your eyes as they cross your freezing cheeks, collecting under your chin, falling on your scarf. The same damn scarf he gifted you after your first two weeks of dating, the one you didn't even like at all, the color you hated, a dull pattern over it… the urge to pull down the car window and throw it outside in the middle of the parking lot soon becomes reality. Wind starts to rise a bit, and you see it dance on the wet concrete for a while before a car passes over it and plasters it on the ground.

Ironic, right? You feel a bit bad after the impulsive gesture, but he didn't hesitate to make you feel the same, so, "screw it".

You shouldn't even be here. You should go to your own best friend, sitting on her way too low couch with its broken springs and cry your eyes out as she yells at you her usual "I told you so!" and "You're an idiot, I knew it from the start!" even if what you really need is comfort, and not to be scolded like a twelve years old while she offers you chocolates and tissues like in some chiché romcom.

That's why Hyunjin's place is just few meters and five floors away from you now. You're actually hesitant to get out the car but when you see your boyfriend's text appear on your screen, asking where are you, it's suddenly not so difficult to take your things and rush to take the elevator, and when you send Hyunjin a message telling him you're in front of his apartment he's quick to open the door. He doesn't say a thing, he doesn't even dare to, he already knows.

He delicately takes your hand in his and guides you inside with a saddened smile, his eyes soft as they watch you attentively trying to search for your tears. God, he wants to kiss them all away, he never wants to see you like this ever again, but he thinks it's probably not the last time… is it? Either way, he'll do anything he can to make the redness of your eyes disappear.

"Go sit on the couch petal, relax for me, hm?" he says in a hushed tone to not provoke your impending outburst. When you're finally hugged by his cushions you feel his presence behind you, his hands going on your shoulders to free you from your heavy coat and bag that he places on his forearm. When he reaches for your scarf his fingers are suddenly met with the cold skin of your neck and a startled "oh!" escapes from him because of the unexpected touch, making you giggle. If only you knew how his heart starts beating faster whenever he hears you like this…

"Where is your scarf? You always wear it, were you in such a rush to leave it at your place?" he's now lowered near your face, breath tickling your cheek as he adjusts your jumper on your shoulders ー the stained one you only wear at home, you didn't even change, how embarrassing. He touches you like frail porcelain and little bumps start to rise on your skin where traces of his touch linger, you wish his fingerprints could bruise your skin.

"I threw it in the parking lot…" you explain, looking at him trying to not make your lips touch while doing so.

A laugh that comes from his chest slowly builds up as he lifts himself and reluctantly distances from your face to go place your belongings on the hanger at the entrance. If only he knew how your heart twists in excitement whenever you hear him like this…

Hyunjin doesn't come back to you immediately. He always makes sure you have enough time to think by yourself first, to gather your words, to decide if you want to cry or yell, and then he sits beside you and goes along with anything you've come up with. It's always been like this until today, every time you came to his place after something happened between you and his best friend, every time he had to gather your broken pieces and try to put you together again. He doesn't know he's always done that beautifully though, making a breathtaking mosaic out of you, making you so splendid and wonderful anyone could say he's your creator.

You hear a distant rustling in the kitchen, the clicking of the bottles in the fridge as he closes it with a thud, two glasses colliding it seems, and his slippers sliding on the floor, approaching you.

"You're lucky petal, I have your favorite today." he proceeds to place the glasses on the way too elegant coffee table and pour the drink with all the calmness in the world. Time with Hyunjin stops. You think that every second spent with him is never wasted.

"I like this clip, it compliments your hair color." he says suddenly, snapping you out of your trance. How could he notice such a thing?

"Really? It's the first time I wear it…" you still mumble a bit, too shaken to let your voice take its natural timbre. Hyunjin laughs again, handing you the drink and carefully sitting so as to not spill everything on his expensive carpet. His body is completely facing yours, knee against knee.

"It's not true!" Hyunjin takes a sip and giggles at your confused expression.

"You had it the first time we met, too. It was perfect with your dress and necklace. Do you really not remember? You looked beautiful…"

What Hyunjin refers to is a random saturday evening of autumn. What day it was, what you were wearing, what you did before meeting in front of the restaurant, you can't remember… but what you can vividly recall is the stinging sensation of the first cold breeze of the season on your cheeks, how crunchy multicolored leaves swirled on the sidewalk, and the city lights beginning to be turned on a bit earlier than usual. Now that you think about it, it was around this period. You remember what perfume you wore, paying attention to what type of impression you wanted to give to your boyfriend's group of friends that you were about to meet for the first time, and you even remember what mascara you decided to use.

But what remained tattooed on your bones the most are the first ten seconds of Hwang Hyunjin taking possess of your vision, because you felt incredibly sick.

If you close your eyes and concentrate you can almost feel the same emotions, when your stomach swirled like it was a washing machine, your head light, and your legs almost giving in making you trip while standing still.

You felt incredibly guilty, disgusted with yourself, disappointed, a monster. Why the hell your first thought was "he's my soulmate" and not something along the lines of "nice, my boyfriend's best friend" you still don't know. Call it destiny, call it sixth sense, you immediately tried to suppress it all.

It didn't help that Hyunjin's slender fingers delicately took your hand to kiss your knuckles with his oh, oh so beautiful lips like an ambassador of chivalry itself, his siren eyes looking up at you sweetly but confidently, making you blush like crazy ー you later blamed your flustered expression to the restaurant's excessive heating.

On top of that, your boyfriend decided to sit at your side leaving Hyunjin in front of you, so you had his ridiculously handsome face in sight for the whole night as you ate your stupid california rolls and tried to elegantly slurp your noodles ー for as much as something like that is even possible.

You talked, a lot, even if you felt your face heat up at every strangely seductive giggling sound he made together with the little bumps his shoes would land on your naked ankles, toying with your heels from time to time. You had so much in common, and after that you only felt complete when he was near you.

Your boyfriend did catch on with the new dynamic though, so unfortunately considering how jealous and a bit possessive he is, you and Hyunjin didn't see each other as often as you expected after that, but you really didn't grasp that it was because he wanted you apart at first, just a series of unfortunate coincidences.

Hyunjin parted from you with a tight hug, lingering his hands on the smaller of your back, adjusting your shawl over your coat and twirling a strand of your hair behind your ear, the moment never fully leaving your memory. He was… perfect, really just perfect, and you couldn't help but feel nauseous when you got in the car with your boyfriend to let him accompany you to your apartment, the thought of another man being more suited for you making you feel like you were cheating. You only felt relieved when you talked about all his friends during the ride and he revealed that Hyunjin is "a bit of a player, y'know, he flirts with everyone and he has those french manners, but he's always been like this." so you thought that maybe your feelings would slowly fade… but they always, always rested down the bottom of your heart, even if you pushed them away forcefully, almost violently.

No one knows you two meet up from time to time now, because one time you found yourself crying in a corner on his shouler. No one knows that you always seem happy and carefree only because you talk with Hyunjin, because he comforts you when you need it without complaining. Not that it needs to be a secret, but you both are well aware that it may result suspicious to meet with your boyfriend's best friend late at night, best friend's girlfriend from his side.

And the fact that you two always seem to attract each other like magnets, so close, with instant connection, it doesn't let thoughts stray further from the idea of something tender existing between the two of you, everyone can see it.

It's just that it's prohibited. Or, to say it better, you were too caught in your lies to even contemplate the idea of leaving your boyfriend and Hyunjin simply didn't want to betray his "friend". But when you started to message him asking for advice, when you later had long calls together, when you crumbled in his arms crying almost weekly, he wasn't so sure about having a best friend anymore.

"I… you really think I was beautiful?"

Your question comes from the heart. The mixture of the memories of that night and his proximity makes heat rise on your face, shyness visible from the automatic action of your teeth catching your bottom lip and your gaze straying from his face to linger on the glass in your hands. The bubbles of the drink fizzle on the surface and for a moment or two that's all that can be heard in the room.

"You're always beautiful, y/n. I told you many times." he says cautiously, putting down everything to wrap his hands around your wrist.

"I don't know how he doesn't make you feel like you are, I don't know why he treats you like this but, petal, you're an incredible woman," he lowers his head to look into your eyes as he tries to explain himself further, "smart and strong. He's an asshole and you should stop doing this to yourself."

Does he know? Does he know what your boyfriend did? Probably not. Hyunjin would never hurt you, he would've immediately told you. You want to make sure though, in case everything that involves Hyunjin is a lie too.

"Why are you his friend then? Why do you keep coming to our house and have dinner as we fake not knowing each other like we really do? Why do you keep on hanging out with him? If you really think he's terribleー"

"Because I want to protect you."

His reply is fast, cutting you off. His stare bores into your eyes and drinks in all of your feelings, like he can see them displayed in front of him. A few seconds of silence fill the room and you suddenly gulp down your drink until the last drop, sprinting up from your seat and escaping his intoxicating presence that's almost engulfing you.

Hyunjin doesn't say a thing. He waits, he can sense that something big happened this time and fuck if he's going to kill his "friend" after this. You were never this silent, you usually would storm inside and throw yourself on him… for as much as he dislikes seeing you like this, he's grateful for your presence, for the feel of your body against his, the trust you put into him. He doesn't do all this just to be a rebound, he already knows part of him is yours and vice versa, so he's simply waiting. Everyone considers him being a romantic man, but really, he just believes in destiny. When Hyunjin first saw you every cell in his body started to boil, goosebumps rising down his nape, the world destroyed itself and was reborn before him, it's impossible that it didn't matter at all.. That was the day he realized he didn't know what "love" meant before.

He watches your silhouette get near the big windows that face the road, little droplets of water striking them. The sound of the rain reaches your ears only when you notice the detail, and soon you see how much water is actually coming down from the sky, your scarf already soaked and dirty laying alone between various cars. You take a deep breath, thinking about your next words, a way to tell Hyunjin what happened without sounding pathetic as you concentrate on the mesmerizing foliage outside, reds and oranges and yellows decorating the city landscape.

"He accidentally left his phone at home since he rushed to his office, I don't exactly know why…" you started to explain, hands fidgeting with your rings, heavy breath obstructing your throat, "and I heard a notification so I went to check right?"

Hyunjin slowly gets up and approaches you, his warmth radiating behind you now, hands resting on your shoulders and caressing them as he listens and slowly gets closer and closer until he's hugging you.

"So, petal? What was it about? Did you find porn?" he tries to guess, but when you shake your head as a 'no' a cold chill goes through his back. Oh, oh no…

"It… it was a message, a very sexual one, coming from a saved contact, I don't even remember the name." you pout, looking down almost in shame even if you're not the responsible one. Maybe it's the shame of having a cheater as a partner.

"I opened the chat Hyunie. They've been sexting for months and from what I could grasp they even met few times…" you can feel tears start to form on your waterline again, a deep ache inside your chest rises when you finally say it out loud. One thing was to acknowledge it, another was to tell everything to the man you've secretly been in love with for a year already. What were you doing exactly all this time?

"Am I really not good enough for anyone, Hyunie? She's… she's so different from me… Am I really a disaster as he says? Why would he do that to me? I've always been a good girlfriend, I even ignored all those mean words and his being immature and the shitty sex!! I put aside my needs to make him happy thinking I was the problem!" you turn around to face him and you're met with his serious expression.

You expected to find him at least slightly surprised by your sudden show of emotions, but he's calm, he radiates calmness. Hyunjin sighs and looks in the distance behind you for a second, blinking ever so slowly, his touch traveling up to cup your cheeks and wipe your angry tears with his thumbs.

That's the final stroke, the gesture that makes you sob and bury your face in his chest to hide.

You aren't broken yet, it's almost as if Hyunjin is physically holding you together. He's trying to smooth the new sharp edges that formed around your heart to not let it be isolated, while hugging you he's working hard to let it be still approachable to receive and give love, he's trying with all he has to prevent a horrible plague that's trying to approach you.

You hold his shirt between your hands, tightly, you're afraid you'll ruin it but you can't stop, you need to ground yourself and try to be strong, but it's so hard to not let him sway you around the room, lullying you as he hushes you and lets his fingers comb your messy hair.

"Leave him."

You freeze.

Did he really say that? Hyunjin never said it out loud. He did make you understand his vision about the situation, he did suggest it with hidden phrases, but so explicitly…

"It's time to let him go, don't you think?" he presses his lips on your forehead, continuing to mumble his real feelings, "You don't need someone who mistreats you petal. You deserve better." he closes them in a kiss that leaves a mark on your soul, making you gasp.

"Hyunjin?" it takes a lot of strength to look up at him. His eyes seem less gentle, brows forming a frown that's not his usual playful one, a bit scary even. The mole under his eye is contracted and his mouth is curved in disgust, just enough for you to understand he's furious.

"Why don’t we put an end to this farce? He didn't even deserve you in the first place, you don't love him, stop doing this to yourself y/n. There's someone who's the right one, for sure…" his tone is desperate, but you want him to say it clearly. You can't help it, if it's to be sure or to satisfy a need you've been having for a while you don't know, but you want him to say it loud and clear.

You know that if he says it now everything will change and it'll be scary as fuck, but if that's a premise for a better life… maybe it's not as scary as you think, it's Hyunjin after all, the man who's looking at you in adoration.

"And what man could possibly want me at this point?" your voice is shaky and uncertain as you tease the confession out of him.

Hyunjin looks away and smiles, a bit frustrated. He wipes another tear away from your cheek and then places his hands on your waist.

"Me?" he fakes the question, smiling softly; "Be mine y/n."

Breath gets caught in your throat as he finally says it. It's wrong that you waited for it, it's wrong that your first instinct is to say yes without thinking about it.

"Hyunjin Iー"

"Ooh don't say you don't reciprocate, petal. I know you too well." he interrupts you, his hold a little tighter. Hyunjin tilts his head to the side, few strands of black raven hair following the motion and slightly covering his eyes. He's beautiful now, even more than in any other moment you've ever been with him. Hyunjin is the most beautiful man in the world and he wants you.

Your phone starts ringing. It's a strange moment to realize your ringtone is kind of cringe, cutting the tension weirdly… but you can't laugh, not right now. Both you and Hyunjin know who it is.

He's right. You should put an end to all this and start to think for yourself, about what you really want, need. This is not wrong. To love yourself isn't wrong, and Hyunjin makes you feel like the person you want to be.

"Do you want to pick up?" Hyunjin takes his hand under your chin again and directs it up to make your eyes meet his, gaze frenetic as he tries to not look at your tempting lips. Everything will depend on what you decide now. And you think quickly, under pressure, and you don't know if it's a good idea or not but you shake your head and hold him tighter, hiding again.

"Y/n, please look at me…"

The phone eventually stops ringing and silence overwhelms you when you can hear his fast heartbeat right against your ear. And it's because of you, it's for you, your heart starts to adapt to his and you almost feel pain in your chest. It's too much, too much…

Ah, that's it.

You get on your tiptoes to pull him down by his collar and make your lips crash together.

Hyunjin drags you towards him as if you kissed thousands of times before, immediately, tongue slipping into your mouth as you grant him access, making it run along yours. You hold his shoulders trying to search for your lost balance and he's quick to walk you towards his bedroom, he isn't even slightly hesitant.

The desperate sighs you two let out add into the sound of your first kiss; it's a relief, something you didn't imagine to need so badly. Hyunjin pushes you further into the room until your legs meet the mattress and you fall on it guided by him, a knee starting to press beside you as he cradles on the bed on top of you. He can't stop kissing you.

Hyunjin clumsily reaches the lamp on the nightstand to turn it on and oh, oh if this is even better than any fantasy he's ever had… seeing you panting with that flustered expression, your legs already crossing beneath him, jumper half lifted up, your hair all disheveled since you quickly reached for your clip and threw it somewhere in the room. You just look breathtaking in his eyes, even more than any other moment he's ever thought about it. He has to let you know. You didn't think he'd turn on the light but maybe you can put aside your shyness for once if it means having this type of gaze reserved to you.

Your hands try to reach his shirt to pull him out of his trance and he resumes his kissing, hands flying on your sides as they slowly, painfully slowly slide down until he's hooking your pants. Hyunjin lowers down to press chaste kisses on the little part of your cleavage that is exposed, going down to your stomach, then your belly, until he darts his tongue out to lick a stripe just above your groin, leaving a longer kiss there while he proceeds to undress you.

The way you feel embarrassed when you remember you're wearing plain, white cotton panties… but it's honestly sending him haywire. The fact that you didn't expect to end up like this, a confirmation that you didn't plan anything to happen, it's making Hyunjin even harder in his confines. You're so wet your juices dampened the fabric, making it almost transparent, and he sighs at the faint outline of your cunt now puffy and pulsing… and he still has to touch you properly.

Hyunjin is honestly the same. You can't see it but waves of excitement run over him so violently he physically trembles and his legs give in from time to time.

“I'm gonna fuck you so good you won't dare to come back to him…” it's whisperes, almost as if he's accidentally thinking out loud but it makes you clench. Hyunjin's fingers start to tease you on top of the fabric, seeing the wet patch getting larger and larger. You can't believe this part of him exists… how many things do you still have to learn about him?

Hyunjin keeps on touching you there but this time he starts flicking, snapping his fingers where you're most sensitive, the tingles that start to make you jolt are strong and they make your breath sharp.

“H-Hyunjin…” your stuttering voice slightly higher as you call for him, he rolls his eyes back.

“Hyunjin please…” you can't help but pant, wrapping your hand around his forearm to try and make him slow down. Is this what those stupid magazines talked about? That sex feels better when you do it with someone you love? So fucking true.

Hyunjin feels on cloud nine. He starts paying attention on your neck tenderly but still with open-mouthed kisses as his fingers subtly slide your panties to the side. “Yeah petal, let me hear you, let me…” his words get lost as he concentrates. Ah, it's uncomfy for him. Hyunjin lifts your legs and carelessly slides your underwear off with a hiss, his eyes closing like they've been blinded by the vision of the Virgin Mary for a second, then maniacally staring at your bare cunt, digits caressing your wet folds mere seconds before plunging into your entrance.

You can only let out a choked moan and push your head back onto his soft cushions, that smells just like him. You're completely surrounded by his presence when his scent is all around you, his fingers move smoothly to work you open and his mouth is now latched around your nipple, his forehead pushing your jumper further up. When the hell did he…

“Is it good?” his voice displaying signs of fatigue, urgency and need buried deep inside him. You know his fingers are long but God if they can reach otherworldly places. It's not the in-and-out motion but the brushing of your g-spot that makes your legs close around his sides and poke his ribcage with your knees; he doesn't mind, your tits keep him occupied enough to make him mindlessly keep going. Hyunjin decides that prefers your chest covered in love marks over any art piece he's ever seen these past years, so nothing can disturb his work in progress. Maybe the work itself.

“‘S good Hyunie, Hyun…” it's difficult to breathe, it's difficult to think straight as the bumps of his fingers touch your insides so precisely, as if you've always done this and he already knew your body by memory.

“Did his fingers ever make you feel like this? Hm?”

The question makes you sigh along with a moan. You shake your head.

“Did he ever kiss you like I do?” and Hyunjin kisses you again as the movement of his fingers fastens. His teeth catch your bottom lip and his tongue slides against yours before he sucks it, drool making it shine where you two meet; passionate and euphoric, it feels like experimenting fireworks. You follow his lips when he detaches, but he just smiles and starts pressing his thumb on your bare clit. “Tell me, petal.”

“N-no…”

Hyunjin feels it, the way you start clenching around him, hard. He almost can't move anymore. So he whispers, just above the squelching of his palm spreading your wetness.

“Wanna go to Heaven with me, y/n?”

How, how can you say no? You need Hyunjin, even more than oxygen right now, he already has you completely. Your hands hurry on the button somehow miraculously keeping his pants together, and you reach his zip and pull the fly, that struggles to slide down ー he's too full.

“Wanna try how a real man makes you feel?”

You nod almost too eagerly and he chuckles within a whiffle. Hyunjin deprives you of his fingers despite your whines of protest and spreads your juices all over his face, tongue swirling on his hand. A low groan comes out from him, his touch moving to your hips where he squeezes, plush skin bending under his grip. It's all in contrast with the look in his eyes as he stares at your face, your reactions, as if you were the most adorable thing he's ever seen.

You're so distracted that when you feel something poke your inner thigh you gasp, and can only stare… his cock springs free from his confines altogether, long, slim and leaking, underside vein pulsating under the pads of his fingers as he pumps himself few times, precum dripping on your groin. Hyunjin's eyebrows are knitted together as he grinds between your legs, his still sticky hand moving your lower body closer so that he lifts you back up to wrap his arms around you, hugging you ever so gently.

His full lips kiss your cleavage and he curses under his breath because of his choice to not take all your clothes off but there's not much time anymore. You close your fists on his shirt, the lines of the fabric changing their shape under your hold while you wait for him, subtly writhing impatiently.

“Hyun please hurry…” not once in your life you've been this desperate for a man to fuck you. It's not because of the wait, not because you're horny, it's just that it's Hyunjin.

“Say it.” his eyes are darker, but they shine with the yellow-ish light in the room. He clears your forehead by adjusting your hair away.

You know what he's doing and it's nothing different from what you did before, in the living room, so you're more than willing to satisfy his request. You try to regain a bit of composure and steady your breath before speaking up, his head twitching together with every movement of yours.

"I want you, Hyunjin. I want you, please.”

A big bright smile spreads on his face as his head drops low, in disbelief. Hyunjin didn't imagine those words would have such a strong effect on him but here he is, blushing and trying to hold back a giggle. When he looks back at you he's serious again, eyes piercing into yours.

“I'm going in, hm? I wanna hear you scream my name through it all. Is that clear petal?”

What you'd give to hear him call you petal until the end of time, he says it and it's like dripping honey, he says it and you melt. The warm pool of pleasure in your belly tightens again as you say a shaky “yes”. You're his delicate, fragile petal.

His tip rests just before your entrance for a second while he takes a deep breath, breaching you gently. It's not a big stretch but his veins are already making your eyelids flutter and your lips part. Inch by inch, Hyunjin makes sure you feel his cock going deep, concern showing on your features as he doesn't come to an halt. He does, eventually, but the time he took to do it seemed eternal. “Oh my- Hyunie-”

“Bet my dick feels better than his,” he smirks between the kisses he's leaving under your jawline, “I bet mine's longer too.”

His comments only add fuel to the fire. He's bigger, he's better, the curve of his cock lands exactly on the spot that makes you black out. As you remember that you're technically still in a relationship your phone rings again. It's a distant sound, it's in another room, covered by yours and Hyunjin's sighs and moans, but he hears it too. Hyunjin stops every movement, hips against yours as he's fully inside you. He lifts himself up just enough to check on you. You look at him too.

You don't exchange any word, there's no need to, because you both arch your lips upwards and meet mid-air for another kiss, tender but messy as he moves backwards to get a starting point to his thrusts. The ringtone eventually dies making room to the faint dripping of the rain outside.

You feel warm, squeezing his cock just right and he's sure he will never let you go, never let you change your mind.

“Pussy ‘s so tight petal, was made for me, ‘m sure,” and he starts moving with consistency, picking up a pleasant rhythm, “you're so fucking perfect.”

His necklace is cold against your skin as he keeps on holding you flush against him, as well as your rings leaving icy lines on his back when your hands slip under his shirt and hold onto his shoulder blades. Hyunjin throbs inside you, drawing loud moans out of you that someone will for sure complain about. He thrusts harder, faster, every second that passes and you can only call for his name, yours being whispered by him against your skin making you shiver.

“Waited so long, so fucking long-” a guttural sound interrupting him, “since that time at the club, wanted to make you mine.” he mumbles, words hardly making sense but you decipher them anyway and when you realize what he's talking about the confused memories of it flood your mind. You, swaying your hips in front of him, grinding your ass on his crotch following the music; Hyunjin's hands right under your breasts guiding you together with him, his breath fanning on your neck, drying your tears completely as those three drinks made your head light enough to not care about any problem you complained about minutes before. It was just you and Hyunjin, all this would've happened sooner if a series of coincidences didn't happen.

“You would've let me take you in the bathroom, isn't that right?” Hyunjin asks, not losing concentration even for a second. “I wanted to bring you here, and fuck the sadness away. Every time, y/n, I wanted to tell you to forget him and be with me.”

You feel him stretch his arm between your bodies, and you feel your swollen bud stimulated again, you both whine against each other.

“‘M with you now Hyunie, want only you, ‘m yours babe.”

He's so fast now, the snapping of his hips moving you up and down the mattress… your words affect him on a visceral level.

“I choose you, I'll leave him for you-”

“Fuck!” he's close, so, so close and your walls tightening more and more and more are making him go crazy. Little beads of sweat decorate his forehead, a caramel-like smell coming from him as the crown of his head dampens and some hair stick to his forehead.

His tip keeps abusing your sweet spot, the kiss you share is feverish, your nails dig into his skin and his hold bruises your soft one. Both your bellies contract and before you can process it you're coming, white pois pattern creating over your blinding vision. You say his name out loud, dragging it together with your last moan as the hardest orgasm ever washes over you. Hyunjin pulls out just in time, copious white ropes of cum landing on your stomach like dripping art. Hyunjin loses track of space and time for a few moments as he comes down from his high, then takes you close to him when he lays next to you. Your heavy breath fills every other sound in your ears as you get comfortable hiding in his muscular chest. Your body spasms, all energy left your body already and your chest rises and falls frantically.

Hyunjin caresses your cheek and kisses your hair. It's peaceful. You just had sex with your boyfriend's best friend and it feels peaceful. It starts to feel a bit cold so he grabs the soft sheets near him and covers both of you.

“When will you tell him, petal?”

The question floats in the air for a while. You start playing with his necklace, making it dance between your fingers. He starts to worry a bit, when you don't answer him, but he decides to be patient, like always.

“After we eat something, I'll send him a text.” you seem resolute, and he's convinced. “Can I stay here tonight?”

He's a bit taken aback, his eyes narrowing in surprise: “Wasn't it obvious? You'll stay here from now on anyway.” and he says it so naturally, you think he's thought about this moment a lot… it makes you smile.

Hyunjin rolls to the side briefly, taking some tissues to wipe yours and his stomach since his sticky cum was still there, and kisses the tip of your nose adjusting your jumper back to its original place before sitting on the edge of the bed and taking his phone, after finally freeing himself of his shirt. His back is slender yet defined, long, his spine making a beautiful curve. Your eyes travel from his nape to his glutes, the ones of a dancer. There's a doubt still in the back of your mind, you need to make it disappear.

“Are you… sad, that you can't be friends with him anymore?”

He doesn't even bother looking at you to answer, he keeps scrolling on the delivery app searching for something you may want to eat, the words he's about to say seeming obvious to him.

“We haven't been friends for a while already. I understood he's not the guy I met years ago, he changed, and I don't like to be around him anymore. Don't worry petal, it's not entirely because of you, I already wanted to part from him but you came into our lives so I endured it some more to stay with you… and it was worth it.” one of his hands shifts position behind him and taps the covers to signal for you to hold it. Your fingers interlace and he looks at you over his shoulder, slowly turning around, his body twisting slightly as he leans back again and kisses you sweetly yet still with some need.

Your breath is now steady, you're relaxed and it feels like Heaven, just like he promised.

"Pizza?"

You giggle and he follows.

“I love you y/n. I love you.”

[leolingo]

waking up and seeing dream’s rip off project just breaks my heart man what the hell qsmp barely had two weeks to shine and now he’s introducing a VERY similar project in larger scale and uglier graphics and its just “the two are allowed to co-exist?” be fucking serious for a second dude why are you doing this NOW at the height of a project spearheaded by someone that used to call you a friend? like just . logistically speaking comercially speaking when you see how obviously similar these concepts are Why would you announce it now when you know someone else is getting the spotlight for once.

its hard not to call it spite or jealousy or anything of the sort when we cant confirm the timelines of this new project’s development but it REALLY, really feels like something unkind. not only that but it feels really gross to see most aspects of quackity’s passion project warped into something worse.. like LIVE TRANSLATION? really? bc dream of course wouldnt expect people to try and learn the different languages to communicate. he probably doesnt understand how redundant and ultimately hindering it will be to rely 100% on automated translation because 1) he’s not bilingual nor does he make any effort to understand the bilingual experience 2) he has no actual interest in the learning process of foreign languages or the different linguistic communities on twitch and in content creation in general . which makes me wonder WHY he is leading this and very likely profitting off of it when there’s no real reason for him to associate himself with this kind of cultural project other than . wanting to be relevant i guess.

during squidcraft, i didnt see him attempt a single word in spanish. i saw dream use google translate or straight up speak english (fast, idiomatic english at that) to spanish speakers and otherwise not try to meet a communicative middle-ground in any way. if this is how he intends to take on “united SMP” i cant wait to see it fail.

quackity’s project is successful because he cares. its modeled after his own experience and thrives because he as a bilingual host is able to cater to both communities within it and work as a linguistic bridge when need be. which, as we have watched day after day on qsmp streams, becomes less and less necessary because the environment quackity is fostering is actually very concrete INCENTIVE FOR LANGUAGE LEARNING. people are actually interacting and having meaningful linguistic/cultural exchanges that actually LEAD TO LANGUAGE KNOWLEDGE AND UNDERSTANDING. how the fuck is that supposed to happen if theres live translation? ill tell you now, it won’t.

when we study linguistics in college one of the first things we learn in regards to foreign language teaching is that translation methods rarely fuckjng work. by doing that youre limiting human interaction and actually DISTURBING the learning possibilities because youre taking away Real, varied input. dream doesnt know what he’s doing and its so upsetting to watch. dont even get me started on “language rankings” or whatever the fuck the competitive aspect is supposed to be

the project is just so flawed and the timing couldnt be worse. quackity is doing such a great job and? you just try to hijack his idea like this even though you clearly lack both the heart and the knowledge to make something like this work? to me it just appears so sour. so mean-spirited and uninspired. i dont even know man i just dont like it

[not-handsome-enough]

FLASH AND GLITCH WARNING it’s not bad by mtl standards but it hurt the hell out of my eyes when I was working on it 😭😭

There more explanation under the cut cause there’s some explaining to do.

t

So this is set Post AOTD and the only parts of Dick that survived are his brain and heart. His parts are discovered by Charles when he went back to Deus Keeps remains to scavenge amongst the og Army for an intact left hand that he would transplant, as well as searching for survivors in general. ( something to note is he doesn’t find a replacement and he ends up having it replaced with a golden prosthetic )

He secretly brings Dick’s remains back to Mordhaus where he begins a project to slowly regenerate Dick’s body. He doesn’t tell anyone outside of a select few klokateers and the scientists ( Brian and Jimmy ) mostly due to how unstable the execution may be. Kind of like a don’t get the boys excited cause if it doesn’t work it will be just another downer/uncertainty that they don’t need right now.

I don’t know if Charles is employed with Dethklok or if he’s there for the sake of normality. Either way the boys want him there and he wants to be with the boys.

William finds the operation by accident. He kinda went back to how he was pre-mtl albeit a bit more open with his emotions. There are periods where Dick is left alone and Willy finds him during one of those periods. By the time he finds Dick it’s been a few months since Charles has brought him back to Mordhaus, so while his body isn’t ‘online’ yet, his brain heart and eyes are.

This is kinda how Willy first finds Knubbler. He recognizes the eyes ( which aren’t meant to be yellow like they are in the image above this was made before I had a concrete timeline set up ) so he talks his way into staying as long possible without being caught. They managed to set up a basic communication system with Dick’s eyes ( like yes no maybe but with eye colour ) and that’s how Willy knows he’s not supposed to know about the project. For the first few visits it’s just Willy apologizing to Dick for killing him and just getting out everything he wanted to say and apologize for. Similar to Nate and Rebecca but Dick can yk. Talk back. To an extent.

Cause while physically Dick is in the tube his soul is free to roam around the room. So while Willy’s talking to his eyes Dick’s walking around and just making faces at him and shit.

( I don’t like the colour I went for the ghost mode for him here but idk how to do ghost so best I got I’m sorry 😭 )

Initially it was just really emotion heavy and Dick wanted to be able to hold a full on conversation with Willy about the events of the Mtl but then Willy started bringing entertainment down to the lab and it spiraled a little.

Eventually Willy mentioned how upset he was that he didn’t finish planet piss and it turned into a month and a half of planet piss production ( nothing was recorded and sessions usually ended in a Willy typical tantrum and a promise of coming back tomorrow )

Despite how much these sessions pissed off Dick, his recovery ended up speeding up quite a bit, much to the delight of Charles The Scientists and the select Klokateers. Who still don’t know about the daily visits. Whether or not it was motivation to actually talk back to Willy and shut down his more destructive ideas or to be able to help him I don’t know.

At some point during the PP production Willy starts bringing board games like scrabble and battleship. Shit that made it easy for both of them to cheat. Which they ended up doing. Every. Single. Time. It’s impressive how neither of them caught on to the other cheating. Actually it’s more impressive Dick never caught Willy cheating since Willy was usually in control of Dick’s moves.

While this is happening Dicks body continues to reconstruct itself and eventually it becomes basically back to normal except in its green gooey goop ness ( the animation is like a sped up version of what happened )

( Again his eyes are not meant to be yellow I made this before I had the timeline set )

Dick, realizing that his body is basically reconstructed, starts trying to make his physical body move / tries to reconnect his soul ghost to his body. Unknown to him by rushing the process he glitches his eyes out.

So while he thinks he’s moving his Body he’s actually moving the Wires around his tube.

He practices while Willy is gone because he wants to be able to surprise him / scare the shit out of him a little bit, but this ends up being a detriment to him because when he finally does move in front of Willy it is not his body that is moving. Most of the time if he’s practicing he’s working with The Scientists and Charles

This is where that rough animatic at the top comes in so we know that Willy freaks the fuck out, runs away, and Dick is upset. Gonna jump a lil more into that tho.

So some things to explain / note in the animatic that I just didn’t explain well.

To show that Dick was glitching while moving his eyes turn yellow. The Scientists and Charles know about this, but before trying to move for Will, they never caught that what Dick was actually moving was the wires around the tube and not his body.

Willy was not scared that Dick was moving. If it was just dicks body or even just the wires he would have freaked out a little but wouldn’t have run away. He ran away because Dicks eyes were yelllow. Like he was possessed.

This is basically what was happening

Dick never punched his way out of the tube or talked to Willy.

That being said the flashing alarm was set off by Willy. He knew that the science gang would come if he sounded the alarm. He didn’t get caught by them but he saw that they weren’t panicking like he was.

Dick had no idea why Will ran away that badly until after the science boys came in and his body was unglitched ( which is why his eyes turn green at the end of the animatic ). He thinks Willy ran away because of the wires, not his glitchy eyes.

Also small note the scientists are there when they run in I just didn’t want to draw them because I watched the liquid album episode and they annoyed me a little bit I’m sorry.

Dick’s in the tube for about another month ( where he can control his body ) but Willy doesn’t come back to see him until a week before he is taken out of the tube. They end up having a repeat of the initial cycle ( apologies planet piss and then board games ) but sped up and a little differently. Apologies only last a day, planet piss lasts an hour because Dick is not about to repeat that whole ordeal again without having his equipment around, and the board games last for the rest of the week until Dick is transferred to a private hospital room. Dick ends up actually making sure Will doesn’t cheat and they get really competitive.

Willy doesn’t know where Dicks transferred to and Dick is once again bored out of his fucking mind.

They reunite again eventually but I’m leaving that up to interpretation cause cycles need to break eventually.

I didn’t go into detail about what their talks were day by day because I cannot write dialogue well which means this can be interpreted as Platonic OR Romantic. This au was written with the intention of being romantic ( doomed in original versions ) angst but it’s vague enough where it could be platonic and either way I’m happy.

[hypnoneghoul]

@p1nkcanoe posted this about using a water ghoul as a resident lube source and I have a lot of thoughts about this... hope u dont mind the hijack p1nk

cw for objectification

okay so imagine dew and swiss plotting and stuff and teasing rain about how he could just be a lube dispenser, right? dew's still water ghoul level wet but not as wet as rain and everyone knows rain has a thing for objectification and free use vibes, so they discuss a scenario of sorts that they'd possibly be into

fast forward a few months (just enough so that rain can forget about their talk) and swiss and dew get it moving. of course they don't need lube with dew, but whatever, its an act for the fun of it. so anyway, they get eachother all hot and bothered and disheveled and just before they actually do anything they go to rain

he's pleased to see them and very happy to be invited into their fun time. they get him wet by touching him all around, get him needy and desperate and everything. but when the prolonged foreplay is finally about to become something concrete, swiss just scoops up some of rain's thick slick in his palm and they just...leave

swiss and dew go and use their lube on their own, leaving rain all desperate on his own. i think he gets himself off but its far from satisfying. swiss and dew come back later to get him off properly and then give him all the cuddles to make up for the few hours he spent feeling like nothing more than an object

not that he didn't like it

[triptychgrip]

Fruits Basket and the temptation to individualize systemic abuse

I certainly wouldn't be the first or last person to think about this, but one thing that I think happens open with Fruits Basket -- or any other piece of media that focuses on generational trauma/systemic abuse -- is that it becomes really easy to focus on an individual perpetrator and to desire for that person to atone for their harm -- in this case, that would be Akito Sohma -- while failing to consider reparations for an abusive system in totality (the Sohma estate and the generations that came before the current zodiac spirits).

And, of course, by focusing so much on the former as opposed to the latter, we often forget that individual perpetrators of abuse are often themselves victims in the system as a whole. NOTE: this does not mean that individuals don't deserve to be held accountable, merely that in the focus on individual accountability, a lot gets left on the table and a lot of nuance gets lost in the shuffle.

The tendency to individualize when it comes to harm is understandable given what we know about human nature; it's much easier to wrap our brains around the concrete in the form of a single emotionally or physically abusive person, rather than to think of an entire system that enables abusive power dynamics to flourish over long periods of time. The latter is so weighty, and if we're talking about pragmatism, reparations offered from a single person are much easier to conceptualize than reparations from the many people who uphold a corrupt system (who are usually indoctrinated from birth to do so).

Spoilers ahead!

We get the sense fairly early on in the manga/anime that the Sohma family is a very powerful one in Japan. As we get further and further into the story, Tohru learns that various people on the "inside" have been responsible for keeping the secret of the zodiac curse (and for allowing the current zodiac spirits to believe that their fate is inevitable). The curse is truly a shackle, and by the point the story begins, it's clear that all of the current spirits -- perhaps with the exception of Shigure who even admits that the curse doesn't really affect him -- feel the heavy weight of its binding.

We learn that Hatori is the only current zodiac member to possess memory suppression, but it's also true that his father once had this ability, and that it was on behalf of Akito and his father that Hatori learned and employed this power (suppressing Kana's memories, Yuki's friends' memories, etc). However, unless I've overlooked something, we never learn Hatori's father's name, or learn about his backstory. Similarly, there are a number of "insider" maids -- some part of the "Ren" faction, and some part of the "Akito" faction -- that we see throughout the story, but we don't know any of their names either, or their backstories. And yet, these maids are a huge part of what enables the corrupt system to flourish (and to a lesser extent, what keeps the power struggle between Ren and Akito going).

I actually find it a little astounding how little focus there is on the maids, considering that 1) they know about the curse, and 2) they are not part of the zodiac, which means they could theoretically defy Akito without enduring emotional or physical turmoil (unlike the zodiac spirits themselves). And honestly, it would have been entirely plausible for them -- at least, in the most practical sense -- to defy her, as we know that Akito is rather frail. Sure, we see her be physically violent at many times throughout the story, but it's a little silly to think that she would be able to hold her own against one or more of them if they teamed up together.

A question that I find myself returning to again and again is: what incentive do the maids have to uphold the corrupt system they are part of?

Does it truly come down to their being raised with a certain set of values, and a disposition to not go against the status quo? Given what we know about Akito, it's not as if we're led to believe that she treats any of them particularly well. So does their loyalty to the idea of the curse come down to having a proximity to power? Even power in the form of a person who is clearly very fickle, prone to tantrums, and generally speaking, emotionally unwell due to severe loneliness and fears of abandonment (note: this description could apply to both Ren and Akito)? Is the prospect of being a mouthpiece for the head(s) of the family really so appealing?

I obviously don't have answers to these questions, but they still inform my thoughts around how dangerous it is to think of Akito as the lynchpin of everything, particularly when it's clear that she has been so incredibly damaged by the family, both in terms of being told that she is "special" from such a young age -- thereby basically ensuring that she has a life of loneliness due to her being put on a pedestal -- and by way of the more obvious point in being raised as a male, counter to her own desires.

Honestly, the first time that I saw the below manga panel, I broke down.

I think it was my first time truly seeing Akito as the scared little girl that she really is...I mean look at her face. She looks like a wailing baby, so utterly helpless.

She is a victim of toxic abuse, and don't get me wrong: she absolutely perpetrated horrific emotional and physical abuse that she deserves to be accountable for.

But, I really wish we had seen more follow-up to the point of reparations...and not only for the individual zodiac spirits. Perhaps this starts with some decent therapy...and to that point, how would that even work? Wouldn't most therapists just generally not believe in a zodiac curse in the first place? -- but some acknowledgment that all of them, even Akito, were caught up in a world that stripped them of their own agency all due to indoctrination that began long before any of them were even born.

[ploppythespaceship]

Uglies - Movie Thoughts

On a whim, I decided to start re-reading the Uglies series a couple months ago -- so imagine my surprise when I found out it was getting a movie! Said movie is now out, and it was interesting to watch with the book being so fresh in my head.

Overall, it's... eh. It's not a complete train wreck, the way most critics seem to want you to think, but it is fairly bland and uninspired. It's a very watered down version of the book. It also has the misfortune of feeling like yet another a Hunger Games wannabe, despite the original book pre-dating that series by several years.

Spoilers for everything under the cut.

What I Liked

Based on reviews, I seem to be in the minority here, but I thought the cast was pretty good. People seem to hate Joey King as Tally, but I thought she was fine. Brianne Tju is easily the best in the cast, stealing the whole damn movie as Shay. Laverne Cox also gives an excellent performance as Cable, though I do think she should not have been given that role for other reasons (which I'll get into later).

I've also seen complaints that the characters aren't ugly enough. They talk about how ugly they are and point out their specific ugly features, when they don't actually appear that ugly. And I think everyone complaining about that is completely missing the point. The "Uglies" aren't actually ugly -- they're just normal people, who've been conditioned to think their imperfect features are hideous.

I was honestly unsure how the Pretties would be visualized -- in fact, I wondered if the book would just be fundamentally unadaptable because of it -- but they did a fairly good job. I think leaning on CGI and unnatural affectations was the right way to go. All the Pretties have this uncanny quality to them that suits the story perfectly.

The overall production design was solid as well. I like how Uglyville is all gray concrete and muted tones, while New Pretty Town is shimmering golds. Then upon reaching the Smoke, all the colors of nature finally come through. I do think that could have pushed that last one a little bit more, but it still works well.

Apart from that, I don't really have much to shout out. It's competently written, well-performed, well put together. I know it doesn't sound like I have much praise, but it is a competent movie.

What I'm Mixed On

By far the biggest change from the book is Peris becoming a Special. And I'm torn on it. On the one hand, it does make him a bigger part of the story -- he's honestly not much more than an inciting incident in the book. It gives him and Tally a unique arc that's probably the strongest through-line in the story. On the other hand, the Specials as a concept are so under-cooked (more on that later) and the actor is so bland that it still doesn't quite land the way it's supposed to.

What I Didn't Like

The pacing of this movie is by far its worst issue. We are flying through this plot. There is no time for anything to breathe, for characters to develop meaningful connections, for the bigger moments to feel earned. Some things do make sense to condense -- Tally's journey to the Smoke would have been incredibly boring without her internal monologue, so condensing most of that into a montage makes sense. But I do feel we lost too much. That's where a lot of Tally's characterization comes out, where we can see her bravery and ingenuity -- none of that comes across in the movie.

A lot of important beats are rushed. Tally agreeing to help Dr. Cable is over in a flash. It feels like Tally's in the Smoke for all of fifteen minutes. Tally and David barely interact, so their relationship has no real stake. Everyone is kidnapped by Special Circumstances, and then rescued immediately after. I almost think a 5-6 episode mini-series would have worked better -- but that might have introduced the opposite problem, where everything takes too long.

The movie also has frequent montages that don't really work. It seems like they were trying to show the passage of time, but it just makes everything feel even shorter.

The beginning of the movie has an exposition problem, as well. It opens with a montage explaining the entire setting... before leading into several scenes that also explain the setting through dialogue. We get fed the same details about the surgery and the Rusties and the flowers at least three times at the start, and it gets grating.

As already mentioned, Tally is pretty severely underwritten. In the book, she has a distinct personality and a unique presence. In the movie, she's just the main character because she happens to be the main character. Her intelligence and resourcefulness are pretty much gone.

I also think changing her motivation for going to the Smoke did her a disservice. In the book, Tally goes to the Smoke so she can have her surgery, and because she's convinced herself that Shay needs her help. In the movie, Dr. Cable tells her that the Smokies have a weapon, and she will be saving lives by helping to find them. I think giving her a more selfless motivation robs her of her character arc. She always comes across as someone trying to help, who wants to best for other people, rather than someone who had to consciously learn that.

The Specials are barely even a presence. I'm not sure they were even directly called Specials. People who hadn't read the book would never realize that there was an entire separate status of person here. You never see their disturbingly beautiful faces or their terrifying strength. Considering how pivotal the Specials are to the overall story, especially in the later books, it's really odd not to see them properly established here.

Like I said, Laverne Cox gives an excellent performance as Dr. Cable... but I think they should have thought twice before casting a trans woman. It's not necessarily that there's a trans woman in the villainous role, but that there's a trans woman in the villainous role who specifically wants to force people to have surgeries to brainwash them. Like... did the optics of that really not occur to anyone? At all? I think Cox could have played David's mother, instead.

[yesimwriting]

yes i want more felix and oliver !!

a/n i love when people enable me :)

this could be read as taking place at some point after match burns (though this isn't part 2!) but can also easily be read on its own

---

The world has been dulled by a drowsiness so thick and full it's disorientating. You're so tired, so trapped in the state between falling and asleep that it's hard to think. Despite this, he somehow manages to be a bright spot, so warm and safe any and all thoughts of dangers lurking in the shadows are slowly vanishing.

You don't remember Felix getting here. You're not sure when he entered your room through your shared bathroom or when he laid down next to you or when he started tracing soothing patterns against your shoulder. All you know is that there was a nightmare that latched onto the ghosts estates this grandiose and ancient seem to attract and then there was Felix.

By morning, when you'll no longer need Felix to serve the purpose of daylight, you'll be embarrassed. Even now, you're still half-aware of the fact that there's a lot about this that you should find mortifying. Felix knowing to come in and wake you means you must have been showing signs of distress while asleep. Having a nightmare during your first night at Saltburn is a little pathetic, but it's something you can live with. However, needing Felix to stay with you until you fall asleep is a juvenile kind of pathetic that you don't think you could get through.

"Thanks for..." Your voice feels small and far away, but you don't think you can manage anything more concrete. "Waking me up."

Felix's fingertips continue the pattern they've been outlining against your skin without hesitation. "It's nothing," he whispers, "You were tossing and turning so much." Yeah, you'll definitely be embarrassed tomorrow. "Feel better now?"

You manage a nod. "Yeah..." Your eyes fall shut, you have to force yourself to open them again. "Better." Maybe if you sat up or--or moved away, you'd be able to focus. You shift, but you're too tired and, honestly, comfortable for it to be productive. "So, if you...if you want to go back...that'd be okay."

The lack of desire to get the words out paired with the need to remain polite, to make sure that he doesn't think you don't appreciate the gesture makes the words feel awkward. Felix's hand moves down to your arm. He angles his head forward, so close you can feel his breaths against your cheek. "Do you want me to?"

His words are soft, voice low and slightly gravelly. You're reminded of Felix in a world that feels so far from the one you're currently in, seeing him at parties, around the girls he'd pick from time to time.

There would always be a flurry of them around him, but you could always tell which one he was actually entertaining because of the way he'd become attentive. His ability to make someone seem like the only person in the world has always been fascinating. It's a talent that's more than romantic, too. It's part of the reason everyone always wants to be around him.

"No." The confession is faint as it accidentally tumbles past your lips.

The honesty of it knots something in your stomach. It's more than fear or the inability to fall asleep. You want Felix to stay. That's it. There's no reason or justification for it, you just...you want Felix.

But there are social boundaries, and things that you can't do with friends. Intentionally sleeping in the same bed, especially as close together and touchy as the two of you are being, is definitely one of those things.

There has to be a way to explain it without tiptoeing into territory that you're incapable of handling. Especially when it comes to Felix, who you spent an entire semester trying not to fall in love with. You survived by the skin of your teeth just to be invited to spend the summer with his family. You feel like an idiot for thinking you'd be able to get through this.

"Okay." He says it like it's that easy, like that's the only thing worth considering. "Then I'll stay." You're not sure if he can sense your uncertainty, but he's quick to tack on a justification, "Need you well rested." The vague feel of embarrassment attempts to nip at you again. "I know it can be hard to get used to it here."

It's a phrase that would seem like a blanket statement of instinctual politeness from anyone else, but from Felix it feels real, his understanding almost tangible. It's enough to make you fully ease.

"It's still nice, though." An understatement you would've never let slip past you if your eyelids weren't growing heavier by the second. Nice is such a bland term, it almost feels like an insult, especially when considering the fact that you're not just talking about his home. "I'm glad you invited me."

His touch has now moved to concentrate on your forearm. "I'm glad you came." A beat of silence stretches between you, your eyes finally falling shut. Felix's fingertips brush against the inside of your wrist. If you were any more awake, the carefulness of the touch would have gotten to you. "It is still nice."

----

The lack of light bleeding into the hall from beneath the door that leads to Felix's room makes the air entering Oliver's lungs feel stale.

It's late enough that the darkness could mean nothing. Felix's extra curriculars of choice have him in the habit of keeping strange hours. It's more common than not for him to up until the wee hours of the nights, even if there's nothing for him to do. However, from time to time the long nights will catch up to him and he'll fall asleep early.

Oliver can almost convince himself that that's all this is, can practically picture Felix fast asleep above the covers and only half undressed. He would be able to believe it if it wasn't for the soft glow illuminating the space beneath the door that leads to your room.

A familiar tightness forces his ribs to contract. Oliver swallows, stepping towards the door to Felix's room. He knows you to be a late night reader from time to time...

His hand is now grasping the door handle. There's nothing inherently strange about what Oliver's doing. Felix did say to come find him if Oliver had trouble sleeping. He pulls the door open slowly, taking his time to make sure that the creek of the old hinge's stays as quiet as possible.

Oliver peers into the room. The darkness isn't easy to see in, but eventually he makes out slightly tousled sheets on an empty bed and the door to the bathroom cracked open.

Of course it'd take so little time for you to completely pull Felix into your orbit. An entire semester of Felix doting on you and you managed to commit to keeping him at arm's length. One night in his family's home and you're suddenly no longer cautious. Maybe you're not as noble as you try to seem.

He's approaching the door to the bathroom, unsure if seeing it would be as unbearable as imagining it. Felix's hands on you, your body pressed against his.

"Hello?" Felix's voice carries over from the other side of the bathroom, slightly confused but casual. "Oliver?"

Oliver swallows, blood running cold despite the fact that all that he's been caught doing is justifiable. He forces himself to walk forward, to open the door to the bathroom fully. "Yeah."

Oliver crosses over, opening the door to your bedroom with an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

What he sees isn't--Felix is sitting up, the bedside lamp closest to him turned on, an open book held in one hand and your sleeping form holding onto the other. It's not the coming together, the snapping of tension and desire he had been imaging. In many ways, its something worse.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Swallowing down the influx of emotion that Oliver isn't capable of dealing with, he nods blankly. "Yeah. Still adjusting."

"It's normal," Felix replies easily, "She couldn't sleep either."

Felix's solution for you not being able to sleep was to crawl into bed with you. It shouldn't matter, he's seen the two of you get away with displays of affection more nauseating than this on campus. Lingering kisses against each other's cheeks and foreheads and jaws during a night out, holding onto each other at the few parties you agree to attend, Felix tucking you into bed after you drink. But this is--this is a touchiness not hidden under the guise of alcohol.

Oliver nods again. "Oh."

"Fell asleep quickly, though." Felix's thumb brushes up your arm. "Jet lag paired with Farleigh sneaking her one too many glasses of wine." Another empty tilt of Oliver's chin. "Y'can come here, if you want."

The offer comes out so casually, Oliver starts to wonder if he missed something. "What?"

Felix sighs, a hint of some lighthearted humor in the sound. "It doesn't need to be a thing, it's just sleep."

It can't possibly be that casual to him, can it? Especially with the level of care in the way Felix is touching you. And even if it is just a matter of sleep, this is still your room. "What about--"

"She won't mind," Felix dismisses easily. "She likes you." It's one thing to be friendly with someone, another for them to crawl into your bed after you've fallen asleep. "She'll get it."

Oliver's still not sure, his confusion affecting his ability to figure out which reaction will be what Felix wants most. He deliberates for a moment before stepping forward, approaching the other side of the bed.

Now that the overwhelmingness of the domesticity is starting to wear off, you do seem different in your sleep. More vulnerable. It isn't an unappealing way to see you.

He pulls the sheets back carefully, you stir regardless. You shift away from Felix's touch, moving onto your side. Of course you'd wake up just in time to take this from him, too.

You wipe at your eyes tiredly before squinting them open. It takes a moment for you to place yourself, but once you do, the slight confusion behind your eyes is nearly drowned out by an oddly warm confusion. "Oliver."

You bend an arm in an attempt to prop your head up. It takes you a second, but you eventually manage. Farleigh must have encouraged to have a little more than just a few extra glasses of wine at dinner.

"Y'okay?" Your tone is more kind than confused as you stare up at him with sleep still in your eyes.

The answer should be easy. Oliver should be working at accepting Felix's suggestion. The words are there, balancing on the tip of his tongue, but instead of getting them out, he's too focused on you.

It's a curious attention. Half asleep, hair tousled, makeup washed off, and the oversized shirt you're sleeping in sliding down your shoulder. All of these things should make you seem smaller, less eye drawing. Instead, being dressed down just adds a softness to your aesthetic appeal.

Maybe what makes you so appealing to Felix isn't as hard to grasp as Oliver originally thought. The thought twists in him strangely, jabbing at a part of him and encouraging another.

"Ollie couldn't sleep either." Felix gently squeezes your forearm. "I was asking him if he wanted to stay in here tonight, but he didn't want to overstep."

You blink, stiffening slightly for the first time since you woke up. The implications of Felix's statement take a second to fully sink in, but once it does, Oliver can see the hesitation coloring your features. "Oh."

Felix traces a pattern up your arm. You turn your head to look at Oliver again. "You've seen me before a 9:00 AM lecture after a night out and at every stage of finals week grief, I'm not sure there are any boundaries left."

You sit up, pushing yourself close to the center of the bed in a wordless invitation. Oliver swallows before letting himself sit down at the edge of the bed. He takes his time moving beneath the sheets. Your scent clings to the fabric.

The bed's not small, but with the three of you, it is a bit of a squeeze. It's reminiscent of being a little kid crawling into bed with a parent after a bad dream.

"You are pretty harsh during exams." Felix's voice is light, bordering on teasing.

Your mouth falls open in a mock gasp. You twist your arm, trying to push Felix off. He grins, easily resisting your halfhearted attempts to get him off of you. "I am not that bad." You're still pretending to want Felix to let go when you look back at Oliver. "Am I?"

To be honest, during finals you're constantly preoccupied. Even when you're meant to be spending time with friends, it's clear that your mind's stuck on assignments and exams. You're also prone to irritability. The only actual argument Oliver's ever had with you was mainly caused by the stress of an essay you were trying to finish. You apologized almost immediately after, but it's still the most angry he's ever seen you be.

The truth doesn't feel relevant. "You're perfectly lovely all times a'year."

You grin, Felix lets out a sound that's equal parts laugh as it is groan. "Don't tell her that. It'll go to her head."

You gently push at his shoulder, Felix exaggerates a pout.

Like all the praise you receive on a daily basis hasn't already gotten to you. You may not have a family name that carries weight, but you do have the way that people see you, a regular dorm hall darling with the grades and social circle to match.

You don't bask in the praise or let it change your outward appearance, but it has to inflate your ego. You've never implied that you come from a family that struggles financially, but you're not like Felix either. Holding your own with his kind must give you an inflated sense of self.

But this is another truth that serves no purpose. Not with Felix's teasing yet content smile and the attentive way you're watching him.

Oliver extends an arm, placing a hand on your knee. You sit up a little more, uncertainty briefly making it easier for you to be awake. It's not that you're never touchy with Oliver, it's that he's rarely the one to start it. "Oh, she's too much of a sweetheart."

It's honest enough. You are too nice to let anything openly go to your head. The words get you to finally relax at the contact. You must have decided that Oliver's just in a friendly mood. "Thank you." You then turn your head to look at Oliver, "See? Some people think I'm nice."

Felix rolls his eyes, letting his hand fall off your arm for the first time since Oliver's arrival. It's a small shift, but some subconscious part of you seems to notice, eyes instinctually searching for his hand.

"Since when are you on her side?" The comment, delivered with a tone that isn't quite teasing enough to cover the tinge of annoyance that still manages to bleed into the words, only confirms Oliver's theory.

Felix is used to being at the center. Everyone's eyes are always on him, everyone's affections are constantly available. He isn't one to be jealous in a committed way, Oliver's heard about enough of Felix's open flings to know he isn't like that. But he's territorial about those he feels attached to. If Felix Catton deems you worthy of his care, you make sure to make it clear to anyone else that that's all that matters.

The brief flash of defensiveness makes Oliver feel like he's standing a little straighter, a little stronger. "There are no sides."

"Yeah." You shift, leg moving off of Felix's as you try to sit up a little more. Felix's brow furrows.

It hits Oliver, then, that even though you want Felix's approval, you might not need it the way everyone else does. That must be part of the reason Felix is so drawn to you. Or maybe you're just that sure in yourself, in your place in his life that you're willing to push from time to time if the setting feels light enough.

But you're not happy with tension between the two of you, not even the kind that's barely implied. Oliver doesn't think he's ever seen the two of you argue, or look anything outside of completely content in each other's presence.

"We're just joking," you mumble, angling your neck awkwardly to look at Felix.

"Yeah, so am I."

Your gaze shifts over to Oliver, something knowing behind your eyes that he can't quite return. "Mhm."

Felix lets out an exaggerated breath before relaxing his spine and laying down. "Fuck off," he mumbles, the passive aggressiveness forced into the syllables not enough to hide his genuine fondness.

You look over at Oliver, "Can you believe him?"

A combination of being emboldened by the safety of your approval and the urge to feel as indispensable as you are makes Oliver want to joke back. "He seems moody, must be tired."

You laugh again, this time your body leaning towards Oliver until your head lands on his shoulder.

"Fuck off," Felix says again, "Both of you." His annoyance is still undercut by something warm.

Your head is still on Oliver's shoulder, the weight of it impossible to ignore but not exactly uncomfortable. You've stilled significantly, a fact that makes Oliver wonder if you've fallen asleep like that.

Then, you break the silence, "We're kidding."

"I've heard that before," Felix counters flatly. He stretches an arm, reaching for your fingers. "Liked you better asleep."

Felix squeezes your hand, keeping you awake enough to respond. "I'm sure the quiet was nice."

He sits up slightly, "You snore a little."

You're so offended, you lift your head off of Oliver's shoulder. "I. Do. Not."

Oliver waits a beat before adding, "Well."

You turn to look at Oliver, your offense clear. "How would you know?"

"Remember after that one party? You were so out of it, you needed help getting into your room and passed out before I could go." The memory is relatively recent, an end of semester party that you used to celebrate the end of your finals induced hibernation.

You pout. "You two are mean."

Felix runs his thumb across your knuckles. "Extremely." You part your lips like you have something else to say, but you're cut off by a yawn. "We should go to bed."

You tilt your chin up slightly, a potential protest that fizzles out almost immediately. "Yeah." You're tired, there's not even the good humored kind of fight left. "It's late."

You sink into the mattress, eyes shutting immediately. Oliver watches for a second, still unsure in a way he isn't used to. There's something about this kind of softness that isn't easy to place himself in.

Felix leans over, setting his book down on the nightstand. "Are you both settled?"

You nod, eyes still closed. Oliver's a little slower to react, "Yeah."

Felix switches off the bedside lamp. Darkness enshrouds the room. The bed groans slightly as Felix adjusts himself. Oliver follows, moving so that he can lay down fully.

He's closer to you than he's ever been. Your warmth radiates beneath the sheets in a way that's strangely soothing. Oliver isn't sure how he felt so awake just minutes ago. His eyelids are growing heavy. The last thing Oliver registers before falling asleep is Felix's hand on his shoulder, a too brief yet somehow still lingering squeeze that serves as a silent good night.

[lenreli]

The King and His Friend [Dreamling Week Day 1 - Indulgence]

[AO3] | [Dreamling Week '24 Masterpost]

G, 2.1k.

Hob deals with his own feelings for his returned friend, and the fact that Dream has become a fixture in his life.

-

Hob is used to the indulgences of life. The frozen food, always available and out-of-season if he wants it, the reverse cycle air conditioner he has at home, which can both be cooling and heating. So many books and foods to try, fusions of those who’ve moved countries, other countries adapting food― 

Though, Hob is only getting used to the newest indulgence of having Dream ― Dream ― back in his life. Seeing him in the daylight, in the sunset, the small smiles gifted his way as they. Well, usually it’s him talking, still, as they talk and he drinks and complains about the essays of his students, about what they’ve been up to.

He almost doesn’t notice the slow build of feelings, happy as he is with Dream’s company. His oldest friend, the one who knows the worst and the best of him, visiting him more often and he gets comments from others about how he’s even happier than usual. 

Right. The feelings. Which, of course Dream is pretty and regal, a painting put into the real world (waking world, Dream would say), but it’s when he’s finally convincing Dream to try some of the Malaysian satay chicken he’s making, a spoon of the sauce he blows on as Dream leans in and takes a sip of the sauce, and his heart skips.

“Good?” He asks, wide-eyed as Dream blinks, and Hob swallows down a cough at how raspy his voice is. He’s not sure what made Dream actually eat it when he asked, but now he only regrets it the tiniest bit as he sees Dream’s long eyelashes, the deep blue of his eyes.

“Wonderful,” Dream intones. Before Hob can get another word out, there’s a brush against a finger as Dream takes the spoon, licking the back of it with a pleased hum. 

“That’s―good,” he chokes out, wrestling with the sudden need to see more of Dream’s pink tongue, to touch the pale cheekbones. “What made you want to try?” 

There’s another hum as Dream puts the spoon in his mouth, looking through his lashes. “My sister enjoys human food. Perhaps there’s something to it.”

“It is pretty good,” he attests, pulse rushing as Dream licks his lips, cleaning off sauce. 

-

Before, Dream was untouchable. He thought of terrifying and exciting trysts with the person he met every century, but nothing concrete or emotional. And now, with Dream more in his life, a friend that shows up to his lectures sometimes, or just for a beer and a chat. One notable example of Hob coming back to his home after a long day at the university, to see Dream curled up in the lounge room with one of his books. 

And it’s so domestic, as they get used to each other in a way that isn’t every 100 years, as he gets used to a ― still prideful ― Dream, but who seems to find his house, and himself, a place to relax. Hob’s heart always melts as he watches the weight that disappears from Dream’s shoulders when he arrives. 

Even now, with him marking a pop quiz, and Dream watching TV, fascinated by some CG-full action movie, it feels comfortable, and like he could just reach out and… 

“Do you wish to change the channel?” Dream asks, and Hob almost bursts into laughter at hearing the words so perfectly enunciated, like the fate of the world rests on it. 

“Uh, no,” he says with a grin and sits closer, able to feel Dream’s low heat. “It’s just nice, having you here more.” 

At this, Dream manages to look away from the TV, blue eyes shiny and wet as Dream’s face goes through minute expressions, eventually settling on something like shock. “That’s not something I hear often,” Dream says quietly, looking back at the TV and Hob’s heart tries to make its way into the way Dream tries to make himself smaller.

“Dream,” Hob says gravely, Dream’s attention snapping back to him, “can I hug you?” 

Dream gapes, mouth opening and closing a few times before turning back to the TV, “if you would like.” Dream mumbles, tensing as ― Hob doesn’t move. 

“Do you want a hug?” He presses, knowing how his friend is very ― prickly, to put it mildly. Dream purses his lips and gives him a tiny nod, blue eyes watching him warily as Hob puts down his quizzes and hugs him. 

Dream is bony and sharp, and there’s a gust near his ear as he holds onto Dream’s form tightly. His friend tenses even more, but eventually, slowly ― very slowly, starts to relax, hands eventually ending up on his back as they hug.

“You are in front of the television,” Dream says after however many minutes, and Hob chuckles as he moves to more of a side-hug, an arm around Dream’s shoulder as he pulls his quizzes closer to continue marking.

-

After that, Hob’s tactility always comes into play, holding onto Dream’s hands, putting a hand on the other’s shoulder, or in this case ― stroking the soft black hair, as Dream reads a book next to him on the sofa in his tiny office at the university. 

“I will have to go back to work soon,” he says, shaking his empty container of salad he had for lunch. Dream grunts and burrows even closer to him, and Hob grins,, affection filling him as Dream’s head bumps into his hand, an ask for more, which he complies with easily. 

“Must you?” Dream asks, blue eyes moving to stare at him blankly.

“It’s not like I tell you to not go to that important fae delegation or―” Dream blinks and raises an eyebrow, and Hob’s face heats, “well. Once! Okay, how about you just join me in my lecture anyway,” give the students something to talk about, he doesn’t say as he gets up, putting his container back into his bag.

“What is the subject for this lecture?” Dream asks, smoothly standing next to him, a hand clamping onto his wrist.

“Uh,” he frowns and gets out his books, “ah. Monarchy, mainly, how they affected the ordinary people,” he frowns as he puts everything into his bag, closing it and putting it on his back. “Are you going to stay for dinner?” He asks as they walk through the campus to his classroom, people’s eyes sliding over Dream as they wave at him. 

“If nothing urgent arises,” Dream says once they’re closer. Standing at the door, Hob looks down at the hand around his wrist, grip like a vice still. 

“I’m going to need that back,” he whispers, pointing at his wrist and Dream only blinks slowly, eventually releasing his wrist. Dream glides in after him as he gets his laptop and books out, setting things up. 

-

“You keep spoiling me,” Hob breathes, heart beating quickly as Dream stops, looking up from his miniature ― work, the black sand moulded into terrible and beautiful shapes. 

“Spoiling?” Dream echoes, blinking. 

“With your presence,” he offers, sitting down across from Dream. There’s another blink and the black sand disappears, Dream’s shoulders tightening up, “it’s a good thing, Dream. I like having you here,” he explains before the entity can disappear, and Dream looks baffled now, a crease between his brows. 

Dream opens his mouth, shuts it as he looks at the creature he’s moulding. “I like being here,” is what Dream settles on at last, shoulders coming down as Dream looks at him through his lashes. “You do not mind that I work here?” 

“I dunno, I may have to introduce you to a work-life balance eventually, but this is the first I’ve seen of it, and it looks cool as fuck,” he grins, resting his head on his hands as he looks at the miniature version of a person.

Dream’s smiles at him, tiny and lopsided and the miniature fills in with more detail, black sand shifting under the entity’s gaze and fingers. “It will,” Dream pauses, looking up briefly, then back down to his work. “I plan for it to be a safe harbour for those in difficult times.”

-

“They’re not that bad to deserve that look,” he complains as he takes a bite of his Korean fried chicken. Dream, meanwhile, continues his wary stare at the plate in front of him. Dream gives him a narrow stare and Hob licks his lip, self-conscious of the mess as he takes another bite. “I’m pretty sure no-one would care if you ate it with a fork and knife,” he pauses, “maybe.” 

“Many people dream of these,” Dream says, conceding as he picks a piece up delicately, turning his hand around to look at the sauce-covered meat. “Is it spicy?” 

“I tend to go towards a high-level of spice, so yes,” he nods, “though this place does do different spice levels as well. Do you even like spice?” 

Dream blinks, still staring down the piece of chicken he’s holding, “I am unsure, though. It has been so long. I should be able to handle it, of course,” Dream intones, voice going deeper as he considers the chicken before taking a bite, sauce ending up on the corner of his lip as he eats it. 

Hob blinks, watching as Dream’s expression changes ― confusion, alarm, then pleased ― “does it pass the test?” He asks, waiting for the verdict. 

“It bites back,” Dream says in wonder and Hob can only grin as Dream devours his piece, bone and all. Though, the bone bit did make him look to see if the other people were seeing it. Dream picks up another piece and once Hob’s sure that Dream’s working whatever magic he does to be unnoticed, does he relax, trying not to look too closely at the way Dream licks his pink lips to get rid of the sauce. 

“Ordering more, then,” he says dryly, finishing off his own chicken piece as Dream devours the rest, uncaring of the sauce that ends on his face and fingers.

“Oh yes.”

-

Hob wakes slowly, mind hazy as he pats the soft hair of the person hugging him. 

Wait. He’s pretty sure he didn’t go to bed with anyone last night. Cracking a yawn, he looks down to see familiar black hair. “Dream,” he murmurs, groggy as continues to pat the other’s hair, the entity under the covers with him. 

“As you say, you spoil me,” Dream says, voice hushed and Hob suppresses a shiver at that deep voice so close to his chest, and with him still half-asleep. “In your dream, you said you wouldn’t mind.”

Sounds like me, he thinks, “and I was right. Just surprising, is all.” Dream hums, head nodding against his chest. “Did we talk about anything else?” Hob tries to remember, there’s only a gauzy, soft haze and Hob can only think about flowers. 

“No. We mainly enjoyed each other’s presence,” Dream answers, and Hob wheezes as arms go around his waist and squeeze him tightly. “I had a,” Dream pauses, head moving up and Hob aches at the wetness in Dream’s eyes, the crease on his forehead. “Trying time.” 

Hob yawns once more as moves to press out the crease on the other’s forehead, “hope it’s a bit less trying for you now.” 

Dream gives him a tiny smile as he goes back to stroking the other’s hair, and Dream hums, leaning into his hand so his fingers brush against a pale ear. “You have helped immensely.” 

“‘S what I like to hear,” he grins ― and then the alarm on his phone starts blaring, metal music reminding him that it's time to get up. Groaning, he leans over to turn it off. “That, on the other hand.”

-

Hob is getting a snack and a drink from his kitchen when he realises he’s walked past Dream, who is sitting on the sofa, back straight. “Dream? Are you okay?” Frowning, he takes his snack and tea from the counter, sitting next to his friend. 

Dream looks at him, then looks at the TV, which isn’t even on. “If there is a story,” Dream begins, voice deep and Hob would almost say nervous. “About a king, who,” Dream stops, throat moving. 

“Who what?” He asks, slowly eating his chocolate as Dream seems to find the words, brows furrowed. 

“Who. Hypothetically, has strong emotions for his,” Dream gives him a quick glance, and Hob tries to ignore how much his heart is racing. “Very strong emotions for his best friend. Only friend, one might say, considering his other friend’s also his subjects,” even with how quietly Dream speaks, and Hob sucks in a breath, the words loud and clear, ringing in his brain. “How do you think it would go?”

Licking his lips, Hob scrambles some words together, joy and happiness which he restrains with how grave Dream is, like he’s waiting for something terrible. “Um, hypothetically,” he starts, “his best friend has many strong emotions for the king also.” Dream’s eyes go wide, shock clear as they stare at him, “but they can take things slow. Or fast. There’s all the time in the world. The universe, even. If the king wants.” 

Hob smiles as Dream mulls over his answer. 

[Fin]

[wrathofrats]

Thinking about Aether and Phantom quintosis lesson. It's all going well and all, Aether's letting Phant explore his head on his own a little because he's actually really talented y'know! And then he hits a particular spot and Aether goes brainless, practically drooling on spot if yk what I'm onto...

Everyone always comes to Aeth to shut their thoughts up, but now he's on the receiving end for the first time in a whiiiile and he's just gone.

Just a big brainless quint :)

Shakes you violently because I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw it

(Warning that this is a little dubious but consent is implied and implied to have been discussed prior, just didn’t want it to come out of nowhere in case someone isn’t up for that 🫶

Also I made it weird bc confident phantom has been on my brain recently)

Aether talks him through it. Takes phantoms hands and places them on either side of his head, covering them with his own.

He trusts him under his own supervision, able to step in if something were to go wrong.

It’s easy, to aethers surprise. Phantom being able to pick at different memories, emotions, doesn’t take long for phantom to start trying to control his limbs.

“Am I doing that?” Phantoms eyes light up when aether hand moves slowly to the side.

“You are bug, good job”

Aether thinks it’s cute watching him get so excited over his powers.

Different tour memories flash in and out as phantom practically rummages through his brain like a storage bin. His face muscles twitch while phantom drags over certain nerves. Quintessence can be a dangerous game in the wrong hands, the power to as you please to someone only to be trusted in the right hands.

A particular wave of fuzz washes over aether as phantom gets a little more confident with the electricity he has wrapped around his mind. He feels cloudy, it’s not unfamiliar but he knows exactly what phantom is doing considering he’s done it to the other ghouls countless times before.

“Bug…..” aether warns taking a deep breath. He feels like there’s cotton behind his eyes, his breathing becoming deep and more manual.

Phantom prods again. A sharp buzz in the base of his skull and it’s hard for aether to get out the words to warn him again.

Phantom understands what he’s doing, especially considering this form of mind control has been done to him before. it’s the only reason aether hasn’t removed him yet but it’s a helpless and almost calming sort of feeling, looking up to see phantom smiling at him with his magic completely taking over his senses.

“Please let me take care of you?” Phantom tips aethers chin up to look at him, the other hand caressing his cheek. Aether can feel just a bit more quintessence slip in as he nods.

He’s completely brainless, barely a thought besides what’s directly in front of him and a small attempt to keep his breathing normal. It’s all he can do to keep his vision straight, mind full of static and he can’t help but smile at phantom, giggling slightly. A comfortable mindless state of pleasure.

“Never been able to have you all stupid for me have I aeth?” Phantom teases. It’s light hearted in nature but god it does something to aether. He could practically drool if he really wanted to, phantoms light teasing enough to have him salivating. Something so delicious about being able to have your thoughts shut up and being taken care of, aethers been craving it for a while.

A delicate hand pushes its way under aethers shirt. Phantom looks for any sign of protest before lifting it off of his body and discarding it on the floor beside them. Aethers immediately handsy, giggly and trying whatever he can to get phantom back on him. His limbs feel like they’re full of concrete as he tries to reach up to pull him closer. Time moves slow, almost too slow for him with the idea phantoms put into his head of him doing whatever he wants to him.

Phantom makes quick work of his own clothes while aether chews his lip, small moans escaping as phantom strips in his lap. He’s easy like this, hard and stupid and just desperate for anything from phantom he can get.

“You’re needy when you’re like this” phantom teases, reaching for the buttons on aethers pants. “Big and stupid like a whore should be”

Phantom grabs aethers hand, pulling it around his waist to finger himself with it, “your fingers are thicker than mine, gotta stretch myself out to take you baby” phantom gasps as he pushes aethers fingers into himself

It’s a tight stretch, phantom working himself with two of aethers fingers guided by his own, if he’s not careful he could probably just use aether like this and cum in his lap but oh, he wants to see how bad aeth can get when he sits on his cock.

Aethers streams out incoherent pleas and curses as phantom finally pulls him out, stroking him a couple times just to hear him whimper

“Fuck you’re much better like this, dumb and useful, just a dildo for me to use right?”

[frogserotonin]

overthinker- lars pinfield x reader

a/n: short one bc im still in a slump rn many sorries. also sorry lawl this fic is so disconjointed and i’m really unhappy with it but whatever 😭 warnings: nothin proper i don’t think, most ooc lars to ever ooc, unedited; tell me if i've spelt smth wrong 😁

“Would you want to go out to get some lunch together on our break?” Your fingertips bounce off of the sides of your legs as you try to remain composed. You're so high-strung right now, you almost expect him to laugh in your face. Nerves and the effects of having slept a fitful two hours last night override your usually rational brain and you feel the need to just run away without receiving an answer bloom in your chest.

“I thought you usually brought lunch? If you forgot to bring some you can have some of mine, if you want.” Lars doesn’t even look up from what he’s working on, just adjusts his glasses and uses a vague jut of his elbow to point to his locker, where you know his bag is. Your heart simultaneously drops and stutters. 

“Oh, it’s okay, I just felt like going out to eat, thank you though.” You try to make your words seem more upbeat than you feel, unsure of whether or not to take his words as a rejection.

“Oh. Okay then.” It must be your imagination, but his words hold a hint of disappointment. You open your mouth again, then close it, and silence re-envelopes the room. Turning, you make your way to your desk and begin to work away, dejection slumping your shoulders forward and making time drag on. When eventually the lunch break arrives, you grab your bag and rush your way out of the lab.

A squeak of shoes on the concrete floor behind you almost has you looking back, but your brain is so addled you almost believe you’ve made it up.

Like a fool, you don't talk to him when you come back, or when you leave, the time you spend alone and in silence building up an anxiety in the back of your mind. The idea that he's all too aware of your feelings, and is made uncomfortable by them and your advances overtakes you completely. That night, you stay awake, tossing and turning, over analysing every interaction you've ever had with him, trying to make sure you've not overstepped and made a complete and utter fool of yourself.

In the morning, you consider it a miracle you leave the house at all, with how tired you are. The thought of calling in sick crosses your mind, but by the time you get up your body automatically locks itself into its usual routine, and you mindlessly get dressed and make your way to the Ghostbusters facilities. Through your drowsiness, the realisation that you’re at your desk and doing absolutely nothing sets in and you jolt. 

“Good morning.” If he didn’t sound so concerned, Lars would sound thoroughly amused. “You alright? Look a bit…off.” Your face flares, and you go to stand up, only to stumble and almost fall on your face. Hands out, you stabilise yourself, and then face him.

“Yeah. Morning.” You can only hope that he backs off, because his concern seems too genuine for your feelings to not expand exponentially the more he stands before you looking like he cares. “M’feeling just peachy, you?.” Belatedly, you realise your words are clearly not convincing because he doesn’t move an inch, simply studying you. He then sighs and shakes his head, chuckling a little bit, just softly under his breath, taking a couple steps closer to you. 

“When’s the last time you slept?” His voice is too gentle, too un-Lars-like, that you’re almost convinced you actually did fall asleep last night, and now you’re dreaming. You open your mouth to respond, but find yourself nodding off as you do so, the last thing you process before fully passing out is the feeling of arms around your chest and shoulders. 

When you come to, you sit up quickly, and slowly become aware of what had happened. Muttering cursing to yourself under your breath, you take in your surroundings, finding yourself slung over the small couch situated in the room reserved for taking time off from work briefly. Hurriedly, you rush out of the room towards where you assume Lars is working, apology already on the tip of your tongue. You approach him quickly and loudly, a fact that can be gathered from his head immediately snapping up when you enter the room. He starts to speak, no doubt to rattle off reasons why you were irresponsible and stupid for coming to work while being aware you weren’t at your fullest capacity, but you cut him off.

“God, I’m so sorry. That was humiliating, and I’m so, so sorry that it happened, it won’t happen again.” You bow your head, refusing to look him in the eye, but quickly look up again when you hear him laugh. 

“It’s fine, really, you just scared me a little bit.” His smile is small, but sincere and you remember fully the reason you were in the predicament in the first place. “Are you feeling better now?” 

You probably look a bit crazy with how vigorously you nod, but you barely care anymore. 

“Yes, thank you so much, really, I’m sorry that it happened.” He laughs again, and it sounds like heaven.

“You don’t need to thank me or apologise,” Lars’ eyes sparkle a bit behind his glasses when he properly smiles, and you can feel warmth rush to your face. He hesitates, like he’s calculating his words, then gently says “I-uh. I care for you a lot, it really meant nothing for me to make sure you were okay.”

[thewriters-world]

Omg yes!! I saw a poll on what would be a better Hollywood movie rosquez or brocedes

And I was like hands down brocedes, because that's Monaco & Ibiza, a neat little story of growing up, growing apart, giving up on shared dreams. All the glitz and glamour. The way Nico keeps saying nice things and Lewis keeping his silence. A bit of modicum.

Rosquez however could never be Hollywood, they are unhinged, they are gritty, down & dirty, blunt fingernails scrambling to hold on in dark alleyways, it's being on top of the world and seeing your end approaching you wrapped up in smooth golden muscle and a mouth that never ends, it's touching legends, getting on that pedestal and then being isolated on there by the very hands that welcomed you in, it's European art film that is full of shadows and long silences, things never said and hands reaching out too late, it's his voice whispering everytime you fall, it's seeing him in every rider, knowing he would be crazier, faster, fiercer.

Brocedes could have survived if they were less ambitious/less greedy/less driven than they were, Rosquez never had an option because the things that drew them together are the things that they despise about each other.

OP YOUR VISION!

You've described rosquez so perfectly. They're like ruined somehow. Like Marc has his claws in Valentino and Valentino has his claws in Marc and yh they've let go but their bodies, brains HEARTS are still bloody and bruised. Lewis and Nico are healing but will Marc and Valentino ever heal? Idk Valentino says it'll take him 30 years to get over this and Marc says reconciliation is not upto him. So will they be tainted with marks of each other for 30 years? Does everything become more sullied when you remember that Marc had hung posters of Valentino on his bedroom wall and was buying replica bikes until 2015? Is it more cruel that Valentino knew all of this and not only did he do what he did to Marc when he was 22, he denied Marc a concrete part of his personality by saying he doesn't belive Marc had those posters (it's been documented you senile old man!). He basically said I don't know you, I never knew you. Is this all way more horrid when you consider that Marc thought getting into motogp with his idol would mean that Valentino actually KNEW him and they could be friends and then Valentino throws it right back into his face 'I want to see those posters' (I've never known you, I've never looked at those pictures of young you with my motorbikes, I've never paid attention, whilst you devoted your whole life to my life, your life was simply a speck in the grand scheme of events that is my life). Obviously its not true, it's a way to hurt Marc (we all know Valentino actually LIKED marc). But doesn't that make it all the more cruel, you treated someone you actually had affection for like this. Also is it more hurtful when you remember that Valentino told Marc ill protect you from these people if they're mean to you just let me know (not verbatim) but you're the meanie Valentino so now who does Marc go to. The people you turned against him?

Brocedes is way more tame bcs there was no idolisation, sure there was friendship, affection and childlike hope, but never once did Nico and Lewis decide that they didn't have what they had. Nico doesn't denounce the time they sat in hotel rooms and ate frosties, Lewis doesn't hide the fact that karting with Nico provided him joy as a child. Lewis can say Nico isn't his friend, but he hasn't ever said 'I've never known Nico' even when Nico acts a fool whilst commentating on races just to get his attention Lewis wouldn't be so cruel to deny ever having a relationship with Nico. Nico and Lewis are connected in a more concrete and wholesome way (Lewis gives Nico's daughters gifts). Marc and Valentino are connected in a more brutal way (they still have the bruises, the bleeding wounds of whatever they had with one another, friendship, affection companionship idk). That's the only similarity, they are still connected, their legacies are interspersed with one another. Something about how Lewis was there for nicos first and last podium. Something about how everywhere Marc goes, he is haunted by how Valentino has painted him to other people. Even in the one similarity between brocedes and rosquez you can see the abject dirtiness of rosqiez and the wholesomeness of brocedes.