#last night i was thinking about myself and this is the conclusion i came to isn't that crazy

[solenstelluna]

so uh

you ever just find out you're trans

[edienotsedgwick]

Was she a talking stage that failed because we matched while she was sick and didn't have the energy to talk and she left me on liked while she was probably still trying to get her energy back? Yes! Do I feel confident enough that I can break out of the "awkwardly still following each other back without talking" limbo and hope I charm her by responding to her story and attempting to re-ignite the old convo? Also yes yippeeeeee

[birdiewriteslit]

omg omg i would LOVVVEEE if like [reader] and luke were dating behind percy’s back cuz of how sassy he would be n stuff but after like a date or kiss from luke the reader would gush about it to either annabeth, grover, or clarisse and one of them tells percy by accident during a convo and then percy like goes up to reader and confronts the reader about it and like scolds the reader and give them a whole lecture about how luke isn’t the right guy then luke overhears and like joins in <333

i love this idea!!

luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

warnings: persassy (once again), fluff, mention of kissing, ignorance of the plot of the show for the sake of my happiness

nobody: me gaslighting myself into thinking i could fix luke:

You and your boyfriend had an agreement. Your relationship was private. It wasn’t necessarily a secret, but it was private.

This was a conclusion you came to before Percy arrived at camp, before you knew you had a brother. At first, you didn’t care much if he figured it out.

That was until you realized what a sassafras he was.

Percy was always sassing you about chores, about activities, and especially about camp boys.

You thought it was cute in the beginning, your little brother being protective over you, but then it became a real nuisance.

“Y/n, stay away from the Ares boys, I don’t like them.”

“Y/n, don’t date an Apollo guy, he’d write you some crappy poetry.”

“Y/n, for the love of gods, stay away from the Dionysus twins, I never want to have Mr. D as a relative.”

These were the types of things you would hear throughout the day as Percy got to know the other campers better.

You thought it better if you kept a low profile when you were around Luke, at least until Percy calmed down a little.

Most of the older campers knew about your relationship, but they were used to it and rarely talked about it.

“Having marriage problems?” Annabeth asked you one day during arts and crafts, where you were both about to give up on your ugly collaborative birdhouse.

“What? I’m not married,” you said, trying to fix a particularly garish looking bird.

She set her paintbrush down, officially proving she was over it. “Obviously. I mean Luke. I noticed you haven’t been around each other as much.”

You could tell she was a little worried. She wouldn’t be asking if she wasn’t. Annabeth had known you and Luke longer than any other campers, and she looked up to both of you. Plus, she always wanted to know about your experience with romance.

“It’s not what you think, Annabeth. We’re really fine,” you said. “In fact, just last night, he took me out on the dock.”

Your nightly meetups with Luke had always been a thing, but had become more frequent as of late.

“And?” Annabeth prompted.

“And, we hung out.” You were now furiously painting over the entire bird you failed to fix.

“You mean you made out,” she said, giving you a knowing look.

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t think you were interested in that part,” you said. “Now pick up that paintbrush, missy. I’m not doing this whole thing myself.”

Annabeth reluctantly dipped the brush in some blue paint, looking like she wanted more details about your date.

Private means private, you thought dismissively.

At campfire, you discovered that private didn’t mean private. You were sitting alone when Percy plopped down next to you. You frowned because you were saving that spot for Luke.

“Annabeth has just told me something very interesting,” he said, glaring at the spot where Luke stood, talking to one of his brothers.

“What would that be, Perce?” you said absentmindedly.

“Apparently Luke was macking on you last night.” He made a sound to imitate vomiting.

You grimaced. “Please never say that word again.”

“So? Is it true or not true?”

You sighed. No point in denying it now. “It’s true.”

Percy somehow managed to look even more disgusted. “Ew, why him?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, gee, I don’t know, maybe because I’ve known him for years, he’s kind, strong, and handsome. Wouldn’t you think that had something to do with it?”

“Oh, gods, forget I even asked,” Percy said, retching. “I just think you could do better. Look at all of these lovely candidates. Apollo guys are poets.”

“I thought that was too cringe for you.”

He ignored you and went on, “A Hephaestus guy could forge you some nice jewelry, and Athena guys are smart. You deserve a smart guy. Not Luke, no, he doesn’t have any good qualities like that.”

You noticed a figure approaching you over Percy’s shoulder, and you tried your best to hide the amused smile threatening to break across your face as Luke came to a stop behind him, waiting for the right moment to interrupt.

“All in all, Y/n, I think Luke’s a pretty bad guy for you. You should really reconsider.”

“Oh, I’m a bad guy, am I?” Luke finally spoke up, smirking as Percy slowly turned around to see him peering down at him.

“Not like a bad guy- just, you know, not right for my sister,” Percy said, his confidence leaving him.

“What makes me not right for her?” Luke asked, clearly loving the reaction he was getting.

“I- uh- you know,” Percy stammered.

“Oh, knock it off, Luke. Leave the poor kid alone,” you said, failing to hide your laughter.

“That sound is music to my ears,” Luke said seriously. Jeez, he was really laying it on thick.

Percy’s face returned to the look of disgust. “I’ll be leaving now,” he excused himself, hurrying off to where Grover and Annabeth were sitting on the other side of the fire. You could still see him glaring at Luke as he sat down next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You leaned into him, relishing in the combined warmth of the fire and his body heat. “What do you think? Am I getting sassed out tomorrow?” Luke asked, looking down at you.

“No, he looked pretty grossed out. I’m hoping he just avoids the topic altogether,” you said, trailing your fingers over the fabric of his shirt.

“We both know that’s not going to happen,” he concluded, smiling as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

[euphemiaamillais]

omg!! i love the idea of sej and coryo being your roommates ✊🏼could you write the reader sending them spicy pics or vids to them while they’re in class?? whatever comes next is up to you <33

mdni | sej and coryo as your roommates (with benefits)

cw: 18+//suggestive videos&photos//fingering//mentions of sex

since you’d dumped your boyfriend and threesomes became a regular occurrence for you all, you found yourself growing increasingly needy throughout the day. while you were on leave from uni, the boys were still attending almost daily, much to your annoyance.

but you found your way of teasing them; and you found when they came home they didn’t even bother putting their things down before one of them was burying their cock inside of you, or kissing their way up your thigh to eat you out.

10:42 am

you: can’t stop thinking about last night :(

sej: yeah?

you: i’m so wet at the thought of you taking me like that again sej

you smirked as you pressed send on a photo of your fingers delving into your pussy, and waited for sejanus to reply. while you were waiting, you began typing a message to coryo. he was harder to get to, often not responding to your texts (but god forbid if he did text you that you took more than 5 seconds to respond).

you: i bet you’re hard right now thinking about how well i took your cock last night

no response, but you were surprised that sejanus had sent you a video, and when you opened the message, he’d left a small caption.

sej: couldn’t help myself

the video made your core burn. sejanus was locked in a bathroom stall, hand gripping his thick cock as he rubbed his length up and down. he was groaning with no shame, and you could see his face contorting with pleasure. he was muttering something about wanting to make you choke on his cock when he got home.

you couldn’t help but bring your fingers to your bare cunt, and you began to rub softly at your achy clit. deciding that you wanted to be courteous and send a video back, you began to film yourself, the sounds of your whimpers echoing against the walls of your room.

you pressed send, but saw that you’d accidentally added coryo to the conversation. he still hadn’t responded to your original text, but there was a time stamp that read ‘seen 10:53’ which made your lips curl up into a frown.

you: need you to fill me up later

coryo: such a fucking slut sending that to me in class. you’re so desperate, aren’t you?

your heart flutters as you see his response, and watch as two typing bubbles pop up on the screen, both boys clearly now vying for which one gets your attention. you can’t believe your eyes when you receive a photo of coryo playing with his cock, hand gripping the base, his long length dripping a little with precum.

sej: you gonna be good for us when we get home?

you: maybe.

you go back to rubbing at your clit, fingers delving in and out of your slickness at the same time as you bring yourself to your conclusion. you need them so bad, and you’re frustrated that they’re not here to help you right now.

coryo: bet you’re fucking yourself right now, aren’t you?

when you don’t respond, too distracted by the image of coryo’s hard cock in his hand, and the video of sej jerking himself off playing in the back of your mind, coryo continues to send taunting texts.

coryo: you know your fingers can’t make you cum as good as we can, princess

sej: gonna fuck you so good when i get home

coryo: oh, i don’t think she deserves it if she’s going to tease us so much.

you feel yourself gush around your fingers, body brimming with desire. warmth pools between your thighs, but you’re left feeling a little empty, wishing one of your boys—or both of them—could’ve helped you out.

when you glance down at the texts, you frown, irked by coryo’s cruelty. he liked to think he could make you cum the hardest out of him, sej, and your own fingers, and when he found you not using his cock or tongue to get off, he always sought to punish you for it.

you: please :(

coryo: oh look, she’s finally replying. too busy wishing it was my cock inside of you?

sej: don’t be so cruel coryo, you know she can’t help that we’re not home

coryo: and yet she can’t be a good girl and wait until we come home to fuck her

coryo: too obsessed with our cocks, huh?

you: please come home soon. need you guys to fill me up

sej: gonna put my cock in your pretty little mouth when i get there ;)

coryo: at least let me bend her over and teach her a lesson, sej. sluts don’t get to cum until i’m satisfied that they’ve learned not to touch themselves without us there

you sigh at coryo’s domineering nature; but your thighs tingle at the thought of him shoving your face into the mattress as he pounds into you.

you: i can’t wait much longer :(

sej: hold on baby, i’ll be home soon

coryo: remember sej, she doesn’t get to cum until i say so

you: you guys are soooo mean ;(

you put your phone down and let out a heavy sigh. the boys loved to tease you, it bordered on cruelty at times, but you still took their cocks willingly each time, and always came back begging for more. who knew that having two hot roommates would come with so many benefits.

that afternoon, they made true on their promises and fucked your cunt full of their cum until you were practically begging to get off yourself. finally, after what seemed like hours of torture, coryo made you cum with his tongue, giving you sloppy head when he was satisfied that you’d learned your lesson.

[copperbadge]

I was making breakfast and listening to an episode of Just King Things this morning, which is a podcast I do recommend -- two very smart English teachers are reading the books of Stephen King in publication order and discussing them. This could go extremely awry except they're both highly conscious of his failings as well as his skill, so they do really well handling a lot of his less salutatory content.

They've hit the point in King's ouvre (this episode was about Hearts In Atlantis) that follows his recovery from the car accident that very nearly killed him, where he was struck by a van while out walking. One of them pointed out that it seems as though he came back from nearly dying determined to write the wildest shit imaginable and only write what he wanted, which struck a chord in me this time despite having listened to this episode before. Perhaps because I was thinking about my own writing and where it's going in the short term (there are a couple of short stories I want to do that I don't quite have a way into yet). I generally don't think about the drift of my creativity in the long term because when I do I usually draw the wrong conclusions.

I don't really classify my life, the way some people who've had high-impact injuries do, as before-TBI and after-TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury -- the fairly severe concussion I had in January of 2020). For one thing, given I had to cancel a trip to NYC because of it, it may have saved my life; I almost certainly would have caught COVID as someone with known lung issues in New York at the time. For another, the TBI was way scarier to almost everyone else; for me it was just one more dumb injury I gave myself and I didn't even remember most of it so it hardly registered. I used to open the story of it with a joke about waking up not remembering going to bed the night before, but nobody ever found it funny.

It's true that there are changes it wrought in my life, though. Even practical stuff like making sure my living space doesn't have tripping hazards and continuing to wear a fitbit even though I don't really need to (the fitbit told us, the morning after, exactly when the concussion happened, because it registered a heart-rate spike when I fell). For weeks after, I had to move slowly and put off making important decisions because I couldn't trust my physical or intellectual judgement; I didn't even jaywalk in my own neighborhood because I couldn't be sure I was judging the cars' speeds properly. For about a year after I had periodic post-concussion syndrome which basically just slammed me back into concussion space, which wasn't painful or upsetting but was definitely inconvenient.

And it's also undeniable that my writing shifted after the injury. It's not necessarily because of the injury, since my initial recovery from the TBI and the declaration of quarantine happened at roughly the same time, and anyone who tells you that a years-long global pandemic didn't impact their artistic expression is selling you a line. But the last thing I wrote before the TBI was the first draft of Six Harvests, and aside from the Six Harvests publication draft, which had fairly minimal changes, almost all that I've written has been blue-sky, light-hearted, PG-rated romance. It's been on my mind that I've been writing different subject matter from what I used to, but the timing of it didn't strike me until just recently.

I don't mind, really. I love fandom and I support fanfic in whatever expression it comes, but I'm also happy writing my own stories. While I'm aware it's been years since I've meaningfully written fanfic, it doesn't bother me per se, as long as I'm writing. It bothered me much more when I could write fanfic but not original fic, especially in those last few awful months at my last job. I'm proud of the literary and non-genre fiction I've written in the past, but it's also much more trying and frustrating to write at times, so I'm enjoying having a different sort of challenge that feels more fulfilling in the process. I'm sure at some point I'll go back to literary fiction -- there are ways in which it's hard to avoid turning the later Shivadh novels into literary fiction, being honest -- but for now I like what I'm writing, and I'm writing primarily to please myself and without regard to what's necessarily rational or linear.

Just struck me, is all, that it's by far the most noticeable major shift in my work. I do sort of wonder what will be next.

[fushigurro]

𝘼 𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙏𝙇𝙀 𝘽𝙄𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝙍𝙊𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍.

𝗞𝗔𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗜 𝗕𝗔𝗞𝗨𝗚𝗢 𝗫 𝗔𝗙𝗔𝗕!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / stepcest / unprotected piv / creampie / i guess dubcon if you squint / 1.4k words

SIGHHHHHHHHH i would say this came out of nowhere but that's a lie it's literally been on my mind for days so i guess my brain had to finally expunge it somehow. it started out as just some personal notes for myself and then. this happened

Fighting and sparring—whether playful in nature or not—had always been a common occurrence between you and your step-brother. However, over the years, your victories had begun to dwindle more and more no matter how much force you met him with. It was the nature of a boy becoming a man—one with thickly muscled arms and a chiseled back on display through a black wife-beater, fighting technique refined to near perfection. He had always been a force to be reckoned with, but never more so than now.

You do your best to keep up when things become hands-on, because there's always been an incalculable amount of determination and willpower between the two of you, but such things can only get you so far when physique ultimately gives him the upper hand. And, well, maybe your resolve is a little more shakeable than usual given the strange energy that has settled between you both recently. What was once just a spark has spread into what you might call a blazing fire. Or an explosion.

Your back hits the floor as Katsuki brings you down, pinning your arms with his strength. It's a stereotypical position that makes you seethe, but it also causes you to maybe realize just why you had picked this little fight in the first place, why you had asked him to help make you stronger.

The mood intensifies and his aggression softens, your eyes locking for several moments while your lungs heave for oxygen. That's when there's a click, and sex effortlessly settles in the air.

Slowly, he rolls his hips down into yours and holds back a groan, but there's a soft exhale from both of you. Your eyes roll back, and he's painfully hard and aching to do it again. Something is communicated in these moments, shared between the two of you once your eyes meet again. It's one of the most intense things you've ever felt.

Then, without a single word, he releases you as if coming to a realization. Katsuki sits up, wipes his face with the back of his hand, and stands to walk off without a word, shutting his bedroom door behind him as though nothing had ever happened at all. He leaves you alone to simmer in the atmosphere that still lingers all around you.

But little do you know, he also carries it with him back into his room.

Days pass with little interaction between you, no acknowledgement of what happened at all, because how do you address such a thing? Especially when it left your thighs slick in bed that night while you evaluated everything you had ever repressed.

Then one evening he says he'll fight you again, show you everything that went wrong last time. his expression is rather neutral but his intentions are communicated with a heavy and determined gaze, and there's an immediate unspoken understanding between you both. He's been meticulous in thinking about this. You nod in agreement.

He takes you through the motions again of your spar, down to the same moves that his memory can recall, but much slower this time. More measured. More even. Somewhat softer on his behalf, and patient.

Then he has you on the floor again, pinning you beneath the weight of his pelvis. But this time, after your eyes lock, he dives forward to kiss you.

It's filled with tongue and a certain type of hunger, one that you know has been forged from premeditation and much self-debate, but he’s come to the conclusion that this is something he wants. And he knows you want it too from the way you invade his mouth just as much as he does yours, back arching to bring you in closer.

God, yeah, this was the right decision.

When you both pull back for breath, both minds know exactly what’s needed. He doesn't ask permission because he knows he has it by the way you look at him and beg with those eyes that he knows so well.

Katsuki pushes your legs together, puts both of them over one of his shoulders, and slides your shorts down your waist until your cunt glistens in the open, even with your thighs pushed together. He pulls back enough to look down at the slit with a quiet groan before bringing the clothing completely off and tossing it onto the floor so that he can slot between your legs and place one over each shoulder this time, spreading you a little better for him.

The soft but quick sound of a zipper reveals his already hard and angry cock, dripping and pulsing in his hand as you watch in amazement at what this has done to him. Katsuki doesn't bother undressing himself, just makes enough room for the fat length to come out and skim your outer lips, kissing them in a way that marks the most intimate encounter the two of you have ever had with each other.

That is until, after lining himself up and trapping your gaze again, silently making confirmation through the mental link, he slowly pushes forward and feels you from the inside for the first time.

With the lack of prep, the stretch of him burns, but you're inclined to believe that it would even if he had prodded at and opened you up beforehand. He's thick and heavy and something of a brute like the rest of him is, but he's mercifully holding himself in place for several moments to let your body conform. Or maybe he's simply shell-shocked by the tight way in which you envelop him, your pretty brow furrowed over it.

"Kat—"

He knows. He smothers your breathless voice with another kiss, body folding you with ease, hips rocking back and forth to try and set a pace. It's almost like he's soothing you—not through words, but with action, with presence. He knows better than anyone how tough you are and how you don't need him to baby you through a smidge of discomfort, especially when you've been the one to wear him down to this point in the first place. And he's not good at that sort of thing anyways.

No more words are shared. All that fills the air are the sounds of your kiss, your breath, the wet 'schlick' that happens when two bodies meet in pleasure. The fact that you're on the living room floor doesn't mean much, because this feels like a sacred place—a space that only exists to you both right now.

He works you open with every stroke, knowing you more intimately than he ever should, and your belly feels full in a way that you know won't soon be forgotten. You don't want it to be. You won't let it be. Your animal brain wants to commit every ridge and vein of him to memory.

Every minute that ticks by with his hips slapping against yours and your fingertips pressing into his hair and skin takes a toll on him. The look on Katsuki’s face and sweat on his brow paint the image of a man who's desperate to give in to his body's innate desire, to release and fill and consummate a bodily union. You don't want the pleasure to end, but scanning him with your eyes, you figure you might as well allow him to let go.

"Kat, you can—" You can see that he wants to cum—needs to cum, but he reads your mind before you can even finish speaking.

"We're not done until you cum on my cock."

It's not aggressive or demanding in his usual tone, but more so determined and absolute, a declaration of his willpower and a moral for him to adopt. you swallow and clench, his gaze burning through you. Then your legs are being dropped from his shoulders and he's reaching to press a thumb to your clit, your thighs automatically wrapping around his waist.

When you do cum, it's nothing short of euphoric, heaven-sent, better than you could've imagined an orgasm to be, because he's stroking your nub and fucking the plush of your insides until you're slicking him with a barely noticeable little splash.

He gives you ample time to milk his cock before taking the notion to finally spill inside you, letting the last flutters of your walls pull the warm seed from him with each pulse. He melts into it with a soft grunt and a sigh, pressing his forehead to yours in a subconscious yet still very purposeful merge.

He'd die before becoming weak enough to finish before giving the one he loves an orgasm—that person being you.

Somehow, you understand. It's instinctive, unspoken—a mingling of souls that you wouldn't expect anyone else to understand should they come to know of how it happened. But that doesn't matter, because this moment—this understanding—belongs only to the two of you.

[angelic-sturniolos111]

The Right Words 🧸

Chris begins to question his opinions on commitment and relationships after being close friends with you for months. Chris’s feelings for you have grown stronger, but he can’t quite articulate his affection for you. Instead of using his words he makes a romantic gesture to show you how he feels.

chris sturniolo x fem! reader

warnings: none, just chris being super shy and fluffy

author’s note: kinda inspired by stuff he’s said ab relationships and how “too much love” kinda scares/intimidates him

not proofread lmao

Chris’s POV:

Matt had invited Y/N to come hang at our house while we record our podcast episode for the week. It wasn’t unusual for Y/N to always be around, she was our friend, but I hadn’t opened up to my brothers about how I truly feel about her.

She moved to LA a few months back and we all met her at some influencer party, and she hit it off with us immediately. First, it started with the four of us going out to record content, going bowling, thrifting, things like that. Eventually, we all grew closer with her and she started hanging out at our house a lot more, and often sleeping over. The first time she had slept over was after Nick and Matt had already gone to bed, and since she didn’t want to wake them she slept in my room with me. After that night I guess my room became the unofficial-Y/N-sleepover room because she has always spelt in my room every time since.

I immediately found Y/N attractive when we met— she’s a very pretty girl. I’ve always had closer girl friends in my circle, and even if I think any of them are pretty, my feelings never go beyond that— it’s always platonic. I know part of that is because they just weren’t the right girl for me, but another part of me knows it’s because I don’t let myself sit in those feelings. I’m scared of commitment, relationships, things of that sort. Sure I’ve hooked up with a few girls in my day, but I’ve never had any serious romantic feelings for anyone.

Until Y/N.

That first night she slept in my room we stayed up for hours talking about everything from our favorite hockey teams to deeper emotional stuff. That became our routine when she would sleepover… always the last ones awake, and always having long in-depth conversations with one another. What started off as friendly, platonic feelings for her quickly changed after many nights spent late night talking.

As much as I loved our late night talks I honestly wanted more. I wanted early morning talks, afternoon talks, and to just be with her every second of every day. I wanted to hold her, spoil her, kiss her, and call her mine. I thought I would never feel this way about anyone before, but she makes me feel things I’ve never felt— she’s everything to me.

I recently came to the conclusion that keeping these feelings buried was starting to drive me insane, and I had to open up to someone about it.

Matt and I were currently getting in his car on the way to pick up Y/N. Before Matt put the car in drive, I spoke up;

“Hey, can I talk to you about something that’s been on my mind a lot lately? I just really need someone to talk to about it.” I say sheepishly. Matt’s eyes leave his phone to meet mine, and he instantly put his phone down giving me his full attention.

“Yeah bro of course. You can tell me anything. What’s up?” He says concerned because usually this is the other way around. Matt opening up to me about his issues. It was rare that I ever had anything on my end to discuss.

“Well it’s just,” I pause, hesitating if I should even continue. Matt puts a hand on my shoulder comforting me enough to move on.

“I have serious, and I mean serious feelings for Y/N.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting in response, but it wasn’t this…

He started laughing. LAUGHING. In my fucking face.

“Okay why are you laughing? Is something funny about any of this?” I say now a little pissed off that he wasn’t taking this seriously.

“Oh man, no no I’m sorry I’m not trying to be rude. It’s just… SO obvious.” He says and continues to laugh.

“WHAT?! IS IT REALLY?” I yell. Oh god, I hope Y/N doesn’t know and I’m not making a complete ass out of myself.

“Yes! Nick and I talk about it all the time. You may not realize it but you NEVER stop talking about her. “Y/N said this funny thing last night,” “Y/N really likes this movie,” “You know one time Y/N” Y/N Y/N Y/N. I swear every god damn sentence you utter her name leaves your mouth.” Matt mocks, but before I can interject he continues;

“Jesus not to mention the way you stare her down whenever she’s in the room. Nick and I are always laughing about it— like when he’s editing our videos and we can see that you looking at her constantly whenever she steps behind the camera? Or when we went to the beach that one time!? You saw Y/N in a bikini for the first time, and we saw you grab the towel to cover your lap because—”

“Okay OKAY! Alright, I get it! I’m not as good as hiding my feelings for her as I thought…” I cut him off before he can continue to blabber about it any more. Matt comes down from his laughing fit.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be mean. My point is is that we’ve never seen you like this with anyone before, and it’s really sweet.” Matt rests his hand on my arm reassuringly. “Well, we told her we were on our way to pick her up. If you want to I can text Nick and we can come up with some sort of excuse to leave so you guys can have some alone time together and maybe you’ll be able to talk with her about it?” He suggests.

“Yeah… it’s the talking that I’m scared of.” I look down and play with my hands in my lap. “That’s the problem. Like you said, I’ve never been like this with anyone before, and I don’t know how to put my feelings into words. If you haven’t noticed I’m not necessarily the most romantic person ever.” I say with a sigh.

Matt looks around the car seeing if anything might give him an idea. He sees the gummy worms in the center console from the last time we filmed a car video and picks them up to show me.

“Okay, candy? What about candy?” He says as if he just made some sort of scientific breakthrough.

“Kid, what the fuck are you talking about? Candy?” I laugh, completely confused.

“Yeah! We can swing by the store and you can get her her favorite candies and snacks, and you guys can watch a cute movie together or something? If you can’t tell her how you feel maybe you can show her through your actions.”

I thought about it for a second, and it honestly wasn’t a bad idea. I knew her favorite candy, snacks, movies, all that stuff. I know she loves comfy blankets for movie time. She also complains about not having a stuffed animal for her to cuddle when she sleeps over, and she usually steals one of Matt’s. All these thoughts came flooding into my head at once, and suddenly I had the best idea.

“Okay, I got it!. We’re going to need to stop at the store before we get her. You and Nick distract her when we get back to our place, and then find some excuse to leave. I have the perfect plan.” I say excitedly.

An enormous smile grows on Matt’s face. He clicks his seatbelt, and before he can back the car out of the driveway we see Nick striding out the door to the car. Matt rolls his window down.

“What the fuck are you two still doing in the driveway? I thought you were getting Y/N?” Nick says.

“Bro get in the car you’re coming with us we’ve gotta update you on Chris’s love affair!” Matt says jokingly making me laugh. Nick just rolls his eyes, and climbs in the backseat.

***

Y/N’s POV:

Chris had given me a call earlier to tell me that their manager, Laura, needed Nick and Matt for something at her house tonight so it would just be the two of us. She had apparently given them a call on their way out to pick me up so they were running late. Honestly, I was a little nervous that Chris and I would have the house to ourselves. I was always comfortable being alone with him in his room, and I’ve always hoping he’d take one of these nights to make a move. In my head I tried to convince myself he hasn’t made a move yet because his brothers were always home— worried they’d barge in and interrupt or something. I’ve had a HUGE crush on Chris, and I wasn’t super hopeful that he felt the same way because he’s never been a relationship type of guy. Plus, he always has girl friends, and I’m worried I probably just fall under the friend category in his eyes.

Finally, I see headlights shine through my front window and look to see Matt’s car in the driveway. I grab my purse and head out the door and open the car door to climb in the backseat. I was surprised to be met with Chris in the backseat, and Nick in the front with Matt.

“Fancy seeing you in the back. You’re never back here.” I say getting in my seat and clicking the seatbelt.

“Umm yeah, I— um.” Chris starts before Nick cuts him off.

“He was taking too long in the store so I hopped in the front.” I see Chris raise his eyebrows slightly at Nick, giving him a weird look.

“I didn’t know you guys went out. What were you getting?” I ask.

“Um just toiletries and stuff. Needed some, uh, shampoo.” Chris says shrugging his shoulders and breaking out eye contact. He seemed tense, but I brushed it off.

***

We pull into the driveway and I get out of the car making my way over to the trunk. The three boys get out and stand awkwardly behind the car with me.

“Did you want help bringing the stuff in?” I say and there was silence as the boys just awkwardly stared at each other, and then at me. “…From the store?” I continue.

“Oh no Chris’s got it. Matt and I wanna show you the updates we made to the podcast studio, come on!” Nick says grabbing my arm and leading me up the driveway to their front door leaving Chris behind to get stuff out of the trunk.

Matt, Nick, and I go inside and they immediately go upstairs to their studio, and I stop to hesitate at the bottom of the stairs.

“Should we wait for Chris?” I say. Matt turns around to look at me, and then shoots a glance to Nick.

“No he’s slow as fuck. Come on!” Nick yells. I laugh and make my way upstairs.

Matt and Nick start showing me decor and stuff around the studio. It honestly wasn’t anything that I haven’t already seen before, but I kept my mouth shut because it seemed very important for them to show me again. As they blabber on I see Chris run swiftly past the door, carrying a bunch of shopping bags, and going into his bedroom slamming the door. I became even more suspicious to his weird behavior.

Matt and Nick went on to me about the podcast episodes they were planning to film, but I was barely even listening since my thoughts were elsewhere. I’m snapped out of my daydreaming when Chris comes in and stands in the doorway.

“Okaaaay! You guys have to go to Laura’s, yeah?” Chris asks his brothers.

“Yes! Yes we do. Matt let’s get going!” Nick says to Matt and they eagerly start walking out of the room. Matt turns back and gives me a smile, “Have fun!” He says. Matt then gives Chris a pat on the shoulder before him and Nick make their way downstairs and out the door.

Why the hell were they all acting so weird?

I take a step towards Chris as he remains blocking the doorway.

“So, what do you wanna do?” I question, and a smirk creeps up on his face.

“I actually have a special movie night planned for us.” He says with that sweet smile of his I love so much.

“What makes it special?” I ask. He grabs my hand, making my breath hitch in my throat slightly at our touch. He leads me to his bedroom. Was this it? Was he making his move? I didn’t necessarily think he’d be so bold as to bed me right away, but I also wasn’t complaining. I thought to myself before he proves me wrong. He opens his bedroom door and leads me inside, and I smile big once I see what he’s done.

His bed is full of pillows from both his room and the spare bedroom, and they’re covered in a huge blanket. There’s another sherpa blanket on the bed with a cute teddy bear on my side where I usually sleep. On his nightstand is a bowl of popcorn, and bags of my favorite candies. He had turned his ceiling lights off and had fairy lights draped over his headboard illuminating the room. Also lighting the room was his TV which had one of my favorite Disney movies cued up ready to watch.

Chris steps back as I walk around the room taking it all on.

“Chris! This is so sweet!” I gawk as I jump into his bed and wrap myself in the softest blanket and he follows suit. We lay in his bed together in silence for a moment before he grabs the teddy bear and handing it to me with a smile. I take the bear from his hands and wrap it tight in my arms.

Chris’s POV:

“Chris, what’s all this for?” Y/N asks looking at me with her beautiful eyes.

I knew that she’d ask why I went all out. I had ran a couple scenarios of her possible questions in my head, and embarrassingly enough I may or may not have practiced what I was going to say with Nick in the car earlier…

“Well, it’s for you.” Duh? Chris I think that’s kinda obvious you dumb fuck. I don’t think any amount of practicing could’ve prepared me to face the prettiest, sweetest girl I’ve ever met in my life. I could feel my heart beating faster with each passing moment. She smiles, her eyes softening, and she scootches closer to me.

“You did all this for me? Why?” She asks sweetly. I knew she’d love the surprise, but also knew she’d be confused.

I really tried my best to prepare for this talk, but I was still so nervous. I didn’t know what to say.

I take a deep inhale before starting the conversation.

“I— I did this for you because I wanted to. Well I mean obviously I wanted to or else I wouldn’t have done this. What I mean is I want to show you what I think of you. Or, I mean, how I feel… and I— ugh.” I sigh and burry my face in my hands now completely embarrassed from my nervous rambling. “I don’t know how to use my words.” I mumble into my hands.

I feel a soft, gentle hand on mine pulling it slowly from my face, and I’m met with Y/N as her eyes lock on mine. When my hands are back down in my lap she reaches her hand up to gently cup my cheek, not breaking eye contact. Her eyes flicker from mine down to my lips, and back up to mine before speaking;

“Then don’t use your words…”

I bring my hand up to lay on top of hers cupping my cheek, and I lean in to her touch. I bring my other hand gently to the nape of her neck and pull her closer. Her face is mere inches away from mine. Our eyes breaking contact and moving to our lips. She slowly closes her eyes, and I pull her in fully and plant my lips on hers.

Her lips were soft. Sweet, even. They molded perfectly with mine as we kiss. The kiss is gentle and eager at the same time. I’ve only ever dreamed of this moment, and I can’t believe it’s finally happening.

We pull away from our kiss, our foreheads still touching. I open my eyes first to look at her, and when she opens hers a sweet smile creeps on her lips making me laugh softly.

“Hi.” I say in a whisper.

“Hi Chris.”

“I really like you, Y/N.”

“I really like you too.”

She pulls me in, this time with more force, and plants a passionate kiss on my lips.

We continue to kiss for a moment before I pull back.

“Will you be my girl?” I ask.

She smiles, nodding her head feverishly before bringing her lips back to mine and throwing her hands around my neck.

I’m in heaven.

**********

I honestly didn’t know how to end this and I’m kinda cringing but oh well.

Happy Thanksgiving y’all! 🦃

— Kay 🖤

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

How about an excerpt from the 3rd part to Mid-day Texts to get you all hyped? A little posessive Simon to whet your appetites never hurt, right? 😈😈

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reade

Part 3: Life Changing Texts <- Available now!

Author's Note: I realized after I got the ask for this last week and after I answered it and left it up for days and days that I had talked about the wrong fic 😭😭 I felt so embarrassed that I ended up deleting it because I couldn't believe I did that.

But yes this is going to be the 3rd part of the Late Night Texts / Mid-day Texts saga, so if you want to be tagged, leave a comment here.

“Get the fuck away from ‘er,” Simon’s low growl sounded as he stalked up from behind as he entered the bar, “or you’re gonna wish you fuckin’ had.”

The drunk man before you looked up wide eyed at the massive figure of Simon standing at your back, but he couldn’t back down, not when his ego was on the line. Somewhere in that alcohol-riddled brain he came to conclusion that if he could just get the big man to leave that you would eventually give in to his advances.

Again he reached his hand out to grope your arm as you wrenched it out of the way. “Look pal,” the slimy bastard addressed Simon snidely, “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but this isn’t what it looks like so why don’t you just go along. We were just having a little fun, weren’t we sweetheart?”

“No, we fucking weren’t,” you hissed back as you joined Simon in glaring him down.

“Ya heard ‘er,” Simon immediately jumped to your defense, “so even though I rarely like repeatin’ myself, I’ll tell you one more time. Get. The fuck. Away. From ‘er.”

The rage in his voice made you shudder with its intensity. Though you could not see it, you knew by the way he spoke through his teeth that his jaw was clenched tight, matching what you could see which were his fists tensing so tight that it was turning his knuckles white. Shit just the aura radiating off of him was so full of wrath that there was no mistaking just how much this had effected him.

The man took another swig of liquid courage before he grimaced with a shake of his head. “You think you can just waltz over and steal this sweet little thing out from under me?” he challenged, stepping in closer to you to get in Simon’s face. “I saw her first, she came here alone. So, she’s gonna be coming home with me; I can be very persuasive when I want to be.”

He reached out to you once more and actually got a bit of a substantial caress this time on your hip; instantly Simon saw nothing but red.

And that was fucking it. Whatever modicum of decorum Simon possessed up until now completely flew out the window the moment that bastard had even brought up trying to get you to go home with him. And now he had watched him touch you?! If he didn’t back off now, they would be carrying him out in a body bag.

You were his, his, and he didn't care if the whole entire bar saw what came next.

[mauvecherie-writes]

Forever Is A Longtime: part one.

pairing: ex!lewis hamilton x black f!reader

summary: a relationship is never truly over until it is. the road to that conclusion is long and filled with temptation.

warning: MINORS DNI 18+ explicit smut, dirty talk, non-protective sex, oral sex, phone sex, angst, unstable emotions. not edited thoroughly (I got tired)

notes: thank you for being patient, thank you for loving me, thank you for reading. it’s unstable emotions from the protagonists but this is the beginning. please leave feedback and comments.

word count: 4.07K.

TIP JAR. TAGLIST.

Today had been a long day and you were more than ready to get into bed as you leathered your face with your last layer of night cream. Your date with Zain had been splendid as always. He took you on a date to one of his friend’s gallery, that he was showcasing a new collection. You even bought a couple of pieces that would go well in your apartment.

Everything about Zain was … nice. Of course he had other redeeming qualities but he was just kind of boring in the sense that he didn’t spark anything within you. But you were going to stick it out. It had only been six dates thus far and there was room to grow. You did like him and were going to give him a chance.

You sighed as you left the bathroom and turned off the lights, ready to snuggle into your blankets. As you pulled on the covers, ready to lay down, your phone rang, vibrating on the side table. You glanced at the screen and your heart dropped within the cavity of your chest.

Lewis.

Did you want to pick the call up? No. You knew what it led to. So you tried your best to ignore it. Silencing your phone and declining the call, you placed the phone back down and made sure that your bonnet was secure before you laid down. Your phone screen lit up again - this time with a text message.

Lewis: Pick up the phone Princess. I miss your voice.

Fuck, he always knew the right words to say. Princess was your favourite nickname and he was the only person who called you that. The phone began to ring again but this time you sighed as you pressed the answer button.

“What do you want?”

He chuckled into the receiver which sent chills down your spine. “There she is. Fucking missed that beautiful voice of yours.”

“Lewis, seriously. What do you want?”

“You don’t even miss me a little, baby?”

“I don’t, actually.”

He chuckled in dismissal. “I’ll give you that but just listen to me for a bit.” You licked your lips letting the drawl of his voice wash over you.

“I’m by myself and I was thinking about you. Then I started watching that video we made on my birthday last year. You remember it Princess? When you let me fuck you in the ass and you came so hard you almost passed out. Fuck, I’ll never forget that.” Lewis groaned before continuing. “I swear every time I close my eyes, I can feel you around my dick.”

“Lewis…” you mumbled his name as your legs clenched at the memory of the night of his birthday. The same video that he was describing was kicked away in your hidden folder on your phone. You were tempted to watch the video yourself but listening to him speak was far more enthralling.

“Sssshhh, just listen.” You could hear shuffling from his end before a soft groan left him. “I’m touching myself right now, I can’t stop myself. Wanna listen to me come all over myself to the thought of you bouncing on my dick?”

You only answer with a soft whimper which he took as the green light to continue. As he described what he was doing to himself, your fingers had moved down to rub your clit through your underwear - slightly teasing yourself, needing so much more than what you were getting right now.

“My dick is so hard thinking about your tits bouncing in my face. They’re so perfect and begging for me to suck on them.” His voice was shakier than before. “And your clit is rubbing against the base of my cock and you’re letting out that sweet moan I love so much.”

You gasped at the vulgarity of his words and then followed through with a whimper which Lewis hummed in response. “Yeah, that’s the one. Always sounding so good. So sweet for me.”

At this point, you were touching yourself. Your fingers were deep inside of your cunt, steadily bringing yourself to a climax with the taunting of his words. You couldn’t mute your wetness and it was so loud, it could reach Lewis.

“Fuck! Are you touching yourself Princess? I can hear how wet you are and it’s all for me.”

“Lew.”

“Princess.” His voice was strained as his breathing became heavier. “Fucking miss that pretty hole so much. Miss fucking you until you can’t remember your name.”

You rolled onto your back and shoved your fingers deeper into your pussy, moving them faster and faster. Your breathing became heavier as you lost yourself in the self-pleasure.

“I wish -.” You whispered. Your sentence was broken by strangled moans escaping you.

“You wish what baby? Tell me.”

“I wish you were here, fucking me. I want you stretching and filling me up with your big cock.”

“I think about doing that everyday.” Lewis whispered which caused walls to flatter around your fingers.

“But you’re so bad for me.” You replied.

“But I make you feel good don’t I? I always do.” You hummed having no words to give him as you closed your eyes to imagine Lewis in between your thighs bringing you to climax instead of your fingers.

“I can hear you’re about to cum Princess.”

“I am!” You gasped out loud as you moved your hips to the pace of your fingers.

“Me too baby.” You could hear the frenzy of his fist over the length of his dick as he worked himself into an orgasm. “Thinking about filling you up.” He hissed continuing. “Giving you all my come until it’s leaking out you —.”

“Daaadddyyyy fuck!—.” You exclaimed as you came all over your fingers. Hearing you reach your climax triggered his own. Lewis’s grunts came out loud as his come landed all over his stomach and chest. He whimpered as the last of his spent dribbled down his length.

The both of you were silent as you tried to steady your breaths.

“You good Princess?” He asked you.

“Yeah…” Your voice sounded so wreaked as you tried to control the tsunami of emotions that was about to come from within you. No words were shared but the increasing feeling of shame was galling at you. And as if he could pick up on your silent irritation, Lewis said.

“What’s wrong Princess? Talk to me.”

“Did you just use me to get your nut?”

“You want an honest answer? Or do you want me to lie to you?”

“Oh you bastard!” You exclaimed.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t like our little phone —.” Before he could finish the sentence, you hung up the phone call. Lunging the phone into the pool of your blankets, you hid your face into your pillow and screamed into it. Just like that, your high had been ruined and all you were left with was anger. As much as you wanted to ponder on what had just happened, it was not worth the headache that would follow right after.

The weight of your orgasm drifted you to sleep with the only thought of dealing with Lewis being left on your mind.

The very next morning, you prepared for work but before you arrived at your store, your Uber dropped you off at Lewis’s building. Flicking your silk press over your shoulder, you strutted through the lobby confidently.

“Hi Dimitri!” You greeted the security at the front desk. “Is Lewis upstairs?”

“Y-yes, Miss YN! Good morning.”

“Good morning.” You winked at him as you walked to the resident’s elevators. Your nerves had been fried since the previous night. Seeing Lewis in the flesh was completely different than speaking to him on the phone. It had been seven months since your last physical encounter. Luckily, your schedules made sure that the two of you rarely bumped into each other.

Typically after a steamy phone call session with Lewis, there was small talk and then you wouldn’t call or text each other for a few weeks until that itch took over. However, with the way things ended last night, the record needed to be set straight. Your relationship was over - the both of you needed to move on. YOU needed to move on and cut ties with Lewis.

It was the best thing to do.

You arrived at his floor and just before you could knock on his door, it swung open and he was standing in the door frame.

“How did you know that I was coming?” You softly asked. His lips quirked upward as leaned sideways, his weight falling on his hip.

“Dimitri phoned to let me know.” Lewis then moved to the side to allow you to enter into the penthouse. The place had not changed at all since your last visit. It was clean yet there were a few dog toys scattered in the open living room area.

“Where’s Roscoe?” You asked as you looked around and listened for the dog’s snoring.

“He’s with Nic.” He replied.

You nodded your head with a soft sigh as you placed your purse onto the couch.

“We need to talk.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.” You took a deep breath as you straightened your back. “We can’t keep doing this shit Lewis. It’s getting out of hand. We clearly don’t give each other what we want.”

“I think last night showcased how clearly we do give each other what we want.” Lewis replied as he encroached onto your space. “We’re just simply … a little volatile.”

“And that sounds normal to you?” You enquired, your eyebrows furrowing softly.

“I live a pretty abnormal life, Princess. So this is quite normal to me.”

You scoffed in response along with rolling your eyes. “You’re not taking me seriously.” You huffed.

Seeing through your faux stance, he pulled you into his arms. With the limited space in between you, Lewis untied your trench coat and slit his arms around your waist, tugging you even closer.

“I’ll take you seriously when you actually mean it.” Lewis spoke softly as he tried to look into your eyes but you kept your gaze on his T-shirt covered chest. His skin was so tanned, so bronzed from being sun touched from his vacation. Taking advantage of your aloofness, he dropped his head into the crook of your neck.

“You’re not here because you’re mad at this and what we did last night.” Lewis mumbled as he placed light kisses on your neck. “You just wanted the real thing, knowing I could never deny you.”

Your eyes flattered close as he sucked on your skin, pushing your coat away from your shoulders. He took note of your gold satin blouse and black pencil skirt but he was more focused on getting you into his bed.

“Lewis …”

“Sshh.” He hushed, placing a finger against your lips. When you looked up at him as your mouth softly parted, the touch of your warm breath against his finger was enough temptation for him to grip your head in his hands and capture your lips in a heated kiss.

All rationale was lost the more you became more engrossed in the kiss. One touch from him was enough for you to forget your intentions - whether they were true or not. This was what you hated and loved about Lewis, his ability to crop your world view to just the two of you.

You barely focused on his hands trailing down the length of your body and stopping at your hips before he pulled up your skirt to your waist. You sighed as the cool breeze of the penthouse touched the skin of your legs. He picked you up in his arms and you automatically wrapped your legs around his waist.

As Lewis walked towards his bedroom, the kisses were tender yet with a deep passion you always yearned for. You sucked on his tongue with your fingers caressing his beard.

Soon, he dumped you on his bed and rushed to strip your clothes away from your body. You let out a yelp as you tried to crawl away from his heavy hand that was smacking your thighs. But Lewis grabbed your ankle and dragged you towards the end of the bed and proceeded to hover above you.

“We’ll always find our way back to each other YN. All it takes is for you to stop denying it to yourself.”

“Stop talking.” You grabbed him by the neck and pulled him down to you for a kiss. You arched your hips forwards to rub yourself against him.

“You want to be fucked baby?” He taunted you as he moved his lips down your jawline. “Hmm? Answer me gorgeous.” He whispered against your adam’s apple as he rubbed his thumbs into your flesh.

“Yes - fuck.” You begged.

Whenever you were beneath him, Lewis never wanted to rush, he always savoured these moments. He kissed every inch of your chest, down your torso before he settled in between your parted legs.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He groaned as he gazed upon your bare pussy. Your scent was intoxicating, so musky and sweet to him. He could never forget you - no matter how much he tried.

“Lay back for me Princess.” He instructed you and the moment your head touched the pillow, he dove straight in. He slid his tongue from your hole to your clit, swirling the muscle around your bud before he came back to your hole and pushed his tongue in. The intrusion caused you to gasp and reach down to grab at his head but he let out a warning growl which forced you to drop your hands back down onto the bed.

“Oh fuck! Baby - fuuu -.” Your breathing was already heavy as you tried to steady yourself but his mouth moved everywhere it could. His movements were sloppy but it was desperate in a way that you enjoyed. He was letting you know that he missed you.

“Look at me.” You whimpered as you got to your elbows. With your pussy in his mouth, his brown eyes held the most fierce eye contact as he rolled his tongue over and over. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“Shhiiittt.” You choked on your moans as he worked on your clit. The stimulation on the bundle of nerves had you thrusting your hips into his mouth, chasing that orgasm that was so close. He held your thighs open, fucking you with his tongue until you were shaking. One hand came to the back of his head and the other to your breast to pull on your nipple.

“Yes, yes, yes! I’m gonna fucking come!” You warned Lewis. You heard him grunt in response but it barely reached your ears as white noise took over. Your body tensed up as your climax peaked and then crashed through your entire body. You weren’t too sure if you had clamped your thighs around his head but you felt Lewis’s hands and hips move along your body until he was hovering above your face.

When you finally opened your eyes, they trailed down his now, naked body with his thickness nudging your thigh.

“Welcome back to earth sweetheart.” He smirked down at you. A smart remark was at the tip of your tongue but you focused on wrapping your legs around his waist instead.

“If I didn’t want your dick inside of me, I would have pushed you off.” You mumbled as you placed your hands on his biceps. Lewis chuckled before licking his lips. With the hand in between your bodies, he led his cock into the warmth of your cunt.

“You always have a smart quip but can’t seem to take it when it’s given back.” He murmured as he licked down your neck as he snuggled deep within you.

“You’re so big, shit.” You whimpered, catching the hitch of his breath against your cheek. Your walls were snug right around him and it took a moment for him to focus.

“Some things never change.” He quickly found his pace. Steady but not too fast. It had been a while since you had slept with anyone, let alone him - it took some time for his thickness to adjust to breaching your pussy. Lewis kissed you and slipped his tongue into your mouth as he maneuvered your legs into his arms which caused him to feel like he was deeper than he was before.

“Baby.” You groaned as you closed your eyes and felt him press against your spot repeatedly.

“You’re so fucking perfect. You always are Princess.” He whispered as he brought you to meet his thrusts. His fingers were digging into your flesh as he did so but you didn’t care for the pain of the pinch. It felt too good.

Fucking you was always something that Lewis committed to memory. The way you smelt, the way you felt around him, how you moaned for him and only for him. It was disheartening that your relationship with him had to be like this but the most carnal parts of him could not let you go.

Ever.

You pushed against his chest as the pressure in the pit of your stomach began to rise. Lewis dipped his head to kiss you again, deeply and hungrily.

“Don’t stop … please … just like that.” You choked as you clenched around his dick. Your moans couldn’t be stopped as he picked up his pace until you were screaming beneath him.

“There you go, beautiful. Getting wetter and wetter the harder I fuck you.” His pelvis was slapping against yours. Each pound stimulated your clit which left you withering until tears were lining your lashes. Watching you fall apart at his hand fuelled him. It was addictive and it gave him the greatest pleasure to watch you cry out his name and have your cunt squeeze his dick for all that he is worth.

He wanted to tell you that you were his, that you belonged to him but it was pointless. You knew that already - no matter how much you denied it to yourself.

He buried his face in your neck and sucked on your skin, hard. You knew that it would leave a mark but neither of you cared. Without words, your arms tightened around him as your orgasm washed over you. Your whole body shook with after waves which made Lewis grunt loudly in your ear.

“Look at me.” You whispered before you held his face in your hands and watched as it contorted in pleasure as he fucked you through your climax until he reached his. The moans left his sweet lips and you swallowed them all in a passionate kiss. He filled you up with his seed until you felt it dripping out of you and wetting your skin.

You held each other, making out until your erratic heartbeats calmed down. You signaled for a switch in position and you ended up on top of him. Looking at the clock on the wall, you still had more than an hour until you needed to leave for work.

Lewis was still semi-hard inside of you and you could feel him hardening further from just watching you above him.

“Why can’t we ever be normal?” You asked.

“Like I said before, Princess. Normal is boring and that’s not who we are.” Lewis replied as he settled his hands on your hips and caressed your skin with his thumbs.

You rolled your eyes at his explanation. “But it’s not healthy, Lew. The back and forth is getting tiring. It’s either we work together or we’re not.”

Lewis sat up and wrapped his arms around your torso. “I’ve always wanted you. I want you in every possible way that I can have you.” His speech was sounding good, great even. However, it was incredibly unfortunate that his phone vibrated at that moment and disturbed the moment.

Naturally, your head turned to the side table and looked at the lit up screen. And thank god that you did. A frown immediately drew on your face as you rushed to grab the device.

“Who the fuck is Madison and why is she texting you asking about your date later on today?” The bitterness in your tone could not be hidden.

“Princess —.” Before he could even finish what he had to say, you had jumped off his body, ignoring the loss of fullness, you threw his phone in his direction.

“You really fucked me knowing that you had a date tonight?!” You brashly exclaimed as you hastily put your clothes back on.

“Oh come off it! Don’t act like you didn’t come here wanting to get fucked.”

“Get over yourself Lewis! I genuinely tried to have a conversation with you and then you did that - that.” You waved your hands in front of him toward his direction before you continued. “That thing you do to distract me because you don’t want to have the conversation!”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have any free will to push me off and leave my house, that you willingly came to by the way.” Lewis rushed off the bed and put on his sweats. “Not only did you not put up any type of effort to stop me, you fucking wanted it.”

“Because you keep playing on the fact that I can’t deny you!”

“You won’t deny me YN! There’s a difference! It’s like every single time, you’re actively trying deny what is the complete obvious!”

“Because it’s toxic Lewis!” You yelled. “We get together, it’s sparks, it’s fireworks and it’s amazing but in mere moments, we’re at each other’s throats and then we’re not speaking to each other until the cycle repeats itself! We’re behaving like we’re children here and it’s tiring! I’m tired.” Your shoulders slumped as the back of your eyes began to pinch with tears. Your bottom lip was beginning to tremble but you sucked it into your mouth to hide it.

“Then let’s end it all know. I hate this energy between us baby, I hate it as much as you do. I’ll message her and you message Zack or whatever and we cut it off and we get back to us.” He tried to reach for your hand but you took a step back which halted any further action from him. He looked at you with sunken eyes. They were brimming with an unshed sadness and despair that you were unwilling to confront.

You couldn’t think straight.

“Like you said. We’re volatile - completely unstable when we’re together and at this point in our lives and careers we cannot afford that type of instability. This has got to stop Lewis. No texts, no phone calls - nothing. We need to end this.” The finality in your tone should have scared Lewis off but as he peered into your eyes, the anguish riddling you was pleading out to him.

His heart felt heavy as he placed his hands on his waist. Lewis’s head fell forwards, his braids creating a curtain around his head as if to offer some protection to his unveiling feelings. Your pointed shoes came into his frame of view but he only lifted his head when he felt your lips on his cheek. They lingered for a breath longer.

The deafening silence echoing in the room that once been filled with cries of your desire.

When you tried to move away from him, Lewis grabbed your face into his hands once more and kissed you. There was no softness, just pure desperation lined with hopes of salvation. The pleading from gnashing of teeth. The sobs vibrating from chest to mouth as the emotional tsunami awaiting was being mocked to shore.

He tore his lips away from you as if scorched from the embrace. Lewis opened his eyes and retracted his body away from you, forcing you to do the same.

This time, he did not make a move to stop you from leaving physically but he did with his words.

“I’ll never let you go YN.”

“You need to try.”

Leaving him standing there rocked you but not much more than the conviction in his tone. Even as you tried to increase the distance between you and the man who truly held your heart, nothing was more truer than his parting words.

The worst part of it all … you did not want to let go either …

@dhlfastestlap @queenshikongo3 @kindan3rdy951 @ricciardosheart @lewiscrown @sarah-ev @mercedesjpg @playgurlxoxo @scorpiobleue @leilaxaliel @amorestevens @nomnombibblenibble @honey-prinxess @ohkapten @aisharmi @bahatibloom @meganwestan @theonlyblue2 @mangodreamsicle @jayvila0 @royallyprincesslilly @felicity-x0 @fineanddandy @olyvoyl @chaneajoyyy @melodicheauxxo @lewisthot @lh44adore @mimihopie @paradisehamilton @riasrecs @weetjy @mochachocolatteyaya @lewisroscoelove @valkryienymph @miyuhpapayuh @write-fromthe-start @stronglikemusic

[sexhaver]

me n bailey marathoned the first season of this show over the last few days. some thoughts:

Alan Cumming, specifically his accent and wardrobe, are by far the highlights of this show. i sincerely hope someone has made an edit compiling all of his outfits without any of the actual gameplay, because he is consistently serving cunt

like just look at this

that being said i did keep seeing him as Fegan Floop from Spy Kids

oh right there's an actual game/competition component to this

im just gonna get this out of the way: the entire premise of the show is fundamentally flawed. they keep trying to make it sound like the three Traitors in the group are "backstabbing" and "working against" the Faithful (non-Traitors), but, like, everyone on the show (Traitor or Faithful) is competing for the exact same prize pool. it's not like The Mole (or any other social deduction game), where the secret evil team actually has different goals diametrically opposed to those of the good team and has to complete them without having anyone notice. here, the evil team just... votes on someone to "murder" every night. that's it.

to emphasize this point: the literal only thing that can ever give you away as a Traitor is being bad at lying/concealing guilt. there are ZERO gameplay differences between the goals of a Traitor and the goals of a Faithful, which means the arguments over who to vote for banishing are based entirely on "gut feelings"

nobody on the show has ever played a social deduction game before. late into the season, there's a day where all 3 Traitors are alive and it's down to 6 people total (so 3v3). anyone who has played Mafia/Werewolf/ToS/etc knows what this means: barring bullshit last-minute rules from the producers, it is quite literally impossible for the Traitors to lose, because none of them can be voted up. it takes 4 out of 6 votes to exile someone, and there are only 3 Faithful left. if no Traitor votes for another Traitor, then it is, again, literally impossible for a Traitor to be exiled. furthermore, if they all coordinate their votes on one Faithful, all they have to do is convince one of the remaining two Faithfuls to vote with them, and they instantly win $180k (split three ways). and hey, wouldn't you know it, one of the Faithfuls (Kate) was already really suspicious, and another one of the Faithfuls (Quentin) said out loud multiple times that he was voting for her!

so what do you think the Traitors did?

god this part pissed me off so much im having to pause for breathe while typing this. okay. so.

two of the Traitors voted for the third Traitor, who got voted off.

after being voted off, youre supposed to walk up to the Circle of Truth and reveal if you were a Traitor or not. the guy who got eliminated (Christian) was entirely too nice and gracious about it. me n bailey discussed this and came to the conclusion that we would either a) out the other Traitors on the stand and explain, using game theory and math, exactly how fucking stupid they are, completely ruining the game for them, or b) pretend to cry a little while walking up to the Circle of Truth but as soon as you walk behind the first other Traitor's chair you flip it over backwards and elbow drop their nose into their face while screaming "YOU STOLE $60K FROM ME YOU SON OF A BITCH"

also the guy who got eliminated (Christian) was very clearly autistic and Every Single Reason the other traitors gave for not liking him was like straight out of the DSM V diagnostic criteria ("he talks too loud and laughs weird", "he's got way too much energy all the time", "his emotional responses don't make sense")

apparently there's a season 2 but i cannot bring myself to watch it after seeing Christian thrown to the lions (ayyy Sunday school reference)

also at one point a Faithful has to leave because of COVID (this was filmed in 2020) so the producers don't let the Traitors murder anyone that night for balance reasons, but to compensate, they tell them they can like. write down three names that will be publicly revealed to everyone the next morning, and then one of those people dies the next night. so obviously this is mostly a nerf for the Traitors because they miss a night of killing someone, but the intention was clearly to give the Traitors an opportunity to sow confusion by putting one or two of their OWN names onto the list to make them seem like Faithfuls. and they even had an extra objective during that day's game where one of the three people could earn a "shield" to protect them that night, so if a Traitor was on the list, they could basically "steal" the shield from the other 2 (since they obviously weren't getting killed no matter what). but i think the Traitors heard "write down three names" and "kill" and had all the blood rush to their respective dicks because they just wrote three Faithfuls lmao. deeply unserious show

[beskarandblasters]

Stonecatcher - Chapter Four: What a Wicked Game to Play, to Make Me Feel This Way

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist | Series Playlist Artwork: The Lovers by René Magritte Gif: @cherubispunk

Series summary: You’re an arms dealer living on Dantooine when you cross paths with an up-and-coming bounty hunter. What starts as a business relationship quickly becomes more. How long can you bury your emotions and be a stonecatcher for someone else before you finally snap?

Series warnings: instant smut but slow burn romantically, angst, use of Mando’a words/phrases, no use of y/n

Chapter summary: You hire an assistant and secretly hope it makes Mando jealous. Word count: 3k

Chapter warnings: fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie

One standard month.  

It’s been one standard month since you’ve seen Mando. You’re trying not to fixate on the larger gap of time and what it could mean. You’ve hardly had the time anyway. Casia’s a whole new place. With the changing of the seasons and the influx of travelers, the village has been transformed from a small, off-the-beaten-path type of town to a bustling hub in between major cities. 

But when you’re alone at night, the thoughts of Mando seep in. 

Where is he?

When will you see him again? 

Does he think of you, too? 

You sit in silence with the truth, letting it eat away at you at night. It’s in the back of your mind, hiding out of the corner of your eye. Never facing it head-on. That’s admitting defeat. It’s easier to pretend that the truth is something much kinder. 

With the new breath of life in Casia, your business has also grown. The requests from your regular customers for more obscure, specific stuff have been overwhelming, combined with the new customers you’ve accumulated. You’ve had to make more trips to Coruscant for supply runs over the past two months. You’re anxious that Mando will pass through town when you’re not home. 

The reality is, that you’re running yourself ragged to Coruscant, three times since you last saw Mando. And you’re barely living life. You think you might have to hire an assistant and you don’t even know where to begin. Sulee will know what to do and even amid all the chaos, you’ll always squeeze in time for her words of wisdom. 

It’s the middle of the week and later in the day. If you don’t go now Sulee will be in bed already. Inventory can wait until tomorrow. 

When you leave your house the streets of Casia are crowded, but that’s the norm lately. It won’t last long, though. Nighttime is about to settle in and the crowd will migrate to the cantina like they always do. With all of the business Casia’s seen lately you wonder how Sulee’s been handling it. And then you feel guilty again for not checking in and a pit forms in your stomach. 

Not now, you tell yourself. 

Her light is still on so you slowly let yourself in, peering around the door and looking at her as he sits in front of her trusty wood-burning stove. She’s stirring a pot and whatever she’s cooking up smells delicious. And like always, it’s impossibly warm inside, sweat forming on the back of your knees and down your spine. 

“What are you cooking?” you ask, sitting on a stool on the other side of the stove.

“Soup. Been feeling under the weather.”

“It’s from all the people passing through I bet. You don’t think you should close until the busy season is over?”

She looks at you like you have five heads. 

“And miss out on all this business? You’re crazy.”

“I just worry about you!”

“Don’t. I’m fine. I have my soup.”

You sigh and wipe your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“So what is it that you need? I know you didn’t come here to lecture me about getting sick,” she says playfully, looking at you with a smirk. 

“I need advice.”

“Okay.”

“I’m struggling to do all of this by myself.”

“So hire someone.”

“You came to that conclusion rather quickly.”

“It’s an easy decision.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“I’ll ask around for you.”

“Thanks,” you say, reaching over the pot and grabbing her hand. Even though she’s sitting by the fire her hands are as cold as ice. 

She lets go of your hand, lifts the ladle she’s stirring, and asks, “Want some?”

“Sure,” you smile. A warm feeling runs through you, and not just because of how hot it is. For once you feel like you’re at peace like how things were before everything changed.

-

The next morning you’re greeted with a swift and strong knock on your door. You came home at a decent hour last night since Sulee turns in rather early. Yet when you got in bed you couldn’t fall asleep. You were up late thinking about all the changes in your life lately. 

You pull yourself out of bed despite how hard it is, glancing at the clock after you rub your eyes. It’s mid-morning, not too early in the day. A perfectly reasonable time for someone to stop by. 

Another knock. 

You throw on a jacket so it’s not too obvious you’re in pajamas and open the door. It’s a man you’ve never seen before. He’s tall and burly, towering over you. He’s wearing a black tank top, both arms are covered in tattoos. They’re folded across his chest and they’re huge. You should be scared… but most if not all of your customers look like this. 

“...Can I help you?” you ask.

“I was sent by Sulee. You got a job opening?”

“...Oh! Wow, she found someone rather fast. Please, come in,” you say, stepping aside. 

He steps inside, looking around the room at your stock. You watch him as you close the door. And it seems you’ve already jumped to conclusions about him…

There’s not a thought behind those eyes. 

Don’t judge him just yet. 

“The name’s Kham… Sulee tells me you’re looking for an assistant,” he says, turning and facing you. 

“I am. What do you know about this industry?”

“I’m familiar with it. I… was part of a gang in the lower levels of Coruscant.”

“Really? How did you end up here?”

“I needed somewhere quiet to go after I got out of prison.”

Prison… He might be just what you need. 

“So what I’m hearing is you have contacts in the lower levels of Coruscant,” you say with a hopeful tone. 

He sighs. “I suppose I could reconnect with them if the price is right.” 

“Six hundred credits a week.”

“You got yourself a deal,” he says, extending his hand. 

You spend the first half of the day showing him your inventory, explaining to him how you do supply runs on Coruscant. You have a feeling that’s all about to change given his old contacts he’ll be reconnecting with. 

Hiring him already proves to be a big help because he points out a major flaw in your business– You keep all your product in the front room of your house. 

“Have you thought about moving all this shit?”

“...Should I?”

“It’s in your front room… You’re practically begging to be robbed.”

“Huh… You’re right.”

“Got any other place you could put it?”

“My basement?”

“Let’s go.”

You spend the rest of the day bringing everything down to the basement. And part of you feels a little silly for not keeping things this way from the start. 

As you lug boxes and copious amounts of blasters up and down the stairs you silently wonder what Kham went to prison for. But if there’s one thing you learned about working in this industry; you don’t ask questions. 

Now that you’ve spent the entire day moving boxes in your pajamas, you’re ready to be alone. You’re walking Kham out, telling him he doesn’t have to stop by so early the next day. And yet you lose your train of thought when your door opens. Standing under your light outside is Mando 

And as if seeing Mando triggered something for you, your mind is screaming over and over– ruusaan. 

He’s not leaving without telling you what that means. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kham!” you say, hastily bidding him goodbye so you can focus your full attention on Mando. 

“Who was that?” he asks casually. 

You secretly hope he’s jealous of Kham, jealous of a man who’s spending time with you. And yet he isn’t. 

“My new assistant.”

“Good for you.”

“…That’s… That’s all you have to say?”

“Glad you’re getting the help you need,” he shrugs. “It was getting a little crowded in here,” he says, finally stepping inside and closing the door behind him. 

You scoff and roll your eyes, stepping towards him and asking, “You buying anything tonight?”

“Maybe. I have to see what you’ve gotten since I’ve been here last,” he says, stepping away from you and walking around the room. “Where did you put it all?”

You’re frustrated. You haven’t seen him in two months and he can barely give you the time of day. He can’t pay any attention to you? 

“In the basement,” you sigh, rolling your eyes again and heading into your bedroom. 

“Where are you going?” he calls out. 

“You know where to find me when you’re done,” you say, quickly fixing yourself up. You take off the coat you were wearing all day and glance at the note he left you at one motel. It gets you thinking… You’re going to try something bold; waiting for him naked, flopping down on the bed while he searches through your inventory. 

You lie in bed and repeat to yourself the nickname over and over, like a mantra. 

Ruusaan.

Ruusaan. 

Ruusaan. 

Staring at the ceiling you wait for him like a dog with a bird at his doorstep. 

“I made a list of everything I’m taking,” he says in the hallway. He walks into your bedroom and sets the piece of paper on your dresser, turning and looking at you on the bed with a hand on his hip. 

“You’re…” he starts. 

���Naked? I know.”

“But…”

“That’s how this works, right? You come, you buy something, we have sex, no?”

He doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he sits on the foot of your bed with slumped shoulders. 

“I’m sorry that you needed to take care of me like that… You know, at the motel.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“For the massage.”

“I wanted to do that,” you say, moving to sit beside him. 

“Why?”

“You seemed like you needed it.”

“That’s not a good reason.”

“I just wanted to help,” you shrug.

“Regardless… I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“It’s normal to need help from time to time, Mando,” you tell him, meeting his visor.

“Let me return the favor sometime and then we don’t have to talk about it again.”

Ouch.

“Okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. 

He’s so… delicate. It’s ironic considering his line of work, considering what he’s made of, considering who he is. But he’s not delicate in a physical way. He’s delicate emotionally in a way that makes you wonder… Who hurt him? Did he let his guard down once before? And did it prove to be a big mistake? 

“On your back for me,” he says gently, turning his helmet towards you. 

You linger for a moment, looking into his visor before obeying his commands. You know the drill; lie on your back and close your eyes, let him do his thing. 

A moistened finger teases your entrance before plunging itself inside you. A moan catches in your throat. He works your walls until you’re dripping, pushing the second finger inside. How you wish you could open your eyes. The boundaries he sets are so blurred, so arbitrary. It’s okay for you to suck his cock but seeing the skin of his hand is taboo. 

Before the added level of anonymity only excited you. Now you want to break through those walls and dig deeper into who he really is.

“Stop,” you say suddenly.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, sliding his fingers from you. 

“Can I open my eyes?”

“What-”

“I’m not asking to see your face…”

“I know but-”

“So I can see beneath the armor when I’m sucking your dick but when you’re fingering me.”

He doesn’t say anything so you continue.

“Why do you only drop your boundaries when it benefits you?”

You feel him shift on the bed. 

“Open your eyes.”

Finally.

You open your eyes and look down between your legs, his fingers are sliding back inside you. Your gaze snaps back up to his helmet, looking directly into his visor as he makes you writhe. 

“Is this what you wanted?”

“Yes…” you say with a shaky breath, voice jumping as he makes the come here motion with his fingers.

“You already gonna cum?” he asks, cocking his helmet to the side. You can only imagine how he’s looking at you.

“Mhm,” you moan, biting your lip. You cum around his thick fingers, your release soaking his hand. He pulls his fingers from your cunt, putting his hand in front of his helmet to look at this mess he made like he’s proud of it, rubbing his thumb against his index and middle fingers.

He kneels in between your thighs, cock straining against the fabric of his flight suit before pulling it out. Pre-cum leaks from the slit on the head, beading up before spilling over as he strokes himself. You spread your thighs farther apart, letting him hover over you as the tip of his cock teases your entrance. He’s so silent, the stone-cold stare of his visor stunning you into likewise silence. It all changes when he finally enters you. 

This time is different. Before he had you on a table. Then he bent you over the bed. At the motel, you rode him. But this time, you’re face-to-helmet, yet again imagining what he looks like under there. What does he look like when he’s feeling immense pleasure? What does he look like when his cock is buried deep inside someone?

You catch a distorted reflection of yourself in his helmet, mouth agape and moaning in pleasure. You feel his patch of pubic hair brushing against you every time his cock is buried to the hilt. It makes you want to look, wondering how he keeps himself groomed down there. Knowing what you know about him, it’s neat, almost meticulous. 

You look down but he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him again, holding your head in place as he rails you. Moans come out as pathetic whines while you’re reduced to a mess. His cock hits the perfect angle each time he draws his hips back and slams into you. Your orgasm is nearing. The tension in your core is about to snap. 

“Mando, I’m gonna-” you start but you’re cut off by your own moan. 

Your ears are ringing and your walls clench his cock, waves of pleasure washing over you in a euphoric symphony. And for once, you’re looking into the eyes of the person who is responsible for this feeling. At least you imagine you can see his eyes. 

Hot cum spills inside you as he lets out a deep grunt, cock inside you as deep as it’ll go. It’s then that he lets go of your chin and holds your hips, keeping you in place as he finishes. 

He pulls out swiftly and gets off the bed, retreating to the armchair in the corner of your room, thighs spread wide in an inviting stance. You sit up and look at him, watching as he catches his breath, modulated pants slipping out from under the helmet. Maker, you want to sit on his lap, letting him hold you until you drift off to sleep. But he couldn’t even be bothered to get in bed with you at the motel. You shouldn’t want him. You shouldn’t let yourself want him and yet you do. You can count all the times you’ve had sex on one hand and yet you want him to touch you, to cherish you, to love you. 

But his talents start at touching you and stop there. Why do you want him so bad?

Like an addict you crawl back to him, finding a home in his lap. He doesn’t protest like he probably would. He does owe you a back rub. But if this were any other scenario, any other circumstance, he’d be questioning you right now. 

You straddle his lap, knees by the outside of his thighs. You lean against his breastplate, head resting on his shoulder. He tugs off his glove before he drags his nails across your skin. He scratches your back soothingly, lulling you into a state of bliss. You ignore the pit in your stomach telling you that this is a one-time deal, that he never wants to talk about this again. Because once you feel cared for. You wonder if this is how you made him feel at the motel. Maybe he’s not used to being cared for or his needs being met. 

You’re lost in thought, replaying every moment since the fateful day you met him until now. Tonight was a win in terms of breaking down the barriers he set between you two. A small victory but you’ll take it. He seems like he requires real work, time, and energy. And that begs the question; can you change him? 

It seems like you’ve already been trying this whole time. 

“Hey, don’t fall asleep.” 

“Let me,” you half whine, nuzzling your face into the fabric of the chair. 

He lets out one of his famous sighs but ultimately gives in. 

“I did move a bunch of boxes all day,” you remind him. 

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he continues to scratch and rub your back. His gloved hand rests on the back of your neck. Before your mind goes completely fuzzy you think to ask about the nickname and remember to ask. 

“Mando?”

“Yes?”

“…What does that name mean… ruusaan?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

With that, you let yourself fall asleep. 

-

You wake up in your bed, alone of course. You roll over, glance at your dresser, and spot a hefty pile of credits. He must’ve paid and left. You pull yourself out of bed and glance at the list of stuff he purchased. The credits he left are more than enough. But on the bottom of the note it reads; 

Until next time, ruusaan. 

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

Tag list: @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @clawdee @schnarfer @djarins-cyare @chiyo13 @burntheedges @pamasaur @littlegrungegirlaf @freelancearsonist @survivingandenduring @pedrostories

[darklydeliciousdesires]

La Dolce Vita - John Shelby/Cosima Changretta (OFC).

Here comes part three of the mini series, besties! Hope you like it :)

Words - 4,044

Warnings - Each part will be adult only content, from swearing to eventual smut and violence. Minors DNI.

Part III - Paradiso

“Let it go. Set yourself free, for god’s sake. You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about, you hear me?” 

Polly’s words rang through her head once again, just like they had since a few days before at her birthday dinner. Cosima was doing her best to listen, heed the advice, especially whenever she felt herself upon the fringes of genuine contentment.  

Or, when her husband came and offered her a little affection, just like he had in that moment, sliding his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek. “What’s my perfect little Italian housewife making here, eh?” 

“Chocolate and hazelnut filling for the cannoli’s I just fried. Here.” Dipping her finger into the mixture, she turned and offered it to his mouth, John sucking it from her fingertip. 

“Bloody hell, that tastes better than any chocolate I ever ate,” he spoke, Cosima smiling, giving his stubbly jaw a little tickle with her fingernails. “If there’s any left, can I paint ya tits with it and lick it off?” 

“John!” 

“What?” he chuckled filthily, moving her hair and laying kisses to the side of her neck.  

“You’re a dirty little rascal!” 

His laughter continued. “Give me time, love. Trust me, you’ll like me for it eventually.”  

Yes, things were certainly beginning to thaw rapidly between them, the last four days full of pleasantness and playful affection. The actions of the man who had insulted her, coupled with John’s swift retribution – and hers too – had certainly sealed the notion that the two previously discontent spouses actually thought a lot more of one another than either had been prepared to admit. 

John certainly hadn’t forgotten the night in a hurry. “I still can’t believe what you did to that bloke, beating the shit out of him with ya shoe,” he chuckled, arms tightening around her narrow waist a little more. It had felt good, to see her act like she gave a damn about him.  

“Yes, you can. I am, as you coin me, a feisty little Italian mare, after all,” she chimed, decreeing the mixture in the bowl before her was ready to be spooned into a piping bag, wiping her hands on a cloth and turning to drape her arms around her husband’s neck. “And if anyone is going to beat you up, it’s me.” 

That tickled him, John throwing his head back and guffawing. “Oh, so not because you like me on some small level, then? Just cos’ you wanna batter me, eh?” 

She tucked her chin, shrugging. “Maybe a little of that, too.” Biting her lip, her eyes darted from side to side. “It’s complicated, though.” 

His fingers pushed beneath her chin, gently prompting her to look up. “Why is it?” 

Sighing, she felt her discomfort rising within. “I’m really trying hard to get along with you, to not dislike you because of what happened in the past, but Polly opened my eyes to something I’ve been doing and, um, it explains a lot.” 

“Tell me about it, then. I ain’t the best with words, but I’m a good listener. Plus, I’m your husband, Cosima. You can tell me anything.” 

God, he was so sweet. Beneath the hardened gangster lay a softness that he truly did want to show her, if they could stop battling with one another for long enough. “I think the reason I poke at you so much is because I think I deserve it, an unhappy marriage. Polly said I’m punishing myself in lieu of my father being alive to berate me.” 

“If your father was alive, who’s to say he wouldn’t have come to the same conclusion, eh?”  

Her snort made him feel like he was about to receive a mouthful of sarcasm for a moment, but all she did was laugh softly, resting her forehead against his chest. “I doubt that. Regardless of what he might or might not have thought, though, what Polly said to me was right, I have to concede. Papa is gone, and I’m still here. I need to stop acting like a bitch. I need to let it go.” 

The words resounded with John on his own feelings of guilt, feeling his chest tighten as he thought of Esme. “Yeah, yeah me an’ all. I think what Pol explained, I think I might’ve been doing a bit of that too, like.” 

“Because of Esme?” she asked softly, thumbs stroking the sides of his neck. 

“Ar, bab. Because of her. Still don’t feel right sometimes, but I know it ain’t your fault, why she’s gone.”  

“Do you miss her?” Immediately, she saw the discomfort flicker across his face, the conflict. “It’s okay. I reverse the same sentiment to you, John. I’m your wife, you can talk to me. I know you blokes don’t like talking about things, but if you want to, you can to me.”  

He kissed her forehead, touched by her offer. This? It was a side to her he had wondered over, whether the fieriness of her nature could ever diminish in its heat enough to allow for an unburned softness to flourish. “Yeah, love. Yeah, I do. Breaks me bloody heart that Mary and Seamus only had her for a few years. If there’s anything I thank you for above all, it’s how you’ve taken ‘em all on so well. I saw you in with the girls the other night, rocking Mary to sleep while she cried for her mom. You might be a temperamental little beast sometimes, but you’ve got a good heart for them kids, Cosima.”  

“Thank you. And yes, I do. I think the Chinese call it Yin and Yang.” 

“Do what now?”  

His confused face had her in soft fits. “Yin and Yang, the balance of duality, or something like that. Dark and light, they have a little black and white symbol for it,” she began, John suddenly cottoning on. 

“Oh, the thing that looks like a couple of tadpoles doing a sixty-nine with each other? Yeah, I know that!” 

His statement made her snort, falling apart completely at his words. Nothing could ever be serious for too long with John around, comic and cheeky as he was. “You’re too much, I swear!” 

“Nah, bab.” He kissed her head, hands smoothing up and down her back. “I’m just enough.”  

“Would you like to go and be just enough putting the hen house together now that the timber is here? The chickens will need somewhere to roost once we bring them home.”  

“Mm.” His hum preceded another kiss to her neck, melding himself against her slender curves, his intent clear. “I had other ideas over what to do with the morning.”  

She wanted to, oh how she did, her brain racing as they fell into lustful kisses, her dress being slowly hitched up. At the feel of his hands rubbing calloused over the soft of her thighs for the first time, though, she hit the brakes.  

“I do, John. I really do want to,” she began, feeling herself blushing, “but it’s been a while since the last time, and it was only once and it was a bloody disaster and...” 

He smiled at her nervous babble, placing a finger against her lips to silence the stream of words chatted at speed. “S’okay. Just come jump on me when you’re ready, bab.” Another kiss was offered, her dress released to flutter softly from his grasp. “Just know though, if there’s one thing I’m really, really fucking good at, it’s that. Ain’t gonna be no disaster with me.” 

He winked, reaching past her to grab an apple from the fruit bowl, taking a loud, crunching bite as he grinned. “I’ll go sort out the hen house for ya.” Cosima didn’t know that it was, exactly, maybe a mixture of the heat of his kisses, the stroke of his hands, that smouldering wink, and his pledge to go out and partake of the requested DIY, but suddenly, she didn’t feel as hesitant as she had. 

“Ain’t gonna be no disaster with me.” 

She could bet it wouldn’t.  

Continuing with her task in hand, the neatly filled cannoli’s were laid out for the filling to set as she piped them one by one, washing the dishes afterwards before cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom. A doorstep-sized sandwich was made for John’s lunch, tomato, ham, cheese and pickle as was his favourite, Cosima making a smaller version with just cheese and tomato for herself.  

With the hen house assembled by late afternoon, John returned to the house to wash, change, kiss his family goodbye and head into Birmingham, summoned for a family meeting. Cosima knew he’d be gone until late, so got the children put to bed, the dinner dishes washed and put away, deciding to go and enjoy a long soak in the bath.  

A plumbed-in bathtub rather than a tin bath beside the fire, ahhh. It was a bliss she had gotten used to back at home in the final years of living there, her father treating her mother to an actual bathroom, rather than the outdoor privy and tin bath they had used during her childhood. Her stepchildren truly didn’t know they were born, living in such luxury as to be able to go for a wee in an inside toilet.  

With a few candles lit and her book within her grasp, Cosima slipped into the hot, steaming water, sighing as the scent of her rose bath oil filled her nose, the peace and quiet heavenly. Throughout her soak, she found herself checking her nearby watch, lifting the dainty timepiece every so often.  

“Blooming heck,” she softly fumed, shaking her head. “I actually miss him.” Her shame was short lived, Cosima realising she’d actually turned a corner there, missing the man she was married to when parted from him, as any wife truly should. Once suitably soaked, she climbed out, drying off and smothering herself in rose talc, unpinning her hair and giving it a good brush before cleaning her teeth, applying her moisturiser and going to bed. 

It was 12.22am by the time she felt his weight dip the mattress behind her, an arm slipping around her waist.  

“How’d the meeting go?” 

“Ah, fuck,” he lamented softly, stroking her face through the near darkness after she’d turned to face him, only just able to see her outline. “I was trying not to wake ya up. Meeting went fine, just some routine shit that needed sorting an’ all that.”  

“That’s good.” There was a pause, Cosima letting her nails trail up and down his arm. “Are you particularly tired?” 

He thought her question to be a perfectly innocent wondering for a few seconds, before her hand began to wander lower. Oh... that’s why she was asking him. He inhaled sharply through his nose as her fingertips skimmed his hip, his cock beginning to awaken. “Nah, ain’t too tired for what you’re thinking about, love.” 

Leaning to him, her lips brushed his, tongue teasing his cupid’s bow as her hand wrapped around his cock. “Good.” Reaching back, her hand found the curtains, peeling them open to let in a little moonlight, turning back to cup his face as she kissed him, pausing to watch the arousal glint in his eyes, beautiful lips agape as she stroked him until he stood rigid like iron. Wow. What a gorgeous, thick cock. It made her wet just thinking about him inside her, Cosima sitting up and gathering her long nightdress, pulling it over her head before climbing astride him.  

Her hand went back to his cock, their kisses resuming, loving the feel of his hands sliding down her sides, one slipping between her legs to stroke at the petal soft wet of her. A moan fluttered against his lips, Cosima gasping as his fingertips began to work a slick rotation against her clit.  

“Mmm, oh that feels so good.” she panted, mouth pressing to his once more, her hips swaying against the motion of his hand. His touch lit a bonfire of pleasure set to burn, when there was a sudden interruption in the form of the door being knocked.  

“Sima?” Yes, more than one person was allowed to shorten her name now. “I had a bad dream.”  

Cosima moved quickly, save Mary witnessing her there astride her father, pulling on her nightdress just as the bedroom door creaked open. “Oh, my little sweet. Come on, it’s all okay now.” Lifting the little child with tear wet cheeks and a still thundering heart into her arms, she carried her out, the scorch between her legs cooling instantly for having to immediately switch to motherly duties.  

Taking her downstairs, she warmed her a cup of milk upon the stove, stroking her hair lovingly as she gently bounced her, placing kisses to her forehead. At four years old, only beginning school three months before her mother was murdered, and that death happening on Christmas day of all days, Mary was one of the neediest of John’s children. Cosima doted on her with extra affection because of it. 

“Here, a little honey too for your milk,” she whispered, adding some from the wooden pot. “Because I know how much you like it.” 

“Thank you, Sima.” Taking the dainty china cup, Mary took a careful sip, smiling as she cuddled up to her stepmother, her comfort and rose scented skin calming upon her shattered little nerves.  

“What was your bad dream about, my little chicken?” 

“Bad people, coming to take you away, just like they did with my mommy.”  

Cosima hated how nobody had spared this tiny soul the truth of what had happened. She was four, for Christ’s sake. All she needed to understand was that her mother had gone, not how it had happened. It smacked her in the chest still, knowing that it was her family who had seen to the demise of Esme. God, how she hoped to heaven the children would never find that out.  

“I promise you, nobody is coming to take me away. I would never let such a thing happen,” she promised the tot, Mary sipping at her milk. “I am here to stay.” 

Speaking those words, she realised that she truly meant them, and what was more, the idea of staying made her feel nothing but sublime happiness. That happiness glowed through her even more when she remembered what she had waiting for her, and hurried back to John in order to resume what she had so been enjoying as soon as Mary was settled in bed and sleeping again. 

As it turned out, she was not the only Shelby to have nodded off with ease. 

“You bastard.” Her huff was quiet, Cosima giving him a poke with her finger, John grunting and turning over with a frown, lost to slumber. Damn him.  

The following morning, it was her routine as usual, up at six, the children’s lunches made, uniforms organised, breakfast prepared. John had to wonder what was wrong when he almost found himself wearing his bowl of porridge.  

“Oi, what’s up, bab?” 

She chewed her cheek in fury. “Nothing. Children, come on. Give me those bowls and go and brush your teeth. I will be up in a minute to help you dress. Quickly!” 

“Don’t give me that load of old codswallop,” he snorted, catching her wrist. “What’s the matter?” 

Tugging her wrist free, her glare made his guts prickle. “You fell asleep.”  

Shit. He didn’t dream that she’d take that personally, but as he closed his eyes and tried not to laugh, he realised that she very much had. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Guess I was more knackered than I thought. Look...” 

“No, no look. No nothing. I’m not discussing this in front of the children.”  

“Cosima, come on.” 

“Shut up!” 

“Yeah, dad,” Oliver chimed, grinning a three-teeth-missing grin at his father, “shut up.” 

“You’ll have a clipped ear for talking to your father like that, Oliver Shelby,” Cosima warned, pinching him by his earlobe and tugging him from his seat as he complained. “Teeth! Uniform! Now!” She bustled around, refusing to meet John’s eye, her temper on the verge of meltdown. He knew he should leave it, so that was what he did, heading into the sitting room without further word.  

On his way, he phoned into the betting office, telling Polly he wasn’t going to be in after all that day, having some family business to attend to, as he worded it. After his call had been made, he sat and waited for his wife to arrive home from the school run, not prepared for this to cause a setback in his marriage. He'd been enjoying Cosima far too much to return to the rocky road they’d previously found themselves upon.  

Hearing the kitchen door open and close, he stood up, walking through the house silently, arriving to find her about to put her apron on. She turned, jumping with a little shriek, not expecting to see him there, still. Coming and going through the back door, she never saw if his car was there or not, and she’d assumed he’d left for Small Heath already.  

“Take off your dress.” 

She paused with her apron, gaping at him incredulously. “I beg your pardon?” 

“You heard.” Moving closer to her, he imposed himself in her space, chest stuck out, chin held aloft defiantly. “Take off your fucking dress. I ain’t having no sour fucking moods cos’ I fell asleep. Nah. Ain’t happening. I’m wide awake now and believe me, I ain’t gonna get tired.” She still remained silent and unmoving, John rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry, alright? Now, like I said, take off that fucking dress, and I’ll show you how sorry I am.” 

It was something about the slight rumble to his voice, couple with the unflinching stare that sealed it for Cosima, remembering how expertly he’d touched her. Biting her lip, she stared at him, the apron fluttering from her grasp as her fingers found each of the dainty mother of pearl buttons on her dress, undoing each and sliding the garment off.  

His eyes toured her, lashes looking spun gold as the morning sun beaming through the kitchen window caught them, her heart quickening. He was so divinely attractive, and he caught it, saw it in her eyes as she stared at him. “Them an’ all.” he instructed, nodding to her underwear. With the weather warmer, she didn’t bother with stockings, her bare legs silky and sun kissed.  

Once she stood naked before him, he let his eyes roam her a few more times, appreciating her in the fine detail the streaming sunlight offered, Cosima reaching for him, draping her arms around his neck. She bounced, John catching her as her legs wrapped around his waist, the fine fabric of his expensive, blue suit pressing against her bare flesh as they shared kisses full of messy, pent-up longing.  

Turning, he placed her down on the large table, pushing her legs apart as he seated himself in one of the chairs, beginning to sprinkle kisses up her thigh.  

“John, the window cleaner is due today!” she hissed, giggling with the thrill of it. 

“Is he? He’s gonna get a bloody good view of me licking me beautiful wife’s cunt then, ain’t he?” he chirped, grinning before his tongue met her folds, Cosima gasping at that first contact, the flattened drag evoking a flush of immediate tingles, the likes of which she’d never felt before. Glimmers of incandescence were quick to prickle, her mouth hanging agape as she watched him eating her, John winking and smiling. “That feel good, love?” 

“You have no idea how good!”  

He chuckled, tongue teasing her opening, silky dew beginning to stream. “Gonna disagree with you there.” Smiling further at the noise she made when he slid his tongue into her, the rolling wiggle that teased her opening made her flutter as she cried out, a long, hard lick returning the focus to where she ached for contact. 

He felt her little bud throb against his tongue, a chilling heat roaring through him as he gave it the kind of focus that truly had her wailing, his hands gripped tight upon her thighs. Cosima hung her head back, her hands rooted in his hair as she panted, the whirling wet of every lick sending a summer flush of warmth through the winter of her body.  

He wasn’t just good. He was... oh, lord. No words could explain what John did to her. This was absolutely not what she knew of sex, the man she had been previously courting for a time having nothing on her husband where raw sexual talent was concerned. It had felt uncomfortable and awkward with him. With John, she felt as if she was melting and burning at the same time, her hips shaking as the repeated flicking of his tongue all over her swollen clit had her breathless as she trembled down to her marrow. 

It took barely any time at all until he had her panting her ascension, Cosima clutching the table edge as his tongue drove at her hard, the warm wells of pleasure suddenly boiling into pure bliss, ecstasy crashing through her, searing her, flooding every vein.  

So, that was what an orgasm felt like.  

The need to be joined was feral, both of them working together to shred him of his clothes, her legs wrapping around him and pulling his hips close, taking his cock and guiding it to her. He sank into her fully, Cosima whimpering as her tongue swirled with his, the sound drowned out by the groan that echoed in his throat, all smoke, salt and lust to feel his wife stretched around him for the first time.  

Their shared gazed was adoring, pupils inked by lust, her hands stroking his face as he rested his forehead to hers, his eyes then falling to watch how incredible it looked, fucking her perfect, pink little cunt, the soft petals of her soaking sex splayed around the thick of his cock.  

“I’m a fucking stupid cow,” she panted, John arching an eyebrow at her. 

“Oi, nobody talks about my wife like that,” he winked, kissing her again. “Why though?” 

“Because... oh fuck, your cock feels so bloody good!” she gritted, “because I denied myself this for three months, for fucks sake!” Their mouths locked back together, John lifting her from the table, carrying her across the kitchen with ease. Her back met the wall, her insides burning with pleasure as he began to arrow her with long, hard thrusts.  

This wasn’t even the kind of sex she’d read about in novels. This was so erotically charged that it surpassed any of her fantasy expectations of what good sex would be like when she finally got to experience it. It wasn’t even good sex, though. It was mind blowing, spine tingling, nerve melting sex, hanging onto him as his mouth moved to her neck, hips beginning to drive against her with greater vigour. 

 Lord, the man could fuck.  

Little darts of ecstasy pricked her every target with a pin strike of utter bliss, her walls fluttering around him as he pushed her further to the edge of her undoing, a star burning itself out in the darkness of his sky as she came hard. His release followed hers, the frantic battering of her soaked walls easing, both fighting for breath, Cosima’s eyes widening when she saw a set of ladders at the kitchen window.  

“John! Frank is here!”  

“Who the fuck is Frank?” he panted, giving her a perplexed look, still swimming happily in afterglow. 

“The bloody window cleaner!” He turned just as the face of the kindly, elder man suddenly appeared, his cheeks colouring.  

“Y’alright, Frank! Don’t mind us, mate. I’ll take her upstairs, as you were, eh?” His shouted words were confirmed by a thumbs up from the chuckling window cleaner, Cosima’s cheeks the same colour as summer strawberries as she howled laughing, being carried through the house by her equally hysterical husband.  

After shutting the bedroom curtains, they didn’t leave again until ten minutes before the children were due home. After all, they had some lost time to make up for.  

[lilac-5ky]

Roommates from Hell, pt.4 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 4: Jungle Schlong

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests

A/N: Commentary at the end because I think I'm funny.

Warning: Without spoiling a thing: porn, IKEA and angst.

Out of the many survival skills people who live alone develop during their self-imposed period of solitude, the ability to share a flat —and by extension, its features— is not among them. For example, while you knew exactly how many sips it takes to empty the milk bottle, you didn’t account for Toji’s intake being twice your own. It took multiple shakes and peeps through the hole for you to reach the shocking conclusion that you were indeed out of milk and hurried to announce it with pompousness second only to an anchorwoman’s.

Breaking news! Manslaughter at the center of Shibuya: 18 dead and 37 missing— and Y/N’s fridge is devoid of milk! Well, not exactly phrased like that, though Toji’s reaction rivaled that of a disinterested viewer’s zapping to the next channel.

Apathy. And it suited him so well; speckles of fury shimmering in his darkened eyes like residues of a stubbed cigarette whenever they happened to cross with yours. You preferred him when he lashed out. At least then you could lock horns and get it out of your system, but he’d been the same since last night. Cold-shouldering your every inquisition, and if an answer was required, then it was curt and gruff like the rest of him.

The only thing his stoic expression eagerly rubbed in was how he didn’t give a damn whether you had an ounce of milk to drench your already-poured cereal with, a place to sit and eat, or even warm water to shower with. And normally, he’d be out the door searching for the next woman (read: victim) to leech from, but today he valued his word. He’d take you shopping and use it against you for some extra petty points whenever he decided to throw his tantrum.

The drive wasn’t any more enjoyable than breakfast. Your attempt to turn on the radio was slapped away, while your dissing a woman who’d stopped the entire traffic to fix her eyeliner in the rear-view mirror of her shit-colored Datsun fell on deaf ears. That one hurt the most. Humoring idiots together was your thing.

Traitor. Although you both knew who the real traitor was, and that was why you willfully took the punishment, biting back any back-handed comment and half-assed apology your tongue mustered. Not that he’d accept one in verbal form anyway; oral was more like it.

You kept your mouth zipped until he pulled over at IKEA’s parking lot, his hands glued to the wheel and the gear lever even after you’d stepped out of the vehicle.

“Aren’t you coming?” You questioned and he finally spared you a look that was more mischievous than contemptuous, a smirk trembling at the end of his scar.

“Said I’d drive ya, not that I’d stick around.” His left hand jerked the gear downward. “You pay for what you get. If you want my services, better pay upfront.”

Your bag’s straps creased under your fingernails. This was where you drew the line.

“We came here to get furniture for your ass to fit in, and you tell me you wanna bail?”

“Missed the part where I said I needed shit,” Toji shrugged. “Your house, your rules, right? Your furniture, too. Don’t involve me.”

Your nostrils flared in response. “Fine! I’ll do it myself, don’t need your sulking ass raining on my parade. Pretty sure they sell dog houses your size, and—” You switched to yelling as he stepped on the pedal, “forget about gas money ‘cause you ain’t getting shit, you hear me? Hope you get a flat tire and lose your way, fucking—”

And just like that, he was gone. Fuck. And you’d just ridiculed yourself in front of every onlooker that involuntarily eavesdropped on your crude spiel without witnessing the full scene of your unjust abandonment. Even bigger fuck.

You lowered your head and dragged your feet toward the store’s revolving door, where a little girl who’d made a game out of the doors bestowed you a genuine smile— of sympathy, you hoped.

Since Toji lacked the courtesy to let you use the bathroom before towing you all the way to his car, you were still in your homewear, tan sweatpants and all. “Disheveled” didn’t even begin to describe the frantic state of your hair. The person inside the glass had the deranged appeal of someone who’d jumped into a hornet’s nest with some seriously angry wasps, each strand attached pointing in a different direction.

However, credit where credit’s due. You’d done well to bring your trusty shades. They hid both your dark circles and bloodshot-from-all-the-crying eyes while giving off some of that washed-out rock star air you desperately needed to feel somewhat human.

You pulled the hoodie over your head and fastened the knot below your chin. You gave your door-riding companion a practiced smile and asked if her parents knew her whereabouts, like the exemplary adult you were.

She pointed at a couple near the gift-wrapping section. Her spitting image in high heels and a strict pencil skirt held onto a vase that a scrawny man in a duffle jacket—the father, you assumed— helped wrap in decorative paper. A bit late for Christmas gifts, isn’t it? Neither seemed to worry that their little angel was talking to a stranger, so you took it upon yourself to warn her, tucking a golden curl behind her ear and ushering her to their side.

As expected of a preschooler, she grimaced in defiance and tried to extort you from a soft serve, but ultimately agreed to lock pinkies and promised to return after one final ride.

The doors aligned, and you stepped out, walking slowly enough to watch the girl be scooped into her dad’s embrace, her tiny arms looping around his neck while he pressed a kiss on her forehead. Her mom set the vase on the counter to rub her back, a goofy smile contorting her otherwise sharp features.

Sorrow withered like a flower of decay in your heart, the display turning into thorns the longer you perceived it. Not now. Not again.

You tore your eyes away and headed further in, beelining straight to the supply rack by the escalator. You grabbed a yellow tote bag and stuffed it with the usual suspects —a map of the store, a paper measuring tape, a couple of shopping forms, and a miniature pencil— before drifting to the second floor.

The first area of the tremendously vast showroom displayed everything from 4-seat sofas with installed chaise lounges to hand-woven rattan footstools and miscellaneous decorative pieces such as faux antler horns and brazen candlesticks. Every living room was carefully considered and well put together, attracting the appropriate demographics.

Frilled cushions and fairy lights for the young romantics; futuristic ceiling lamps in curious shapes and slick TV benches for a breath of novelty in your space; functionality over flashiness in rooms with spacious cabinets and railway-sized couches to accommodate those who couldn’t keep it in their pants and birthed a horde of happy-go-lucky squirts; warm textiles for a cozy atmosphere; cooler hues for a more urban style. A plethora of choices meant to daze and bedazzle the stingiest shopper into buying not what they needed but what they wanted at an affordable price.

A true celebration of capitalism.

You paced around the rooms, mindlessly picking on random objects and price tags, working quick math in your brain for items that would be forgotten as soon as you entered the next scenery of artificial palm trees and sand-filled wooden tiki bowls. Perfect for beach lovers, the sign said, though you couldn’t fathom the tackiness of a man with a hammock amidst his living room.

Unable to beat your childish urge to ascertain whether the sand was real, you dipped your hand in one of the bowls and glanced over your shoulder just in case you were busted—you weren’t. And it wasn’t.

Your interest was extinguished, only to be rekindled by the golden sheen of a picture frame that stood remarkably plain between two spiral seashells on a wall-mounted shelf behind the aforementioned hammock. Normally, frames either sported an image of some stupid logo that wrote “Love” or “Happiness”, or encased a placeholder picture for the owners to replace at a later date. But this one was vacant. Naked. Forgotten.

You didn’t have any frames in your house. Didn’t need any. All remnants of the past were safely tucked inside an old shoe box below your bed —memories you occasionally fished out but mostly wished to forget. All, except one. A token from your graduation that you always kept inside your bag as precious memorabilia, not of the event itself but of the man whose arm lazily slung over your shoulders and of the smile that stretched from the western tip of his scar to the eastern end of your grin.

You’d rather be mugged off every worldly possession, even your mother’s handwritten cookbooks, than part ways with this picture. That’s why you never let it off your eyes and never properly framed it, though looking at the empty frame, something finally clicked.

You pulled out the picture and unscrewed the safety clips, fitting it around the edges, and then locked it in place.

Your thumb brushed over Toji’s face as gently as if it were his actual cheek you touched, and last night’s fiasco began accelerating with the momentum of a three-foot boulder that wrecked everything in its passage. Frustration stirred your insides, urging the coarse cereal to spill out your guts and paint the baby-blue mat a dubious streak of remorse. You wondered what color that’d be. Nothing pleasant to look at, for sure.

With a sigh, you brought the picture closer to your lips and whispered, “I’ll say this once and only once, so better stop giving me that smug look. I’m sor—”

“That bored without me you talk to lifeless objects now?”

The gravelly voice flowing not from the frame but from the person behind you made you nearly knock the entire shelf to the ground. This habit of his was getting old real quick.

“Is scaring people your hobby, or do you get paid for it?” You leered at him, slyly stuffing the frame in your tote bag, confident he hadn’t gotten a proper peek.

“If only,” Toji smirked. “Could make a fortune out of you alone.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed the tote bag over your free shoulder, progressively scanning the parts of his body you didn’t want to slot a pacifier in. He was holding onto a paper cup, the keyword being “a” as in singular and not plural. As in one, and not two. As in, he got fresh coffee from the machine at the entrance for himself, but not for you.

Jerk.

“Couldn’t keep a dime if it was glued to your forehead with super glue,” you huffed.

His free hand reached your face, fiddling with the laces of your hoodie. “Kept you all these years, didn’t I?” voice dropped an octave. “My goldmine.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being flirty or simply condescending; his thin eyebrows bearing hints of annoyance in how they furrowed, as opposed to the curl in his lips that almost seemed amiable. You didn’t reciprocate either sentiment. Instead, “Thought you said you weren’t coming.”

“Changed my mind,” his eyelashes fluttered heavily over his cheeks. “Didn’t want to leave you all alone to carry that shit. Wouldn’t sit right with me.”

You questioned whether the Toji in front of you was the real deal or a stand-in for his otherwise “no can do unless I’m paid” self. Unless…

“You ran out of gas, didn’t you?”

The smile dropped from his face and rose to yours as he took a step back, his tail between his legs. He drained the coffee in one sip and squashed the cup in his fist, flicking it at the bin closest to him without caring that it was part of the exhibit.

The words swirled in his mouth, bitter, and taut, and doused in caffeine. “You have my money.”

“My money,” you corrected. “You said I could keep it.”

“I did?” Toji asked, confirming it a second later. “I suppose I did. I take it back. Give it back.”

His palm unfolded in your direction, fingers beckoning you to react, which you did, though not in the way he’d hoped.

“What do you think y’are doing?” Jaded green eyes entered a game of ping pong between the items you’d shoved in his hand and your undeniably cheeky expression.

“You are so right. I’m bored out of my mind when you’re not around, but now that you are here, I feel sooo much better!”

Toji arched a brow at your admission, not convinced in the slightest.

“I’ll give you some of the money back,” and this was the kind of sentence that seldom went without a but. “But you have to stay and help.”

His mouth opened to express disagreement, which soon turned into acquiescence.

“I’ll buy you soft serve after.”

“Deal.”

The two of you wandered around the labyrinth of lamps and sofas with a different gait each; yours were quick steps full of determination and moderate excitement, stamping individual items and running after them, while Toji’s were long-drawn strides with no real purpose other than to follow the thread you dropped behind in hopes of it leading to an exit. You presented one object after the other, weighing the pros and cons he didn’t care to consider, merely jotting down the unpronounceable Swedish names and their corresponding codes.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t have much of an opinion regarding his lodgings. He claimed he could sleep anywhere but was visibly vexed when you pointed at an adorable bone-shaped dog bed, gritting his teeth and saying that your bed could fit you both just fine if you weren’t such a “little bitch” about it.

Only when you got to the rooms with very particular and niche equipment did his disinterest fade, giving way to disbelief at how anyone could ever think to create something as useless as an egg yolk separator or vegetable cutting gadgets that a single knife could easily replace. He wasn’t wrong about that, but he was dead wrong to assume you were letting him bring a Cookie Monster-esque atrocity of dyed sheepskin back into the apartment. Or a portable charcoal grill for that matter. Or a bike trailer when you couldn’t even bike.

“Are ya dumb? Biking isn’t knowing, it’s doin’,” he’d said.

A side-eye was typically enough for him to return them to their places, but when it came down to his peak fascination with a voice-activated toilet flush, things got excruciatingly hard. He insisted on calling it a worthwhile investment when he’d previously dubbed your portable drawer unit a waste of cash. If it weren’t for the three extra zeroes at the end of its crumpled price tag, he would still be there tossing rocks just to hear the toilet praise the size of his dung.

You each made an exception for the other to buy one non-pivotal item, as long as it didn’t exceed 3000 yen. He got himself a neck pillow. You got a ghost night light that apparently looked nothing like curses, much to your disappointment, and while his attention was diverted, you shoved another in the bag to give him as a welcoming gift, hoping the cuteness of the green, chubby ghost would help bury the hatchet.

Eventually, you plopped down at a dining table in a room obscured by the shop’s many corners, Toji on the head and you on the foot, as if you were holding an official conference. You went over the shopping forms together, but coming to a decision when neither was remotely capable of pronouncing the names proved a challenge. And while each butchered the language in your own irreverent way, you were the first to break into chuckles, finding Toji’s heartfelt conviction that Frihetten and Fry Hatred were one and the same positively endearing.

Flustered, he threatened to break your bones into furniture, but not even he could take himself seriously anymore when his answer to the question “What would you name me?” was “The Stupenbraten”.

The mood lightened, and after some necessary discourse, you decided upon a gray sleeper sofa to replace your current couch and a chair from the same set you had in your kitchen, as well as some covers for the remaining winter nights. All was well again; aside from the total cost exceeding the initial budget by a few hundred yen.

You were back to square one, though a new plan became apparent faster than anticipated. A plan wearing twin pigtails and a smile straight out of a toothpaste commercial that resiliently lurked wherever the two of you went. A plan who fidgeted with the name tag on the left side of her canary-colored shirt a bit too much, her knees wobbly under her tight-fitted navy jeans. A plan too naive for her own good.

At first, you assumed she’d received a report for the terrorist-looking female in the orange hoodie who double-checked the price of each individual plate in the service, but then you put more effort into deciphering her alert eyes and concluded that the target she was ogling was none other than your partner in crime.

He who, although dressed identically to you, stood out among the regular customers like a celebrity that’d failed to mingle with the crowd at their own premiere, a dandelion among a field of dried weeds, or even a conch amidst a sea of pebbles; out of place and infinitely extraordinary; easy to miss and hard to notice, but when you do, there’s no taking your eyes off it.

The employee tracked you down as if her career depended on it, infatuated with the mere idea that a man like Toji could give her attention, and when he actually did under your direction, the plot began writing itself:

Straight out of a Wong Kar-wai movie, the dark and brooding, albeit confident, male lead slowly enters the hesitant female lead’s orbit. He hangs around the information desk, where she pretends to work, and flips through the pamphlets with faux interest. He lets her study him up close and plants an idea in her head, convincing her the first move is hers to make—that she’s in charge.

Her head lifts up, and their furtive glances catch fire. He bows forward, and his lips move without making a sound, a joke only for her ears to assess. And it must be terribly funny because she is laughing, and with her, the whole world beams, with sequences of time-elapsed blurs and filtered close-ups spurring everyone into the mood for love.

That’s a true pro for you.

You stayed until you saw them exchange papers. It’d only been five minutes, and they were already plotting their next tryst away from the prying eyes of the audience and the mastermind behind their affair. Admittedly, this was neither your best nor proudest moment, but if conning an impressionable sweetheart out of a minor discount was your ticket to hell, then you’d better go ahead and save yourselves front-row seats.

For the time being, you left Toji to his own devices and leisurely padded along the corridors, finding yourself a sanctuary in a room where the sounds muffled into ambient sound and the colors bled into shades of chaste white that dribbled from the ceiling to the king-sized bed in the middle. You dropped your bags on the bed stool and fell back against the polyester duvet, limbs stretching across all four corners to create idle snow angels.

You glimpsed at the price that neared half a million yen and wondered what kind of people could afford a bed like this. Was it old money who lived in luxurious mansions with fourteen bedrooms and twice as many servants to tend to them, or a young couple with too much love to spare? Did it belong to a loft that overlooked the city, or was its place on the outskirts of the countryside? How many surprise breakfasts could it host, and how many kids could bounce against the planks to wake up their weary parents before the springs broke?

Could a bed like this ever be yours?

“People who fuck for a living, obviously.”

Rings of saturated smoke poured out of Toji’s lips as he lit up his cigarette and took his first real puff of disappointment. He’d hoped that after popping two and a half bottles of overpriced carbonated piss, smoking ought to at least rouse a tingle, but he’d only managed to further soil his mouth with more filth.

“Want that?” he asked, despite stubbing it in the ashtray. With the amount of alcohol you’d downed, you’d probably let him put it out on your tongue without objection.

You tracked the movements of his fingers, inevitably following them to where the dark spirals of his hotel-provided yukata met with the creamy complexion of his sculpted thighs, elbow propped against his one knee, and wrist dangling freely in the gap between his legs. He was still on his back, his tousled raven hair having spilled over the pillow, and the ebony fabric fitting tight around the bulge of muscles, leaving only his pecs completely exposed.

A sight for sore eyes and those with the hunger to eat it up, while you tried your hardest not to gawk, directing your attention anywhere that wasn’t him, such as the baroque chandelier on the ceiling, the plasma screen on the opposing wall, the leftover beluga caviar and Dom Pérignon on the service trolley, or even your own legs dressed in the same piece of clothing.

The two of you painted quite a sinful image: a girl barely of age and a boy slightly above sharing a bed the size of your house at one of the country’s top-rated hotels, your clothes scattered around the floor like some perverse artistic signature. How cliche, but every cliche comes with an “It’s not what it looks like”.

You received the message on your beeper a few blocks away from school at an unoccupied payphone; Toji’s voice requesting help on the other side of the line. He didn’t specify anything other than his location and seemed particularly elated to find you at his suite’s doorstep fifteen minutes later with your heart in your mouth. At that point, he’d already jumped in his yukata, sporting a pair of fluffy gray slippers and a sardonic smile that widened at the sight of your summer uniform.

Alcohol blurred your memories quite a bit. You couldn’t remember why you’d changed out of your uniform, but were certain it had something to do with his indecent commentary. Not that the yukata covered more skin, but it did feel smooth against your body.

You quickly realized that Toji was neither in danger nor in dire need of help. He’d just received his biggest paycheck to date and wanted someone to burn the money with, and as much as he hesitated to admit it, your phone was the only number engraved in his memory outside his handler’s.

In retrospect, your evening felt more like a fever dream than a real one. You ordered every exorbitant French specialty off the menu, drank through the contents of the minibar, and flipped through the various cable channels, paying thousands of yen for movies you lacked the attention span to finish.

You were so out of it. You dismissed the crude answer he’d given to your question for the sake of recounting events that hadn’t aged past six hours.

A subtle hue of red bloomed across your cheeks, dipping lower down your chest to sheathe in the pit of your stomach as liquid fire. The feeling itself wasn’t unpleasant; simply unprecedented. This was your first time drinking, and in all honesty, you could do fine without being reminded every three seconds —the exact interval between your glances— of how well he wore the traditional attire.

“So it wasn’t just an urban legend, huh?” Toji mumbled to himself, fumbling with the buttons on the remote until he landed on a channel that piqued his interest.

“Hey, wanna watch some porn?” The second question was definitely meant for you, his hand ghosting over your eyes as if to snap you from whatever trance had absorbed your conscience.

You blinked in surprise, eyes dancing between the numerous naked ladies that flaunted their assets in provocative stances and Toji’s serious expression while he eagerly awaited a response.

“Uhm… sure?” You asked him back, clearing your throat of any doubt, and then repeated the same word.

He gave a tiny smile and scrolled through ridiculous titles named after popular American movies, such as “Pulp Friction”, “Cum-busters”, “In Diana Jones”, and your personal favorite of the bunch, “Yank My Doodle, It’s a Dandy!”.

“Probably nothin’ too extreme, right?” You mindlessly nodded. “A’right, gotcha.”

While you stacked up the pillows behind your neck, Toji clicked a few more buttons, and eventually, a movie began playing, starting with a picket fence house in the suburbs and a jolly housewife who awaited something on the door. The “something” revealed itself to be a “someone”— a pizza guy, more specifically, on whose pizza both Toji and you placed bets.

“Pay up,” he grinned when the man announced it was a pepperoni one, only to grunt after the pizza box fell completely empty to the floor. A directorial oversight.

The man proceeded to make out with the housewife in front of her house’s doorway, backsteps bringing the scene into the kitchen, where the woman removed her apron to expose her —surprise, surprise— naked body underneath. She sat the man on a chair and kneeled before him, caressing the tent in his jeans and slowly tugging it down, she set his cock free.

A gulp disrupted your swallowing, your eyes zooming in as the woman’s hands wrapped around his dick and pumped it up and down with expertise his moans revealed. Your thighs clicked together in sync with your teeth, your mouth more parched than it’d been before you gobbled all that alcohol up.

Without being aware of it, you’d scooted closer to his side of the bed, almost curling against his arm. You stole a glimpse at him, his brow quirking at the sudden closeness. You pretended to watch the movie, and partially you did, although there was no ignoring Toji when your entire vision became that of uneven black strands.

“Are ya wet by any chance?” He smirked, eyes darting lower over your body, if only for a second.

“N-not sure, but I… really want to pee,” you admitted, causing his face to crack into a fond simper. “Been that way since the champagne—” you tried to explain, and you tried to hide your colored shame in the crook of your neck, but he wouldn’t let you do either.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Toji said in a reassuring voice that begged to filter all bashfulness out of your system. “Still a virgin, mm? Well, there are other adult stuff we could try together. Other than drinking champagne, or” his hand rubbed against your outer thigh, “watching amateurs fuck,” fingers carefully squeezing their way in. “I bet we could do so much better than that.”

“Whaddya say, pretty girl?”

The rasp in his voice mellowed into a candied hum as he tilted his head to the side, and when he did, you didn’t move— not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know how to without your inexperience showing or your heart betraying how much you’d longed for this moment to come, as his lips finally crashed against yours and you suddenly gained all the knowledge in the world.

You knew how to squeeze your eyes shut slowly enough to catch his green eyes fading past his heavy eyelashes along with the intensity behind them. You knew exactly how to move your mouth in accordance with his, letting your upper lip be sucked into the kind of warmth that could never be replicated—a warmth that was unique to Toji and the softness of his lips and the roughness of his palms—and that gradually seeped into your stream, flooding and then drowning all your senses until he was the only lifeline for you to grab onto to stay afloat.

He flipped you to your back and crawled on top of you, the bed dipping against the accumulation of weight while the kiss deepened. His tongue slipped into the wet cavern of your mouth, taking its time to explore the basis of every snarky remark and withheld affection meant for him. A soft, visceral sound was swallowed by a stifled groan as your hands clutched onto the fabric around his waist and pulled him closer, your hips abruptly snapping upward.

You weren’t thinking until Toji gave you permission to, the string of saliva that united your mouths now tearing you apart. His tongue swiped over his dampened scar, hooded eyes zeroing in on the pink ribbon at the center of your bra’s band as the friction caused the cups to spill out of your kimono. The sounds in the background were barely audible over the sound of your panting as he took hold of your breast and firmly palmed it over the fabric.

“Feel any different now?” The hand on your thigh prodded at your stomach, even though he’d never stopped fondling your chest and still maintained a loose grip over your hip—

Oh.

You mustered enough courage to peer at where your bodies connected, finding a bulge akin to the one in the non-pizza-carrying pizza guy’s pants, albeit much bigger, more real, and definitely palpable, and although you were no busty hotwife, you’d made this happen.

Things were moving so fast; too fast, that your brain short-circuited between two contradictory notions, the first gathering as slick between your thighs, while the second argued this wasn’t something you should be doing—not something that friends should be doing.

But you liked Toji, and when he looked at you with raw desire burning in his eyes, you swore that you loved him.

“I really,” you croaked, rapidly losing composure under his fingertips unraveling your bare skin, his larger palm set on capturing as much of you as possible. “R-really,” you bit your lip before breaking into a literal yelp when he tried to tug off the strap. “Really, really, really need to pee!”

Without either of you entirely comprehending what happened, you slithered away from his grasp like an eel and bolted to the bathroom, locking yourself in with a loud “bam”, lest he push it open.

You looked in the mirror, confusing the image with that of a peeled tomato straight out of the can with how flushed and moist you appeared. Beads of sweat dripped from your forehead to your neck, and—God, his touch hardly qualified as groping, but nothing was in its place anymore; everything loose, disheveled, and so terribly lewd.

Reluctantly, you drove a hand between your thighs, coaxing a high-pitched gasp at the sheer amount of wetness drenching your underwear, an outcome entirely dependent on him. Toji. Toji, who’d given you your first kiss and who would have given you more— every last inch of him. Toji, who must’ve been laughing his ass off, cursing you, or doing both simultaneously.

Nothing could be done about the butterflies rummaging in your stomach, rabidly swarming your heart as if there were nectar at its core. You could only force yourself to sober up by throwing cold water on your face and carrying on with your “duties”, returning to the main room ten minutes after you’d perfected the most laid-back smile from your extensive collection of insincere expressions.

“Took ya long enough,” Toji exclaimed, a spoon sticking out of his mouth. “Thought you got flushed down the drain or somethin’.”

No such luck, you thought to yourself, sitting noticeably further away from where he dug through the remaining caviar. The porn was switched out, or paused—you couldn’t tell—with the hotel’s logo in cursive letters traversing one corner of the screen in favor of the other. And as for your previous reason for distress—

“Did you know they have Acqua Di Parma toiletries?” You panted more than asked, leaning closer to the tray to pinch a green olive between your fingers.

“It’s a French hotel, what did ya expect?” he shrugged.

“They are Italian.”

“Who cares?” He grimaced, dropping the spoon back into the crystal bowl. “Overpriced shit. Shoulda been 12 yen instead of 12k.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” you chuckled. “Plus, you are doing it all wrong. You shouldn’t chew, you should move the roe with your tongue until the flavor falls apart.”

Toji stared at you as if you belonged to an alien tribe that’d descended to earth on its way to world domination, his eyebrows creasing at the middle of his forehead. “Now you reveal you were raised as a silver spoon? Woulda been nicer to you if I knew.”

A short laugh cracked into a nasal snort, your hands cutting the air between you. “Not at all! It’s just, my father would make me tag along to some of his business soirees when I was a kid, and they always had the best food there. Well, not the best, but certainly the priciest shit an eight-year-old can put in their mouth.

“And what do you mean nicer?”

He hummed, washing the fishy taste from his mouth with some of his unfinished champagne. A regrettable choice, considering he’d forgotten how disgusting the alcohol felt on his tongue. He winced, “First time I hear ya talk about your family.”

“What? Can’t be true; I mention them all the time.”

“Mention,” he echoed. “Ain’t the same as talking.”

You wondered at what point your roles were reversed. He was the one who stubbornly refused to mention his folks, and up until a month ago, you didn’t even know what his last name was.

“There’s not much to talk about.” Your lips pursed around your glass while Toji insisted on drilling holes through your thick skull. He had no intention to drop this.

“I’ll tell you, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s all boring, anyway. If you fall asleep—”

“Cut the intro.”

You bit back a comment and dug straight into the story.

“My dad started off in the textile industry. Used to run a small yarn company with a fellow classmate. They made it big for a while; branched out from Tokyo to Fukuoka and their rep grew nationally. Every clothing store in the country used their wares, and they must have thought ‘Hey, why not test our luck elsewhere?’— I wouldn’t know; I was too young.

“Thing is, when compared to Japan’s fish tank of a market, China is a whole damn ocean with man-eating sharks. Quality doesn’t cut it versus sweatshops, and it didn’t take long before they went bankrupt, closing their stores and losing all of their investments.

“Yamada-san flew to Korea, and they never talked again, while dad—he,” you paused, lifting the glass to your lips, champagne tasting like tar. “He drunk. All day long and all evening long, he drank himself unconscious on the couch, the carpet, and even the front door once. His excuse being that he couldn’t get himself a new job, that no one was hiring at the moment, and that damn moment lasted 5 whole years before he decided he’d had enough and slammed the door on us.”

“What about—”

“Mom?” You smiled habitually. “She was there. Down with one sickness or another, her symptoms varying from a simple cough to weeks of catatonia. It was as if whatever poison my father injected in his veins made it back to her, and with him gone and her in that state, I was the only one available to take care of the house. But it was fine, you know? As long as we were together, I was fine cleaning, cooking, and playing nurse.”

Silence stilled the room, somber at its best and deafening at its worst.

“Wanna know what the final straw that made him leave was?”

Toji didn’t answer, certain you’d go on regardless.

“Donburi.” A strained chuckle poured out of your lips; dark, hollow, and devoid of any ebullience. “Fucking donburi. She tried to cook him donburi for his birthday but couldn’t keep an eye on the stove ‘cause she got dizzy and the fish burned to a crisp. She served the rice and the vegetables, all intact, but the fish was missing and h-he… He broke the plate against the kotatsu and packed his things right after. That was the only time Mom talked back to him. She asked why, and you might think that’s pathetic, but—”

You rearranged your thoughts. “She asked him why, and all he said back was ‘Because she isn’t deadweight. Because she doesn’t smell like death. Because she doesn’t let the fish get toasted.’ That was the final thing he said the final time I saw him. Don’t even know if he’s dead or alive, and as for my mom… You know she’s not here anymore. Passed away three weeks after he bailed.

“And that’s my shitty life’s shitty story,” you concluded, consciously leaving out the part that linked your culinary cultivation and hopes for your father’s return.“Nothing interesting or fun about it. Just a big pile of shit piling on top of each other from the beginning to its ending.”

You were about to give yourself a refill when his fingers snared around your wrist. You locked eyes, your vision of him distorted as the green in his eyes overflew, his pointy nose, and the slanted scar of his lips trading places. He appeared like one of those Picasso cubism paintings from your art textbook, except his features were more beautiful than a human brain could ever perceive to draw, even in their disarray.

You let him return the champagne glass to the trolley while his fingers studied your face with the same curiosity your eyes studied his. You thought he was going to kiss you again, and maybe the notion crossed his mind too, but he must’ve decided against it, using his mouth to try and console you instead.

“Should’ve let me fuck you, stupid,” Toji mumbled, the pads of his thumbs repeatedly swiping below your eyes like windshields, his facial structure making sense once more. You’d lost track of how many sobs you’d kept bottled up until they started to hiccup out of your throat and wet his fingers.

I wish I’d let you fuck me.

“Lost your motivation?” Your voice was still unstable.

“Nah,” he shook his head. “Just don’t want your sappy face ruinin’ the mood. Can’t make ya cry under my dick if you’re already crying for someone else.”

Your reflection stirred in shades of green as you threw your head against his shoulder, laughing harder than you thought possible. He always came up with the worst things to say, and yet nothing could have comforted you more than the inner frustrations of a teenage boy in heat.

His hands dropped limp between your bodies, while yours looped his neck in a tight embrace. “Can’t believe you tricked me into sayin’ all that when I don’t know the first thing about your family.”

“Your folks are dead ‘cause they died. Mine been dead to me since birth.”

You propped your chin against your elbows. “What do you mean?”

“That I don’t have a family,” he said.

“You wouldn’t talk like that if you didn’t.”

“Then I don’t need one.”

“Don’t say that. If they’re still alive—”

“Then I’ll kill ‘em dead,” he hissed. “How’s that for an answer?”

Convinced that ought to shut you up, Toji planted his fingers at your ribs and attempted to detach you from his body with half-baked conviction, when your mouth opened again and you uttered the one thing he wasn’t prepared to hear—not on that day, nor in a million days either.

“What if I was your family?”

A complaint scratched his throat, his own words prickling his tongue before dissolving into a heavy sigh against his chest, one that served as your cue to continue.

“Even if we don’t need anyone—no, even if no one else needs us, how about we need each other just a little bit? I’ll need you, and you’ll need me. So let’s be family, Toji.”

He remained deep in his thoughts for a long while, unknowingly kneading your sides as if you were a life-sized stress ball meant to relieve his tension. You couldn’t read him. Not from that angle or any other, for that matter. He wouldn’t let you. He didn’t want you prying at a side of him so pathetically ugly and insecure that not even he had the guts to stand up to.

And so he took his time waiting, testing the waters with every combination of verbs and articles already tried out. Words that’d earned his face red smacks and gotten his hair soaked in all types of beverages—not excluding the hot kind. He’d fill you in on the terrible, horrible things he’d done to deserve hatred, give you a glimpse at the true nature of an abomination, as his parents endearingly called him, and if that wasn’t enough, he’d show you. Overpowering a fragile little thing was nothing. He’d force himself on you, squeeze you for all your body’s worth, and then toss you aside like a squeezed lemon cup.

It was that easy, really, but the longer he let the words fester, the keener he found himself to plug the holes in his ego with a more permanent solution.

“Y’are throwing yourself into a bigger pile of shit, know that?”

You held onto a chuckle, unaware of the effort poured into his statement, while you lightly toyed with the frayed edges of his hair. “Used to the stench. Besides, stepping on shit is said to bring you luck, no?”

By the time you pulled away, an intimidating frown was etched deep into his features, his expression similar to that of a cat being hugged against its will. It didn’t take long for the two of you to nest back into the pillows (with one acting as a partition), share a pepperoni pizza upon his request, and browse through the hotel’s porn archives anew—only this time, he’d given you the honor of choosing.

“The hell is a doodle?”

Your brain was still asleep when your eyes fluttered open, failing to identify the humongous white fluff that warmed your face until you peeled it off. Bear…? No, not just any bear. A panda bear, though that didn’t explain its origins or the reason it sat on your head either. You wondered if someone had tried to suffocate you only to give up halfway through, but when you nearly lost your eyesight to the blinding lights above, you appreciated the kindness in the proprietor’s heart.

You buried your face back into the plushie’s belly and rolled onto your side in a fetal position, the memory of your sunglasses too distant for you to question their sudden disappearance. For now, all you wanted was for the lights to go away and for the voice in the speaker to quit yapping—

As if a current charged your joints with electricity, you jolted against the bedpost, the realization of you enjoying a nap in a semi-public space coming with a heavy dose of panic once you spotted a pair of stretched legs to your left.

“Don’t like the jungle schlong?” The legs, or rather, the mouth that belonged to their owner asked.

A deep exhale jogged your memory of the furniture store and present-day Toji, his younger counterpart vanishing as an apparition of the past.

You flipped the toy around until you spotted the tag hanging from its right foot. Djungelskog.

“Very funny,” You exclaimed, shoving it against Toji’s face, who in turn threw it under his armpit. “How long was I out of it?”

“An hour, more or less. They wanted to call security but changed their minds after some Chinese couple bought the same bed,” he sneered. “Got such a cute sleeping expression when ya drool all over yourself.”

You scrubbed your jaw with the back of your hand, feeling the crisps of saliva deteriorate. What were the death rates for suicide by plush toy asphyxiation in Japan again?

“Y’are welcome,” he answered in case you felt like thanking him for saving you some face.

“So, how did it go with the salesgirl? Shagged her yet?”

Like a gravure model, Toji propped himself against the bed, tilting his cheek into his palm. “Jealous?”

You scoffed. “Hardly. Just wondering how long before you lose your touch now that you are nearing your thirties. Should find yourself a dutiful young wife to clean your denture before it’s too late, old man.”

He was uncharacteristically quiet until his hand dug into his pocket to reveal a rectangular blue note that he slid across the covers. “Not a chance, kiddo.”

You seized the paper, thrilled to see the words “10% off” spelled in yellow capital letters. “That’s actually impressive! How did you do it?”

“Trade secret,” he shrugged.

You decided you didn’t need to hear the rest. This was enough for both the furniture and his treat— maybe even groceries, if his mood remained unspoiled. “Just won yourself a second cone,” you beamed, wiggling your way across the edge of the bed. “Come, let’s get the stuff and go home.”

“I’ll go first,” Toji declared as he leaped to his feet.

“Don’t want your new girlfriend getting the wrong idea?” you smirked. “Fine, fine. I’ll meet you at the warehouse.”

Without confirming your assumption, he hastily strode off through the doorless entryway, leaving the bear plushie behind to endure your wrath for when you’d finally discover there were two sides to the coupon and the backside that read “Newlyweds Discount”—his name reaching his ears about five rooms later.

A/N: I have the need to mention that their IKEA date was inspired by 500 Days of Summer and that the toilet was a gag in Better Call Saul. In the Mood for Love is an amaaaaazing movie, that I definitely recommend for angst lovers! Also, all the porn movies I mentioned are LEGIT lmao, I wish I was joking. Oh, and this chapter features a lot of foreshadowing for the next one, guess what it is and enter the giveaway for a--- yeah, no. I'm joking, but the foreshadowing stands.

tags: @absoluteindulgence , @evansuvamp , @sarwhorius , @liluvtojineteyam , @whodoesthatanymore , @m00dycr4nkybitc , @tzutology , @lilykitt3 , @whispers-of-lilith , @batafuraikisu , @zerotwo-sciencequeen , @vel1ia , @allen-444

Just went ahead and tagged those of you who commented, hope I got everyone right.

Comment to be tagged on future updates!

[who-do-i-know-this-man]

I made a mistake. Several actually. Several very severe mistakes. And this post isn't meant to make it all ok, I have accepted that many are rightfully mad at me, but I do hope that I can at least have some context to the mistakes I made and why I made them.

First let me say that I am privileged. That much is true. I am a white man in the american suburbs. I have the luxury of not only not being personally affected by many social issues but not even having to witness them. But I still want to be a good person. And part of that is learning about these social issues by talking and interacting with people online. But I'm still not perfect. I'm barely an adult and I have a lot of growing to do as a person. And hopefully with this in mind it will make some of the mistakes I will go over just a bit more understandable.

Back in mid march I made the submissions post for this blog, and did not expect to get as many as I did. I then spent a month taking as many submissions as I could and putting them in a list. All in all I ended up with over 2000 characters. From that alone it should be understandable why I couldn't research every one before releasing the bracket. I even ended up with many mistakes like incorrect labeling and duplicate characters.

However the first true mistake came later. I was making the poll posts themselves and I got to Lance. I knew I should have done something at the time but I didn't exactly know what. It was one poll and I was doing 16 polls per day minimum, but ideally double that so that I could have a backlog of posts. So I didn't spend as much time thinking about the issue as I should have and the conclusion I came to was that at the end of the day it was a fictional character, and if I properly content warning it it will be fine. Anyone who is sensitive to that imagery can block it. This is largely where my ignorance came in. While it may sound improbable to those who do know more I promise you I genuinely thought that I was doing no harm. And while I won't lie and say I am now a master in the topic now I do have a better understanding of the harm that this decision caused. Additionally my pride got to me. I am very proud of having "the biggest bracket on tumblr" but I had already had quite a few be disqualified for being duplicates or real people, so I didn't want to make the bracket any smaller and lose prestige. This was far from the main reason I kept him in, but it was morally wrong.

People's response to the original poll was mixed. There were people who immediately asked me to remove him, but others were on my side in saying that he should stay since he's a fictional character and his morals don't matter. So I defaulted to the stance I already had, and did nothing. This was a mistake. Above all else I should have prioritized everyone feeling safe and comfortable on my blog.

But the last night it was about an hour later then I should have been asleep and my brain was incredibly stupid, and things started to go down hill. I got the first ask in a while about Lance, and I decided to put an end to the issue. My way of doing this was doing a poll. In my mind this was my way of accounting for my ignorance. I don't know much about how severe this issue is, so I'll put it in the hands of people who did.

This poll also got mixed results. Some said I should just have the conviction to eliminate him myself, but others brought up things about that character I didn't know, like how he apparently has a character arc of learning fascism is bad, or that he has other visuals where he's wearing different outfits. I also got messages from fans of the series who thanked me for giving the character a chance. This made me feel comfortable in being a "neutral party". However with the notes I felt that I should "do this right" which unfortunately led to me doing the exact opposite.

I deleted the original poll, where 70% were in favor of disqualifying him. I didn't think it was a big deal since it had only been up a few minutes, but this was yet another mistake. I made a new poll, which included info that had been told to me since the previous poll. But the problem was that what I had actually written was not good. It was almost midnight at this point, so while I tried to remain a "neutral party" I ended up having the info show a very clear bias. And considering the character in question, people began to wonder why I was trying so hard to keep him in the poll. This led to many replies on the poll that began to overwhelm me. I was starting to realize the mistakes I had made and just how deep of a pit I had dug myself in. I panicked. I turned off replies and deleted all the ones on that were on the poll so that I could say everything I wanted to say interrupted. This backfired, and led to people going to the reblogs instead. And me deleting all the replies looked BAD. While I was trying to get the things I wanted to say out the post had spread. Spread even outside of the people who normally know this account. People who knew nothing of the history and structure of this blog, who thought that I had seen a character who was a Nazi and thought "sure come right in" and I was now trying desperately to keep him in.

This understandably made people very mad when that was their perception. Many many people were saying terrible hurtful things to me. Their heart was in the right place but even now I do not agree with the kind of harassment some stooped to. At this point I was in a full blown panic attack. Every bit of damage control dug me deeper into the pit. I decided that I needed to deal with this situation with a clear head so that I didn't make more mistakes in a panic. I deleted the poll about Lance's elimination and went to bed.

That brings us to this morning. I have announced that Lance is disqualified, and deleted the original poll containing him. I promise you all that I will try my hardest to prevent anything like this from happening again on my blog. I want to make things as right as I can. And I hope now you all will believe me when I say that I am not a Nazi, or an antisemite, I'm just a privileged idiot who made some dumb mistakes.

[cosmal]

happy 700 love!!! for the post break up prompts, can i request the 8th one (about a family wedding and almosts) with steve?

ily also can it have a happy ending

A smart woman | Steve Harrington

summary :: your grandmother thought you were gonna marry that boy. you have to tell him, drunk and at midnight. a month after your break-up.

anon anon anon!!! this was the one I wanted to do and with steve!! so we think so alike. so thank u!!!! i did have too much fun writing this so it’s a bit longer than my normal blurbs.

warnings/tags :: she/her pronouns, fem!reader, tiny mention of throwing up, drunk!reader, allusions to SA, basically steve jumps to conclusions when you’re just upset and dirty from a long walk.

Was the wedding after-party being two blocks from Steve Harringtons' house too good to be true? Or were you just pathetic?

Was it two blocks? Could’ve been three, or five. You’re not completely sure. After downing an inappropriate amount of wine coolers, the eighth one swinging from one hand, your strappy heels in the other, time was completely lost on you.

If Hopper were to drive past right now, he’d definitely have to take you home. Luckily not the precinct to sleep it off. Hopefully, you thought.

Leaving the wedding seemed an amazing idea at the time. The subconscious urge to head to Steve’s house didn’t feel stupid at all in your drunken haze. Now, with cuts along your feet from the unforgiving gravel and wind-bitten, flushed cheeks, you were half-regretting it, half-wanting to get to his house even quicker.

“Y/N, dear. Where’s that arm candy you were supposed to be bringing along tonight?” Your Grandma had asked you, two champagnes deep. You could tell she had been wanting to ask you ever since you had shown up alone. You’d expected her to bite her tongue off.

“Who? Steve?” You had feigned obliviousness. Acting as if it wasn’t a big deal. Truly, it wasn’t. You didn’t miss him one bit.

Not when your sister had shown up with a date. Not when, no matter where you looked, everyone seemed to have a partner linked through their arms or pressed to their lips. Even your six-year-old cousin seemed to have a cute little boy she was following around all night.

Not even when the bride and groom kissed did you miss Steve. Not even when tears had welled in your eyes and you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom for thirty minutes.

“Yes, Steve. He was quite the charmer. If I knew you weren’t going to be showing up with him, I would’ve asked him myself.” She chuckled. You had the decency in you to not laugh along with her.

“Oh, he…” You’d choked on oncoming tears you thought you had controlled, the lump in your throat felt as though it had grown tenfold. “We broke up.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. You two did really seem like a match made in heaven. I’d have thought it would've been you two at the end of that aisle next.” She truly didn’t mean any harm in her words. You had gushed to her about how much you loved him not only a month prior. You actually were supposed to bring him here tonight.

You had lasted all of two mundane rounds of small talk with relatives you didn’t care for before you had up and left.

You really did think the walk would be quick. It was longer than you had anticipated. You don’t remember there being this many hills. It was okay though.

You thought it was okay until you were standing on his landing, with no security light to illuminate your path. You trip on his door mat, causing you to fall very unceremoniously right into his front door. A loud crack follows when you drop your glass bottle. Wine cooler sprays up your pretty dress. You rub your cheek where it came into contact with the wood and you were beginning to regret showing up so drunk, and so late.

You knew he would be awake. No matter how late it seemed. His parents were clearly away, no surprise there, and you knew his house to be so lonely and terrifying at times. He struggled to sleep these days. Especially after everything that’s happened.

Steve walks down his stairs as quietly as possible, bat held in both hands and floating above his shoulder. It isn’t until he stops in front of his door, and hears a few sniffles and, shits and fucks does he almost relax. He has a half idea who it could be.

He reaches for the doorknob, still ready for anything to be outside, firm but hesitant. When he hears you say,

“Fuck, he’s gonna kill me.” Your shaky voice prompts him to open the door.

Your glassy eyes widen at his appearance and you look so sad it almost makes him forget how out of place it is for you to be here. You look at the bat and he lowers it quickly, settling it against the wall.

“Y/N? What are you..?” He looks at your wet dress that’s clinging to your legs and the dark tracks of mascara down your cheeks and his worry worsens. He isn’t sure what would’ve been worse. A demobat, ready to shred him to pieces, or you looking so lost on his front steps. He thinks he knows which one.

“Steve.” You blink, arms moving to fold over your front. Clutching the silk of your dress. “Steve.” You repeat with more cadence, “Fuck. I’m so, so sorry. I just. I don’t know what- I didn’t mean to.”

Steve starts to feel dizzier than you look, trying to catch your rambling words, “Woah, Y/N. Calm down. Breathe, okay?”

You bite your tongue, harder than he’d like to see, worrying you’d draw blood and could see you trying to even out your breathing. Maybe even holding it. You slam your eyes shut and he looks down.

A pattern of glass and wine sprayed across his steps, your red heels lying in the grass behind you. Your bare feet inches from the shards of glass.

Steve doesn’t know what to do. To say he’s shocked is an understatement. You hadn’t spoken in at least a month. Granted, he’d wanted to.

Wanted to reach out to you every time he got off the phone with Dustin and he stared at his receiver, your phone number one that was seared into his brain.

Every time he saw you at the supermarket, wondering who the flowers were for that were swinging from your hessian bag. Every time he saw you talking to Robin, wondering why you were checking out so many movies. Who had you been watching them with?

You were both so good at avoiding each other and it gave him, probably too much time, alone with his thoughts. Forming sentences and thinking of what if’s.

And now you’re here, on his goddamn front doorstep, looking sadder than he’s ever seen you. Sadder than the day you broke up. And he doesn’t know what to do.

“Are you okay?” He finally asks, also holding his breath.

“Um.” You don’t know how to reply. You don’t know why you’re here and what to do. You think you’re an idiot. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make such a mess. I just sort of ended up here.”

“You walked?” Steve’s eyes widen. Steve also thinks you’re an idiot. Though with more love than you’d showed yourself.

“Yeah.” You nod and stray bits of once sprayed down hair fall into your eyes.

You move to brush them away and step to the side. Steve watches your steps with wary eyes as you inch closer to the glass.

You step again and with quick hands, Steve moves out to grab you. Holds your shoulders with a firm, but never cruel grip and you gasp.

You both stand there, balancing. “Glass.” He looks down and you swallow.

“Can I come inside? It’s cold.” You laugh. And then hiccup and Steve almost smiles too.

He’d never say no to you. Not before and not now. Though he doesn’t say yes either. Just ushers you inside, closes the door and promises himself to clean the mess once he’s figured out what to do with you.

You stand in his front entrance, padding on bare feet like you’ve never been to his house before. It pains him. You look so out of place more than he’s ever felt in his own home.

“Thank you.” You say slowly as he moves you into his kitchen and sits you down on one of the many bar stools. Your feet swing over the edge and you’re thankful to be off them. Blisters and cuts littered everywhere.

“Are you okay?” Steve leans on the opposite wall, an appropriate but also foreign length of space between you. It feels cold and you wish he’d move closer. Your fingers tingle, wanting nothing more than to reach out and grab the hem of his shirt to pull him in.

“I don’t know.” You hiccup. It wouldn’t take a genius to realise how drunk you were.

Steve looks at you again, a rip in your dress right above your hip bone, and mud and grass along the hem a few inches where it rests above your ankles. Your smudged makeup and tear stains causes a twisting in his stomach. “What’s happened?”

You don’t know. “I don’t know.”

He frets further. “Were you with someone?”

“What?” You raise your head and look at him with pinched eyebrows.

“Tonight. Were you with anyone?” He asks again and it clicks in your drunken mind.

“What? No, Steve. I was at a wedding.” You put him at ease and his shoulders lower. Not that he was asking to be an overprotective, jealous ex-boyfriend. But your appearance had him thinking stupid things.

He remembers the wedding you had told him about months ago. He then remembers he was supposed to attend. With you.

“Oh.” He says mournfully.

You can see him taking in your appearance, “It was a rough walk.”

There’s a thick and palpable silence settled over the both of you. Words are lost on Steve and so are all thoughts. He watches your feet swing and cringes at the blisters.

“How was it?” He asks. Not sure what else to say.

You blink. “Hmm?”

“The wedding. It was good?”

You don’t lie to him, “No. It was awful.”

“Oh?”

You snort, “Do you remember my Grandmother?” You ask and he nods. He remembers her with great fondness. She was lovely, and nicer to him than his own mother.

“She uh…” You laugh, almost bitterly and Steve frowns, “She thought it would’ve been us getting married next.” You probably wouldn’t have relayed anything your grandmother had said if you were sober.

Steve swallows, words even more lost than earlier and his throat hurts. Your grandmother was a smart woman. Because he really would’ve asked you to marry him if everything hadn’t gone to shit. Something that makes his heart ache and it’s the last thing he thinks about every night before he eventually falls asleep.

“She’s clearly senile.” You smile weakly and it crumples almost immediately. You can tell he doesn’t know what to say and you almost regret telling him. God, what are you doing? “Shit, okay. I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to fuck up your night.”

“What? What do you think I would’ve been doing for you to ruin my night?” Steve leans off the wall and you hold your breath. Maybe he shouldn’t be so close, lest he does actually reach out for you and you freeze. He wouldn’t though, you're sure of it.

“Well, I’m sure you weren’t expecting to see me.” You say sheepishly and lean backwards. Steve watches you widen the gap again with sad eyes.

“Well, no.” He huffs, “But it’s okay.”

“Really?” Your voice is quiet but he can still hear you.

“Yeah.” There’s a different meaning behind his reply but you can’t place it. Was he actually wanting to see you?

You shiver at the thought. Steve sees this,

“Are you still cold?”

You cross your arms, “I’m okay.”

“You told me you were cold five minutes ago, Y/N.” He scolds though with little heat. “C’mon, I’ll find you something.”

You stammer, throat dry. “Steve, I’m okay. I’ll just walk home.”

Steve frowns, a pinch in his brow and a twitch above his lip, “You can’t walk home. It’s almost midnight.”

“I feel awful.”

Steve closes the gap again, more than last, “You feel sick? Do you need to throw up?”

You shake your head vehemently, and there’s a pinch in your stomach. He’s lovely. You miss him and you feel like you’ve ruined everything, “No. I feel bad for showing up here drunk.”

“It’s okay.” The gap is even smaller now and you can smell him. He smells of the cologne you bought him years ago. A bottle that he uses in very small amounts, not wanting to waste it too quickly. It smells of bergamot and patchouli and it has your head feeling funny. Along with the smell that comes with laying in his bed. Fresh linen and the lavender softener you had also gotten him to use after his mum had never taught him how to clean. Even when he’s had to do everything himself since he was thirteen.

“It’s not. I’m really sorry.” You can’t meet his gaze, not that you’d had much luck with doing so this entire time.

“Hey, stop.” Finally, he touches you. His knuckle hooks under your chin with a softness he always uses with you. You swallow as he brushes the small patch of skin along your jaw. You wonder if his skin is as hot as yours feels. If his heart is racing just as quick. “It's fine. Truly. Okay? I’d rather you have come here than somewhere else.”

Despite the excruciatingly long month of being apart, his touch ignites something in you. Like a blossoming flower in the pit of your tummy. Unravelling weeks of trying to move on from something you never saw ending. Something you didn’t really understand why it had ended. You think that’s what hurt most. The not knowing. It left you with too many questions and absolutely no answers.

“Steve.” You’re not sure what you’re trying to achieve by saying his name, but it feels right.

"I know." That. That is what you didn't want. Fresh hope, ready to be squashed. It's probably why it took you to be inebriated to see him again.

"Come on, you don't have to stay here. I'll drive you home." He says, fingers pressing into your skin. You can't find it in yourself to lean into or pull away from his touch. Luckily, Steve does the thinking for you and pulls away his hand to grab his keys from the bench behind you.

You shiver again, probably from the lack of his warming touch and he points at you, "Wait there. I'll be back."

Steve rushes up the stairs and rummages through his drawers for a jumper for you. The drive to yours is no longer than ten minutes, but you're cold and Steve has game. He has his girl to win back. He can't find the one you'd left the last time you were here, god knows it's crumbled in a ball under his pillow, so he decides to grab you one of his. Bold, but he sees himself as a bold guy.

He rushes back down to find you exactly where he left you, still shielding yourself from everything. He offers the yellow clothing with an outstretched hand and a warm smile.

"What's this for?" You question, but don't yet take it from him.

He offers it further, "I know you're cold."

You take it from him probably too willingly, the material soft and familiar under your fingers. He knows it’s your favourite, it was on you more than him.

You thank him as you pull it over your head, it looks ridiculous over your dress, swallowing the material a little awkwardly. But Steve thinks you’re an image in his clothes. He has to look away from you before it all gets too much.

When you both walk out to his car he has to fight the urge to grab your hand. A habit he still obviously hasn’t fallen out of. It makes his hands itch.

The drive is silent and you can't take your eyes off him. Bright lights of the streetside lamps wash him white, waving over his face and down his chest in a calming rhythm. He swallows and you think he can feel you staring but you selfishly can't look away. Your eyes trace every feature you thought you'd forgotten somehow. As if they'd change if you weren't there to observe them.

The mess of his eyebrows that are always tickled by his swooping hair. The beauty marks scattered across his face, especially the one you loved the most right above his cupid's bow, almost bleeding into the plush of his lips. You loved to kiss it and wanted to this very moment if it were natural.

Steve was begging for you to look away from him just so he could do his own selfish admiring. Reckless, staring at your ex-girlfriend whilst being behind the wheel. But the side of his face is burning where your eyes have settled for the past five minutes and he wants it to be his turn to make you squirm. He wants to pull over and admire you and count your eyelashes until he’s bored. Which would be never. He'd stare at you for a stupid amount of time, in a non-weird, completely adoring way.

He pulls up to your house in record-breaking time. If the record was for the slowest drive to your ex-girlfriend's house ever. It’s over before he wants it to be, but you need to get home and sleep. And a guy still hopelessly in love with said ex-girlfriend shouldn't be pining this hard over her, especially when he thinks she doesn't love him like she used to.

"This the one?" He laughs and you blink, remembering yourself. You smile a little too hard, afraid of being caught.

"I'd hope so." You chuckle.

He notices the lack of lights on inside your house. You're alone tonight just like he had been. "You gonna be okay?"

You reach for your seatbelt and it unbuckles with a quiet click. Shushing back up into its spot. "Yeah, thank you."

You turn until your elbow is pressed into the door and Steve stammers. "Do you- Do you want me to come inside?" He asks with only care in his heart. Nothing else. He thinks you know that.

You smile warmly and your eyes soften, "I'll be okay, Steve."

"Yeah. I- I know." He smiles too, though not as convincing as you.

You move to pull his sweatshirt off and he stops you with a gentle pull of the worn material, "Don't. Leave it on, please." He almost pleads.

"I need to shower, Steve." You laugh.

"Yeah, I know that. Just, just keep it. I know you like it."

You deflate and he lets go of the shirt, "You love it more."

"Yeah, maybe."

"I can't take it, Steve. It's your favourite."

It really is, but he loves it most when it's on you, "Okay, well. Just give it back to me next time you see me."

You almost beam, sitting bright, settled inside his clothes. Steve wishes he could take a picture of you right there. "Next time?"

"Friday. Come over and we can talk. I think we need to."

You nod, too untrustworthy of your tongue. You can't stuff this up. You won't.

You get out of the car and Steve watches your every move. He rolls down the window once it's shut. Watches you walk in your dirty dress and his sweatshirt and calls your name when you're halfway to your front steps. You turn around with a ruffle of satin and cotton, a small smile against your lips.

"What?" You call back.

"I think your Grandma was right!" The smug smile on Steve's lips is blinding and so are your eyes when you realise what he's implying.

"She's a very smart woman!"

That she is, Steve thinks. That she is.

[k-s-morgan]

Hiiii! Could you perhaps post a snippet of Atlwetd next chapter?

Hi! Yes, sure, I finally prepared something.

-----

“Can we not do this now?” Harry asked tiredly. His eyelids felt so heavy that he feared he might be physically unable to keep his eyes open. “The match starts in thirty minutes. I still need to force myself to eat something and to change. I’ve had a very bad night, and considering that I’ll have to evade Bludgers not just from Hufflepuffs but also from our own Beater while looking for the Snitch, my chances aren’t good. So I’d really appreciate it if you stopped adding yourself to my list of nuisances today!”

His outburst didn’t impress Riddle. He continued to study him, his eyes sharp and dissatisfied.

“Explain to me why you are so eager to defend some half-breed when you refuse to defend yourself,” he said. Clearly, he chose to dismiss Harry’s words altogether.

Aggravation stirred in his stomach, and Harry almost growled with it. Damn Riddle. Why could he never back off?

“Because I can take care of myself,” he snapped. The corners of Riddle’s mouth twitched.

“You had a bad night,” he echoed sardonically. “You are about to enter the field where you’ll have to evade Bludgers not just from Hufflepuffs but also from Graytwig, all the while looking for the Snitch. As you have eloquently put it, your chances aren’t good. So how exactly does that translate to you being able to take care of yourself?”

His headache grew worse. The pain pulsed in his temples, radiating unpleasant heat, and it took a huge effort to stop himself from yelling.

Sometimes it was completely impossible to deal with Riddle. He was like a dog with a bone, and he must have really hated Harry getting into trouble to protect Hagrid if he continued to harass him about it.

“Graytwig didn’t manage to knock me off my broom the last time and I won’t let him do it today,” Harry uttered through gritted teeth. His temper continued to crackle dangerously, and he knew he had to step carefully. “Hagrid is defenceless. I am not. Is that enough for you or do you—”

“You aren’t defenceless in theory,” Riddle pointed out darkly. His eyes flashed. “But as you refuse to defend yourself, I think the word fits. You haven’t followed my advice. You did nothing to make it clear that you are not to be interfered with. What do you think is going to happen today?”

That’s it.

“I don’t care!” Harry shouted. He knew that everyone who was still in the common room would hear him, but at the moment, it barely registered with him. “Let him do his worst! If Slytherin is that eager to lose, who am I to disappoint them?”

Riddle pursed his lips. Harry couldn’t tell what he was thinking and he was beyond caring. Jerking his tie in a fruitless attempt to make it look presentable, he crossed the bedroom and walked towards the stairs, bypassing Riddle. Or trying to. Because when he came close enough, Riddle grabbed him by his hand, gripping his index finger and twisting it back. His other hand wrapped around Harry’s waist, jerking him closer, and all his angry thoughts instantly vacated his mind. Harry stared, shocked into speechlessness.

Riddle was unexpectedly close. Throughout the months Harry had spent in his company, he had memorised his features well, but this close, they gained a new disturbing layer of almost supernatural beauty.

This, the arm around his waist, and the way Riddle was staring quickly sent a rush of blood to his head. Harry tried to recoil as his heart pounded unevenly, the remnants of his thoughts racing forward but failing to form any coherent conclusion.    

It was some… some mockery of an embrace. Despite the unbearable closeness, Riddle’s face remained dispassionate, his eyes calculating and cold in their assessment. Worse, he continued to crush Harry’s finger in his fist, slowly but unwaveringly bending it back.

“Have you ever tried to fly with broken bones?” he asked. “To catch the Snitch with numb fingers? How about sitting on a broom that keeps sending electric shocks through you whenever you change direction? Because these are the most innocent plans I know for a fact Graytwig has been nurturing. Are you still prepared to walk out there and ignore him?”

Blood kept roaring through Harry’s ears so loudly that it took him a while to interpret what Riddle was saying to him. Something was smouldering in his chest, in his stomach — his whole body felt on fire, and not in a good way. The confusing mix of fascination with Riddle’s face, the pain in his finger, and trepidation electrified every nerve ending he had, and all Harry wanted was to shake himself out of this daze and regain normalcy, whatever normalcy meant these days.

“I have,” he said finally. His voice came out rough, and he frowned at this. “I played Quidditch with a broken hand and I still caught the Snitch. I fell from my broom because I lost consciousness and it didn’t stop me from being ready to play again after I recovered. And if I feel that something is wrong with my broom—”

“You fell?” Riddle interrupted him. He stopped his assault briefly, but his grip remained unyielding, and Harry almost hissed in pain. “From that height? That is blatant suicide. I assume you survived because I caught you with my magic.”

“What?” Harry’s frown deepened. “You didn’t. It was Dumbledore.”

The brief flare of surprise on Riddle’s face mirrored his confusion. He almost made a step back, although his grip on Harry’s waist only tightened.

“Why wouldn’t I catch you?” he wondered slowly. “You could have died.”

“I don’t know, but you didn’t!” For a moment, Harry felt genuinely dismayed, but then the awareness flooded him, and he swallowed back more words that were swirling on the tip of his tongue.

What was wrong with him? Of course Riddle hadn’t caught him — Riddle didn’t exist in his world, there was only Voldemort!

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” he added awkwardly. “I survived. And the point is, I really doubt that Graytwig can do anything new to surprise me. I’m not going to attack him first just to maybe prevent something I can deal with.”

Riddle’s eyes narrowed. Something dangerous flickered there, and then he jerked Harry’s finger back with such malicious force that the bone snapped. Harry cried out, half in pain, half in surprise. The same moment, Riddle finally let him go, stepping back and watching him silently.

Clenching his teeth to avoid making any new sounds, Harry stared at his finger in angry disbelief. It was broken, no doubts here. Right before his match. Why would Riddle keep warning him about Graytwig just to go ahead and attack him himself?

He didn’t know what to do about it. Confusion and shock paralysed him briefly, and Harry glanced at Riddle, cradling his hurt hand against his chest.

How was he supposed to respond? By attacking Riddle back? But… it was just a finger. It felt strange to curse Riddle over this. Punching him would definitely be satisfying, but Harry wasn’t sure he could do it as long as they weren’t involved in an active confrontation.

Sending Riddle a glare, he turned away and stormed from the dormitory, skipping over some stairs to put more distance between them faster. To his frustration, Riddle followed him.

Some Slytherins were still loitering in the common room, including Graytwig. He gave Harry a long derisive stare, and the hostile challenge in it instantly proved that Riddle had been telling the truth. Graytwig was planning something, emboldened by Harry’s lack of reaction.

Disgust welled up inside him, and Harry walked to the door, too fed up to stay here a second later. With the corner of his eye, he saw Riddle emerge. Everyone immediately fell silent. Ignoring them, Riddle traced Harry’s steps, moving towards the exit, but when he reached Graytwig, he paused, subjecting him to a long, chilling stare.

“Do not,” he warned. Without waiting for a reply, he crossed the rest of the distance and opened the door, giving Harry an expectant look.