#looks dope as fuck on her too

[blujayonthewing]

Hi friend! What are your 3 favourite things you've ever made?

GREAT QUESTION I gotta chew on this one...!

I think number one favorite might be my Red Robe; I wish it had pockets, but it's super comfy and I drafted the entire pattern myself

honestly I REALLY love this spiral earring I made for my Caduceus cosplay; I like to just wear it around, the only reason I don't more often is that it's held together with magnets and I'm afraid I'll lose it

third might beeee the cloak of the manta ray? I drafted this pattern completely from scratch AND designed the gold accents myself where you can't see them in the DMG illustration AND the whole outer layer is waterproofed so it sheds water, I'm really proud of it

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

Yes, I don't actually expect you to have the full use of your legs if you casually use my laptop.

There is a short in the power adapter I have so it is going to end up shocking you and making your legs quiver. In this case you can count on me to keep pushing you up to the desk even if you just keep sliding back down.

[greatunironic]

eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.

so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.

he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.

because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.

eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.

(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)

when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”

then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?

he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.

“you’re alive,” she says.

eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”

“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”

he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.

“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.

“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—

“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.

“maybe not.”

“don’t lie.”

“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”

“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”

“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”

“speaking from experience?”

“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”

“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“

“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

“at the frozen four.”

“yeah, sure, that too.”

“what?”

“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”

“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”

“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.

eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”

“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”

“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.

the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”

“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”

steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“

“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“

“so,” says steve.

“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.

“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”

“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”

“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”

“coach! go time!”

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“COACH!”

he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”

“pick me up in twenty?”

“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.

someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”

with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.

“damn,” he says quietly.

“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.

“how long have you been there?” he asks.

she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”

“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”

“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve and Gareth as cousins warm up, part two! 

First part is HERE. 

Next part is HERE. 

Reminder: Someone on Twitter proposed Steve and Gareth as cousins whose family had a major falling out, and then someone else brought it up recently and long story short no idea who to credit the idea too bc you can’t search for SHIT on Twitter but it's theirs not mine.

Warnings: Steve and Robin Get (canon-S3) Drugged. 

"I'm just saying the other theater is cheaper." Eddie said around the straw jammed in his mouth. 

He carried the largest bucket of popcorn Starcourt’s movie theater offered, alongside the two boxes of candy he'd also demanded Gareth buy him. 

"Easier to sneak into, you mean." Gareth corrected, with his significantly smaller bag of popcorn. His, he planned to share with Jeff, Grant having snuck in his own food. 

Gareth himself would have snuck in the cheaper (and far larger) snacks, but Eddie had thrown a fit about going to the mall to see a new movie instead of Hawkin’s far older theater. 

Of course, the older theater also had several disadvantages, key of which was terrible seating, and so, Gareth had bribed him with whatever treats he wanted. 

His wallet took a hit but fuck it, at least they got to actually see the screen. 

Not that they even made it into the fucking theater, because someone chose that moment to crash into Eddie. 

Popcorn kernels and soda flew everywhere, with Eddie only avoiding it landing on him and Gareth both by years of dealing with this exact bullshit in school. Of course, the mall wasn’t school, and neither of them had their guard up. 

"What the hell man--" Eddie spat, immediately on the defense, as they both turned to see what jackass wanted to cause problems this time. 

Except Gareth had recognized the person who bumped him. 

"Steve?" Gareth asked, causing  his cousin to totter around and face him. He was in his Scoops Ahoy uniform, which remained to be absolutely ridiculous, but that hadn't been what had drawn Gareth's attention. 

No, that would be the absolute wrecked face staring at him with a doped up grin. 

All thoughts of the movie immediately faded away. 

"What happened to your face!?" Gareth demanded, immediately stepping up into his cousin's space, eyes darting over the damage. 

Recent black eye, split lip, blood splatter all down one side of his neck, nevermind his clothes… 

"Robs!" Steve called over his shoulder instead of answering, body moving as if he was walking on a wildly rocking boat and not solid ground. "Come 'ere!" 

He beamed, which had the horrific effect of resplitting his lips. "Meet Gareth, my baby cousin!" 

"I am two years younger than you." Gareth argued on automatic. He didn’t look to see how Eddie took this little piece of info--he’d figure out what he’d say later, when Steve wasn’t covered in blood. 

It did not stop Robin from reaching out to pinch his cheeks. 

She too, Gareth realized, was clearly high on something, both of them giggling and weaving on their feet. 

At least Robin didn’t appear to be hurt--or at least, not hurt as badly as Steve. 

"What the hell did you two take?" Gareth demanded, looking between them as he quickly put his popcorn back off to the side. 

"We didn't take anything, dad." Steve said bossily, rolling his eyes. He spoke in a voice so unlike himself that Gareth knew his own face was doing something crazy. 

Not that he could stop it because what the hell. 

"What my patriotic friend here means is that we don't know." Robin added, smacking a hand onto Steve’s shoulder. 

(The entire sentence was slurred and sounded like she'd shoved candy in her mouth before she started talking.) 

"You don't know?!” Gareth asked, taking in the way Steve flinched when Robin touched him. Added a mental note to check his cousin's shoulder too. “How do you not know?" 

Gareth wasn't panicking, he wasn't, except he absolutely fucking was. Steve's dad was going to kill him, disown him, and throw the body out of his house--in that exact order. 

Gareth’s parents wouldn’t take him in, not unless his mom felt she could use it to one up her sister in some way which meant that Gareth was going to have to sneak Steve in and out of the house like he was some--some puppy Gareth was trying to keep and--

"Did someone give you two something?" Eddie asked, interrupting Gareth’s spiraling. 

"Give is a very strong word." Steve said with a snicker. 

Robin nodded so much she looked like a bobble head. She leaned in, nearly falling into Gareth in the process. “In fact it’s not the word I’d use at all! I’d use…” She trailed off, screwing her eyes up in thought. 

“Made us?” Steve suggested as Gareth finally gave in to his instincts and reached out to steady his cousin. “Forced us?” 

“Socked it to us!” Robin added with a weird amount of glee, and the two of them once again collapsed into giggles.

Literally, forcing Gareth to try and steady them both. 

Which meant Eddie was right--they’d been drugged. It made perfect sense-- Steve wasn’t the kind to experiment with drugs beyond weed. Had in fact, given a very long lecture about how he’d make Gareth go on runs with him if he ever found out Eddie had given him anything stronger than weed. 

There was no way he’d change now, and especially not around a jobsite. Particularly one as busy as the mall. 

"You can't tell anybody." Robin continued, eyes so wide they were more white than pupils. "But we got truth serumed!" 

As if that made any fucking sense. 

Gareth turned a half frantic, half disbelieving look to Eddie--whose own face scared him almost as badly as Steve's did. 

He was hiding it, and doing a good job of doing so, but Eddie was the one person Gareth knew better than Steve. 

Right now? Eddie Munson was furious. 

Not mad, or upset, or even as pissed as he had been the time Tommy Hagan had thrown his drug box in the river. 

He was enraged. 

"Hey." He said, and the only thing more shocking than realizing Eddie was this mad was hearing him talk in a calming, almost playful voice. "Sounds like you two sailors had a pretty rough time. Why don't we go to the bathroom and get you both cleaned up? I bet you'll feel a little better." 

It was clearly the right move, because both of them looked downright delighted. 

"He thinks we're sailors!" Steve said, cupping a hand around his mouth and leaning to talk in Robin’s ear as if he was whispering. (He wasn’t.) 

Robin’s grin grew impossibly wider, before Eddie stepped forward to help Gareth half guide half herd the two into the nearest bathroom. 

"I know you." Robin said, squinting dramatically as Eddie opened the door with his regular flair, bellowing for anyone in the place to get out. 

It was Steve's turn to nod enthusiastically. "That's Eddie, Robbie." He said.

"I'm honored King Steve knows such a humble peasant's name." Eddie bowed as Gareth finally got both Steve and Robin into the bathroom, trying to get them to sit on the floor before they fell on their asses. 

Which just made a hurt expression appear on Steve's face. "’Course I do. You have really pretty hair." 

It had the effect of making Eddie look like he’d been punched and Gareth had to quickly turn his bark of laughter into a cough. 

"I bet it's soft.” Steve continued, as he pressed his back against the tiled wall and slowly slid down to the floor. “Gare, is it soft?" 

"It's very soft." Gareth agreed, trying to wet a paper towel with shaking hands. Finally he gave up entirely, ripping the plaid sweater he had tied around his waist and shoving one of the sleeves into the sink. 

“Oh my god.” Robin said abruptly, sitting up from her own slouched spot on the floor as if she’d suddenly been stricken sober. “It’s him! He’s your type!” 

“What’s my type?” Steve turned to her, as Eddie leaned his back against the door to the bathroom, blocking anyone else from entering. 

“It’s like--like Nancy! But boy Nancy.” Robin seemed to think this made a ton of sense, and given Steve’s immediate groan maybe it did to him, but Gareth was too freaked out to even begin to process what the hell they were on about.

Probably nothing, given they’d been drugged. 

Eddie seemed to pick up on his general anxiety and poor attempts at shoving down his own freakout, because he gently called out Gareth’s name. 

“I think it’s wet enough.” He added with a raised eyebrow. His eyes drifted purposefully to the sink and with a curse, Gareth snapped shut the water off. 

His hands were still shaking. 

“Give it to me.” Eddie said gently, moving to take the shirt from Gareth’s hands. “Here, swap me Gare, and guard the door.” 

Gareth did, as Eddie knelt down to take Steve’s chin in one hand, and carefully began dapping his wounded face with the wet sleeve. 

“May I ask what battles you two sailors have been involved in?” He said, continuing to sound like playful, fun Eddie and not like he was about to murder half the town (which, Gareth could tell by body language alone, is what Eddie actually felt like) “Did you happen to catch a glimpse of the villains who did this?"

“Robin melted into Steve, rubbing her face in his shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe us.” 

Eddie smiled his most charming smile, a full blown rouge grin he played up as he continued to wipe and dab at Steve’s wounds. “You’d be surprised at what I believe in, my fair lady.” 

Steve tried to talk, but ended up hissing as he ran into Eddie’s fingers. 

“Russians.” He managed to get out, when Eddie quickly took the sleeve away so he could talk. “We got kidnapped by fucking Russians. Also we kinda saw some shit and they’re after us. Possibly you now if they saw you with us.” 

There was the briefest of pause as Steve and Robin stared at Eddie, as Eddie stared back. 

Then Steve and Robin as one started howling with laughter, so hard that Robin’s head ended up in Steve’s lap with Steve’s own head resting on hers. 

Eddie turned to give Gareth a pinched look. “Russians.” He said, still calm despite it all. “Right.” 

Which had to be the fucking drugs speaking. 

Gareth just took a deep breath as Eddie managed to gently prod Steve back into putting his chin in his hand, shaking his head ever so slightly. 

He didn’t know who he was going to actually have to murder, but at least Eddie looked to be on board with acting as his backup. 

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

BABY GIRL

Pairing - Jackson Rippner x fem!reader

Summary - Jackson likes to keep you doped up for both of your safety.

Warnings - Non-con, dub-con, drugging, manipulation, degrading, p in v, edging.

Word count - 1.9k+

Notes - Guess who wanted to work on one of her WIP's but decided to watch Red Eye and just had to write another one about my favourite boy.

You laid on the bed, completely naked against his body, he only wore his boxers, your left leg draped over his hips, his hand slowly caressing your back as your face was pressed up against his lean bare chest. 

The audio of the television was muffled, your sight blurred as you slowly breathed in and out. The sheets were hardly covering your flesh, but you were too dazed to pay attention to it. The sensation of his large fingers caressing your tender skin was enough to earn gentle moans from your soft lips. His cold blue eyes watched you like a hawk. Almost skeptical that you would commence a ploy against him, despite your doped state. 

Jackson Rippner was fascinated by you. The moment he saw you, he knew that you would be his. It was unfortunate with the circumstances you met under. Star crossed lovers in his opinion, a bit of a spiced uniqueness to your relationship.  

You were assigned to investigate him for terrorism. Many times you were warned about your high levels of ambition, your eagerness put you in danger. But you were always too stubborn to listen to your superiors. 

“Jackson” you murmured against his chest, almost drooling. He sighed lightly, his hand rubbing circles around your lower back. 

“Yes baby?” He asked softly, there was silence for a brief moment. Jackson waited patiently for you to respond as you raised your heavy head. 

“Are you going to keep me drugged up forever” you slowly questioned, your eyes ached to stay open, your thoughts blurred with sweet nothings. 

There was this blank, emotionless stare from him. As he was questioning himself, he really did wonder what he’d do with you in the long run. The thought of him keeping you mindless for the rest of your days made the blood rush to his cock. Only being mentally capable to muse the thought of him touching, fucking, loving you. 

But then he also wanted to take you out for an expensive dinner, vacate at a ski resort, hold you from behind as you cook him a loving homemade meal. Jackson never considered himself a romantic, but different people create a better you. The idea of having a life as one together made his heart flutter. 

“No baby girl” he answered eventually. 

“When will you stop” you breathed out, a small smile on your lips, a thread of hope. There was a small grin on his lips as his hands gently rubbed your hips. 

“When I know you’ll be a good girl for me” Jackson mocked, pulling you completely over his hips to saddle him. 

“I am a good girl” you countered, your head felt heavy yet your thoughts light. 

“Because you’re drugged up” he laughed softly, his large hand caressing your cheek as your face fell limp on him. 

“Touché” you snorted and he patted your cheek a couple of times. Sluggestly, you lifted your head back up, looking at him with innocent eyes. “Please sir, I promise to be good” you assured, but your small smile was all so devilish. 

That title always got the blood flowing to his cock. You could already feel his size growing underneath you. 

“Really? You cross your heart, hope to die, type of promise?” Jackson razzed, flashing you a toothy grin as his fingers slowly moved closer to your core.

“Yes sir” you promised, batting your eyes towards him. 

“Oh baby girl, how can I be so sure?” He toyed, titling his head to you. 

The scratches on his face were faint. Whenever he sobered you up, you were quick to get in every shot you could at him. However, you were foolish not to carefully plan out your scheme to escape, or as you preferred to do, attempting to kill him. 

“Because I love you cock Jacky” you moaned, his fingers toying with your clit. 

Within a blink, Jackson had flipped you onto your back. Holding your throat down against the mattress and huffing, flaring his teeth at you. “What did I tell you?” He snarled, his thumb rubbing over your chin.  

“You hate being called Jacky” you choked out, but you were still grinning at him. 

“And I thought you wanted to be a good girl” he pouted to you. 

“I do” you almost sang, coughing at the restriction to your throat. 

“Fix your mistake then” Jackson ordered calmly. 

“Because I love your cock, sir” you choked out, emphasizing the correction. With the release of your throat, Jackson sighed. 

“That’s a good whore” Jacksont grinned at you, flexing his hips forward. You pouted to him. “My good whore” he corrected himself, dropping his lips onto your neck.

It was pointless, trying to deny the sensation Jackson always brought over your body. It was too much effort to try to hide the pleasure he always bathed you in. 

This is where you belonged, underneath him, figuratively and literally. 

In small circular motions, his tongue swished over your heated skin, his hands ran slowly up and down your torso, his fingers playfully scratching at your nerves, his stubble tickled you. Your arms gradually enveloped around his back, your fingernails scraping at his skin lightly. 

“I’ll always take care of you baby girl. You know that right?” Jackson asked as he pushed his boxers down enough to free his throbbing length. 

“Yes, Jackson” you breathed out, laying your head back carelessly. 

“Could have gotten you killed, interfering with my business, like a little fucking brat. But I saved you…” Jackson grinned as he lined himself up with your gushing entrance.  

“No Jackson” you shook your head, moaning out softly as he gently pushed himself inside of you. 

“Who are you lying to?” Jackson snorted as he rested himself completely inside of our canal.

“This isn’t living” you countered, your hands rising up to the back of his neck, your legs raising up to your hips in unison.

Jackson couldn’t help but to laugh as his hips snapped back and forward. His lower lip was stuck in between his teeth as he searched for the perfect pace and speed.

“For someone who is constantly high, you sure as hell are conscious” he remarked, his hands holding onto your sides.

“I was always smarter than you” you murmured, biting onto your lower lip. 

Jackson laughed gently as his teeth nipped at your earlobe. 

“Yet look at where you are now. Be my good girl, I want to spoil you rotten. Don’t you want those things?” He toyed, his fingers rubbing your sensitive bud. 

“Yes Jackson” you answered emotionlessly. 

Most of the time it was easier to give him what he wanted, your complete submission. You were always so weak, tired, feeling out of body. The effect his touch had on your body was the biggest punishment. If you weren’t always so high, you’d be heavily humiliated with how badly you craved him. The control he had over your body was frightening, he was your puppeteer, always pulling on your strings despite how desperately you tried to cut yourself free. 

“I want to give you the world” he professed as he found the perfect rhythm to fuck you to. 

“I want to kill you” you whined out, face twitching as the high stimulation took over full steam ahead.

“No you don’t, you could never do such a thing” he mumbled, his hands pinning yours above your head. 

“But I’ve tried” you groaned as he hit your cervix. 

“And that’s okay” he assured you, kissing you in a sloppy manner as if to comfort your distressed thoughts. “You’re learning to be my good girl, yeah?” Jackson asked, teasing your bundle of nerves as he kept your pleasure swimming by the edge. 

“Yes Jackson” you shamefully admitted, your eyes swelled with tears as his thrusts became more painful. 

His mouth fell open into a large smirk at the sight of you crying. It was one of his favorite looks of yours. Over mere seconds, your tears formed into a stream as you sobbed underneath him. The clarity of your predicament washed over you once more. 

“Yeah, you’re so fucking pathetic. Acting like a tough, stuck up bitch. But you’re nothing but a little whore for cock, my cock to be precise” he grunted, feeling your walls clench around his throbbing size.

The sounds of your troubled moans always felt like a melody to him. The mixture between your logical and sensual thoughts left you in shame. Jackson kissed you deeply, your mouth was wide open but you refused to kiss him back. The taste of your tears made him growl like a wolf.

“Fuck, your director would be so disappointed in you. Everyone thinks you’re fucking dead. So get the stupid thoughts of breaking free out of that little mind of yours” he sneered, his free hand holding your chin in place as you tried to turn your head to the side. 

“Stop talking Jackson” you whimpered, desperately trying to focus on the pleasure and not his taunting words. 

“No one is looking for you. I have no tails, nobody cares about me. Only you did, you felt it too from the beginning, just like I did, our connection” he grinned as his balls slapped against your entrance. 

“Shut up Jackson” you whined as you felt your climax build. 

But Jackson loved watching you cry. It was amusing to watch your emotional strength crash, it was pleasing to look at your humiliation. A wonderful reminder of how reliable you are on him. Jackson loved to pull your strings around, to keep you on your hands and knees as he yanked you across the dirt. 

“Bet you wanted me to steal you away from your useless life. Now your biggest stress is wondering how many times you’ll get to squeeze my cock each day” he moaned out, kissing your tears away. 

“Shut the fuck up Jackson!” You screamed out as loud as you could, your weak body thrashed under him but it quickly left you exhausted. 

“Someone’s getting sober” Jackson pointed out with a grin, holding you down effortlessly. “Might just keep you tied up instead, I like your screams” he winked to you. 

“Please stop, please, please” you begged repetitively as he continued to fuck you senselessly. 

“Then tell me what I want to hear” he sighed, his hand combing back his damp hair from the sweat that trailed down his forehead.

“N-no” you shook your head, you could feel him twitch rapidly inside of you.  

You knew exactly what he wanted you to say. It was the thing you hated doing most. He always wanted you to say it when you were so close to finishing. 

“Please” he toyed, playfully begging you as he kept your built orgasm dangling from the edge.  

“Come on baby girl, make me feel good” he grunted as he smacked your rear. 

There was another weak shake of your head so Jackson held his body still inside of you. Pathetically, just like he always described you as, you whined out at the pressure built in your core. All you wanted to do right now was come undone, feel something good in this torture. But Jackson stared at you sternly, menacingly. His hands pressed down on your hips as you tried to rock yourself around him. 

“I-I love you” you admitted, your cheeks beet red. 

Instead of fucking you senselessly like you assumed he would. Jackson pulled himself out and jerked himself over you. Quickly, his white ropes of semen sprayed over your sweaty stomach. You panted, looking at the mess he made on you as your distressed expression made him chuckle silently. 

“I love you too” he replied blankly. 

As you caught your weak breath, Jackson laid his body on top of yours, his fingers touched your sensitive core, gently teasing you. You moaned out, ready to do anything to free yourself of your painful climax. 

“But so, drugged or tied?” Jackson cocked an eyebrow to you.

[hor3nee]

hor3nee, pls. pls the re2 leon and re4 leon at the same time :(

I'm so normal about this.

cw: suggestive! nsf/w! degradation, sub!re2r Leon! dom!re4og Leon! dp!

Re4og Leon and re2r Leon at the same time? Boy are you in for it. You'll be getting whiplash from the mixed treatment on both sides, re4og Leon is mean. Says the dirtiest shit with a stupid grin, not even inside of you yet and he'll have you trembling. Wants you to whine for it, beg for it, takes his precious time to mock you. Cups your cunt and makes you rut on his hand till your panties go transparent in slick. 

"Want my dick that bad huh? You're soaking my gloves, sweetheart, didn't know you were such a slut." He'll coo, free hand palming his boner because truthfully, re4og Leon's the slut. And he needs this most of all, he's just a dick about it. Makes you work for it, needs to edge you till you're as desperate as he secretly is.  

And the poor little rookie re2 Leon, he's desperate too definitely. Precum staining his boxers, panting like a dog in heat. Sorta like a stray pup on the side as he watches you grind against re4og Leon's palm, wishing that was his cock you were wetting. But he doesn't bitch or moan about it, no he's quick to get behind you and whimper into your neck 'cause he needs it too.  

Doesn't say much either, awkward thing, very inexperienced. Not much he can work up in his brain anyway since he's too hard, just going along with whatever the older re4og Leon says. Cause that guy clearly knows his shit, got you into a puddle of lust and slick before neither of their cocks are out yet. Re2 Leon's begging too, begging you and begging the older of him to stop teasing you already because he's about to cream his pants from the sight and noises alone.

Re4og Leon's the first to stick his cock into you, pushes it through you in a swift motion without warning once he's satisfied with your desperation. Pornographic gasp as he does, giving a light tap to your hips that he's gripping for dear life so you can wrap them around his waist.  

"Takin' my cock so easy, huh? Fuuuck you were made to take dick." He'll snicker, even though he's the one going stupid inside your needy cunt. Practically spasming around him and he hasn't even started moving yet. Looks over your shoulder to re2 Leon who's eagerly standing behind you. "What are you waiting for? Put it in her, she can take two." 

Re2 Leon is hesitant, not sure if he's allowed to put it in. Good and obediently following along with whatever is barked at him, so he does so. Pulls his cock out and shudders as it hits your ass, grinding against it for a moment in uncertainty before he gently aligns himself where re4og Leon's cock is inside, pushing through as well. 

They're both desperate though, it's Leon still, of course. So they start fucking like rabbits in heat. Thrusting mercilessly re4og Leon looking you down with a doped smirk chanting dirty words to you, re2 Leon behind you, way more sloppily rutting inside moaning like a whore into the crook of your neck with "Thank you, thank you" and "So good, too good. Please please please," when he's nearing his climax.--

Don't think once they've finished, inside ofc, it's over. No version of Leon is going to pass up the opportunity to fuck you with only one round. <3 

[novantinuum]

Steven's Breakdown Was Inevitable From the Very Beginning

I feel like the thing that fucks me up the most about Steven Q. Universe and how well conceived he is as a character is that the fundamental building blocks of why he reached his breaking point in SU: Future were laid out as clear as day in the span of legit only the first four episodes of the original show. The writing was literally always on the wall that future him would struggle with matters of self worth and identity in relationship to the others around him.

Let's take a look:

Gem Glow

"Awesome! What are these things?"

Foundational Trauma #1: Steven's home is always either under threat or actively being wrecked by antagonistic forces/beings, and he constantly copes with this by pushing down his fear in favor of a curiosity and silver linings based mindset.

Look at his initial shock when he opens the door and gets tackled by one of these things, and then his response when one of them spits acid:

The kid's freaked the hell out about all this, and while I do think there's a part of Steven that genuinely IS curious about what these lil critters are, I think he's subconsciously using that curiosity as a way to distract himself from his own fears and anxieties. This is Steven actively learning how to ignore the deeper problems in favor of emoting a facade to the others in his life that he can totally handle himself in scary situations like these.

The underlying reason why is incredibly apparent, when you look at the example from the next episode-

Laser Light Canon

"I don't know what a magic lady like her ever saw in a plain old dope like me..."

Genuinely- from the bottom of my heart- I think the above quote from Greg is a moment where his own insecurities around the Gems actually rubbed off on Steven.

At this point in time, Steven may be living with the Gems... but he hasn't started to harness any of his powers at all, so in his own head he might as well be the same as his dad- another human, just one who happens to have a gem! But the way Greg talks about himself... given Steven was living with him in the van for years before moving in to the beach house, he had to have heard negative self-talk from his dad like this before.

And then there's the rest of the Crystal Gems... always speaking of Rose with such reverence as if she were an all-powerful goddess... and Steven can't help but look back at himself, and his gem that won't work... the gem that the others still identify as Rose's...

"Your gem-! You have Rose's gem!"

And maybe he starts to wonder if- without any working powers- he's just a plain ol' dope like his Dad, too.

"Please work... Unlock! Activate! Go! Please-!! Everyone's counting on you, you can't just be useless!"

Foundational Trauma #2: Steven has Rose's gem, and as such, is constantly living under the silent expectation to live up to a standard that he simply cannot ever hope to achieve, because he doesn't KNOW her and he never will.

I want to highlight one of Steven's expressions while his dad is talking about Rose- look at that sad look. My god, I just wanna hug him. This is the expression of a child who has already come to terms with the fact that his only relationship with his mom is through the rose tinted stories that other people tell him about her.

Cheeseburger Backpack

So. Steven has learned so far that he needs to push down his feelings and emote a false veneer of cheer and bravery even when he's afraid, because the rest of the people in his life have expectations and hopes for him due to the legacy of his parentage and he can't bear the thought of letting them down. (And in a sad way, at this point "letting them down" literally just means... being an ordinary human boy. I believe Steven at this stage of the show is flat out scared to be human, because to be human is to fail at being a Gem, and no amount of love and sacrifice in the name of humanity in the seasons to come could've ever saved him from the fundamental fact that the wedge between him and this whole half of his being was already drawn long before the events of season 1 even started. But I digress.)

Let's see where we go from there. Let's check out Steven's first "mission." Or as Pearl puts it about 35 episodes later, his first "test."

"Yeah... they can't all be winners."

This episode is tinted with a little bit of tragedy for me on rewatch, because I genuinely do think the Gems handled the situation as well as they could've. They were supportive of Steven's successful ploys, and (for the most part) responded with grace when he majorly blundered and left the Goddess Statue at home. The main problem, however, is that Steven has already developed a bit of a complex about impressing the three of them-

Foundational Trauma #3: Even when they claim otherwise, Steven has convinced himself that affection from the Gems is transactional, and that when he messes up he's not truly a part of the Crystal Gems.

Of course we the audience know this isn't true- I mean, hell, Amethyst even said as much in episode one after her slip-up ("and you're fun to have around, even if your gem IS useless!")... that the Crystal Gems wouldn't be the same without him. But Steven... the poor kid is a complicated little guy living a complicated life, and whether they intended it or not, the language used they've used around him thus far has not backed up their attempts at fully embracing him, human parentage and all.

Thus, Steven just spends the entire episode wracked with anxiety trying to find creative non-power using ways to make the mission easier so he can convince them he's useful to have around.

Look how nervous he gets even when all three of them are visibly and vocally supportive of his presence here:

This is the face of a boy who feels like he's under constant judgement and scrutiny from those around him.

Blessedly, viewing this episode in isolation, he experiences a brief moment of mental respite where he finally accepts the Gems' encouragement and agrees that his ideas 'can't all be winners,' but this lesson does not stick for him moving forward. A shame, really.

Together Breakfast

"What's the matter, Steven?" "I wanted us all to have breakfast together, so I made Together Breakfast! But everyone keeps leaving..." "Oh, that's nice..."

Taken in context with what we've learned already in the last three episodes, Steven's desperation to spend quality time with the Gems here and his sadness that they keep leaving him alone doesn't just exist within a vacuum. He spends the whole morning watching them shuffle in and out of the temple, or come back from missions he wasn't invited on, and with the disastrous result of the LAST mission he went on probably fresh in his mind it's not hard to understand why this bothers him.

Foundational Trauma #4: Steven internalizes that the price of "not being useful" is that the Gems actively ignore him, meaning that the only way to guarantee their attention is to work as hard as he can to become a stronger member of the team.

I know this screenshot is usually used as a lighthearted meme, but I wanted to include it because I think it's a good example of how Steven's intense desire to impress permeates every facet of his personality at times. Just LOOK at how desperate he is to make Garnet laugh at his joke, to be the one that's at very least "fun to have around," as Amethyst put it in episode one.

The Gems do eventually drop what they're doing to spend time with Steven by the conclusion of this episode, but this only comes after Steven shows his growing strength and "proves" himself by saving their butts from the breakfast monster.

If he successfully gained their attention in literally any other way he might've come away from this episode with a different lesson, but no. Instead, his fears were proven true- the Gems value strength and utility, and if he's not exhibiting that, then what use is he to them?

These fears of his can be seen weaving throughout the foundational fabric of the entire show, but I think Steven lays out what he sees as his "stakes" in the clearest way possible in the episode 'An Indirect Kiss.'

"But- if I don't have powers, then I can't hang out with Amethyst, or Garnet, o-or Pearl, and- I-I can't go on missions!"

And these same insecurities even rear their ugly head as late as the movie.

"I can't believe this... for the first time in years, everyone's in danger, everybody needs me, and- I'm useless!"

Powers = Utility = Worth = Other's love, for Steven. Everything is transactional to the end, which is a hilarious double standard he's set for himself when he's made his reputation as the kid who always listens and encourages and gives others a chance to change, no matter their messy history with him.

__

So let's recap and restate those foundational traumas from Steven's perspective.

One: The only way to cope when your life is constantly under threat is to bury the damage and pretend to be fine.

Two: Everyone expects you to live up to the standards of someone you're not.

Three: The Gems only love you when you're of use to them.

Four: If you ever stop being useful, the Gems won't want anything more to do with you.

In sum, Steven's habit of burying his feelings for the benefit of others was there from the very beginning, not just since 'The Test.'

Those unreachable standards he felt so daunted and intimidated by all his life were the ones set by Rose, at first... but over the course of the series, the dynamic of this shifted. As Rose's influence fell into the background, Steven's rose into the front. And so it's with great irony that- by the time of Steven Universe: Future, the expectations this exhausted, worn down teenager is fighting to once again achieve are the ones HE set for himself. Many of young Steven's selfless actions during the war are quite admirable when analyzed in isolation, but almost none of them are sustainable. He set himself on fire just to save the world, but teen Steven is genuinely unable to see this for what it is yet- as a tragic sacrifice of his own childhood. You can't burn your own ends for others forever, not at all. His breakdown was simply inevitable.

When it comes to the interconnected beliefs three and four, these are exactly why the ultimate confrontation at the end of I Am My Monster HAD to be one fueled by selfless love. Steven is at his absolute lowest at this point- he's everything he fears he's become, trapped in a form that's nearly incapable of reason. He's big and angry and spiky because that's a part of the facade- because a part of him WANTS to scare the Gems away, wants to be left alone forever, believing this the fate he deserves as price for his misdeeds.

In this form, by his own definitions he is NOT useful to the Crystal Gems at all.

But they don't care.

Because it never WAS about Steven's 'usefulness' to them, they simply love him for being Steven.

With this in mind, the conclusion of Steven Universe: Future wasn't just a salve to teen Steven's immediate struggles, it was a salve to the foundational insecurities that have been plaguing him his entire life.

And hopefully... from this point on... his family's shows of love and encouragement will be enough to finally convince Steven that he's more than worth their time...

No matter what path the future leads him on, and no matter what form he takes.

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— smoke some, drink some, pop one

pairing: vada cavell x fem!reader

warnings: smut, drug use, lesbian sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation, slight roughness, unnecessary euphoria references

summary: you smoke dope. vada admits she has never eaten a girl out before. a practical demonstration ensues

word count: 2.7k

a/n: this was written under the influence of a travis scott song. expect anything. enjoy

You stare at the clock hanging above the blackboard anxiously, kicking your leg under the desk. The last few minutes of the last period always seem to stretch miles into infinity, and your patience is barely as flexible. The voice of the teacher has long since become background noise, the talk of equations and trigonometry and the finals week and how unprepared you were for it the last thing on your mind.

You pick your phone up for the millionth time to look at the messages still hanging and marked as unseen on your screen, eyes focusing on Vada’s name followed by an emoji of a puppy and a black heart.

‘got us enough to roll one’

‘just one tho’

‘don’t wanna end up like last time’

You chuckle quietly – the sweet memories of you and Vada skinny dipping in a pond at night and then showing up half-naked at Nick’s door are definitely the ones you treasure most, even though you can barely piece them together.

You look out the window, lost in thought. Your teacher asks you a question – and then you're saved by the sound of the bell ringing across the building.

As soon as you hear it you’re up and all but bolting out the door, muttering a quick ‘bye’ to the teacher to maintain your good girl image that, to be honest, has been hanging by a thread ever since the day you started dating Vada.

Not that you really care about their opinion. You just don’t want the principal to call your mother again.

You speed walk through the corridor, try to remember which floor was Vada’s class on, before you’re stopped by a pair of hands wrapping around your waist.

“Hey there pretty girl.”

You squeal in surprise, turning around in your girlfriend’s arms. She’s grinning at you annoyingly, the little shit, but the small dimple on her right cheek makes it impossible to be mad at her.

“Fuck, Vada,” you huff, pinching her shoulder half-heartedly, “I’ve got a weak heart, remember?

She shrugs, leans in to kiss your pout away.

“Sorry. I got out early. Wanted to wait for you since apparently someone's not interested in answering any of my texts anymore.”

You kiss her back, smiling apologetically, “I was too excited to see you, I guess.”

The brunette hums, lacing her fingers with yours, “Where to then?”

You think about inviting her over to your place – it’s closer to school, and your mom is working till late evening, but the rationality clicks quicker. Your mom also happens to work as the district attorney of the town – you’re pretty damn sure she knows what pot smells like, and would be able to smell it hours after you and Vada have fucked beyond the common sense of ventilating the house.

So you do the next best thing, one that won’t get either of you in trouble – you hotbox in your girlfriend’s car. You realize it might soon become the best thing, because it hits so much better.

Vada gets greedy with the joint a few times – you have to remind her it’s puff puff pass, not puff puff kiss your girlfriend so she lets her guard down then puff again.

In a few minutes you’re in her lap and making out with her like it’s your last day on Earth, the two of you giggling into each other’s mouths when you accidentally press the horn with your butt a few times, the honking sound mixing with your laughter.

You can barely make Vada’s face out by the time the last of the joint fizzles out and starts to burn your fingertips, the smoke filling the car up to the brim, but her eyes stand out amidst the choking whiteness, her pupils almost heart-shaped as she watches you with a dopey grin.

When you open the door the smoke drifts up the sky in big clouds, and breathing clear oxygen almost feels weird.

You’re still giggling slightly as Vada fumbles with her pockets to find her keys, your soft lips pressing to the side of her neck in sweet pecks making the process of finding them unnecessarily hard.

She shushes you when you finally step inside, listening for any sounds, before closing the door behind you. As soon as you realize you’re alone in the house, you press your lips against Vada’s impatiently.

“Don’t forget– your shoes,” Vada manages between the kisses, shivering as you slide your hands under her oversized shirt, “I’m serious, you horndog. Mom hates it when the floors are dirty.”

You groan into her lips, pulling away to untie your Jordans, shaking on your unstable legs slightly, and make your way up the stairs into her room. Vada opens the window to let the fresh spring air sweep through the room, hoping it’ll be enough to help the smell of weed wear off your clothes and hair.

“Wanna watch a show?” She asks, gesturing to her laptop as you sit on her bed, crossing your legs.

“Mhm. You’re thinking Euphoria, aren’t you?” You snort, watching as your girlfriend slides next to you, “Because I think we’re pretty much in one.”

“So, like,” Vada trails off, her hands coming to rest on your hips in what she thinks is a subtle movement, “Would that make me Rue, then?”

She plays with a string on your pants, feeling almost embarassed about the corny things she's saying.

“And you – Jules?”

You hum, tilting your head with a coy grin, try and mull her innuendo over in your baked out mind. The comparison does seem familiar – especially with Vada’s puppy love towards you.

“Well, I liked their duo in the first season but... weren’t they, like... extremely toxic later on?”

Vada finally pulls in you to sit on her lap, your thighs bracketing hers, and it’s such close proximity you can count all the pretty freckles scattered across her face. You’d probably get lost at fifty, way too high for mathematics of any kind, even if it’s this romantic.

“You’re right. Fuck Euphoria,” she whispers, her gaze sliding to your lips, and you don’t waste any more time to press your lips to hers.

Kissing Vada has always been something to look forward to – warm and pleasant, makes your stomach flip when she’d bite your bottom lip and lick at your teeth. Kissing Vada whilst being slightly high is an out of this world feeling. Her nose presses into your cheek, and your palms slide to the back of her neck, fingers twirling her silky brown tresses idly.

You pull away for air, and it gets stuck in your throat as the brunette presses a kiss behind your ear, trailing the butterfly smooches down to your pulse point. Her hands are kept busy under your shirt, fingertips tracing up your stomach to your ribs.

“How many times have you ever been eaten out?”

A sudden but... not at all unwelcome question. You lean back on your hands, humming when her plush lips rest against your collarbone, and purse your lips in thought.

“Mm... once or twice. I don’t really keep any notches on my belt, y’know?”

Her hands tighten around your hips, and you chuckle.

“Drinking vinegar, are you now? Don’t worry. You have an opportunity to top them all.”

Vada averts her gaze suddenly. You frown, lean in to cup her face gently.

“What’s wrong?”

The brunette rubs her thumbs over your clothed thighs, then looks back up at you, a small frown on her face.

“I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ve never... fucked anyone?” You're sure that's a lie – she's fucked you before.

“I’ve never given a girl head.”

You hum, reaching to hold her slightly shaky hands, slowly inching them closer to the waistband of your sweatpants, “I can teach you,” you suggest, biting your lip, “Show you what I like. That cool?”

Vada looks almost mesmerized. She nods, her gaze fixed on your pants, and you giggle as she tugs them down your legs, prompting you to slide off her lap to let her do so, the cool outside breeze hitting your warm skin and rising goosebumps in its wake.

“I listened to a podcast the other day,” she begins, “About cunnilingus. The host said the best advice she’s ever gotten was to google wielding techniques.”

You raise your eyebrows in confusion, “Huh?”

Vada reaches for her phone on the bedside table, quickly unlocking it and typing something in the search bar. She selects a random picture and shows you the screen.

There are indeed blueprints of what looks like wielding seams, going from bottom to the top. The arrows are forming different patterns – there are zig-zags, crescents, a circular seam and a ‘figure 8’ seam...

For all the ridiculousness, they do seem... practical.

You smile and grab the phone, turning it off and tossing it somewhere back on the bed.

Of course she would do that – research stuff. It’s so fucking endearing it prompts you to wrap your hands around her neck and press a kiss to her cheek.

“Why not stick to the usual alphabet thing, hm?” You offer, “I can tell which letter I’d love the most.”

You lean in to whisper into her ear huskily, “It’s ‘V’.”

Vada shudders, making you smile. Then her hands grasp at your hips, tugging you closer, and your breath hitches at her sudden assertiveness.

The brunette bends her knees so that she’s level with your center and parts your legs slowly. You curse under your breath – you’re pretty much drenched right through your panties, and if Vada was just slightly more sober, she’d probably tease you about it, too. You’re glad she isn’t.

She leans in closer instead, tongue lolling out and pressing against your clothed cunt, licking a stripe up the smeared wetness there. Her fingers slip under the waistband of your underwear, and you tilt your hips up a bit to help her take it off, the movement causing your heat to press further into her mouth, making you whine.

Your panties are off, and so is Vada’s tongue.

She stares long enough for you to feel a bit conscious about yourself, and you move to close your legs on instinct, but her hands keep them apart. She hooks your ankles over her shoulders, shoots you a warning look. Her dark gaze makes you clench around nothing. The shyness and uncertainty is gone like it wasn’t even there.

You’re not sure if it’s weed, or if you’re being tricked, but this version of Vada is... new. Extremely hot, too.

She lowers herself so that she’s inches away from your pussy, her warm breath fanning your swollen clit – you're so strung up that you’re starting to feel a second heartbeat in between your legs. Vada looks up at you again, making sure you’re watching her as she flattens her tongue along your slit, collecting all the warm slick that leaked out from the moment she had you on her lap. She lets out a satisfied groan, and you sigh, hips buckling to meet her.

Despite all your confidence, you feel yourself crumble at the first touch of your girlfriend’s mouth on you – you’ve always preferred this over any kind of penetration, and Vada’s eagerness to please you doesn’t help.

She withdraws for a moment, and you find yourself missing her immediately.

“Is this okay?” She asks, palms caressing your thighs to soothe you.

“Don’t make me beg.” You breathe with a chuckle.

She laps at your folds, groaning at the saccharine warmth of your arousal coating her tongue – then leans back again, and you’re almost whining before she reaches her thumb to rub at your swollen clit, her breathing heavy as she watches you gush around nothing.

“Baby.” You whine pathetically, your knees coming together to try and push her face into you.

Vada doesn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest, her digit circling your sensitive spot, never taking her eyes away, “Hm?”

“Please,” you murmur, voice stifled by the hot arousal burning in your veins, “Want your mouth, baby. Want to cum on your tongue, please.”

The brunette digs her fingers into the soft flesh of your hips before wrapping her plump lips around your clit, gently sucking, and your thighs tighten around her head at the sudden overwhelmingly good feeling coursing through your body. You almost can’t believe how good it feels – how good Vada is, almost naturally talented at making your toes curl as she mouths at your dripping pussy, keeping a burning grip on your quivering legs. The immense amount of pleasure is so sudden you’re practically sobbing her name, your stomach tensing and hips bucking with each calculated flick of the girl’s tongue. The sheets under you are considerably darker than the rest, a pool of your cum along with the brunette’s spit dampening the area.

You’ve heard that drugs can expand your consciousness, but to such a degree that has you seeing stars as Vada eats you out like it’s her second nature...

Her tongue slips between your walls suddenly, causing you to arch your back into the air, hips rolling into her face. Her tongue continues to lap confidently, going in circles around your entrance. A shaky sigh leaves your lungs, and you have to clench your eyes shut.

“Vada, oh my god,” you breathe shakily, your voice tight and high, feeling you stomach coil, “I'm gonna cum– Fuck, fuck, Vada."

Her lips find your clit again, and that’s what sends you over the edge, your thighs clasping around her head so tight she swears her ears start to ring.

You shiver as the brunette drinks you up hungrily, your legs easing their hold on her, chest heaving with shuddering gasps.

“Oh, Vada. Fuck,” you mutter, resting your forearm over your eyes as you try to calm your speeding heart, “That was so... so good, baby. I think you lied to me. Either that, or you’re... a natural.” You chuckle breathlessly, raising a shaky hand to swipe some stray hairs from your forehead.

Your legs move to unhook themselves from the girl’s shoulders, taking pity on her most likely strained muscles, but Vada’s grip turns bruising on your legs. You’re pushed back further into the pillows suddenly, and before you can let out a single peep in alarm, she’s on you again.

Her hands reach to grasp under your knees, bending your legs up, your pussy spread open for her. She doesn’t relent — her hands hold your thighs as she all but buries her face in your heat, the movements of her tongue harsh. Fast. Merciless.

The sudden aggressiveness makes you let out a broken moan, your hands darting to tread through Vada’s hair, wanting her closer but away at the same time, the painful pleasure too much for your scrambled mush of a brain to handle.

“Oh my god, Vada!”

She leans away for a moment to trace two separate stripes from your entrance up to your clit with the tip of her tongue, and you whine, your foggy mind realizing that she has actually just done the letter thing, before she’s back on you like a hungry beast, jaw hanging open to wrap her mouth around your seizing cunt with an obscene slurping sound.

Your back arches as you cum harder than before, throwing your head back against bed and squeezing your eyes shut, your girlfriend’s name tumbling out of your mouth in an almost pornographic moan. You whine as Vada laps at your center with purpose, licking you clean, before pulling away mercifully.

There’s a cocky wolfish grin on the brunette’s face as she watches you open your eyes slowly, trying to compose yourself.

“How was that for a notch on your belt, hm?”

Shit. If you didn’t just experience the most intense orgasm in your life, you’d scoff at the smugness of her tone.

“I’m gonna be honest... I wasn’t sure I’d be into... that,” you say shakily, “But I guess I am now. Jesus Christ, Vada.”

“Just Vada is fine.” She gently caresses your hips, leans down to kiss your jaw lovingly, “Now...”

Her fingers lift the hem of your shirt up to your chest, blunt nails grazing the flesh under your breasts – she watches them rise and fall with your unsteady breaths.

“How about I salt the earth behind me so that no one ever stands a chance of owning you the way I do?”

[usedpidemo]

Acquainted (Red Velvet Yeri)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope it's to your liking.)

You’re just about ready to head off to sleep when you check the group chat. This is your nightly tradition. These strangers, now your closest friends despite the anonymity, are active and in good spirits, as usual. Outside of your weekday 9-to-5, these few moments are the most interesting parts of your day, and you just so happen to join during a particularly lively conversation:

> [22:48:01] yerimiese: (posts a link to a red velvet album article)

> [22:48:14] flutter mane: :sanapog:

> [22:48:23] silksong sulker: k-pop is saved

> [22:48:33] wonyoung cockjuicer: ew red velvet

> [22:48:37] wonyoung cockjuicer: wonyoung can peg me tbh

> [22:48:39] irene’s tokki: Bae J:floshedjiggle::floshedjiggle:hyun

> [22:49:06] milf hunter: :floshed:

> [22:49:11] milf hunter: gape sugalo

So of course, you chime in as well.

> [22:50:12] You: lets get it, new rv fancams

You’re in no mood to chat for longer than five minutes, but before you head offline, you receive a private message from your closest friend:

> yerimiese: so when are you in korea again?

> You: Next week, why?

> yerimiese: nice. why don’t we meet up, that would be dope as fuck

> You: You’re in Korea? 

> yerimiese: yeaaaah? why wouldn’t i be? 

> You: I thought you’d be doing other schedules abroad

> yerimiese: nah sm definitely won’t fly us out to film an mv. cheap ass bastards ㅋㅋㅋ

Yerimiese then sends you a video link. It’s a Yeri fancam, her weapon of choice. Your conversations began with small, intimate talks about your personal life, soon transpiring into open fapping, degrading, and casual lewdness with each other. Despite the usually depraved nature of your messages, you both continued sharing snippets of your day to day lives. That’s how close you’ve grown as friends.

> You: Well i’m very tired, today was a long day at work, had to work overtime. No time to lewd, sorry

> yerimiese: it's alright. you did well today

Yerimiese sends you a pic this time. It’s an event; the internet can’t load any quicker. You’re hungry, impatient, dying. Whether it’s intentional or not, the photos she sends whenever you’re tired or stressed out are hotter than her usual swimsuit or photoshoot reel. You’ve shared enough about your daily routine to her that a camera crew might as well be recording you.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary; a simple candid pic of herself lying in bed, her face perfectly cropped out of the background, showing nothing but her body on full display in front of the huge mirror, dressed in skimpy black panties and a white shirt  that accentuates her shapely breasts. As usual, she’s not wearing a bra; you can clearly see her hard nipples demanding all of your attention.

> yerimiese: no need to send a dick pic tonight if you don’t feel like doing it 

You can’t help it. Tired as you are, you feel obligated to send her one. Luckily, every pic she sends is more than enough to make you instantly hard. It feels more guilty not to be turned on, rather. 

It’s a mostly quick and painless affair, powerful enough to put you out of commission within minutes. Even though you’re mentally checked out, Yerimiese’s sexy body is too hot not to crank one out. Taking a pic of your erect cock as you pump yourself to her is second nature; sending it on sticky fingers after you’ve spurted all over your phone and blankets is a different story. There’s no other way to put it, she was the perfect reprieve from the day’s exhaustions—a perfect high note to go out on.

> yerimiese: fuck you’re THROBBING THROBBING tonight :ningasm: your dick looks so damn nice. i can taste your cum through the screen

> You: Happy now? 

> yerimiese: more than, and then some. I wish you were here right now so you could feel how wet I am

> You: Just wait. I can’t wait to fuck you hard. Goodnight

> yerimiese: goodnight

> yerimiese: :tukkwithkiss:

—————

The next time you’re able to communicate with her, you’re one day away from being in Korea. In that period, you’ve been inactive in the group chat because work. What welcomes you back is a barrage of lewd photos and Yeri fancams.

> yerimiese: see you tomorrow :chuupeek:

It’s an open secret that you know she’s Kim Yerim. Yes, that Kim Yerim of Red Velvet fame. It was a giveaway right from the first explicit photo she sent you; those tits in a tight, petite package couldn’t have belonged to anyone other than hers. That, and the fact that her username is the same as her Instagram handle, and that she has a photo of herself in the group as a display pic. How she would end up stumbling into your private K-pop server objectifying her body and her profession is one of life’s biggest mysteries, yet here she is, giving you a very personal look into her shapely figure, better than any fancam and photoshoot could ever provide. To others, she’s merely a casual acquaintance, but to you, she can freely open up herself.

Mainly because you’re one of three people in the group chat that still cares about Red Velvet.

Her latest sent photo is relatively tame; a tight fitting white silk sundress, and the skirt is virtually nonexistent, her panties practically out in the open. Luckily for you, she seems to be sitting down, but not in her usual living room. The notion that this is what welcomes you to Korea, that you’ll be balls deep inside an idol’s pussy right when you land—it ruins you. 

Almost. 

An airport guard manages to break your deep train of thought. “Sir! No phones please,” he sternly commands, saving you from total disaster; you’re inches away from walking straight through a metal detector with your phone in hand, the belt around your pants, and some spare coins lying deep in your pocket after you bought some traditionally expensive bottled water. Luckily, no one manages to see the photo—and even if they did, she’s still smart enough to cut out her face, leaving nothing else to your imagination. 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about immigration and airport security, it’s that there’s little need for repetition. You go through security four times. At the entrance, after the check-in counter, then within your departure gate, and even before boarding your flight—repetitive. It’s frustrating enough to tell Yerim, to which she responds with more lewd photos of herself. 

> yerimiese: yeah ive been there before ㅋㅋㅋ

> yerimiese: how long’s ur flight?

> You: About 13 hours

> yerimiese: cali?

> You: Yes

> yerimiese: kinda random, but seulgi misses los angeles

> You: How come? 

> yerimiese: something about an ex-boyfriend that i didn’t know about until the other day ㅋㅋㅋ i bet she’ll be jealous when she hears about you coming over just to clap my cheeks ㅋㅋㅋ she’d wish it was her bf instead of you

> You: does she know about this?

> yerimiese: of course not LOL i bet you’d rather fuck her instead of me, so she’ll never know. smh.

> You: That’s not true ur my RV bias since day one!

> yerimiese: stop lying LMAO i don’t blame you tho seulgi has some really toned legs and a nice slappable ass XD anyway, i’m gonna send you something to pass the time while ur onboard

> You: If it’s a masturbating clip i swear to god

> yerimiese: fuck you got me LOL

> You: Goddamit if anyone finds out on a plane of all places…

> yerimiese: i still can’t get over your clip of you jerking to me. i can taste your dick. you’re depriving me by leaving me out to dry for a week ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’ve been touching yourself to that clip for a week??

> yerimiese: can’t help myself, album prep has been tiring and i haven’t really found any opportunity to relax in the meantime

> You: I’ll be there soon, just wait a bit longer

> yerimiese: can’t trust me with that, i’m very close to making a huge mess of my hotel room ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’re in a hotel?

> yerimiese: just to meet you! I won’t be able to meet you at the airport (duh, idol dating shit), so this is the next best thing. just message me when you’ve landed here, okay?

> You: Sure

—————

It’s ingrained deep within Yerim’s mind. A core memory. If her phone could present count how many times she’s played the clip, it would be over a thousand. 

It’s very straightforward. A 45 second clip of someone masturbating between the sheets, pressing their erect cock against their phone with a brightened image of a scantily clad woman on the screen. But it’s not just any woman, it’s her. She’s pleasuring herself to the idea of a man jerking off to her. She’s following his rhythm, timing the pace her fingers rub her clit to the tempo of the man’s cock pumping to her zoomed-in breasts. 

And she’s mere minutes removed from a conversation with that exact same person.

Slumped against the hotel room walls, her bliss spirals out of control rapidly. Her legs are instinctively spread wide, juices already leaking through her panties and spilling to the floor; that’s how used they are to Yerim’s impulses to pleasure herself. In those brief moments, she imagines how the next few days play out, skipping past the formalities and pleasantries and going straight to the fucking. She moans and shouts as if that very man’s cock is penetrating her pussy hard at this very moment. Her other hand bashes the wall, tongue screaming streams of profanities, as if he’s manhandling her, using her to his personal delight.

“Fuck! Suck those fucking tits!” she screams, slipping one strap of her sundress down to pinch her own tit, enhancing the illusion. Her phone rings; in her mind it's functionally a vibrator. He’s come fully prepared, and she’s riding high knowing that this person is doing exactly what he said in their private messages from the very start.

Yerim drags her fingers along her clit violently, desperate to reach climax, the realization that this is her third orgasm of the day way beyond her. The evidence can be found everywhere: on the soiled bed sheets and in the smell of the shower; she envisions herself getting railed in those parts of the room, and then some—essentially turning the entire hotel room into the backdrop for all of the things he’d do to her: fingers around her throat, sunk into her ass, until it’s red and hurting, the way she’d quiver and cream all over his throbbing cock. Her neediness has no limits; it even breaks past her very own personal quarters, the loudness of her own self-induced pleasure drawing concern from occupants nearby.

Only after the blissful haze of orgasm does everything fall back in place. That repetitive knock on the door is a huge wake up call. Yerim’s eyes widen. 

“Shit.”

She checks her fingers—they’re coated in copious amounts of slick—and after a little further inspection, she realizes the aftermath.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

—————

Being honest about yourself, you couldn’t have asked to feel hornier at a worse time than this. Thirty thousand feet high up in the air, stuck in economy class because you don’t get paid enough to deal with the bullshit back in the office. Using your one of two allowed leaves in the year for a trip to see a girl you’ve mostly known online, and it isn’t even paid. To make things worse, there’s no layovers—just a point-to-point flight from San Francisco to Seoul. 13 hours.

And boy, is the ride absolutely miserable.

By what you might as well call divine intervention, you’re conveniently seated between a nun and a little girl—the two worst kinds of people to be alongside with. No, not because they’re annoying or anything like that; aside from the girl getting up every thirty minutes from her window seat to get something from her parents across the aisle, you’re practically barred access to your glorified archive of lewd Yerim pics. Opening them up with a kid barely in the first grade beside you is openly asking for trouble.

And the few times you get up for a lavatory break, you can’t get yourself going. There’s always someone at the door every five minutes. 

Eight hours deep into the flight, you look over your shoulder, catch one of the male flight attendants sneak inside one of the vacant lavatories with a fellow stewardess while everyone’s fast asleep. Fucking sickening. That should be you with Yerim right now.

When you arrive on the other side of the planet, you’ve gotten only a couple hours’ worth of sleep. You almost fumble your passport at immigration, getting them mixed up with a slew of business and membership cards. Then there’s your forgetfulness working against you, remembering you need some kind of pocket Wi-Fi, and now you have to spend a little more to get back online. It’s a mess, and it wasn’t that long since you were in Europe for a seminar, where these things were merely second nature to you.

At least you remembered that VPNs exist. You message Yerim on the taxi ride out of the airport, unsure of where to begin.

> You: Just got out of immigration

> yerimiese: fuckin finally! 

> yerimiese: you got a place to stay here?

> You: Not yet

> yerimiese: don’t bother, lemme send you my hotel address, you can stay here

Of course you don’t know Korean, despite the constant back and forth with Yerim for months. Learning’s been on the backend of your itinerary, and has never been your top priority, even now. You show the cab driver the address, who merely looks at you and the phone with a particularly vacant and dumbfounded expression, as if you’re stupid for not planning this out—which, in that regard, he’d be correct.

When you finally arrive at the hotel, only one message stands between you and finally meeting Yerimiese, once and for all.

> yerimiese: I’ll be at the poolside, third floor. can’t wait to meet you :P

And that’s exactly where you end up going. Forget that you’re lugging two whole bags and a traveler’s backpack on your shoulders; you drop them off at the front desk, expecting the staff to have a clue of what’s going on and what’s about to happen.

Stepping out into the poolside, it’s a completely barren sight. It’s three in the afternoon on a Tuesday; most people probably aren’t even booked, let alone in this supposed five-star hotel. You don’t really question whether she’s being serious or not, the evidence was in the previously sent photos; you’re dying to meet her at this point. 

And as if perfectly timed for dramatic effect, a woman emerges from beneath the waters, shaking off the wetness from her damp hair.

Yerim casually swims over the deep waters’ edge, without a care in the world, let alone your presence quietly shadowing over the large pool. Even halfway submerged, you can make out the outline of her shapely bust and hourglass figure, tightly hugged by a pink swimsuit. She was sultry and intoxicating to gawk at from candid photos, but seeing Yerimiese herself in the flesh, that’s when the realization hits you: this is happening.

And you can’t move a muscle, let alone react from the actualization that you’re right in front of her. Even as the waves of water splash on your new loafers, you simply observe. It’s creepy, it’s morally dubious, but it’s one in a million. You’re taking in every moment, every second; soak it all in, you’ll never get an experience like this ever again. 

You should be friends by now, if your definition of friendship means sharing explicit body photos and exchanging devious intentions about how you’ll fuck each other online or how much cum you’ve given to each other. But when she turns in your direction—catching you casually observing her, your hands tucked away in your coat’s pocket, grinning like a little kid— it’s back to square one.

Like the very first time.

Yerim takes all the time in the world to wade over from the other side of the pool, her smile growing closer as she approaches you. She lifts her eyebrows, expecting you to make a first move, to which you barely open your mouth, and ultimately only a deep breath, a stilted sigh, comes out.

Well, this is awkward.

Yerim giggles. You’ve previously heard her loud moans and cries, but a genuine laugh—this was your first. She never hops on calls in your group chat, most likely because idol shit, as she often refers to her line of work. Her laughter, her energetic expression—it’s as perfect of a translation to real life as it is online, and embodies the idol Yeri you know on screen. 

“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, trying—and failing—to suppress more of her laughter.

Your answer is concise, but doesn’t seem quite right. “A while.”

In reality, about five minutes. You probably won’t be there any longer when she props herself out of the water with her strong elbows. Water cascades down her shapely figure, thicker and meatier than it's ever been, more than what the cameras and pictures present. She’s truly the entire package, through and through. 

She walks over to her sunlounger, granting you a nice peek of her ass peeking through her skimpy swimsuit before she wraps herself with a towel. Apart from that, your only other notable observation is that she’s soaking wet, even bundled up. That, and also: she’s barefoot. No sign of slippers or any footwear—she willingly walked on what appears to be scorching cobbled floors.

“I would give you a big hug right now, but you know—” she comments, looking down at her drenched self, pool water endlessly dripping down to her feet. Even if she isn’t soaking wet, you’d still be frozen in place, or even worse, some eagle-eyed stranger or Dispatch reporter catch you in secret and you both end up on national news the very next day.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you say, trying to dodge Yerim’s eyes. “I left my stuff at the front desk. I should probably go and grab them.”

“Smart.” Yerim sizes you up, nodding in amazement at how you’ve managed to get yourself past the entrance. “See you upstairs, then? Room 1015.”

—————

The difference between you and Yerim couldn’t be any more obvious.

Granted, you’re fresh off a 13 hour flight, followed by an hour's travel from the airport to a five-star hotel in the heart of Seoul. Yerim had all the time in the world to prepare, and yet when she emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a modest bathrobe and her dark hair bundled up, she’s never looked better. 

Facing an idol in such a haggard condition, it gives you an underlying feeling of shame. And if you’re being completely honest, if not for your cock, she’d probably be repulsed and call security on you.

But there's no security in sight. Just you, just yeri, the two of you standing in this room - which is, for the most part, quite nice. Multiple bedrooms, a lovely view of the city beneath you, and all sorts of amenities and features you’ll never get to use—you half expect her members to come in later, but perhaps for your sake, you’re better off with just her and her alone.

When Yerim begins to talk, she rambles. She goes on about the status of the next album, discussions about a possible solo debut, her relationships with her members—conversations about topics that you never really had online. It was mostly dirty talk and lewd captions. At best, you knew each other at a surface level, but here she is, sharing everything from her heart like you’ve been lifelong friends since day one.

You let her. She’s as charismatic as what she portrays on screen, and her sass is no different than the private messages she sends you. There’s not a single dull moment whenever Yerim speaks. Though you know her mostly for her body, her personality is what has you sticking around.

You wonder if she feels the same way about you.

“So, how’d you find out about us?” Yerim asks, after blabbering for a while, and you genuinely believe she’d keep going till nightfall. Close enough. Five minutes away from five in the afternoon, and you’d already spent the last hour and a half listening to a personalized podcast from her. You hope she doesn’t notice the plate of bulgogi on the table now completely empty.

“Well, a friend was a K-pop fan and had an extra ticket when you toured here,” you say, casually, slumped on the sofa. “Forgot how long that was—” you pause, “five years ago?”

“Five years? Five years since we went to America?” Yerim appears flabbergasted, face in utter disbelief at the passage of time. The realization causes her to stand from her chair. You’d be too after listening to her drone on endlessly. “Fuck.”

“SM! Give us a fucking world tour already!” she screams, pretending she’s inside the company building and you’re an executive in the room. Watching her snarkiness come to life never ceases to amuse you. You’ll let her go on for as long as she needs to; she’s entertaining in such a unique and charming way that it disarms you.

“Argh, sorry, you know me.” She suddenly stops, faces you, arms crossed, mocking up a pout. “Look at me suddenly losing my shit for no good reason.”

“Are your members used to this?”

That didn’t come out right.

She bats an eyelid. On her face is a mild, blank look of displeasure. That didn’t come out right. 

“Used to what?”

“Well, uh, I—I mean—”

You gulp your throat.

“Stop.”

Then, an air of awkward silence. Her eyes quickly scan you, lazing on the sofa.

“Let’s just get to fucking each other right now.”

—————

It isn’t that you’ve forgotten the one purpose you’re there to begin with, it’s that Yerim is very, very impulsive. One moment, upset at her company for doing the bare minimum for her group and her career, the next she’s using you as an outlet to release her frustrations. It’s a good thing your first impression of her was that she was very busty, because otherwise, the other description you had of her was—simply put—bratty.

You’re on your back, plopped against one of the beds, completely caught off-guard by her show of strength. Eyes rolled to the back of your head, you find Yerim already at the bed’s edge, loosening the belt around her waist, quickly disrobing herself within seconds. It’s nothing new; you’ve seen glimpses of her nude figure in pictures, imagined many scenarios where you’ve got your hands on her, but this—to see her completely bare in the flesh—is new. 

This is different. 

“Just so you know,” you mutter, frantically panting, your heart jumping, as Yerim undresses in front of you, “I haven’t actually had sex before.”

Just like that, the mood instantly changes. She stops. Abruptly.

“What?” 

Her mouth drops—again. Might as well stay agape. 

You consider retracting your statement. It was a joke, you’d say, something to get her even more aroused, fired up. The sex would be wilder, hotter than anything your fantasies would conjure. Then again, you wouldn’t be in this exact situation if you weren’t so chronically online, simping over pop idols like a kid about to enter puberty.

“I guess that’s to be expected,” she comments, snarkily, grabbing the edges of your pants, daring to rip them off you. “That’s fucking life, baby!” 

If you were in her shoes, obsessively waiting for someone with equally unhinged horniness, expressing precisely how you’d get fucked every single time you’d send a remotely lewd photo, you’d feel just as disappointed. You can tell by her partially scornful expression: she’s been fantasizing this moment as much as you have, too. You can’t blame her, but you kind of expected her to anticipate this; after all, you connected in a private group chat that’s been sexualizing her, of all places. 

Surely the signs of virginity were right there.

“At least this is real,” she says, leaning her head forward while cupping your growing bulge poking through your trousers. Your tip, at full mast, mere inches away from her chin, instead of a little phone screen. She’s pushing you around, growing slightly more mischievous and uncontrollable with the prospect of throwing someone like you around instead of the opposite. Something her members may have taught and ingrained in her. 

It isn’t quite the picture you expected from all the erotic snapshots and clips she’s been sending you. Every photo and video, designed to rouse the filthiest and wildest of your thoughts, was an act, a ruse to let your guard down, to give you this fixed headcanon that you can toss her around like she’s your personal plaything and object of pleasure. Instead, she’s using you for her own desires and wants.

It’s not that you don’t want her to use you and fuck you like this, it’s how completely in control she is that has you reeling, leaves you in a dizzy spell.

“I was gonna let you use my pussy and fuck me to ruin,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes, teasing and mocking. Her hand grips around the denim of your bulge, and it fucking stings. You’re sucking on loose air. “But since we have a virgin over here, I’m gonna do whatever I want.”

The implied connotation is what terrifies you, and no, it isn’t the revelation that Yerim isn’t a virgin—you assumed that much—but the notion that you were gonna have free reign over her cunt that has you contemplating some deep, long forgotten life decisions that set you back years. Their consequences are now starting to show.

She releases her ironclad grip on your pants, frees you of your obstructive clothing, both trousers and boxers down to the floor. Your hard cock springs free, terribly aching, already red and sore from her suffocating clench, and already leaking bursts of precum. The last day and a half hasn’t been kind to your cock.

To add insult to injury, she makes this licking motion with her tongue, aimed at your tip, but relents at the last minute. It leaves your throbbing cock aching harder, without any point of relief. The teasing sight almost renders you unconscious, and sends Yerim into a laughing frenzy. 

“Remember when I said I could taste your cock?” she says, chuckling. It’s not playful in the slightest—quite the opposite, in fact. It’s sinister. “I’ll wait a little longer to taste it. Don’t worry.”

Not the most reassuring of words, especially when you’ve got your hands tied—at least, not yet. Actually, you appreciate that she isn’t going to milk your cock dry just yet; when you finally look past the situation at hand, you come to treasure her chest. Her shapely chest, freely bouncing while she bounces her thick body on your lap—keep doing that, you say inside your mind, letting your wandering gaze soak in the unreal scene. 

She notices your intrigued eyes, rising and falling in rhythm with her tits. Subtlety was never your intention, and she probably knows from experience, as she says she does. Fixated attention is how she gets herself off, based on how she seems to respond to the lewd messages you’ve sent her in the past, and it shows when she repeats some choice remarks back to your face:

“I’d kill my boss to fuck those tits right now, you’re so goddamn sexy.”

She grips a hand around your throat, another down to the buttons of your shirt, pulling them apart. 

“Let me be your personal titty towel.”

Halfway there.

“I’d suck on your tits first, go down on your delicious pussy, then fuck that wet hole of yours three times straight.”

Just like that, you’re both even. Equal in nakedness.

You’re unsure whether it’s the sight of Yerim asserting her dominance over you, tits all up in your face with a devious smirk as she bares you down to your essentials that’s leaving you short on air, or if it’s the hand cautiously coiled around your neck. Either option seems sensible enough. This is how she lives in your head rent free, just being her sassy, sexy self. Even repeating some of the same particularly questionable lewd things you’ve written to her sounds hot with her brazen tone. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she raises an eyebrow, leaning her head close, as if demanding an answer. 

Really, there’s no multiple choice here. Of course you nod.

She rolls her hips upward, inches her body across yours little by little, til her dripping pussy completely shadows your view. Her hand grabs the back of your head, meaty thighs pressing between your face. Now you’re truly suffocating. Even with the rather shameful admission, she rolls her crotch on your lips, expecting you to know what to do. No words, just the expectant grind of her crotch on your face, her wet folds opening up for you to take them.

Then, she begins moaning. 

Admittedly, the closest you’ve had to trying out oral is using your phone as an outlet for your tongue whenever she sends a boob photo. Thankfully, your inexperience doesn’t show when you first dip your tongue inside her folds, getting your first taste of pussy. Saltier than you expected, but fuck, you’d be lying if you think it wasn’t completely intoxicating—everything you hoped for, and more. 

It incites a few expressive reactions from Yerim—some loud, others quieter—with the end result usually a sharper, deeper grind of her waist on your face, splaying her cunt for you to devour. You’ve got one hand pressed on her ass, holding her plump flesh down while the other is at her mercy, pulled by hers, forced to squeeze her breast. You won’t complain. Not when her cries of pleasure motivate you to push yourself harder.

You repeat this addictive cycle, stretch moments into minutes, minutes into hours. Even when you’ve drained her completely, you’ll still be craving for more of her; that’s how hungry she’s made you. Your tongue meets her clit, and it draws out this especially sharp whine that she’s never hit once. Not on a track. Not anywhere. She swears up a storm, juxtaposed between soft, gentle pleas of “yes, more, and you’re so good.” 

In return, you take more of her, soak yourself in the continuous downpour of her slick juices freely flowing all over your mouth and tongue. As her pleasure escalates, her fingers tighten their grasp on your head, grab your tousled hair. You add soft, intimate kisses between streaks of licking her folds, and they send the young idol writhing, shaking atop you. Her words have been reduced to nothing but short, needy bursts of “please.” Even in this uncontrollable state, she gyrates her hips around you, rhythm steady, but more determined than ever to let herself go.

By the way her pussy throbs, you’re certain she’s a few critical points away from climax. It doesn’t change your plans, not one bit. You continue to lap at her sensitive folds, bask in her intoxicating heat, purposefully teasing her clit. She won’t demand that you end her —not this quickly, not when you’ve magically learned the art of giving oral to a woman under short notice.

You slowly work her through it. Your tongue dives into her slick entrance, deeper than it's ever been so far. The overpowering sensations send ripples that reach even the foundations of the bed, unlike anything it’s ever felt. Even in the wild throes of bodily pleasure, Yerim has enough willpower to stay in character, delivering a demand in her usual playful, fast talking tone. “Please do it! I’m going to cum!”

You contemplate the thought, completely drunk in her divine taste yourself, but you oblige. 

Your tongue sticks to her bud, and it causes this instantaneous, elaborate chain reaction. Yerim cries a sharp cry, waves of orgasm washing down all over her body. She stops in her tracks, completely rigid, mouth wide open, and this torrential gush of slick and orgasm swamps you, drowning you so deep that it's nearly fatal. Her thighs involuntarily clench tighter, too, and you’re temporarily trapped in your own pocket dimension, impossible to clean with all the cum left behind, especially on the sheets.

The most surprising observation from her orgasm is how suddenly calm it becomes. Only the sound of your tongue licking her clean can be heard, and it’s nothing but a gentle rustle. She hangs her head up, face completely flushed, catching needed oxygen in her lungs, letting the aftermath of her climax pass over. 

While her breath normalizes, she lifts herself up, moves to the side of the bed. In her wake, she’s left behind a drenched lake of slick around your face, leaking down to the muddled sheets beneath you. 

“Well,” she says, panting and pausing for air. “There goes the other bed.”

It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out what she meant. Even when you’re still mindlessly occupied by the sticky residue around your lips. You let out this muffled exhale, designed to be a laugh, but it backfires in your face. Amused, she giggles on your behalf.

“Not bad.” Yerim smiles at you. Charming and cute, a contrast to what had just transpired. “I thought you said you never had sex?”

It takes you a moment before you answer back, “I haven’t. You just taste really good.”

“You still have some left on the edges of your face,” she comments, her eyes mesmerized by how much she’s cum all over you. “Let me help you clean that up.”

And she helps, but not in a conventional way. She lifts you from the bed by your torso, then submerges you again, this time at the mercy of her bosom. You’ve got your arms wrapped around her waist while you’re kissing and sucking on her Yerim’s  tits, not exactly tidying up, but creating a larger mess that no amount of tongue cleaning can resolve. 

In the meantime, she whispers in your ear some of your more—questionable—comments:

“They need to give her a solo debut with a very sexy concept and trust me, I’ll be the guy who breaks the world record for jerking off if they do that.”

“It must feel heavy to carry them all the time. Let me lend a hand to you.”

“The only thought I had inside my mind when I saw her is every member would milk her 3x a day so that they don’t have to go outside and buy milk to eat cereal to the point they would just drink it from the source.”

You stop. You give her this strange, confused look. Even you couldn’t believe you said that.

“Did I actually say that?”

“Yes!” she replies, quick and straightforward, unable to hide her enthusiasm, while brushing your hair. “Not gonna lie, that sent me to the floor. I was laughing so hard, Irene ran in to check up on me!”

To make things worse, she flashes this wide, toothy grin that makes you regret your life choices. 

“God. I don’t wanna drink anymore.”

“Hey, if there’s any consolation, you wouldn’t be sucking on my tits and eating me out now if you never made that comment,” she says, caressing your chin and giving you a peck on the lips. As if it’s still not one of the most out of pocket comments you’ve ever made about anyone, let alone a celebrity—and you weren’t fully yourself.

“Relax. Don’t think about it too much.” Yerim pushes you back down to the bed, crawls atop you, meeting your lips again for an intimate kiss. Your hard cock, which has been left unattended for quite a while, captures your attention—and especially hers. “Lean back for me, will you?”

You comply. Involuntarily, your legs straighten, but Yerim pushes them apart, places herself at center view, seemingly ready to take you in her mouth. It makes sense; a woman with a mouth that runs like hers probably only stops when there’s cock stuffed inside them. The theory proves to be plausible when she gives your sensitive tip a delicate, yet dangerous lick, her eyes glinting at you with renewed vigor and lust.

“I told you I’d have a taste of that cock,” she says, half smug, half seductive, gloating with her brows. Your tenseness slightly recedes—until you realize your cock’s moving past her lips, in the direction of the space between her cleavage. “I didn’t say I wanted to suck on it.”

And she was right—not once has she ever expressed her desire to choke, gag, deepthroat on it. 

You grit your teeth, watching your cock disappear between her shapely tits, with Yerim personally making sure you comfortably fit like a glove. You fold. It’s snug. Hot. Breathtaking.

“Fuck, Yeri,” you mutter, closing your eyes as her inviting warmth leaves you weak in the knees, trembling. You don’t realize you’ve used her stage name over her real name. “God—”

“Does this feel like everything you wanted?” she asks, tone sultry and triumphant. A little slide up sends you into a frenzy.

You nod—even though there’s no other available options. The erotic image in front of you is permanently seared into your head: Kim Yerim, popular idol and to an extend, your ‘friend with benefits,’ grinning like a maniac, slowly fucking your cock between her tits, coated with your saliva, sweat, and copious amounts of precum. To think your little crude messages on a random forum would have such long term and drastic consequences such as this.

Not that you’d want to make sense of it all, especially when she gets into a rhythm. Sliding her breasts up and down, she’s delicate, intentional, and masochistic; you’re on the receiving end of how she felt when you were slowly eating her out. She’s dangerous, teetering between the line where your cock can be safe between her bosom and where she can break you in half. You’re already falling apart—and fast.

“Holy shit, Yerim. Fuck.” 

Each word you deliver is long and drawn out, especially the profanities. Heavenly music to her ears. She’s out of reach where you can pull by her hair, so you settle for the sheets instead. Your gaze wanders, travels everywhere but in her direction, because you don’t need to see the tortuous scene happening between your legs. Looking at the descending sun, this is probably the last time you’ll see the sun set in your life.

Her eyes challenge you to look at anywhere from her. Panting frantically, you find yourself at the mercy of Yerim’s whims, your cock fading and swelling into view, sticky and wet, gushing cum all over her tits. The sight drives you further mad, has you making sounds that have never been recorded—ever. She takes you in, delights in your suffering, eager for you to say the magic words.

“Ready to cum? I know you want to cum.” 

Even under duress, you’re not ready to fold just yet. There’s a little stubbornness inside you fighting back, pulling all the stops to keep you from surrendering to Yerim’s demands. You close your eyes, grip on the sheets even tighter, control your breathing, but it’s too little too late. You can only do so much with two hands.

“Cum for me.”

You hold onto a particularly deep breath, desperate to cling to whatever dying vestiges of control there is left, but your fate has already been sealed from the moment you’ve allowed your cock to enter her chest.

“Yerim, I—”

The exhale you release is the most relieving and satisfying. With it, comes out a rope of thick, creamy cum splashed all over her neck and chest. The aching, violent sensation doesn’t stop; more seed spills between the warmth of her cleavage. In one fell swoop, you feel all of your energy sapped from you, leaving you completely weak and powerless. 

In the gap between your climax and post-orgasm haze, you wonder if she’ll take some of your cum in her mouth, with the way she looks at your cock as it throbs beneath her chin. No. She lets it drip down her perfect naked body with a sticky white sheen that glows under the natural light piercing through the hotel’s window. 

“Just like that, hm,” she comments, casually flicking the last of your withering orgasm and cum with her wrist. She lathers the slick on her fingers on her shoulder, then places some into her mouth for a taste. 

After you regain a semblance of normalcy—after Yerim’s finished entertaining herself with your cum, staring at her coated body and fingers with curious interest—she rests her elbows on your knees, in the process of relearning how to bend. You sink back against the headrest, watch as the fading sun glimmers on an idol like her, destined to shine for every occasion possible—on the stage and under the afterglow of sex. She smiles, bright and wide, taking you in, as you are.

There’s something brewing, especially in the tender few minutes that follow. Something special, something more than just a spark. 

“So—” Yerim runs a sticky finger on your knee, dangerously close to stirring up your cock again. “You wanna try anal with me next?”

You pause. Widening your eyes, staring back with a look of disbelief. Just when you’re about to open your mouth to reply, she adds:

“Kidding. You do know that you’re gonna have to delete those tweets and comments, right? If they find out you’re here, you’re fucked. And I mean, a thousand times worse than now.”

—————

(A/N: This was an absolute joy to write. The nature of the request meant I could go very meta with it. About time we get a proper Red Velvet full album, so perfect timing! If you're able to figure out some of the references and easter eggs, then you, my friend, are too engrossed in the Tumblr K-pop male reader smut lore. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

[moonstruckme]

Love, OMG?? the doctor!rem fix killed me 😭 do you think you might do part 2 where shes bedridden and he's taking care of her?? currently sick too 😭

Thanks for requesting!

part 1 | part 2

Doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 962 words

Remus has got you all doped up. You didn’t even bother asking him what the pills he handed you a few hours ago were, but now you’re feeling tired and teary. 

“Rem.” Your voice is hoarse, barely there. You try again. “Remus.” 

A head of fluffy brown hair pops out of the kitchen. “You calling me, sweetheart?” 

You swallow. “Yeah.” 

“Oh, honey,” Remus eyebrows pinch together as he comes down the hallway to you. “You sound awful, I could barely hear you.” 

“Sorry,” you croak, the sympathy in his voice only serving to tighten your throat. “Did you roofie me?” 

His eyebrows raise as he sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing your leg through the sheets. “Think they’d have my license for that one, dove. Why do you ask?” 

“I’m really sleepy.” 

Remus nods. “That’s alright. You took the nighttime ones, remember? It’s a good idea to rest right now.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t remembered. Remus frowns like he can tell. 

“Wait one second, dove.” He disappears back down the hall, returning a few moments later with a steaming cup of tea. “I put honey in it, so it should help with your throat for a little while.” He passes it to you carefully, keeping a hand on it as you raise it to your lips just in case you drop it. “Careful, there you go. Alright if I take your temp again?”

You nod, blowing gently on your tea while Remus puts the thermometer in your ear. You relish the feel of the steam on your face, and your first sip is so saccharine you wonder how much of the tea is actually tea and how much is just honey. It’s good like this, though. You lean forward until your forehead rests on Remus’ shoulder. You would’ve assumed that doctors would be so desensitized to illness that they’d have no bedside manner left for when they’re off the clock, but Remus is being so extra sweet to you. He’s made you drink probably four gallons of water, sure, but it’s all “sweetheart” this and “dovey” that, and you don’t think you’ve ever received a more soothing back rub than the one he gave you this morning. You don’t actually mind being sick all that much while he’s here to take care of you. You’re so caught up in your maudlin reverie that you’ve forgotten the device in your ear by the time it beeps, and you jump. 

“Sorry,” Remus laughs, surprised by your reaction. He puts a hand behind your neck, helping you ease yourself back down onto the pillow. “You start to drift off there, lovely?”

“A little,” you admit, pulling the covers up over your shoulders as a shiver takes you.

He hums, the sound half amusement and half concern. “Well, your fever’s gone down a bit at least, so the medicine seems to be doing its work. How’re you feeling?” 

“I feel like I’m dying,” you reply, picking your phone up off your pillow to wave it about, “and I checked, the internet agrees with me.”

“Oh, really?” Remus smiles as he brushes a few wayward strands of hair from your forehead. “I suppose it’s a good thing you have the internet to tell you that, since there’s not, say, a fully qualified medical professional at your disposal.” 

“What is it you’re always saying?” you ask him, and the tea really is making your throat feel better; the warm honey coats your mistreated esophagus like a balm. “It never hurts to get a second opinion? Anyway, you never said the flu would make my legs hurt like this.” 

Remus blinks. “Your legs?”

“Mhm.” You flex your feet, bringing to life the ache that’s plagued you for the last several hours as if to prove it to him. “They hurt.” 

Remus frowns as he feels for your leg through the covers. “What part hurts, honey?”

“All up and down them.”

Remus cuts an odd look your way before his hand finds your calf. He squeezes, and you hiss.

“Ouch!” you say. “Fuck, yeah, it’s there.” 

Remus laughs. Actually laughs, and ever harder when you look at him with betrayal in your eyes. “Sweetheart,” he says. “Honey, my darling, do you remember how we went ice skating yesterday?” 

You feel your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Yeah?”

“And do you see how that would work out muscles you don’t usually use all that much?”

Your frown worsens. “Sure. Why?”

The smile Remus gives you is kind, but you can still see the amusement twinkling in his eyes. “You’re sore, dovey. It’s got nothing to do with the flu, you just worked the muscles in your legs a bit harder than they’re used to. I’m feeling it in my calves, too.” 

“Oh.” You nestle into the covers until they reach halfway up your face, retreating in embarrassment. Remus laughs again, pushing the sheets down under your chin and kissing your face. His nose is cold where it mushes into your feverish skin. 

“Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you,” he promises, though he’s snickering. “I mean, I will, but not when you’re so unwell. You’re still my poor girl for now.” 

“I like poor girl privilege,” you decide, turning your cheek so he’ll kiss it again. He does, smiling against your skin. 

“You know what other privileges you get?” Remus asks you. “Other than tea and a leave of absence from teasing?” You hum contentedly. “I’ll tell you something I never tell my other patients.” 

“What’s that?” you ask him, unsure if your sudden dizziness is from the fever or just the effect his affection has on you. 

Remus climbs over you, slipping beneath the covers and pulling you up against him. “Cuddles are the best cure for the flu.”

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part thirty-one

summary: you were back in the capitol, and you would be damned if you didn't try your hardest to make it worthwhile.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: heyyyy ttpd has got me fucked up and ALSO guess who heard from her ex for the first time in years?? that's been so dope and not at all causing me to spiral over the last like week :) anyway missed this series so here.

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

"You didn't have to come." You whisper in the dark, the open window doing very little to illuminate the room without the help of the stars.

"Yes I did." Lennox answers you, matching your hushed tone. You roll onto your side so you're facing him, smiling slightly. Sejanus had given you both your own rooms, but rarely did a night go by where you didn't miss sharing that mattress on the floor with your brother back home.

"Did Sej have to convince Ma to let you come?"

"He didn't ask me to come." You feel the pillows shift as he shakes his head. "He told me what was goin' on, and I said I'd be on the next train and that was that." He pauses, chuckling to himself. "I appreciate you havin' your meltdown on the last day of the month, by the way. Was awful convenient for me."

"Yeah, me too." You giggle. "How was your Halloween?"

He shrugs, tucking his hands behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. "It was alright. Same old."

"Did you do a costume this year?" You ask, already knowing he didn't. Apparently sixteen was too old for that- he was too "cool" for that now.

"Nah." He laughs. "You?"

"Yeah." You whisper, your smile dropping slightly. "I was Juliet, Tigris helped me make it."

"I'm sorry, but that means nothing to me." He chuckles, looking over at you.

"Well, it was an angel costume. We made the wings, and Coryo was supposed to be Romeo. We made his too. I was real proud of it, he was 'sposed to be a knight." You explain.

"But he didn't wear it?"

You just shake your head.

"Prick." Lennox mutters.

"He actually... ruined it on purpose." You whisper. "Poured red wine all down the front."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Lennox frowns. "I mean, I coulda' told you that guy was an asshole, but that's just cruel."

"It was my fault." You admit. "I didn't tell him that couples costumes were a thing until the day of. I didn't give him a choice, and I should have asked if he was okay with that."

"No... No, Y/N/N, don't do that." You feel him shake his head again, dragging a hand down over his face in frustration.

"Don't do what?"

"Blame yourself." He states. "You coulda' asked, sure, but I can't think of a problem he could possibly have with it. That's, you know, actually a valid reason."

"You know how they feel about us here, bug." You say softly, reaching out to push his hair back for him from where it had been pushed down on his forehead. "Sej has never really fit in, and he's been here ten years. I can't expect to walk in and have everything be perfect. Of course he's going to be a little embarrassed."

"But you can expect someone who's supposed to love you to be willing to prove it." Lennox says frustratedly. "You taught me that. So don't go changin' on me now."

"I would never." You smile slightly. "But... real life is different. Real love is different, I think."

"Real love shouldn't be embarrassing." He mumbles. "Not that I know a thing about it, but I think he's an idiot. I mean, I'd wear a matching costume with you tomorrow if you asked. I'd do anything for you."

"I know you would." You smile sadly. There are a few beats of silence between you while you remember all the signs you missed. Coryo telling you the school was strict about physical contact, causing you to turn a blind eye to other students kissing or holding hands in the halls and him hugging Clemensia that very same day. Him telling you to give him space when your only crime was standing too close. The only times he would hold your hand in public being in the backseat of their car or under a desk or table, hidden from view.

"He's lucky to have ya. Hell, we all are." Lennox says after a moment. "If any of these stuck-ups had any humanity they would treat you just the same. I'm not here to convince you to come home, but I think you're better off with us. That's all. At least at home, you're treated normal."

"But I'm not." You reply. "Not anymore. I might as well take this chance to get an education, so I can get a good job and go home and provide for you guys. Dad could retire instead of workin' himself to death in those mines, and Ma would never have to patch another pair of coveralls for as long as she should live. You could do whatever you wanted, bug. You could go to school too if that's what you decide. I could buy you a house, a bike, anything you want in the world."

"That's great and all, but I don't give a shit about that stuff anymore." Lennox tells you honestly. "As long as you're... alive, I guess, we're happy just the way things were. We talked about it a lot. That we'd give anything just to have you back."

A smile twitches on your lips. "I get it." You agree quietly. "But if I can get something for all of us out of having to go through... all of that, I'm gonna take it. Then we can all be together and all the better for it."

"For how long? Until one of us gets hitched and has kids, and then in twenty years we're sending them back here to go through the same shit you did?" He argues. "It's all for nothing. We just gotta make the time for each other while we can."

You chew on your lip, sick at the mere mention of your kids possibly getting picked. Or, god forbid Lennox getting picked in the last three years his name is entered in the reaping, and the number of entries increasing with every passing year. "I suppose." You agree. "But, can you keep a secret?"

He smiles at the familiarity as he looks over at you. "You know I can."

"Coryo is gonna be the next president. I'm sure of it." You whisper. "He's sure of it, too, it's all he's been raised for."

"Forgive me for not feeling reassured by that fact."

"No, but you should." You insist. "He's... He's a good man. He knows how to do the right thing, and I'm sure he'll call off the games one day. He has to."

You can hear your brother's sharp intake of breath. "If he's got you, he will." He mumbles in realization and you nod slightly.

"I think I'll be able to help. To actually do something good if I stick with him." You whisper.

"That's... a lot of pressure." Lennox agrees. As of right now, Coriolanus Snow is far from in his good books. 'If he was, I'd burn my library.' He recalls you laughing over the line in the book, recounting it to him just a couple of months prior. He wants to see you like that again. Happy. Yourself. But if you have to throw that away to save a future of who knows how many children, would that even be worth it to him? He feels guilty for thinking that it wouldn't.

"I love him, Len. I do." You assure him, somehow seeming to track his thought process. "I just don't know... If he truly feels the same way about me. I thought he did, when we were back home. When he came to Twelve, he was different than he is here."

"That's not fair." He replies quietly, deciding that now would certainly not be the time to bring up the fact that if you did end up marrying the future President of Panem, that would mean there would be no "coming home" for you. This, here, a city that tore you apart and left him to try and pick up the pieces, would be your home. He knows that as much as you love him and your parents, you're too noble to give up the chance to spare his children from your fate. He wants to hate you for it, but he never could. "That you have to defend him at all, I mean. You deserve to be angry sometimes, Y/N/N."

"It's fair." You smile slightly. "I just... I was so sure he was the one for me. You know? He cared about me when no one else did, he risked so much for me. You can hate him all you want, but that doesn't change the fact that he saved my life."

"That doesn't mean you owe him your love."

"I know that." You whisper, lips pursed in thought as you pause to figure out what you want to say. "But I think I would love him anyway. More than anything, I feel bad that I put him in this position."

Lennox shakes his head abruptly. "You didn't do anything. He made this decision, that apparently he wants you here, so he shouldn't be "embarrassed" of you, or whatever. Not at all."

"I don't know what to do, bug." You admit quietly. "I don't want to leave him. I don't want him to leave me behind now that the Games are over and done. I feel like for a while it was like... like I was a shiny new toy. And now I'm not clean and fun anymore."

"You really love him?" He asks, and you nod. He sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Then I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but you've gotta talk to him."

You open your mouth to speak, a small smile forming on your lips at his acceptance despite your nervousness about seeing Coryo again. "But don't let him off the hook yet, just let him plead his case." Lennox adds.

"I have to, bug."

"You're too forgiving." He replies, understanding but still disappointed. "I don't want to see you hurt."

"If I couldn't forgive, I would be ruined."

Coriolanus doesn't know what to do other than to go and get you before school come Monday morning. He hadn't heard from you, but Tigris insisted that you just needed your space. So he left a little early, the brisk air chilling him as he stepped outside the apartment building where their car was waiting.

He jumps nearly a foot in the air when he hears his name.

"Coriolanus Snow, fancy finding you here." He abruptly turns to look at the boy leaning up against the cement pillar only a few feet away.

The smug smile on your brother's face at his own joke is only mildly off-putting.

"Lennox. What are you doing here?" Coryo asks, clearing his throat and quickly readjusting the front of his coat. He knew your family- he knew he shouldn't be shocked that if you called, your brother would come running. Now he's just realizing that this didn't mean anything good for him.

Lennox shrugs as he steps away from the wall, a toothpick poking out from the corner of his mouth as he chews on it. "Sejanus called on Halloween. Said Y/N was having a tough time, and what kind of brother would I be if I didn't come to help?"

"That's very kind of you." Coryo states, eyeing him carefully. "So, you've been with her then?"

"Mhm." Lennox nods, smiling proudly as he not so subtly sizes up the boy in front of him. "Should we talk in the car? Wouldn't want you to be seen with me." He winks, flicking away the toothpick before brushing past your boyfriend to let himself into the backseat.

The blonde boy swallows, rolling his eyes before climbing in after him. "You going to school?" Lennox asks, already playing with the switches that roll up the windows and adjust the seats.

"I was going to pick up Y/N. She has class at the same time."

"Oh, she's already there. She got a ride with Sej this morning." Lennox states. "So don't worry, we wouldn't want her to be an inconvenience for you."

Coryo sighs, rubbing his head. "Listen, I don't know what they toldyou, but-"

"Oh, no. You're gonna listen to me now." Lennox cuts him off, suddenly serious as the car begins to move. "I don't know what you want from her. Not anymore. I had a pretty good idea when you showed up at our home unannounced, but clearly, that wasn't enough for you. So, correct me if I'm wrong, but you kidnapped her, right-"

"I didn't-"

"Yes, you did. As I was saying, you kidnapped her, but why?" Lennox shakes his head, eyes wide with genuine confusion. "If you don't want her, if you treat her like she's a burden to you, or that you're embarrassed of her, why would you bother? Was it just to break her again, because The Hunger Games didn't do a damn good enough job?" He hisses, fists clenched together like it was all he could do to not take a swing at him right now. "'My tribute gets touchy when she drinks'... Are you kidding me? You did this to her! All of it! I don't think it's too much of her to ask for you to care when you promised that you would!"

Coryo flinches a bit as his own words are thrown back at him, looking down at his lap in nothing more than shame as it fills him slowly from head to toe.

"It's not like that, Lennox. Not at all." Coryo settles on, shaking his head. "She is the furthest thing from a burden to me. I know it's hard for you to believe, but I want her to be happy. I want to help her."

Lennox looks down at his lap, the act of 'protective brother' crumbling to pieces over the back seat as tears brim at his eyes. "Then why would you take her away again?"

Coryo is shocked by this, eyes going wide as he stares at him. No longer was Lennox only your little brother who puffed his chest and rolled up his sleeves at every given opportunity to take a stab at your boyfriend, he was just a kid. A kid like you, who was completely torn apart by the games even though he had never set foot in the Capitol until the day before.

To Coryo, Lennox looked like he would have made a strong competitor in the same games; had his name been chosen. He was cocky, normally, and that was something that could be made into the spectacle that Dr. Gaul wanted. He would have no doubt done well. Coryo recalls you talking endlessly about your brother before the Games, and he remembered meeting him in Twelve and thinking that he was nothing like what he expected from the way you spoke about him. Gentle. Kind. Selfless.

From his limited interactions with the boy, Coryo only saw anger, distrust, selfishness. But knowing that he had to stand by back in District Twelve and wait for the news of his sister's death, maybe even watch it live, Coryo can now see that not only did it anger and scare him, but it traumatized him almost as much as it did you. The boy sitting next to him was nothing more than a kid who had lost his best friend. Who lost his sister.

"I..." Coryo stammers, waves of realization hitting him like he's run into a brick wall. "I had no choice." He says quietly to spare the driver's ears, and Lennox snaps his head back up to look at him.

Long gone was the sadness that told the story of who he had been while you were here fighting for your life a few months ago. Now, his eyes were ice cold, red from the tears that he didn't let fall.

"You're gonna have to explain before I tear every piece of that strangely white hair from your big head, Coryo."

Subconsciously, Coryo reaches up to make sure his hair is still styled the way he had just done it before he left as he swallows. "You know what happened to that peacekeeper?" He leans closer to say it so they won't be heard.

Lennox is scanning his face for any sign he could be lying. "And Billy Taupe?" He prompts him, the sad look flickering back in his eyes for only a moment. You had told Coryo about the relationship your family had with the Covey children, he hadn't even considered how your brother would handle the death of one of his closest friends without his big sister there to help. He lost you both in one night- that couldn't have been an easy pill to swallow, especially when he had only just got you back.

Coryo nodded slightly, looking up quickly to make sure one more time that the driver wasn't watching in the mirror.

"She was there." He explains it in as few words as possible. "And I knew if anyone found that out, if anyone saw her, the finger would be pointed her way."

"Did you kill them?" Lennox asks quietly.

Coryo shakes his head. "No, but I did hold one of the guns. She's the only reason I didn't. She wouldn't let me."

"Who did?"

"Spruce, I think his name is, but I shouldn't be telling you any of this."

Lennox gives him a solemn nod. "It's fine. I'm the one who hid the guns. Spruce brought them to the house and I ran everything out to the lake that night. Was sleepin' like a rock when Y/N/N came to pack all her stuff, I'd only been home for an hour or so." He explains, wiping a hand over his face as he remembers making that familiar hike in the dark. "They got Spruce, he was done the next day but I promise they'll never find any evidence connecting to you guys."

Coryo nods, internally sighing in relief.

"It's all secrets, now." Lennox adds, and Coryo knows what he means by that.

"What kind of secrets will she find at the bottom of the lake?" His own question is echoed back to him, but now he knows the answer.

"But if I knew it coulda connected you, maybe I would have left them somewhere more obvious."

Coryo doesn't expect the small smile that forms on your brother's lips. It was a threat, but first and foremost it was a joke.

"I'll be honest, I panicked." Coryo admits. "I couldn't just leave her there not knowing what would happen to her. I had to keep her safe, and bringing her back with us was the only way I knew how."

"I coulda protected her." Lennox insists, but the shake in his voice indicates that he knows that isn't necessarily true.

"I know." Coryo agrees anyway. "And I know it sounds like I'm lying to you but I mean it when I say I just want to help her. To give her a better future."

"Maybe," Lennox's jaw tenses and he slightly shakes his head. "But that doesn't mean you can treat her like she's nothin' to you. Especially if you actually care about her, which I am still skeptical of- for the record."

"I do." He assures your brother. "It's just... I don't expect you to understand but it is extremely complicated. There's a lot of pressure on me to keep the impression that our relationship is... professional."

"The hell you mean, 'professional?' She loves you. She loves you more than she should and you don't deserve that from her. Even if you saved her life, she doesn't owe you anything."

"I know." Coryo says again. "You're right. I won't deny that, but I need you to trust me when I say that everything I have to do, I'm doing it for her- so the Games didn't just chew her up and spit her out for nothing. She saved my life- and all I have to repay her with is my name. So I'm trying my hardest to do that."

Your brother is quiet for a moment. "Do you love her?"

"Yes," Coryo answers without a moment's hesitation. "More than I ever thought it was even possible to love another person, and I've known that since long before she ever set foot in that arena."

When Lennox doesn't reply, staring at him and trying to decide whether or not he believes it, he continues.

"I risked everything for her to win. I gave her that scarf, the rat poison, I even put something of hers into the snake tank so they wouldn't hurt her even if they caught her." He explains. "I was told before the reaping that if we cheated to help our tributes, we would have no shot at any kind of viable future but when it came down to it I didn't even consider another option because I could not live in a world without your sister."

Your brother's eyes soften as they find his again, a subtle nod indicating his understanding.

"She's... she's like a book whose pages I never tire of turning. I love her more than I could ever explain to you, Lennox. Please, even if you never trust me again, trust me right now." Coryo pleads. "I would never want to hurt her, and the fact that I have is killing me every moment she is not here."

Lennox straightens up, looking out the window as the university campus comes into their view. "I think she's the one who really needs to know that. Don't you?"

Coryo looks out the window, nodding in silent agreement and chewing on the inside of his cheek as the car comes to a stop for him to get out.

"By the way," Lennox says, that smug smile returning to his lips. "You spend too much time with my sister. 'She's like a book whose pages I never tire of turning'." He mocks his voice, using finger quotations to make his point and polishing it off with a scoff. "Never say anything like that again, Coryo. That's corny, even for Y/N."

Coryo laughs slightly. "Noted." He agrees, pushing the door open.

Armed with the information that you did still love him and maybe your brother wouldn't be hunting him down just yet for hurting you, he heads into the building looking forward to finding you for lunch.

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okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[frank1nsaint]

Franklin Part 3

Warnings: Use of curse words and N-word

“Why you been dodging me?” Franklin asks you as soon as you open the door to your house 

You step out “I have no idea what you’re talking about” 

“Oh so those pages and calls to your phone?” he points towards the inside of your house “They didn't happen?” 

You shrug “I don't know maybe you dialed the wrong number” you had no plan to explain to him why you hoped he would just take the hint and let you be, it had been 3 weeks since your first date

He throws his hands up “Come on Y/N what happened? We were just good not too long ago I was gonna take you on another date’n shit” 

“I don’t think we would be good for each other Franklin” 

“Why you say that? we just talked about you not sabotaging” he points between both of you “this” 

“Im not” 

He leans in “You are” he argues 

“Franklin we aren’t good for each other just accept that” you state matter of factly before you turn to go in

He grabs your arm gently “Nah you owe me an explanation” 

“I don’t!” you answer defiantly snatching your arm away

“Yes the fuck you do. I’m puttin’ my best foot forward and you fuckin’ it up on purpose cuz of what? you fucking scared of the shit I do? Aint nobody gon touch you Y/N they dont touch Wanda  and her dope head ass what make you think they gon fuck withchu?”

You sigh “Franklin” 

“Nah fuck that Y/N” 

“You really wanna know?”

He nods “Yes I do, enlighten me” 

You pause “I can’t trust you Franklin”  

His face holds a confused look “What are you even...?” 

“After our date, some of your henchmen came up to me. Guess what they said to me?”

Franklin held his breath he feels his heart beat start to increase. You start to mock the mannerisms and voice of the men “shit I heard you and my boy Saint had a date last night” He shrugs “So i told them we went on a date big deal”  praying that's where the story ends 

You continue “Men I lost my $200 and my boy came up on a smooth couple grand” you pause and look at him “ha-ha my man Saint he a G tho” you return to a normal voice “then he proceeds to tell me that there was a bet between you and your fucking crew, you got two grand if i actually went on a date with you?” you scoff “if you were that hard up for money Saint all you had to do was ask I could have given you that and we wouldn’t be having this conversation” 

“Y/N let me explain” this was not as it seemed 

“Not even 24 hours passed after our date and I’m hearing you went rounding up your niggas so they could pay you!" you paused "And OH! if I fucked you it would have been an additional $3000”  you say sarcastically

“Y/N” he calls

You start mocking another guy “My girl Y/N, my sunshiiinneee yo yo yo shit if i had known all i had to do was ask you all proper and shit you would be my girl now. May I take you to dinner Y/N, miss congeniality” you tilt your head “they said you looked pretty in that green dress last night wish it was me instead of that nigga!” 

“Who approached you?” he asked with a deep scowl on his face.  

“I’ll give you that Saint. You played me good. You played a good game” you begin to walk away 

“Hold up, hold up, hold up,  who came up to you?” He asked again You return his mug “I’m not telling you Franklin! It doesn’t matter anyway you up 1 grand right?” 

“Y/N listen I will explain later but who told you that? They are a liability to my shit!” 

You shrug “what that got to do with me?” 

“Tell me their fuckin’ names Y/N!” he demands

You sigh “you betted on me” 

“Y/N” 

In a soft tone you say “$2000 for the date, additional $3000 if we fucked, had people follow us, Big Saint, The Man, The Myth, The Legend show you lil niggas how its done” you pause “right?...... Saint?” 

He looks up and runs his hand down his face feeling like his heart was going to explode word for word you quote what he had that night (“show you lil niggas how its done”) “Y/N please just tell me who told you that and I will explain everything” he begs 

“If you wanted the money all you had to do was ask Franklin” 

“Y/N, I don’t care about the money” “But you still made sure to collect, right?” you pause “Then you got the nerve to get annoyed at the fact that I was sabotaging the date!”  you scoff in disbelief and begin to walk into your house 

Franklin grabs your arm “Y/N listen!”

“Don’t Franklin!”  you warn removing yourself from his grip 

He blocks the door with his body “Y/N This aint a fucking game who approached you?! I need to know!” 

You shook your head, you look him in the eye “I’m not gonna tell you Saint” 

He tilted his head and pauses with an offended tone he says “Don’t call me that, I'm not Saint to you it’s either Franklin or any other fucking thing else but I’m not Saint to you!” 

You go to say something else but decide not “Fucking Asshole!” you mutter looking down at your sweater pulling small knots that had formed

He released a deep sigh “Fine I’ll take that but you need to tell me who approached you.” he moves his head trying to get you to look up at him. You remain silent. “Tell me Y/N” 

You shake your head “I’m not gonna tell you Franklin”

“WHY?!” he pauses to gather himself “You know how serious this shit is?” “SO YOU CAN GO KILL THEM?!” “OH MY GOD AINT NOBODY THINKIN’ ABOUT KILLING THEM NIGGAS!” he looks around  and moves closer to you  “keep your fucking voice down!” he whispers harshly You scoff “It’s all good Saint” Almost immediately he sizes you up and with gritted teeth he says “What the fuck did I just say?”  

You feel shiver run down, it shocked you so much that you instinctively jump move away slightly, but you hold your ground still glaring at him before you step away and snicker and nod a few of times with tears in your eyes 

With instant regrets he breaks his stance and takes a step back to show that his anger isn't’ aimed at you. “Just tell me” he says in a significantly softer tone 

“I’m not gonna tell you Franklin, I don’t want their deaths on me because you decided to be an asshole all over $5000?” 

He steps towards “Y/N please”

You step away with your hand up “It’s all good Franklin, I hope you put that $1000 to good use” a tear drops from your eyes “Y/N” “No hard feelings really Franklin, but you know this can’t work ever, doesn’t matter your explanation.” another tear from your right eye begins to roll down “wish you the best in your business stay safe out there” 

“Y/N! No no no no please please please!” he begs gently grabbing your hand trying to stop you but also making sure to not scare you away 

You pull your hand away “Goodnight Franklin” you speak before closing the door. 

He looks at the door for a moment before turning and walking away towards his car. He turns on the car and begins to drive away “FFFUUUCCCKKKK!” he screams feeling the rage course through him as he speeds on the freeway

Franklin walks in and slams the door causing Jerome to jump up from his seat gun drawn “MOTHAFUCKA I ALMOST SHOT YOU WHAT THE HELL WRONG WITCHU?!” 

They hear footsteps before Louie is stand ny the door “JEROME? WHO THE FUCK IS THAT? FRANKLIN!?” she comments frantically looking around for the threat “Not now” he grits out

“NIGGA WHO YOU THINK YOU TALKIN’ TO?!  WALKIN’ UP IN MY HOUSE SLAMMIN’ MY SHIT. I'll FUCK YOU UP!” Jerome bellows 

The phone rings and Franklin picks up “Hello?! meet me at Jerome house, now nigga, YES NOW! Bring Sean witchu!”

“WHAT THE HELL GOING ON FRANKLIN WHAT HAPPENED?” Louie asks “THEM LITTLE MOTHAFUCKAS DONE WENT AND TOLD Y/N ABOUT THE BET!” “WHAT? WHAT BET?” Louie asks

Jerome looks at Franklin like he has three heads “NIGGA WHAT??? YOU MAD OVER THAT STUPID ASS BET?” Franklin took major offence to Jeromes accusations, tilting his head to the side “You laughing but if I can't trust them to not tell a bitch about a stupid ass bet I can’t trust them in my shit!! They gone blow up our spot and fuck up our shit.” he points to his head  “You not thinking Unc” Jerome paused and realised the gravity of the situation 

“What is this bet? And what it got to do with that lil girl?” Louie asked as she looked between the two 

Jerome gently waved her away “I’ll explain it to you later baby just let us be” 

Louie scoffed “Shit mothafucka walkin’ in here slamming doors”

“Louie” Franklin commented 

“Nigga fuck you!”  

Franklin squared up Louie “AYE! AYE! AYE! WE DON'T NEED ALL THAT NOW!” 

Franklin huffed and turned to continue his pace 

In 10 minutes Leon and Sean arrived

“Nigga what happened” Leon asked gun already out 

“We got some rat ass mothafuckas in our crew look how they got Franklin!”  Jerome pokes fun at him “Nigga pacing around and shit over a bitch!” he jokes 

“UNC!”  Franklin warns

“What... happened?” Sean asked confused 

“Y/N told me that niggas from our crew approached her telling her about the bet”

“Soooo...” Leon looked at Franklin confused 

“So?” Franklin returned the expression “You niggas not thinking?” he paused “I GOTTA DO ALL THE THINKIN’ AROUND HERE??!!” 

“We don’t” Sean speaks trying to rationalise their confusion 

“If they running to tell her about a bet, a bet made between everyone in that room, what makes you think they not blowing up our spot?”

The men looked between each other the reality finally setting in for everyone that they could be completely exposed for anything at any moment. 

“Our competitors, our opps, our product,  our recipe, our schedule, our plug, our money, our peoples” Franklin states 

“We got it Nephew” Jerome comments wanting him to not continue hating the feeling of being vulnerable 

Franklin chuckled and looked around at them and in a whisper he sneers “and you niggas think I’m mad over a bitch when I got some snake ass mothafuckas in my crew??!! I GOT BIGGER PROBLEMS NIGGA!!” “My bad” Sean says throwing his hands up 

“FFFUUUCK! Round all them niggas up now” 

Leon puts his hand up “Now hold on its 2am we ain't bout to be meeting without cops spotting us”

“SHIT!”

“Look lets come up with a solution to figure out who them niggas are we start rounding people up they might start snitching even more” Leon strategizes 

Franklin nodded in agreeance “We gonna act like shit aint happen and take them niggas out one by one!” 

Jerome nods “Yea I like that plan!” 

Franklin sighs and sits down releasing the tension in his body

“We got a plan nephew unless you got something better?”

“No I don't.” 

Its silent for awhile with the 3 men (Jerome, Sean, Leon) talking to each other catching up on what they heard or whats going with their product

“Nigga what wrong withchu we have a solution” 

Franklin waves him off “Not now Unc,I’m trying to figure out how to fix this shit with Y/N” 

“Oh shit,” Leon comments forgetting that you were involved 

“Yea nigga, Y/N! they told Y/N!” 

“HA-HA you losing your mind over this girl boy! Now you know niggas talk worse than bitches sometimes. Gossipping mothafuckas”

“NOT NOW UNC” Leon shrugs “just go get another bitch, she aint the only fine girl that we know”

Franklin shot him an incredulous look “I don't want another bitch Leon I want that one!” 

“She not special her stuck up ass I bet if you called Tasha now she’ll literally hop the fuck out her bed and come fuck you” Leon wasn’t really a big fan of you, he thought that you acted too good

“I dont want Tasha, I want Y/N and that thing was a fucking mistake i told you that” “Hell no don’t call that crazy girl up here! Her bat shit ass bout got herself killed trying to sneak in my damn house talking about she just wanna see Frankie”  Louie comments 

Jerome chortles “BOY YOU HAD THAT GIRL GOING CRAZY BOUT LOST HER FUCKIN’ MIND. DICK HAD HER STUCK NEPHEW!!” he blares out a laugh 

Leon, Sean, and Louie join in on the laugh

Franklin ran his hands down his face “We gotta find them or this shit is not gonna last. If they can go run and tell Y/N what else are they doing? Product been going missing lets start there whoever them mothafuckas are they fuckin’ dead!” he grumbled. 

Authors Note: Feedback is much appreciated. Please reblog, comment, and like just don't plagiarize

[eoieopda]

I am here to request some silly, sweet Channie fluff 🥺🥺 as mild or spicy as you want, idm, just want some deep comfort feat. my favourite fun-sized snack 🥰🥰

the one with chan and the promotion

pairing: bang chan x gn!reader type: drabble genre: fluff, hurt/comfort au: fuck buddies to ?, pining rating: 18+ wc: 2.2k (don’t look at me) summary: you need a ride home after getting your wisdom teeth removed. chan just so happens to be free. | part two (4/20/24) cw: chan’s pov, no smut but it’s referenced, reader has outpatient dental surgery (not depicted), reference to blood/swelling, reader is doped the hell up. 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

You’re drifting off in some twilight on the other side of a closed door, but Chan’s the one that’s stupefied.

Mechanically speaking, he knows how he got himself into this position: drove here in his car, parked in the lot outside, walked into the front door. His ass is in this very seat because he dropped himself there, and he hasn’t moved in the two hours that have passed since.

None of that explains why he’s in his current position, though — why you reached out to him, of all people, to come with you to something like this.

Why he’s more giddy over that choice than confused by it, even if it turns out that he was your last resort.

He’s lost in thought when your oral surgeon’s head peeks out through the doorway to the recovery room. She asks if he’s “the boyfriend”, and he has no idea how to explain that he’s more of a “semi-consistent fuck buddy”, so he simply says “yes” before allowing her to usher him into the room.

You’re slumped in a reclining chair when Chan walks in, heavy eyelids fluttering as you try hard to fight off sleep. Better still, the gauze in your mouth makes your chipmunk cheeks stick out while your still-numb lips fumble with words. The urge to reach for his phone and snap a picture makes his fingers twitch, but he doesn’t; you’d absolutely murder him if he tried.

“Mmfph?” You grunt when your narrowed eyes manage to clock him standing there.

He grins automatically, fingers reaching up to tip a hat he isn’t wearing. “Mmfph to you, too.”

Whatever drugs they gave you to knock you on your ass aren’t strong enough to overcome your personality; you roll your eyes much more easily than you keep them fully open. That trademark sass must’ve taken a lot out of you, though. You doze off again before he can blink, slumping further in your chair with your head lolled uncomfortably to the side.

Your neck is going to hurt later, he thinks with a frown. 

“Once they get their sea legs back, you should be okay to go.”

Chan jumps when the surgeon pipes up, having completely forgotten anyone else was in the room.

She clears her throat sheepishly, clearly aware that she’s interrupting something. Breezing right past that awkwardness, she pulls a prescription pad from her coat pocket. The top page is promptly ripped off and passed to him with a stern look. 

She warns, “Make sure they don’t take this medication on an empty stomach.”

Damn — only two hours in, and he’s already being promoted from chauffeur to caretaker? It should embarrass him that this fact tickles him thoroughly pink, but it doesn’t. Inwardly, he high-fives himself.

Nice one, Chan!

“Soup is best,” the surgeon continues, once again pulling him out of his own head. There’s a pause before she remembers the kicker; she waves her hand urgently when she finally does. “Nothing spicy, though.”

He nods in understanding, and just like that, she pats his shoulder and disappears out the door. Unsure what else to do, Chan takes a seat on the small stool next to your chair and waits.

And wait, and waits, and waits.

Jesus. What did they give you — a horse tranquilizer?

When your eyes open the second time, they find him immediately. They’re still a bit glassy, but they’re much more alert. Bright, even, which is a bit of a wonder, given the circumstances. Right away, he can tell that the space cadet has — sort of — returned to Earth.

“Can —?” You gesture to your mouth, which struggles to frown around the gauze. 

Uselessly, you flick out your tongue in an attempt to wet your lips. They're dry from all the time you must’ve spent with your mouth open, and his fingers twitch again when he pictures the chapstick in his pocket.

You distract him with what he assumes are words, prompting him to shift his gaze from your mouth to your eyes.

Everything that comes next is garbled, totally incoherent, but he gets the gist. With a quick glance at his watch, he confirms that it’s been thirty minutes since he started watching you sleep, and that feels like enough time. 

Right?

So, he shrugs permissively; you perk up the second you’re given the green light. Bravely, you only whine a little bit when you lay eyes on the slightly bloody, thoroughly spit-soaked material as you pull it away from your gums. 

Chan can’t tell if you’re trying to pout when you hold that mess out to him and stare expectantly, but the intent doesn’t matter much in the long run; the effect is the same. He takes your drooled-on trash without a second thought.

Squinting as he concentrates, he fires it off towards the bin in the corner like he’s trying to beat a buzzer. The pair of you watch as it ricochets off the wall, then drops perfectly in the basket below.

Immediately, he turns back to you with wiggling eyebrows and a smirk. “Bank shot,” he brags.

You ignore the true purpose of his raised hand — a well-deserved high-five — and instead latch onto it.  Gripping tightly as if your life depends on it, you drag yourself up and out of your chair. 

Before you can throw yourself entirely off balance, Chan swoops in to tuck you under his arm. You’re independent to a fault, however; and you glare up at him exactly like he guessed you would. Apologetic, he keeps his distance with his hands raised.

Go for it, then.

All it takes for you to accept defeat is a few wobbly steps toward the door and some curse words muttered under your breath, for zest. You give in faster than you want to and dive into his side with a long-suffering groan. You’re not looking, so he doesn't bother to hide the triumphant smirk that spreads when your arms wrap around his waist.

The walk back to his car takes a lot more effort than he initially expected. Though you cling to him like you’ll float off without him, you insist on attempting to wander in every direction except the one you need to head in. To the best of his ability, Chan steers you across the pavement; you babble through every stumbled step.

“I’m going to open your door now, okay?” He coos once you finally reach his car.

It surprises him slightly — the softness he’s exuding, and how much like a reflex it feels — but he doesn’t dwell on it. He’s got a far more difficult puzzle to solve: getting your wriggling body into his car.

After a few unsuccessful tries, you finally let him usher you out of the way of the door. You spill into his passenger seat like you’re more jelly than bones, knocking your skull against the doorframe as you go.

Jesus Christ.

Eyes wide, Chan ducks down to run his fingers gingerly over what will likely be a goose egg tomorrow. Nervously, he chuckles, “That — uhh — that was quite the entrance. You okay?”

Tilting your chin just so, you push your cheek into his palm and blink up at him slowly like you’ve already forgotten the question. Suddenly, so has he. Several moments whizz by just like that — with his arm raised uncomfortably and your heavy head resting against his hand.

Never in his life has he wanted to kiss a forehead as badly as he does yours. It’s like you’ve got a magnet where your orbital bone should be, and it’s a bit shocking. Whatever magic you’ve got — some sort of tractor beam in your eyes, perhaps — pulls, pulls, pulls, but he stops himself.

That’s not what this is, he reminds himself as he backs away and shuts your door carefully in his place. That’s not who I am to you.

In this moment, Chan is your taxi driver, carting you off to the apartment he’s been in a hundred times — but never once in the daytime.

As he goes, it becomes a little clearer with every kilometer: the sun can’t be beating down overhead because he feels it next to him, warming his arm through his jacket; blinding him whenever his gaze drifts over to the passenger side.

“Chan,” you pout out of nowhere.

Again, your head droops fast and bumps his shoulder. You don’t react to this second knock, but he does, sucking air in through his teeth.

“Need to get you a helmet,” he mutters with a sheepish laugh. “You’re gonna give yourself a concussion at this rate.”

“Don’t need a helmet,” you argue. “I need pork belly, bad. Stop, please?”

Glancing quickly down at you, Chan bites back a smile. You look so adorably pitiful with your hazy eyes blinking one at a time, lips all puffy to match your cheeks. It takes all he’s got to tear his eyes off you and put them back on the road ahead.

He sighs, genuinely sorry. “No can do, champ.”

You repeat the nickname, pop the last letter, and make yourself laugh so hard that you hiccup.

“Your options currently are soup or… well, soup.” He tries to sound firm, but if you pout at him a second time, Chan might throw your dentist’s warning right out the window. “Think it over while I stop at the pharmacy, yeah?”

In the quiet that follows, he swears he can hear the gears turning in your head. He doubts it has anything to do with what he just told you, but he doesn’t mind. Come to think of it, he doesn’t mind any of what this day has turned out to be so far. That doesn’t necessarily surprise him, either.

With the way things currently are between you, you don’t feature much in his everyday life; only weekends and the occasional weeknight. It works well, this thing you’ve got going. He enjoys what you do — that head game of yours is otherworldly — but judging by the glimpses he’s seen so far, he likes who you are, too.

Despite not knowing you on some deeper level, shit like this — being around you for some profoundly asexual purpose — feels natural. Like he could do it more often; be a little more than just a recurring character. If you let him, that is.

Would you let him?

That question rattles around his brain when he pulls up to the pharmacy and dashes inside, too wary to leave you alone for long but wholly unprepared to guide you through a shop in your current state. He’s still thinking about it when he jogs back to his car with your prescription in hand.

That bag is nearly dropped to the pavement below when he sees you, however; and he can’t remember what he was thinking about before because you’re weeping now. In a flash, Chan throws himself into his seat and jerks the door shut behind him, metal groaning in the process. 

“What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t mean to sound so forceful, but he can feel his pulse in his ears. On instinct, he reaches out and places gentle hands on your temples. Eyes scanning for any sign of injury, he tries to bury his urgency in a soothing voice. “Hey — talk to me. Are you okay?”

You blink up at him with wide, wet eyes. Oh, fuck, you’re breaking my heart. His stomach drops at the sight of your lower lip trembling, but then you whimper:

“What if worms don’t have best friends?”

And Chan needs a minute because he can’t believe you’re real, that you’re borderline bereft over worms, or that he’s this fucking enamored.

Before he knows it, he starts giggling so hard that his eyes start to swim. Thankfully, it’s with mirth and not utter devastation like yours. Pinching his bottom lip between his teeth, he wipes a tear off your cheek with the side of his thumb. Just as gently, he tries his best to reassure you, “I’m sure they do.”

“You’re sure?” You repeat with a sniffle. Chan nods; he’s never been more so.

Successfully placated, you fall into thoughtful silence next to him. It doesn’t last long, though. Abruptly, you and your goldfish memory change course: “Can we get pork belly?”

Something in him wants to give you the world in this moment — the moon on a string, or whatever — but he shakes his head, unwilling to budge. But then your face falls, and he blurts out, “When you’re better, I’ll take you out for some.”

And he means it.

You peep, “Maybe next week.”

Chan laughs while he puts the key in the ignition and turns it. Maybe, he thinks, if you remember having this conversation. As the engine roars back to life, a new thought bubbles to the surface in his mind:

Maybe you will remember.

If you do — and if he’s brave enough then — maybe he’ll confess that he’s a liar. He might own up to the fact that, when you called to ask for his help, he didn’t already have the day off like he claimed to; or that the sick time he rushed to claim in the aftermath wasn’t attributable to his health at all. 

Maybe he’ll admit that he doesn’t care how many people you asked before you turned to him because you ultimately did.

Just maybe.

As he backs out of his parking space, Chan casts another glance your way. It takes all the effort in the world for you to do it, but you smile at him with your whole damn face. 

That settles it, then.

He nods once — firmly — and corrects you, “Definitely next week.”

Part two.

[fryingpan1234567]

canonically Jason and Tim have motorcycles, right? and B and Duke too but the other two are more well known I think

ANYWAYS what if everyone in the batfam had one tho? because. the potential.

Dick takes his off of roofs sometimes, but it’s built for it. before all his modifications, it was just a blue and black chrome Yamaha sports bike, nothing special. he added a Nightwing sticker on each side, a bunch of weapons (mostly electricity based), grappling hooks, Nightwing things. there’s even a sidecar for Haley.

Babs (before the wheelchair days) had a purple and yellow one that matched her suit perfectly. it sort of meant she couldn’t use it during the day, but occasionally she rode it to work with extensive concealing of the random dangerous gadgets. hers was also a Yamaha (same model ^^)

Jason canonically has a black shapeshifting one like some maccadams shit but it’s fine— it’s loud as shit, so he doesn’t really use it for patrol, but he loves it during the day. because it’s just black, it’s pretty easy to take it out for completely non-suspicious speeding law breaking joyrides. no harm done!

Cass has a jet black Ninja, and her reputation on the streets is about the same as the nightfury’s at the beginning of the first httyd. dark, deadly, and it’s even quiet in Gotham’s busy streets. watch your back for her.

Tim’s got the BATCYCLE it’s CANON. it’s also canon that it’s got a liquid-cooling engine and a Robin-themed paint job, but fuck that, I say it’s dark red and electric and he rides it to work. so sometimes (most of the time) he pulls up with ruffled clothes and helmet hair, which Conner nearly fainted at the first time he saw it, but we don’t talk about that. he doesn’t use it for patrol because Kon said he’d carry him everywhere if Tim gave him rides in exchange. on the bike. he has said on more than one occasion “wear the helmet, ride a biker” and Tim punches him really hard

Steph’s bike is purple, and the wheels do the hover-shift-glowy thing like in Mario Kart (also purple). she’s not scared of you or anyone; she will ride that shit to school and use it on patrol with the hovering and distracting color and everything. fight me.

in canon, Duke’s bike is electric with a bunch of lights and black and yellow and lowkey built like a tank. I kinda like it! I think it’s a fabulous bike for a fabulous man so therefore he gets to keep it I won’t be taking criticism

Damian gets a green and red and black electric Ninja, plus a helmet that he painted with feathers and paw prints n shit. Jon likes the spare, which is just black but has a red mohawk. what more could you want? he could fly everywhere, but he also could just have his badass motorcycle bf drive him everywhere while he wears his dope ass helmet and vibes to whatever 2000s pop shit Damian lets him play. he’s a professional backpack.

did you think I’d stop at the Batkids? sorry imma keep going

I like the idea of Brucie having a black sports bike that’s 90% modifications like in the movie. no one remembers what it was before he took it all apart and added Bat-stuff, but it looks great now! it’s blown up more times than you can count, just because it’s a really good target for rogues.

Kate has one that’s almost exactly the same, except hers is maybe a little closer to what it was originally. she doesn’t quite have all the same stuff Bruce does, but they’re the same vibe!

anyways that’s the vigilante weirdos club, so like it’s expected that they’d all have a dangerous vehicle. slightly less expected— Alfred freaking Pennyworth has a Harley with tall handles and sparkly black paint, but nobody knew that for such a long time because he barely leaves the manor. all the kids lost their minds when they found out. what can I say

anyways some Bat-bike shenanigans that have ensued:

street races between all the Batkids at least once a week, whether that be on patrol or in civvy clothes

Jason obnoxiously revving really loud whenever he sees one of them in the street, on a date, when he’s picking them up from something, just as often as possible. obnoxious revving. old people hate him

cool lesbian aunt Kate picking up kids from school with her badass bike and epic helmet

sometimes Dick will be talking about “his child” or “his baby” and no one’s sure if he’s talking about his dog or his bike

bike-related thirst traps on social media

“race you to the next light”

not a single one of them has left a Gotham speeding law intact even once (not even Alfred, although he won’t admit it)

Wally likes to get Dick to race him on his bike even though he knows he’s going to win

both Jon and Conner have said something along the lines of “I bet I could pick up the bike with you on it” as a show-off attempt, but Damian and Tim love their paint jobs too much to permit them to try

Batfam on bikes❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[cator99]

Last year around this time I was in Chicago trying to buy shrooms off some underweight white dreads boy at addison station after trying to go to some "sapphic night" at a bar only to pull up and be told that tickets were $30 absolutely not happening I went back to my old time fav Charlie's but it was lowkey a flop wasn't feeling it at all crowd was boring as fuck not a single latino offered me coke which was how I knew it was an off night so I went back to the train. Omw back I hung out with a bunch of black dudes who were sitting on fold out lawn chairs out the back of a suv celebrating one of the dudes nephews graduating top of his class and getting a university scholarship and little dude was gay so they wanted to show their support but like since he was too young to go into the gay clubs they decided to just hang around in boystown getting wasted together and that was really fun those dudes were dope but by the time I got back to addison i was like um i came out here tonight looking 4 shrooms and will be disappointed to go back empty handed so when I saw the opportunity I took it but this white dreads californian refugee was acting wack from the start despite the fact that he also clearly was prepared to sell to me--- he started sayin I looked like a cop (normie hair, all black fit, shoes that are far too reasonable and would in hindsight be considered cop shoes to the average drifter from the west coast unaccustomed to the east coast way of life (yes I was wearing hokas), mostly sober, suspiciously in shape for someone trying to buy drugs from strangers)- I remember exactly what he said: "if you're a cop I will kill myself- no joke, straight up, I will kill myself." By the time I took out my flip phone to get his number... it was all over for me. Absolutely not happening. Please– I pleaded– I'm Canadian! "What, they don't have smartphones in Canada?" Dude I feel like cops have the budget to get normal burner phones for stings... I don't! I just want shrooms! Also worth mentioning is that there was some sort of annoying-type lesbian that had just left the sapphic party Very Disappointed By The Vibe who had been trying to hit on me prior to my asking that dude if he knows where to get shrooms since he asked to bum a smoke first and sure from her perspective I'm sure she felt as though we had been hitting it off but I'm just a friendly person and when I quickly diverted my attention away to ask some bum for drugs... she scoffed, full on scoffed. Proceeded to make a whole thing about backing away slowly and saying "I'm going to go waaayyy over here now! Good! BYE!" You're wearing cut off overalls. A tie dyed crop top. A choker. You're going back to your parents place in Evanston. I do not want to continue our conversation all the way up the red line til I get off at morse, I will kill myself- no joke, straight up, I will kill myself.

[munsonsprincess11111]

But he's my goof

Eddie munson x reader

Summary: Eddie has beeb dating you for 5 months.in his friend's eyes Eddie has no game.so one day Eddie walks over to the hellfire table and Gareth is sat batching about not having a girlfriend so he askes Eddie how he pulled u. Honestly Eddie doesn't know so he asks u.

You and Eddie have been dating happily for 5 months. He loves you. You love him. You go in dates. You go to his gigs at the hideout even stay after closing and help him out. You go to hellfire. But there's one thing the club can't get there head around. How Eddie actually managed to pull you.

Your grungy. Your pretty. Your smart. You like metal music. How did Eddie pull someone so perfect. The man walked into a mirror in drama class once. So how.

"I'm gonna die alone. Women hate me." Gareth complains for the sixth time this week about not having a girlfriend. It's only Wednesday. Eddie walks over placing his lunch box on the table. "What's he bitching about now?" HE askes.

"He's saying he's gonna die alone cause no girls wanna date him." Jeff answers. Eddie nods and looks at Gareth. "What about tilly she would date you." Eddie askes throwing a pretzel in the air trying to catch it in his mouth but missing.

"How did you pull y/n?" Gareth says not even noticing he'd said his thought. Eddie shoots Gareth a glare and the rest of hellfire look at Gareth. Everyone can see Gareth realise what he said. The instant regret in his face.

"NO fucking clue." Eddie says going back to throwing pretzels tryna catch them in his mouth. Failing again. Everyone at the table look at Eddie as he replied calmly. He looked up at there shocked faces.

"What I don't. I'm a complete dope. I'm known as the town freak. I'm als kid. No one in school likes me. I dress like I'm homeless. I smoke. I occasionally drink. I'm failing. N I'm really fucking stupid." Eddie says getting cut off.

"Who's really fucking stupid?" You ask walking up behind Eddie as he throws a pretzel not noticing you. You grab it in your hand and eat it yourself smirking at your boyfriend who has furrowed brows.

"First. I'm really fucking stupid. Second. MY PRETZEL!" Eddie says looking up at you. You kiss his quickly and then sit next to him.

"And why are we talking about Eddie stupidity?" You ask taking another one of Eddie's pretzels.

"Well she's y/n she can answer. Y/n? How the fuck did I pull you?" Eddie askes looking her seriously in the eyes.

Everyone's eyes are on you. "Expand..." You say looking at Eddie and only Eddie.

"Like Gareth can't get a girlfriend. However. The town freak who's failing school who everyone hates and is failing school manages to get the most perfect girlfriend in the world." Eddie says handing u a mini pretzel.

"Yeah what the fuck you see in munson?" Gareth askes. Everyone's eyes back on Gareth. Eddie throws a pretzel and it hits him in the head. You giggle at Eddie.

"First. Your the most perfect boyfriend eds. Second. I dunno he's hot. Funny. N is nice to me." You say looking at Eddie. Eddie smiles at your response. Then Gareth speaks again.

"But he's a complete dopey goof." Everyone looking at him again as he can not shut up. Your still looking at Eddie who's death glaring Gareth.

"But he's my goof." You say quietly Eddie then looking back at you his face immediately changing to smiling. He takes your hand in his leans over and places a sloppy kiss on your lips making his friend's make gagging noises. "I love you" he whispers kissing your neck. "I love you too" you whisper back.

Eddie then sits back in his seat pulling your chair closer to him so he can put his arm around your shoulders. 10 minutes later a girl approaches the hellfire table. "HEY your Gareth right?" She askes Gareth. He nods looking at the table with a look of panic on his face.

"Umm I'm in your science class. Names Emily." She says smiling. "Yeah I know hi Emily." HE answers looking flustered.

"I was wondering if you'd wanna maybe go on a date this Saturday?" She askes smiling at Gareth. Gareth looks to his friends everyone eyes on him. Him still looking flustered. "Well answer the lovely lady Gareth. So sorry. He's a pussy when it comes to girls." Eddie says teasing the boy.

You lift your head from his shoulder and hit his chest. He puts his hands up in defeat before putting his arm back around your shoulder pulling you back into his side.

"Umm yeah sure. I can pick you up around 6 we could go get food?" Gareth askes playing eith his fingers.

"Sounds great I'll give u my address tomorrow. See you then." Emily says waving smiling and walking off. The table goes silent as everyone stares at Gareth. "Eddie?" Gareth askes. "Mm?" Eddie answers looking confused.

"Who asked who out with you and y/n." HE askes Eddie.

"We hung out a lot and one day she was talking snd I just kissed her. And KABOOM. Relationship ship." Eddie says smirking his arm still around you.

"Your absolutely unbelievable." You say with your head on his shoulder.

"Funny you told me that last night when I made you-" Eddie speaks tryna be smug but you slap your hand over his mouth.

"I'm leaving. See you all tomorrow." You say getting up taking your hand of Eddie's mouth. "Wait wait wait." Eddie says getting up to running off. Then running back to get his stuff.

The tables watching you walk off as Eddie grabbed his stuff. "Whyd she wipe her hands on her jeans?" Dustin and Gareth ask in sync. Eddie looks up going to run. "Cause I licked her hand." HE says before running after you. Earning grunts and groans of disgust from the table. "Y/n baby! It was a joke common trouble.!" HE shouts after you.

"I STILL DONT SEE HOW THAT PULLED HER." Gareth half yells painting at Eddie. Eddie heard and gave him the middle finger as he ran out the door. The doors were glass and you were stood outside of them. They could see you both.

Eddie dropped his stuff bringing his hands to your waist kissing you. Pushing you against the wall. Your hands went around his neck keeping him close and then in his hair.

Nancy being stood next to Mike hearing what Gareth had to say was able to answer for you. "Because he loves her and is not afraid to show it. And she loves him and all his weird tweeks."

They all look back at you to see Eddie picking his lunch box up and handing it to you. You look at him confused. Then he throws you Iver his shoulder. Your laughing. And attempting to keep some hold on him as Eddie walks off with you over his shoulder.

"He's her goof. And they love eachother. A hole fucking lot."