#one bed drabbles

[zephyrchama]

Asmo's wake-up call

You sensed that were you were not alone and gradually stirred from your sleep. Upon turning over and opening your eyes, an ethereal sight greeted you.

Asmodeus. Head resting on his arms, he leaned against the side of your bed like a fairy tale royal. His skin looked smooth and glistening. His eyes were as clear as an untouched tropical sea. Not a single hair was out of place. Artists would go to battle to acquire a muse even half as wonderful.

Your eyes felt crusty. Even half-closed, the light (or maybe just Asmodeus) was too bright and forced you to squint. Your limbs were inelegantly splayed out across the bed, with a sheet corner tangled around your ankle. There was a spot of dried drool at the corner of your mouth.

"What." That was all you could muster to say. What time was it? What was he doing there? What was going on? It was the prelude to many questions on your mind.

"Oh, you're awake? Good morning, sleepy head!" Asmodeus beamed at you, showing off flawlessly white teeth. Every tooth was perfect. You stared while waiting for your brain to turn on.

"I wanted us to hang out today," he continued, "so I came to see what you were doing. Sleeping in! It was sooo cute. Even now, look at you!"

You felt like a rotten moss-covered log in the forest out back. Asmodeus raised his D.D.D. and started snapping away, preserving the moment for eternity in images. That was a more alarming wake-up call.

Your brain urged its cells to move faster with a spike of adrenaline. Your hand lunged at Asmodeus' arm, grabbing his wrist, trying to sit your body upright. It was always so startling how soft his skin felt. Today's fragrance was something fruity. "What are you doing...?" you managed to say.

Asmodeus grabbed your hand back with delight. "So affectionate in the morning! I love it. I want to make sure I capture all of these adorable moments." You heard more shutter sounds, a whole burst of them.

Nope. Not while you looked like a spoiled potato in bed. This meant war.

[ellecdc]

About the onde bed trope… since there aren’t a lot of those, I was wondering if you could write one with reader and wolfstar? Maybe a smut or just something fluff

hi babes! so I got this request right after someone had asked for recommendations for one-bed tropes, which I had only ever read one and shared it. SO, I wanted to remind everyone of the cute wolfstar x reader one bed fic I read by @longlivedelusion, and know that while I'm happy to contribute to this super fun trope with our lovely wolfstar, that it was more than likely inspired by their awesome work linked above!

poly!wolfstar x Potter!reader who have to share a bed [2.8k words]

CW: mutual pining, feelings of 3rd wheeling, fluff, potter family

The hotel was bustling with what appeared to be just as many staff as there were patrons waiting in the lobby.

Bags were being whisked away, key cards were being handed to waiting hands, and nearly every second person was wearing a Manchester United jersey. 

James was positively giddy and practically vibrating with excitement, Lily and Regulus had their faces shoved into Lily’s phone as they (re)read the itinerary they had planned for James’ birthday trip, Remus arched his shoulders as he let his duffle fall to the ground and Sirius murmured promises of a back massage when they got to their room, and you people watched. 

Your parents had given James (and all of his friends) tickets to the Manchester home game and a few nights stay at a posh hotel close to the stadium.

Lily and Regulus, being James’ dutiful partners, planned other things for the lot of you to do while you were here, too.

Right now, however, you wanted nothing more than to get to your room, take a shower to wash the train off of your being, and go to sleep.

Mercifully the check in counter cleared and your group stepped up to the waiting concierge. 

“Hi there! We’re checking in for Potter; group of six.” Lily offered primly as she handed the man a copy of the booking number. 

“Right! Okay, so Potter, two rooms, each with a king, for three nights.” The man read from the screen, looking over in concern when six varied protests sounded from the group.

“No, I’m quite sure it’s meant to be three rooms.” Lily corrected quickly, offering you a worried glance before she nearly leaned over the welcome desk to peer at the computer monitor as if she was ready to take over for the concierge. 

The man hummed as he continued tapping keys and clicking his mouse and scrolling and please for the love of God don’t let there be a mix up.

It was going to be you that was the problem; not Lily and Regulus who were counting on a romantic trip to celebrate their boyfriend, and not Remus and Sirius with their long-established relationship and promises of Remus’ massage.

“The booking is only showing two rooms, uhm, let me just confirm with my manager that I’m not missing anything.” He bumbled awkwardly before standing and all but fleeing from the group of you. 

“It’s probably just a mistake.” James offered quickly as he jostled your shoulder. “With this many people here, the system is probably just lagging.”

But it wasn’t just a mistake and the system wasn’t just lagging and there was very much only two rooms booked under Potter.

“Is there any way we can book a third room? It can go on the same card.” You asked meekly, nervously glancing between the manager and the computer. 

“Unfortunately, the hotel is entirely booked.” She offered you with a pained smile, and just from your survey of the lobby while you’d been waiting in line, you knew that had to be true. 

“Do you have any cots we could have sent up to the rooms?” Lily asked hopefully, earning another grimace from the manager which was all the response you needed.

You could feel the group looking at you awkwardly and you immediately regretted even coming; you should have just left James to celebrate his birthday with his partners and best friends and stayed out of it, but instead, you were the troublesome younger sibling who your parents forced the group to bring along. Maybe you could catch a train back home? Maybe you could catch a train a town or two over and just have your own mini vacation and leave them to their celebrations.

“Don’t worry, bug!” James said as he rubbed your arm roughly before reaching over you to grab the keys to the two rooms from the concierge who was clearly now only waiting for the lot of you to bugger off so he could help the people behind you. “We’ll make this work.”

“You shouldn’t have to make it work, Jamie.” You moaned as your group moved to stand against a wall across the lobby as you all tried to problem solve this. 

“Both rooms have just one bed each, right? Do either of them have a sofa?” Regulus asked first.

“The pictures online didn’t look like it; the rooms had the bed, one grandfather chair, and a desk with a rolling desk chair.” Lily responded. 

“Okay, well, both rooms have king sized beds, we can share.” Sirius offered simply, causing you to nearly whimper.

“I’m not going to impose on anyone’s beds.” You murmured as you stared resolutely at your feet.

“You can share with me! It’ll be like the old days when we’d have a “sleepover” in the living room!” James offered excitedly, and you had to hand it to him for his sense of adventure and enthusiasm, but you couldn’t help but notice the quick glance Lily and Regulus shared.

“It’s your birthday weekend, Jamie, you should get to spend it with your partners.”

“Okayyyy, uhm, what about the girls room together and boys room together?” He offered instead, causing Lily to furrow her brows at him.

“But then two of us will be sharing while four of you will be sharing.” She countered, followed up quickly by Regulus who stated he would not, under any circumstances, be sharing a bed with his brother. 

“No, you’re right, erm, well… Me, Pads, and Moony could share-”

“James, I love you, but you’re terrible at this.” Sirius interrupted before turning his gaze to you. “You should just stay with me and Moons; leave these three to their…canoodling.” He said around a theatrical gag. 

“You guys were probably looking forward to a romantic stay too.” You muttered somewhat petulantly, and that was what nearly brought you to the brink of tears.

Not that you were the figurative sixth wheel, not that you were left without a room and imposing on two relationships, and not even that you felt particularly out of place.

No, the thing that nearly brought you to tears was the fact that you were acting so petulant on your brother's birthday which he had been so incredibly excited for.

You would not ruin this for him, for any of them. 

“No, you know what, sorry, you’re right, Sirius. I’ll pile the extra bedding they keep in the closets and make myself a little nest on the floor, it’ll be like camping!” You decided, pasting on the widest smile you could muster. 

You swore you saw Sirius’ face fall slightly but powered on when James was back to clapping his hands together excitedly. “Brilliant! This will be so fun, and so worth it, bug. Don’t you worry.”

And you were worried, but he didn’t need to know that. 

ʚ ═══·୨ ꕤ ୧·═══ ɞ

“You’re not actually going to sleep on the floor, right doll?” Sirius asked after the hotel door shut with a click behind him as he glanced around the room. 

It was perhaps a bit tight, but if you set up your little nest underneath the window, neither boy should trip over you in the middle of the night should they need to use the loo.

“Oh it’ll be fine.” You offered in what you hoped was convincing nonchalance. 

“I really think the bed is big enough, dove. And Sirius usually latches onto me in the night so you shouldn’t even notice we’re there.” Remus offered gently, watching as you flung the closet doors open to procure the extra bedding. 

“S’not my fault, moons.” Sirius countered as he trailed right on your heels to where you were trying to make your ‘nest’. “You keep the thermostat so sodding low, I’d simply freeze to death if you didn’t share your body heat.”

He ignored your indignant “oi!” as he immediately plucked your pillows and blankets off the floor from where you’d placed them and moved them to the end of the bed. “And, I think you do that on purpose; you like cuddling.” He continued, gently swatting at your hands as you tried to reclaim your makeshift bed. 

“Oh, I love cuddling.” Remus agreed readily, clearly ignoring the fact that you and Sirius were currently in a petty squabble over linens. “What I don’t like is being jolted awake to your ice cold feet being shoved under my thighs at three o'clock in the morning- dove.” He gave you a pointed look with one arched eyebrow as you huffed petulantly and crossed your arms. 

“You are not sleeping on the floor, doll. Your parents paid for the sodding rooms.” Sirius claimed resolutely. 

“They were meant to pay for three rooms so that you two would have some privacy.” You argued.

“You’re really the only one upset about this, babes.” He stated, face softening when you nervously pulled your lip between your teeth. “If you’re worried about space, I’ll take the floor.”

“I don’t want you to take the floor.”

“Then I’ll take-” Remus started, but was interrupted when both you and Sirius spat “you’re not sleeping on the floor, Remus” and “like fuck you’re sleeping on the floor, don’t be ridiculous”, respectively. 

“So those are your choices, sweetheart; I take the floor or we share the bed.” 

After this many years of knowing each other, you knew when Sirius was bluffing, and you knew when it was better to fold; with the no nonsense look that currently adorned his face, you knew that those were, indeed, your only options.

You looked over at the bed wearily; it really was quite large…and you could use your own blanket so that you weren’t encroaching on their space or stealing their blankets. 

The problem was that the bed wasn’t the only problem. It also was very much the fact that you were pretty well completely gone for two of your brothers best friends.

Two of your brothers best friends who were very much dating each other. 

Two of your brothers best friends who were dating each other that you were completely gone for and now forced to share a bed with them. 

Awesome. 

ʚ ═══·୨ ꕤ ୧·═══ ɞ

Sirius just about died when you stepped out of the bathroom with wet hair leaving damp patches on your sleep shirt and your legs on full display thanks to the matching shorts.

He just about died again when you caught him staring at you.

He nearly died a third time when Remus’ pointed clearing of his throat was what finally broke him from the trance you had on him; both he and Remus now red in the face while you looked to be fairing little better as you hid behind your wet hair and fussed with your toiletries instead of looking at either of them.

Sirius felt horribly pathetic - years of living with the Potter’s did absolutely nothing to dim the flame he held for you, nor did the physical space that living with Remus in their own flat for the past few years offered him.

The only thing that made his infatuation slightly less embarrassing was the fact that Remus held a similar flame for you, too. 

So while this was sort of everything he’d ever wanted - spending the night in a bed with two people he was absolutely crazy about - he was equally afraid of making you horribly uncomfortable. 

“Smooth.” Remus muttered as he came up behind Sirius only after you’d gone back into the bathroom to brush your teeth.

Sirius wanted to turn and sneer at his boyfriend. “I know I am” danced on the tip of his tongue; his usual suave blaseness in all its glory rearing its head at the insinuation that Sirius was anything but a certified charmer.

But all that managed to leave Sirius’ lips was a breathy “fuck” as he stared decisively at the space you’d been standing previously.

But before Sirius could spend any (more) time spiralling or Remus could offer words of encouragement (or commiseration), you were tentatively sliding into what the three of you had agreed would be your side.

Your side. 

The sentiment made Sirius stomach dip; after all these years he was finally getting a taste of what he’d always wanted.

Yet it wasn’t enough.

The lights were off and Sirius’ back was pressed into Remus’ chest as they both watched the steady rise and fall of your shoulders as you slept. They’d both felt so tired on the train ride here, yet neither of them could bring themselves to close their eyes when the alternative was getting to see you rest in their bed.

“Is this really happening?” Remus whispered quietly then, causing Sirius to snuggle impossibly further into him.

“Feels like a dream.” Sirius whispered back; his hand itching to reach out and twirl a lock of your drying hair around his finger, to encourage you to roll over so that they could see your pretty face, to pull you into him and hold you close. 

Remus tightened his hold around Sirius and pushed his nose into his shoulder. “We should tell her; need to tell her… this weekend.” 

Sirius shook his head, but it wasn’t in disagreement. Rather, it was in exasperation.

“I can’t believe she can’t tell how crazy we are about her.” 

And Sirius nearly died a fourth time in one night when you seemingly shot up out of a dead sleep and spun to face them. 

“You’re what?” You asked; no hints of sleep in your tone (nor your wild eyes) as you stared at them incredulously. 

“Fuck.” Sirius repeated eloquently as he and Remus both sat up, the latter leaning over to turn on a lamp causing both you and Sirius to wince as your eyes adjusted.

“I thought you were asleep?” Sirius accused then, but you didn’t take the bait. 

“You’re…what about me?” You whispered carefully.

“Crazy.” Remus responded quickly; whether he was braver than Sirius or opting to rip the bandaid off, Sirius didn’t know. “We’re crazy about you.”

You made a breathy sound, almost as if you were going to ask “what” or “why” or “when” before the question died on your lips. 

Sirius stared at you in wait; he didn’t know whether you were about to cry, whether you were going to demand they let you build a ‘nest’ on the floor so you could escape them, or whether you were going to call your folks and ask them to pick you up.

So when your face broke out into a slow, still disbelieving but equally relieved grin, well…he’d be damned. 

“Yeah?” You asked hopefully, eyes swimming with unshed tears as you nervously looked between the two of them. 

“Yeah…” Sirius let out with a breath, daring to reach across the expanse of the bed that the three of you had clearly decided would be a no-man zone and delighting when you eagerly accepted his hand in yours.

“We thought you were asleep, dove.” Remus offered gently, and a shy smile crept across your face as you shook your head, a lone tear trailing down your cheek that your free hand was quick to wipe away.

“Couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Sirius cooed pathetically, rubbing along your knuckles with his thumb as he took your inability to sleep to be a personal offence. 

“Was too busy thinking about how crazy I am about the two of you, too.” You admitted in a whisper, and Sirius wondered if he had even frozen long enough to share more than a 0.35 second glance with Remus before he bodily launched himself and tackled you to the bed before peppering your face with kisses as you squealed.

“You mean-” kisses “to tell me-” more kisses as you giggled “that we could have been doing this” you squealed as he nipped at your collar bone “this whole sodding time!?” 

“Oi!” Remus chided teasingly. “Don’t maul her!” Though his statement was severely undermined when he all but pulled you into his lap to press his own rough kiss to the side of your face. 

“Oh, I’m just getting started.” Sirius threatened with a beaming smile as you looked at him breathlessly; eyes bright, smile wide, and heart full. “We have lost time to make up for.” 

ʚ ═══·୨ ꕤ ୧·═══ ɞ

Enough was enough, quite frankly. The tiptoeing, the dancing, the shy glances, the longing looks - it was all too much.

Something simply needed to be done.

Was it temerarious? Perhaps. Was it conniving? More than slightly. But was it also necessary? Most definitely.

She only hoped that she hadn’t gone too far, is all.

But any worries that Euphemia Potter may have had vanished entirely the second that her phone buzzed with a text from James the next morning that simply read: it worked.

[cynda-queer]

The unfortunate truth is I am a slave to positive reinforcement, so when I post things, I'm sitting there like a cat scratching at a closed door like "likes?" "reblogs?" "commint?"

[rinneverse]

cw a little suggestive towards the end, mdni please and ty :)

alhaitham is the type to seethe quietly in his jealousy.

he’s not outwardly possessive—no, because he lets the stranger talk to you—his pretty girlfriend—about his thesis plans, about his academic feats, and you sit there with a smile plastered on your face, nodding your head as you listen to him prattle on and on and on.

alhaitham nearly bends the book in his hand into pieces with what he claims is annoyance. not possessiveness, no, that was out of character. he was just… annoyed, that this random man had the gall to interrupt his reading session with you.

that’s what he tells himself, at least.

of course, how was he supposed to know you were dating the akademiya scribe, when alhaitham was possibly the most low-key person ever? the two of you were quiet about your relationship, content to share it between yourselves. only your close friends really knew the extent of how deep your “friendship” with the scribe went.

as soon as the man leaves (not without leaving his number for you, of course), and the two of you are blanketed in the quiet murmurs of the akademiya library, alhaitham sets his book down. he turns to you.

he finds you staring at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. alhaitham tilts his head, all feline grace, his eyes narrowing into slits as he asks, “what?”

you shake your head mirthfully, crumpling up the slip of paper in your hand and tossing it into the nearest bin. alhaitham feels his shoulders un-tense just a fraction at the sight.

“nothing,” you say, but alhaitham knows you’re lying.

so he leans closer to you, grasping your chin in his hand as he tilts your head back and forces your gaze to meet his.

“liar. what is it?”

you smile. wide and wider it grows, and you reach a hand up to brush alhaitham’s cheek. he barely suppresses a shudder at the gentle touch.

“i didn’t think you to be the jealous type.”

“i’m not.”

“then what was that all about?” you hum. you’re… amused by this. amused by him grappling with his emotions. alhaitham feels his lips twitch downward.

if you didn’t know any better, he would appear to just be frowning. but you did… and it was like he was pouting. you giggle.

“i am annoyed,” alhaitham says, stressing the last word, “that we were interrupted by a stranger. nothing more.”

“nothing more?” you parrot, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “sure. and i’m the grand sage.”

alhaitham bites his tongue, pulling his hand away from your chin. his fingers flex—he has to stamp down on his self-control. being found in a compromising position in the library would surely wreck the both of your social statuses.

but the thrill of it… seeing you bent over the table, utterly wrecked under the careful ministrations of his hands—getting to mark his claim on you...

he quickly shakes the dangerous train of thought away.

“do you want to go home?” you suddenly ask, a coy smile dancing on your lips. he must have been obvious where his line of thinking was going, if you managed to catch on that quickly. the grin on your face tells him that you did.

alhaitham pretends to ponder it. grabs the book he set down, turns it over in his hands, then shrugs.

“sure. kaveh shouldn’t be home for another few hours.”

his voice was bedroom-soft, and the tone in which he said it—nearly purring—has heat pooling in your core.

“alright. let’s go?”

he wordlessly rises, holding out his hand for you. there’s a small part of him that feels a maddening satisfaction when you let out a pleased hum, followed by a surprised yelp as he gracefully slides an arm around you.

someone nearby makes a “shh” noise, and he completely ignores it. you giggle out an apology.

it was utterly unlike him, he thinks, as he guides you through the library with his arm wrapped around your waist, slowly moving to rest his hand on the small of your back when the two of you exit the library.

maybe he’ll try being more public in his attention to you. that would most certainly keep this from happening again.

[devondespresso]

Restless (Ed, go to fucking sleep)

G | 431 words | ao3 link | Steddie | no cw, just sleepy boys 💤💙

STWG Prompt: only one bed

Thanks to @tinytalkingtina for checking the clarity for me!! Graphics by @/saradika-graphics

The small bed shook again, the third time in the past minute. Few minutes. Steve had no fucking idea.

He breathed out deeply but quietly, trying to relax and keep his frustration discreet. Steve buried the side of his face further into his pillow, pressing into the fabric underneath him, wishing he could just be surrounded in the still, deafening softness.

The bed shook a fourth time, and the huff that escaped was neither relaxing nor discreet, so he went ahead and pushed up to flip himself around.

"Sorry..." Eddie muttered, sitting up a bit to flip his pillow. Again.

Steve settled down and squinted his eyes open towards him, trying to figure out what the hell Eddie kept struggling with.

Eddie flopped back down, arms crossed, the position he landed in looking comfortable enough. He held it for several seconds, long enough for Steve to think he was finally comfortable, until Eddie jerked them around again, straightening them out before folding them back.

"How's this 'sleepin like th' dead'?"

"Sorry, sorry, normally it's fine, I just... trying not to... make this weird..." Eddie said, stressing 'weird' like he wasn't himself.

"Ed, 's fine."

"Yeah. Yeah, just..." Eddie tucked his arms in awkwardly, crushing them under his torso in a way Steve's never seen him do before.

Eddie shoved an arm into a different, even more painfully uncomfortable looking spot, shaking the bed again.

"Ed, I swear to god–" Steve reached out and grabbed one hand, stopping Eddie in his tracks. Steve pulled it a little and Eddie got the message, unfolding his arms and letting them lay out in front of him.

Steve let go and dropped his arm wherever felt comfortable, then closed his eyes and exhaled into his pillow.

Eddie stayed for a second, then moved a little, though not as restless as before, the bed shifting, sinking differently ever so slightly.

Steve peeked his eyes open to find Eddie much closer to him, lying openly on his back with only one hand scrunched too close against his side, eyes wide open and trained on him.

"Is this oka–"

Steve hummed into his pillow, a tired agreement.

"'Kay..." Eddie muttered, barely there. Steve reached out again and grabbed his hand, gently pulling it out to hold it in the space between them, and again Eddie understood and followed his lead.

Eddie let out a breath, finally, as his hand let go of the tension and slotted more comfortably in Steve’s hold.

The bed stayed perfectly, blissfully still as both of them finally relaxed and drifted off to sleep.

[eoieopda]

the one with mingyu and the twin bed

summary: you brought your boyfriend to your parents’ house for christmas dinner. he can’t get a grip because you can’t keep yours to yourself. pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader type: drabble (smut) | rating: 18+ | wc: 3.5k au: est. relationship, home for the holidays cw: teasing, teasing, teasing; unprotected sex; mingyu is a pouty lil simp; multiple orgasms; reader rides it like she stole it and has to keep him quiet in the process :’) a/n: nobody asked, i just have mingyu brain rot 🥲 🚨 MINORS OR AGELESS BLOGS WHO INTERACT WITH MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED. MY WORK IS NOT FOR YOU.

You might kill him. And really, if that’s not your goal, it’s still the most likely result. This road you’ve chosen starts with a squeeze of his knee under the table, travels up his thigh and — well, Mingyu can imagine how it ends, but not when or where. That’s the problem.

Well, that’s the primary problem. 

The worst part about it all is that you look so unbothered by it all. You’re laughing through conversation with your parents, who sit on the opposite side of the table, like Mingyu isn’t on the brink of passing the fuck out beside you. Like his slacks aren’t squeezing the life out of him in the same torturous way your hand is. 

You’re moving so slowly that the table cloth doesn’t even flutter with your secret ministrations.

He knew you were a devil, but what fresh hell is this?

“— feeling okay?”

Mingyu has to blink himself back into reality to realize he’d been spoken to. Your father, who Mingyu had thankfully met before tonight — and made a positive, sustainable first impression on — looks concerned. His eyebrows furrow the same way yours do when you’re worried.

“Sorry,” Mingyu starts by clearing his throat. He flashes a smile that makes your mother blush, not unlike the way you usually do. “I was daydreaming about that galbi jjim from earlier. Don’t know if I’ll ever eat better.”

That’s a lie, he thinks immediately. Dessert is one seat over, fingertips whispering over his inseam, and Mingyu’s mouth is already watering at the thought. But he’s stuck. You’re untouchable as long as the pair of you are at this table, and you’re untouchable upstairs for more reasons than one. 

Your mother is flustered — so is Mingyu, but for an entirely different reason — and she glances up at your father. His smile is a flat line, but it reads like approval. She elbows him gently.

“See, yeobo?” She quips, “I told you he was charming.” 

Then, she turns to look at you with a firm nod. “You picked well.”

“To be clear, Mingyu picked me,” You laugh, waving your free hand dismissively.  “With the amount of girls queuing up for his attention, he had options — a lot of them. I just lucked out.”

At this, he short-circuits, so much so that he nearly sprays the wine he’s sipping all over the table and your unsuspecting parents. 

“Oh, no, no. Not even close,” He sputters, earning a surprised giggle from your mother. Faked offense pulls the corners of his mouth down, puckers his lips into an pout around his words. “I had to beg for your phone number, if I recall —”

“Did you really?” Your mother gasps. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth, as if she’s watching one of the daytime dramas she’s always talking about.

Your father looks smug as he reaches his arm out over the table, fingers closed over his palm. The hand you aren’t using to commit unspeakable crimes lifts to meet his fist over the acorn jelly, knuckles tapping lightly. 

Your father smirks, “That’s my girl.”

You look at Mingyu fully now, not from the corner of your eye the way you had been. It’s downright spooky how your face can look that innocent at a time like this. That is, until you bite down on your plush lower lip.

Fuck.

Is he about to faint? He really might faint.

“Okay, fine. You’re right,” You demur with a shrug.

That sweet smile of yours is unbelievably misleading, but goddamn, does it look good on you.

“I didn’t make it very easy for you, did I?” 

He tries not to clench his jaw when you flatten your palm and squeeze the highest, innermost part of his thigh. He fails miserably. After all, you’re running out of real estate; and Mingyu’s running out of resolve. 

This is it for me, he thinks. Remember me as I was: a fucking simp.

Thankfully, both of your parents stand up to carry dishes off to be washed. They cross the threshold into the kitchen and miss the way Mingyu’s head slumps back against his chair. So desperate and defeated, he ignores the way his skull aches after colliding with the oak backrest.

He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the sweet release of death.

When their footfalls are no longer audible, Mingyu assumes they’re out of sight. You shift, but he doesn’t crack his eyes open until he feels the heat of your breath on the shell of his ear. His gaze locks on the ceiling when you whisper, “Can you blame me? It’s so cute when you beg.”

If his dick strains any harder against his pants, the zipper may break.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Mingyu gulps. He shakes his head, voice wavering. “Baby, I’m gonna drop dead in your childhood home — on Christmas, no less — and it’s gonna be all your fault.”

The tip of your nose nudges the side of his face as you place a kiss on his earlobe. The white knuckle grip he holds on the edge of the table is the only thing keeping him together, and you know it. Still, the feather-light touch of your fingertips finds what it’s after. They trace the outline of his bulge through his slacks, and before he can stop himself, Mingyu audibly sighs.

He’d tell you to stop if he could jumpstart his brain. That’s a lie, he corrects himself. He doesn’t want you to stop; he just wants you. Wants you so badly that it hurts.

“Attempted murder,” Mingyu mumbles helplessly.

God, he’s pathetic.

Head slumped to the side, he finally allows himself to look at you. Immediately, he has to wonder: is there anyone who wouldn’t beg for you? He’d be on his knees in a heartbeat if your parents weren’t loading a dishwasher, several meters away. He’d clear the table himself, too,  if sweeping his arm overtop and sending silverware to the ground counted for anything.

Unbothered by the internal crisis you’ve started in him, you stroke him slowly, like you have all the time in the world to end him; and not a care at all that you might get caught in the process. The kiss you leave on his jaw is so soft — and so laughably chaste, all things considered — that he’s not sure it even happened. To keep from pleading out loud, he grinds his teeth even more harshly together.

Are you there, God? It’s me, Mingyu.

His prayers are answered immediately, which makes him a little bit suspicious — and a lot more feral.

You hum, amusement downright musical, and he shivers. “I’m going to help them finish down here. Wait for me upstairs?”

When Mingyu shoots up to his feet, the force of his thighs against the underside of the table threatens to flip it. The remaining wine glasses wobble in place, but thankfully, you’d all killed the bottle some time ago; no drop is left to be spilled. He still cringes at the close call, though. With a grimace, he mutters rapid-fire apologies — whether to you, the glassware, or the God of Dirty Thoughts, he’s not sure. 

You trap your bottom lip between your teeth to keep from laughing, which Mingyu appreciates. His clumsiness would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t so incomprehensibly horny. All that blood flow has been redirected away from his brain, though, and his dirty mind can’t focus on how not cool he’s being about all of this. 

Just you, that little smirk on your lips, and the million ways he wants your mouth on him.

Once he steadies himself, it only takes a second for Mingyu to race towards the stairs. Any and all chill he might’ve had is left behind him in a cloud of dust.

It’s downright cartoonish, the way he scrambles up the steps — stumbling, knees colliding with the hardwood as he goes — but it’s effective. He reaches the landing in record time, then all but kicks open the door to your childhood bedroom. As soon as the doorknob collides with the wall behind it, Mingyu freezes in place.

That wall, he realizes, is the only barrier between your room and your parents’. Worse, your old bed is set longways against that very wall. And because the hits just keep on coming, it’s a twin bed. 

With a frilly purple duvet and shockingly minimal surface area, no less.

Horrified, Mingyu steps forward and places his hand flat against the small mattress. It doesn’t take much pressure to make the bed springs squeak — when has anything ever gone his way? — and that revelation nearly has him screaming obscenities at the ceiling.

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

How is he supposed to fuck you under these conditions?

Frantic, he closes the door behind him, shuffles forward, and drops to his knees next to the bed. At his height, the frame barely reaches his midriff. Clearly, his life is a fucking joke.

Elbows now resting on the mattress, Mingyu clasps his hands together and leans forward to rest his forehead against his knuckles.

He’s never tried this before — not earnestly, anyway — and he doesn’t know where to start. Whatever the reason, he’s sure he can’t pray to any listening deity to let him get his dick wet. Anyone who hears his cry would smite him on the spot, he thinks, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Before he can settle on a prayer, footsteps sound off on the stairs just outside the door. The words are muffled; but there are multiple voices, which tells him that one or both of your parents have joined you on your journey upstairs. Suddenly, Mingyu is overcome with guilt. 

He’s in their home, having eaten their food — and now he’s a full-blown heretic, wanting nothing more than to devour their daughter like a man starved. But he can’t because, if he does, they’ll hear every dirty detail and —

Mingyu is many things, but he is not quiet.

You are, however, and he can barely make it out when you say, “Thank you, again, for dinner. And for letting us stay overnight.”

“Oh, don’t you dare!” Your mother peeps. Mingyu freezes, knowing in the rational part of his brain she can’t see him, but unable to stop himself. “It’s our pleasure! Really, it’s a long drive back for you two —”

Your father interjects, “— and Mingyu must be exhausted if he’s already in bed.”

For personal reasons, he thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut, I will be passing away.

There’s a moment of silence in which you must be hugging your parents goodnight, then there’s the quiet creak of the door opening. Footsteps, then more silence — you pausing for a moment, likely taking in the sight of him, then the door shutting softly behind you.

He can’t hear your approach over the hammering pulse in his ears, but he can feel the warmth of your body when you stand closely behind him. On instinct, he leans back onto his heels. A reflex of your own, you card your fingers through his hair and turn him into putty.

As embarrassing as it is to reckon with the fact, Mingyu acknowledges that the massage of your fingers might make him cum in his trousers.

“Were you praying?” You whisper, giggle evident despite the hushed tone. Your fingernails rake gently over his scalp; he swallows hard.

Mingyu is past the point of attempting nonchalance, so he confesses immediately. “Need divine intervention at a time like this. A twin bed? Parents? I’m doomed.”

“Maybe.” You lean down over his shoulder to purr into his ear. “Doomed or not, you look so perfect on your knees.”

That comment reverberates down his spine, ricochets off every vertebrae as it goes. He has to bite down on his fist to keep from groaning. It sure as shit doesn’t stop his eyes from rolling back in his head.

You drop your hand from his hair to trail your fingers down the length of his neck, then across the top of his shoulder. As you do, you step out from behind him and into his line of sight. You, illuminated only by a small, butterfly-shaped lamp, confirm his suspicions:

Ariana Grande was right all along. God is a woman.

You maintain eye contact as you reach behind your back and begin unzipping your dress. The burgundy fabric pools at your bare feet, having slipped right over the silkiness of your thighs without issue. If he wasn’t already in his knees, Mingyu would’ve dropped the same way.

“How confident are you that you can be quiet?” You ask softly. “Stakes are high, and you’re normally so vocal.”

Right out of the gate, he trips.

Mingyu responds with bravado and without whispering, “I can do it.”

Then, he slaps his hand over his big fucking mouth.

Biting back a smile, you reach out for the collar of his shirt. The buttons are undone with care, like any and every decibel is too much of a risk. You hum as you continue your work, “We can make it a challenge, then. If you can stay quiet, I’ll let you cum.” 

He lets you slide his shirt off his frame as soon as you’re finished with it. It lands where your dress did, wrinkling white on top of red.

“If you can’t  —” You pause and gesture down to his belt buckle, which he’s already gripping tightly to. It’s undone before you can blink, which causes the side of your mouth to twitch upwards. “— I’ll stop.”

Mingyu nods, more determined than he’s ever been, and pushes himself to his feet. Less nimbly than you, he fumbles desperately with the button and zipper at the top of his trousers. Eventually, he frees himself and they drop, too. They land with a muffled sound before being kicked blindly aside.

Your gaze drops to his briefs, pupils dilating when you see the mess you’ve made of him. The dark grey fabric is close to black at the tip of his dick, arousal seeping into the fibers and tattling on him. That is, if the blatantly thick imprint of his length hadn’t sold him out already.

His knees threaten to buckle all over again when he sees a flash of pink swipe over your lips, wetting them as your eyes grow even darker.

No, he really might cum on the spot.

You step over your discarded clothes. Closing the distance, you flatten your palms against his bare chest, push up on your toes, and kiss him properly for the first time in hours. His only instinct is to whine like a fucking baby when his lips part and you lick into his mouth, but he refuses to break this close to the starting whistle.

No, Mingyu will keep his shit together. He has to keep his shit together — even as you suck his bottom lip into your mouth and release it swollen with a pop.

“What do you want, baby?”

He doesn’t know if it’s his chest or your hands that are burning up, but a wildfire spreads as you run your palms down from his pectorals to his abdomen. Every muscle in his body tenses as your touch lowers. His lungs seem to, too, because he struggles to keep his breaths even.

Your fingers hook under the waistband of his briefs, knuckles tickling against the sensitive skin underneath his hip bones. You continue your questioning, as if he trusts himself to answer.

“My mouth?”

Oh god.

He wants it all, always and every which way, but he knows he won’t last a goddamn second in your throat — and you know it, too, even before he furiously shakes his head. 

Eyes laser focused on you, he does his best to beg without words. The puppy-dog eyes win you over every time.

When you smile at him like that — petal soft, still so devilish — he audibly sighs. There’s no helping him, he knows it. It’s a reflex, a rubber mallet to the knee. Thankfully, you let that breathy concession slide; let his briefs slide, too, until they drop unwanted around his ankles.

Mingyu is so hard that it hurts.

He’s a throbbing, leaking mess when your hand finally — fucking finally — wraps around his cock. Experimentally, you give him a light squeeze while you work the length. Your gaze flicks upwards to gauge his reaction, wrist rolling when you reach the crown.

If he had to guess, Mingyu would bet that he’s turned purple with the effort it’s taking to keep his needy mouth shut. But your eyes twinkle up at him and you tell him that he’s beautiful; and suddenly, his chest and cheeks go a shy shade of pink.

“Lay down, pretty boy,” you whisper, nodding your head towards that shitty little bed.

As he stretches out onto his back — to the best of his ability, with his heels nearly dangling off the end — he swears on his life that his friends can never know how weak he gets when you call him that.

You place your hands on his chest to keep your balance, lifting one leg over his until you’re straddling him. Your right knee settles uncomfortably between his leg and the wall, but you don’t complain. Instead, you look him dead in the eye and pull your fatal, black thong to the side.

Even in this piss-poor lighting, Mingyu can see the way your darkened eyes glint. He’s spellbound — there’s no other word to describe it.

One hand takes hold of his cock and lines it up to your cunt. The other raises to your lips, index finger extended. You tease him without saying a word, and he hears it loud and clear.

Oh, he’s going to be so good for you.

That’s what he tells himself until your arousal makes contact with the tip of his cock. That’s what he repeats in his head, over and over, when you sink down and gush around him, slick dripping to coat the centimeters that don’t quite fit inside of you. What he says out loud, elongated and definitely above a whisper, is:

“Fuuuuck.”

You quickly lean over his chest to cover his mouth with your hand. Though your pulses are both racing, he’s less focused on his total, abject embarrassment than he is on the amusement that causes your mouth to curve.

Keeping your hand where it is — for the good of everyone, really — you nip at his earlobe. He waits for the inevitable consequence of his actions.

Goddamn it. How stupid does he have to be to forfeit a prize like you?

“You don’t listen very well, baby,” Your hushed tone drips like honey into his ear. Involuntarily, his hips jerk upwards, pushing further into your wet heat.

Any distance is too much.

“But you feel so fucking good —”

Again, he ruts against you when your teeth graze his earlobe. Under your palm, his whimpering is unintelligible, but that doesn’t stop him. You catch his groan in your hand before it can hit the air.

“— might have to bend the rules for you.”

It’s torture. 

Mingyu knows you’re moving this slowly to avoid upsetting the box springs below, but whether or not there’s method to the madness, it’s still unbearable.

You swirl your hips in a way that makes his vision go white at the edges, grind down into his lap with quiet precision. He can feel that soft, spongy spot hiding behind your front wall; and he can hear those delicate little sighs as you fuck yourself deliberately.

He can feel his mind go blank, too, moments before your cunt milks him for all he’s worth. You don’t stop once he spills himself inside of you — you won’t, he hopes.

“Oh, shit,” you whimper, almost inaudibly. “I’m so close.”

The hand not covering his mouth disappears between your legs. If the way your eyes roll back is any indication, you’ve found what you were looking for. 

The sight of you is too much for Mingyu to handle. Nipples peaking through the translucent fabric of your bralette, wrist moving in the opposite direction of your hips, eyelashes fluttering while you rub spirals into your clit. Perfect, top to bottom.

Mingyu cums again when you do, refractory period be damned.

And when you collapse down onto his chest, walls still fluttering around him, he encircles you with his arm so tightly that he can feel you trembling through the aftershocks. With your face now nuzzled into the crook of his neck, the tables turn.

“Fuck,” you mutter. The sound is mostly lost against his skin, but there’s enough volume to make you both start to snicker.

You kiss his neck, nudge him with the tip of your nose. Whispering, you ask, “Not bad for a twin bed, huh?”

Mingyu snorts. “Kinda feels like high school. You know, parents on the other side of the wall, cute little bedspread,” His voice trails off so he can press his lips against your temple. Voice low in your ear, he smirks, “Nutting within thirty seconds.”

Your muffled laughter shakes his shoulders, too. Then, you fall into a silence so easy he’s sure you’ve fallen asleep on top of him. To his surprise, you peep, “I didn’t think this through.”

He hums inquisitively in response. You crane your neck to meet his eyes. 

You inhale deeply, then sigh, “I have to waddle down the hallway of my childhood home to the bathroom — right past my parents’ door — and pretend like we didn’t just do what we did.”

Mingyu flashes you a wolfish grin that catches you off guard. Your eyebrows raise in anticipation.

“Need some divine intervention, sounds like. Maybe if you pray about it —” 

The only thing louder than the playful smack you land on his bicep is your laugh, straight from the bottom of your chest.

[gojo-mochi]

Thinking about a sleepy fic while I’m tired like

You and your fav just had sex and it a few hours after and you’re both laying in bed, all cleaned up, just wearing a shirt and your fav is only in new boxers. When you start to feel heat pool between your legs again but you don’t wanna wake up your fav so you think you could get away with some rubbing your legs together. But it not enough you need something more so you poke awake your fave and start to ask.

“Honey… I’m sorry but I-I um I need..”

He shushes you with a kiss and let’s hand slip between your thighs to your aching core. Easily slipping in some fingers and reaching straight to the place that hits you the most.

“A-ah!”

You instantly grabbed on to his shoulders, nails digging in as your mouth open in moans and pants.

“It’s alright baby, my girl’s still needy aren’t cha?”

You nods, not trusting your voice right now.

“Mm… I’ll take care for you don’t worry, my good girl deserves a reward after tonight.”

He takes his fingers out, dripping with your slick and shoved them into your mouth when you started to whine from the lack of touch.

“Shh… I’ll give you something better soon, just wait baby.”

He pulls down his boxer just enough so his hard cock springs out and rubs against your thighs, he grabs you and turns you around so your back is against his chest and he placed his cock right under your core.

The tip of his thick head sliding open your folds and caressing your clit with each thrusts he makes behind you.

One of his hand grabs your face to meet his for open mouth kisses and the other thumbs over your aching clits.

“Please.. I mmph- I need mor-more..”

You tried to convey while his tongue was working it’s in way into your throat.

“You need my cock that badly again? I guess I didn’t fuck you hard enough earlier huh? I’ll fix that now..”

Without warning he thrusts his whole length into your cunt.

“Aa-Ah!”

“You can take that right, baby? Your pussy stills stretched out from before anyway.”

He groaned as your walls clamped down him.

“But still so fucking tight, fuck, that’s my baby right here..”

His thumb never leaves your clit, giving it slow and torturous circle rubs, while his cock is the complete opposite.

Slamming into you again and again without a moment break.

It made your mind spin a lot. Your chest heaving and your thighs shaking from the force.

“Ah! I-Imma c-cum!”

“Do it baby, let’s cum together..”

He picks up the pace with both his thumb and his cock.

Practically forcing you to cum while his whole cock was still inside you.

His hot seed fills you up instantly. But he doesn’t pull out, just snuggled closer and places soft kisses on your shoulder.

“Since you were the one who woke me up… you wouldn’t mind if we stayed like this the whole night right? Just as payment for the fucking you know.”

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 19. attention seeker

welcome to the second act. warnings for this chapter include depictions of alcoholism and family issues

'BEING AN INFLUENCER WAS A REAL JOB THAT REQUIRED A TREMENDOUS AMOUNT OF WORK.'

Yeah, right.

Shin Yuna heard phrases along those lines all the time. Whenever she watched other people's content, a good majority of the influencers would rant about how difficult their life was, or how stressful their workload was when it came to recording and editing.

Sure, it took some effort to edit and upload new content. Yuna allocated several hours a week to do so, but all she had to do was set up a livestream for the cash to start rolling in. Wear something skimpy. Bat her lashes at the camera. Pout a little. Play up the damsel in distress act. It was simply too easy.

princessval***: omg girl pls stop drinking 😭 onlyyuna03: she's so messy i love her luvyuna***: you're back already? i thought you were taking a break onlyyuna03: @luvyuna*** you must be new LOL she always does this

But this—the flood of comments that poisoned her screen—was the curse of putting herself on the internet.

It wasn't like this during her first year of streaming. Back in high school, Yuna's parents were fighting every day, and since she didn't have any friends to talk to, she turned to the internet. She would stay up all night in random Discord servers, chatting with strangers and confiding in them about her family issues.

Naturally, these chats turned into voice calls, which later turned into video calls. Initiated by her, of course. No one else had their cameras on, though; Yuna quickly grew comfortable being in the spotlight, basking in the glow of praise from strangers. Comments like 'you're so gorgeous' and 'you should be a model' made her forget all about her family issues for a split second. Like that, it became like a drug for her.

Yuna, who was starved of attention, relished in the validation she got from online strangers. Strangers who wouldn't even share any personal information about themselves, going by fake names and hiding how old they were.

Soon after, she made her own Discord server, inviting everyone who wanted to see her get in front of her camera and talk about her day. She knew how to play her angles well, acting as if she was everyone's girlfriend while using them to satisfy her need for attention. It was a classic marketing strategy: Yuna knew her asset was her beauty, so she used it to her advantage.

All she had to do was send a picture of herself or talk in a cute voice, and everyone would fawn over her in seconds. In a life where Yuna's own parents neglected her, she found people who cared. Maybe their intentions weren't in the right place, but they were present and ready to listen to whatever she had to say.

She got ambitious, deciding to start live-streaming to a wider audience. Yuna started on Twitch, playing various games like Overwatch and League of Legends. She didn't have to be very good as long as people liked her face and stayed for her reactions.

As she grew a following, she moved to YouTube and TikTok, doubling her follower count in only months. Before, she would be talking to an audience of around 20 people, but now she was racking in thousands as soon as she went live.

Of course, there came drama, too. And Yuna found it exhilarating.

If someone called her out on something, all she had to do was come up with some sob story about how she didn't deserve to hear that, and everyone would come with pitchforks to defend her. She was very calculative in that way, knowing exactly when and how to turn the tide if it wasn't in her favor.

For some reason, that never seemed to work with her parents.

"You're a disappointment," her father spat at her the day she showed him her Yale acceptance letter. She had sparkles in her eyes and a bright smile all day, only for her to feel completely crushed. She couldn't understand why; it was her father's dream for her to get into Yale, after all. "This is the only acceptance letter you've got, huh?"

Yuna hesitated. The competition for all of the Ivy League schools was rough this year; she had been getting rejections left and right, but she thought her family would be satisfied with Yale. After all, it was her father's alma mater.

"Yeah," she answered in a small voice. She looked down at her acrylic-damaged nails, neglected from years of biting the skin until they bled. "I thought you'd be happy with Yale."

"Happy?" Mr. Shin barked out a laugh. "You didn't actually get into Yale on your own, you know that, right?" He scoffed when Yuna gave him a confused look. Then, Mr. Shin slammed his phone against the dinner table, causing his wife and daughter to flinch. "Five hundred thousand. I paid five hundred thousand to get you in. Mr. Nakamura only paid two to get Kazuha in, but I had to pay five. That's how useless you are."

"Sunoo? You know my old boss's son?" he would provoke her for the rest of dinner. "He got in all by himself. You know Hyejin's son—Anton—he got into Yale and Brown on his own, too."

"You need to work hard, Yuna," Mrs. Shin said before stabbing at her salad. "Your dad could only get you in as an undeclared major. You need to get into pre-med on your own."

Tears prickled her eyes, but she stayed silent. Even her college acceptance was a fraud; she had done nothing out of her own hard work.

Except her skyrocketing career as an influencer.

The high of her fame only lasted a short while, though. During the summer before her freshman year of college, Yuna's parents discovered what she had been getting up to on the internet.

Shameful, they called it, as if Yuna was committing a crime.

Yuna's parents were surgeons, and rather good ones at that. They both got their undergraduate degrees at Stanford, and then their doctorates at Harvard. The two of them became neurosurgeons after their residency and board exams, and then transferred to Mercy Health where Mr. Shin became the Chair of Neurological Surgery, which set the bar a little high for Yuna.

She was never spectacular. She was always more interested in makeup and clothes instead of science and medicine. Yuna would've rather worked toward a career as a fashion designer, often dreaming about fashion shows she could design for. She knew she would make it far, too—even Donatella Versace told her backstage during Paris Fashion Week that she had an eye for fashion, and that she could go far.

The few times she visited your house, she remembered meeting your mom, a well-known fashion designer herself, and showing off her sketches. Yuna distinctly recalled her words of approval, and she had to bite her tongue whenever your mom would offer to take Yuna on a tour of her studio, only for her parents to turn down the offer.

Her parents were so adamant about Yuna following their path to becoming a surgeon that they threw away all of her sketchbooks and colored pencils when she showed them her work. Even when she got the opportunity of a lifetime to be taken under Vivienne Westwood's wing, her parents crushed her dreams under their heels.

From a young age, she knew that hard work was only determined by her parents. Her true efforts were simply considered a waste of time.

Naturally, Yuna let out all her emotions when she live-streamed. It just so happened that her parents found out through the families of people who knew her. First, she would be grounded. When that wouldn't work, she would get all of her devices taken away. When she found a loophole around that, she would have to endure her father's rage.

Halfway through her first year at Yale, her parents disowned her.

She was on academic probation after her first semester. While she was trying to file a restraining order against someone who was stalking her (who claimed to be a fan), her grades managed to slip until she failed most of her classes. The worst part was, she had been expecting her parents to worry about the stalking incident, but they only cared about her GPA. Casting Yuna away was just protecting the Shin family's shiny status.

Everything was gone. Yuna was no longer part of the world you and Sunoo lived in. All her connections to the medical field, all her connections to the fashion industry—all out of her grasp. Still, maybe it was her flickering hope to somehow please her parents that kept her on the path to become a doctor. Not that it something she was genuinely interested in, but she knew it was the only way her parents would take her back.

Now she had to keep up her influencer career to support herself financially. There was no way she would be able to pay off tuition, even if Sunoo had generously paid the deposit for her small apartment. She had to keep up with bills, rent, and utilities all at once, and it was all too much for an eighteen-year-old to handle.

She got used to accepting help because of that. You helped foot some of her bills, Sunoo helped with tuition, Anton helped make sure she was eating, and the money she got from streaming and posting videos was enough to cover the rest of her expenses.

Even with an outlet to express her concerns to her fans, though, Yuna was struggling with barely making friends. You, Sunoo, and Anton were the only ones who lent a shoulder and an ear for her to dump all her pain and worries to. But she still had to hold them at arm's length. After all, all of their upper-crust families were in close contact with each other.

And then there was Lee Heeseung.

He was a new face in the socialite scene. No one had heard of him or his family before. Heeseung was probably Yuna's ideal type—handsome, intelligent, popular, and someone who hadn't been sucked into her world yet. Although he was alledgedly close to you and Park Sunghoon, no one else had any idea of what his family did.

Over the years, Yuna was terrified that she had built a reputation among the rich families that were in her circle. She could feel the disdain in their eyes when she was at social events, steering clear of every adult that looked as though they wanted to probe her for information about her college admissions.

Heeseung, however, was like a breath of fresh air. There was no judgment in his eyes when Yuna spoke to him, and that might have been the very moment she fell for him.

He was different. He didn't have any expectations of her nor did he feel uncomfortable when he found out she was a streamer. She liked that he came from a humble background, and he never judged her from where she came from. Even when Yuna confessed that she had been disowned, Heeseung never looked at her with pity in his eyes. He simply told her that he would be there if she ever needed him, and he left it at that.

She tried her best to get close to him, but the closer Yuna got, the more she saw under the surface—the more she realized she was heading toward heartbreak. It was clear as day that Heeseung was deeply in love with you, and it seemed as though he had no intention of considering any other woman. Even Yuna could tell he would give up everything in a heartbeat for your sake.

Yuna did her best to avoid conversations about Heeseung with you. She figured that if they never brought him up, then you wouldn't start to feel differently about him.

To her relief, you started dating Park Sunghoon.

Yuna used Heeseung's vulnerability to her advantage. As much as she liked him, he was a coward when it came to his own feelings; Heeseung could only bring himself to come clean about how he felt for you after you started dating another man. Of course, he was turned down—ignored, even. In your mind, you just wanted to keep up the fantasy of having a close childhood friend to the point where you had Heeseung bottle up everything he felt.

Yuna thought you were cruel back then, but she was even more so.

She knew that Heeseung couldn't do anything about his feelings no matter how much it ate at him, so Yuna pretended she wanted to listen to him go on and on about how miserable he was. It was all because of you, and, for a period of time, Yuna despised you for it.

Months rolled by, and Yuna found herself going over to Heeseung's dorm room nearly every day. They talked about anything and everything, and then the conversation would eventually shift to you. Yuna felt something chip at her heart every time he mentioned your name, but she braved through it all.

"Thanks for coming over," Heeseung murmured, running a hand through his already-messy hair. Yuna could smell the alcohol on his breath when she sat down next to him on the floor. Heeseung laughed. "One-month anniversary. Y/N always told me she found those stupid."

Yuna pressed her lips into a thin line. She remembered walking to class with you last week and hearing you gush about everything you bought Sunghoon for your one-month anniversary as a couple. She thought it was sweet back then, but hearing it come from Heeseung made Yuna feel sick.

"You don't have to thank me," she said, hugging her knees to her chest. "I just wanted to be here for you."

The first time she tried to kiss Heeseung was that night.

The first time Heeseung rejected her was right after he stopped her.

"I can't," he said at the time, drawing away from her. "I'm sorry, it's just—"

"You're not over Y/N," she finished for him with a twinge of bitterness.

He shook his head, saying nothing. Yuna felt a surge of misdirected anger.

Yuna knew from the moment she met you that people like you were the shiny gold coins that everyone wanted to have, and people like her were rusted-over pennies on the sidewalk to be stepped on and forgotten. She was a fool to think that Heeseung would see past that.

"I know that." Her tone was sharp as she got to her feet, and Heeseung followed suit right after. "But I suggest you get over her soon because it's not gonna happen."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Y/N would never go out with you. She already turned you down, anyway."

"Is that so?"

When Yuna turned around to look at Heeseung, his expression was like stone. Something ugly was twisting its way around her heart, squeezing out every semblance of affection she ever had for you.

"Yeah," she replied with a simpering smile, "because she's just too nice to choose the guy who broke her friend's heart."

"Broke—?"

"And," she said louder, cutting him off, "Sunghoon doesn't know, does he? Wouldn't he feel really betrayed if he found out?"

Heeseung kept his face impassive, but Yuna could tell he was seething. She cornered him quite well.

She kept that farce up for years. It was easy keeping Heeseung in line when you only had eyes for Sunghoon, and Heeseung was just so easily discouraged by Yuna's words. It was almost like he had no hope that you would take his word over hers, and that sent Yuna on some sort of power trip.

Her relationship with you was strange. Maybe it was at that moment when she realized that she was someone important to you, and that made her feel invincible somehow. She could do anything as long as you were on her side.

She liked drinking. Not because she particularly liked the taste of alcohol, but she loved the feeling of forgetting all her responsibilities. Every rotten memory of her parents would bury itself under the sand for the time being, and all she could feel was adrenaline pumping through her blood.

But she was never exactly in control. It only took a year to slip up in front of her friend group (thankfully when you weren't around), so she begged Karina, Yeonjun, and Giselle to keep quiet about her crush on Heeseung. They weren't even extremely close at the time, but they knew better than to tread on a situation between you and Sunghoon, whose parents were far more influential than theirs.

"It's only gonna cause more problems if she finds out," Yuna told them through choked sobs. "If Y/N finds out, things will never be the same between us, and Sunghoon doesn't even know that Heeseung has feelings for Y/N." As Giselle stroked her hair gently, Yuna said, "I can get over him on my own. Just please keep this from Y/N."

Karina and Yeonjun exchanged nervous looks before they reluctantly agreed. She had always been wary about Karina. Giselle was overly-empathetic to her situation, Yeonjun was a good listener because he thrived off of drama, but Karina had always seemed more skeptical.

And, as Heeseung knew, Yuna always found a way to silence people who she felt she couldn't trust, so she played dumb when she outed Karina on live.

It was a stupid move on her part, to be fair. Yuna deeply regretted it as soon as she realized what she said. Karina iced her out for months, and everyone else was on the colder side—even Sunoo, who had been her close friend for so long. She always felt strangely jealous of Sunoo, who got the approval of her father when she couldn't, but seeing him give her the cold shoulder nearly sent her over the edge.

"I apologized so many times!" she cried to him. Sunoo kept his guard up, but he always heard her out when she needed him. "I just don't know what else to do. I keep fucking up."

Sunoo frowned. "Do you even feel bad about what you did, or do you feel bad because you were caught?"

Yuna didn't respond to his question, but she knew exactly what the answer was. Was she pathetic? Probably.

She ruined everything. She always ruined everything.

Maybe it was just easier that way. Yuna knew that if she tried her best to please everyone, it would still never be enough. Hurting them before she cared too much was just a defense mechanism, as selfish as it sounded. If you chopped down the tree before it grew too tall, it wouldn't hinder the plants under its shade from growing.

The thing was, Yuna received blow after blow all her life without any acts of mercy. She was struck over and over again, and no one delivered the final coup de grâce.

Naturally, Karina came around and forgave her. Another missed blow. It was like Yuna was drunk off the drama itself because if she kept acting out and causing all these problems, then she could keep everyone's attention on her.

And then she wouldn't have to be so alone.

But the cycle went on and on, so when Yuna found herself texting Jay and Sunghoon in her drunken stupor, she hardly considered the consequences when she mentioned the long-kept secret of Heeseung's first love. You trusted her to keep your conversation with Jay about breaking up with Sunghoon to herself, but she violated that as soon as she could, too. She wasn't sure what it was, but whenever she looked in the mirror, all she saw was that she was as bad as her parents.

Yuna was fated to fall into the same destructive cycle over and over again until it stabbed her in the back for good. Until she bled out, though, everything was fair game.

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @hooniesuniverse @zerasari @enhalov @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @en-happiness @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @enhypens-baby @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @isawritesss @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon @navsnct

[maxinemaxmayfield]

STWG Daily Drabble prompt: air mattress

642 words • pre-relationship steddie • gen

Steve can’t believe he’s ended up here.

He stares up into the near-black darkness shrouding the room and tries not to think about the shoulder pressed against his own.

It’s just Eddie, he tells himself. Just a guy, who’s my kinda-friend.

Kinda-friend is the best way he can describe what this is, this slightly tense relationship between them and the fact they’ve only been pushed closer by Dustin and the kids and everything that happened in the Upside Down.

It’s Steve’s fault things are tense. Dustin rolls his eyes and tells him to get over his childish high school rivalry, but that isn’t it. That isn’t it at all.

It’s the way Steve’s heart pounds when Eddie leans in too close. The way he wants to live in the smell that wafts from Eddie’s curls, cheap shampoo and pot and tobacco. The way he gets fucking butterflies when Eddie holds out his hand to offer Steve a hit of his joint.

So he keeps himself distant. Makes space between them. Declines the pot, even though he knows it makes his near-constant headaches almost manageable.

Until tonight, when the sleeping arrangements at the Wheelers’ mean Steve and Eddie lying side-by-side on an old air mattress in the basement. He tried to insist on sleeping somewhere else – anywhere else – but the look in Eddie’s eyes stopped him. Hurt. Disappointment. Resignation.

Steve couldn’t be the cause of that. So he had changed course, asked Eddie if he was sure there was space for the both of them, and flopped onto the flocked plastic.

But even though Eddie is softly snoring away, Steve is still wide awake, feeling the mattress sink slowly towards the floor. There must be a leak somewhere. He’s trying to cling to the edge, even has his legs halfway off the mattress, heels pressing into the threadbare rug in the freezing cold air of the night. But the dip in the middle continues to grow, Eddie rolling right into the center of the thing.

Steve squeezes his eyes closed and hopes his sheer will is enough to overpower gravity itself.

~ ~ ~

The next time Steve opens his eyes, the room is much brighter. He doesn’t know what woke him at first, but then he hears it.

“Ahem,” Dustin clears his throat.

Steve turns his head and feels something fall away, tickling his cheek. The kids are standing over the air mattress, eyebrows raised. Max smirks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Fuck d’you want?” Steve grunts, voice thick with disuse.

They don’t say a word, just glance at each other, then Steve and the space beside him. Like it’s rehearsed.

It’s only then that Steve realizes he’s warm, really warm. Warm because there are limbs wrapped around him, radiating body heat under the blankets. There’s also a fast asleep Eddie drooling on Steve’s shoulder, so close Steve can feel the flutter of eyelashes against his jaw.

The butterflies in his stomach mimic them.

“Go make us some fucking coffee, you pervs,” Steve snarks, pulling an arm from Eddie’s koala-like grasp to flip them off. When they don’t move, he continues. “Or else I’m never driving any of you anywhere again!”

It’s an empty threat and they all know it, but it sends them scattering anyway.

Eddie stirs next to him, roused by the commotion. He squeaks, and rolls away from Steve with such force he sends himself over the edge of the severely deflated mattress.

“Shit, oh my god, sorry. Fuck. Sorry!” Eddie yelps, cheeks reddening.

Steve laughs, rolling over to help Eddie back onto the mattress. “You're fine, man. Mattress deflated during the night. And hey, at least we kept each other warm.” He sends a wink in Eddie’s direction, and his face turns an even deeper shade of pink.

Maybe Steve doesn’t need to keep quite so much space between them.

[pandapetals]

Bed Chem

logan howlett x afab!reader - inspired by sabrina carpenter's song bed chem, implied sexual tension, fluff, short, no use of y/n, no reader description.

The moment you met Logan you felt sexual tension.

read on Ao3

You were in a rush, your eyes darting across the unfamiliar halls, trying to make sense of your new surroundings. Being hired as a professor mid-semester was stressful enough, but the endless handshakes and quick exchanges with new colleagues only added to the chaos.

You’d barely had time to gather your bearings when you crossed paths with him.

A quick, almost careless introduction—just a second to exchange pleasantries before you had to rush to your classroom. But in that brief moment, he caught your attention.

Logan.

Broad shoulders. Rugged features. That infuriatingly smug smile. He was wearing a tight white tank top and faded jeans that clung to him like an afterthought as if he’d just stepped out of a fight or something equally rough-edged. His skin glistened faintly like the day had been harder on him than it had on everyone else.

He’d said something—hello, you think—but the words barely registered. It was the way he looked at you, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, that left you unsettled. Intrigued.

Then he was gone, striding off like he had somewhere more important to be. Like you were just another face in a crowd he could forget but you couldn’t forget him.

In the days that followed, you found yourself lingering in hallways you wouldn’t usually walk, peeking into faculty lounges just a little longer than necessary, hoping for a glimpse of him. It was ridiculous, a silly crush, you kept telling yourself. But the more you tried to shake the thought of him, the more he seemed to linger in your mind.

Maybe it was the way he carried himself—effortlessly confident as if he knew the effect he had on people. Or maybe it was something deeper, something magnetic in the air whenever he was near.

You couldn’t deny the way your pulse quickened when he entered a room, the subtle tension that buzzed between you whenever your eyes met across the faculty lounge. You’d catch yourself glancing at the door, hoping he’d walk in. And when he did, your heart would give a little jolt before you masked it with the casual professionalism expected of you.

It didn’t help that Logan seemed to be everywhere, too. Standing a little too close when you were making coffee, his arm brushing yours like it was nothing. Catching your eye from across the lecture hall as you both dismissed your classes at the same time. The heat of his presence always seemed to follow, lingering in the air long after he left.

One afternoon, after a particularly chaotic day of back-to-back lectures, you found yourself in the staff kitchen, mindlessly stirring a cup of tea, when Logan appeared in the doorway. Your eyes flicked to him automatically, but you pretended not to notice—until he spoke.

“Busy day?” he asked, his voice low, smooth, the kind that felt like it belonged in a different kind of conversation, not casual work chatter.

You nodded, feeling your skin prickle under his gaze, the kind of attention that felt heavy even when he wasn’t touching you. “Something like that.”

He stepped inside, leaning against the counter, far too casual for the energy simmering between you. “You adjusting alright?” His eyes didn’t leave yours like he was asking something else entirely.

You took a slow sip of your tea, trying to play it cool, but the way his gaze dropped to your lips didn’t help. “I’m getting there,” you replied, though the steadiness in your voice surprised even you.

Logan’s smirk deepened, a glint of amusement lighting his eyes. “Good to hear.”

There it was again—that electric charge, like the air, was thickening between you, heavy with something unspoken.

You hadn’t realized he’d moved closer until the scent of him reached you—clean sweat, the faintest hint of aftershave, and something more raw underneath it all. Your breath hitched, just barely, but enough that you noticed.

His eyes, dark and intense, flicked to your lips again, lingering. The room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer.

“You know,” he said, voice dropping lower, “I’ve noticed you’ve been around a lot more lately.”

Your heart jumped, and you quickly lowered your cup, clearing your throat as if the warmth of the tea had nothing to do with the flush creeping up your neck. “Really?” You tried for nonchalance, but even you could hear the slight edge of nervousness in your voice.

Logan took another step closer, his body now only inches from yours, his presence overwhelming. “Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze heavy with meaning. “Funny how I seem to be bumping into you everywhere.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. His eyes held yours, and for a second, everything else—the chaos of the semester, the stress, the students, the deadlines—faded into the background. It was just him, just you, and the sharp, undeniable tension threading between you both.

The cup in your hand suddenly felt too hot, like it was burning through your skin. You set it down on the counter, your fingers brushing against his arm in the process.

That was all it took.

Logan’s hand moved, fingers sliding around your waist, not hesitating this time. The touch was firm, and possessive, like he had been waiting for an excuse. The contact sent a wave of heat through you, your breath catching again as your body instinctively leaned into his.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he muttered, his lips just inches from your ear now, the words barely above a whisper but charged with heat. “You know that?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing, your heart hammering against your chest. But instead of pulling away, you found yourself drawn closer, the magnetic pull between you undeniable.

“I—” you started, but his hand tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek with the lightest of touches.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Logan whispered, his lips grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I can feel it, too.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop—no more classrooms, no more faculty lounges, no more rules. Just the heat between you, the chemistry that had been simmering for days now boiling over.

Before you could catch your breath, his lips were on yours.

[kenphobia]

Sanji usually doesn't allow people to help him around in the kitchen, preferring to do the work all by himself and if anyone were to be in the kitchen with him, he'd have them steer clear of his workplace.

When you, the newest addition to the crew and happen to be a cook yourself, decided to assist him in preparing lunch for the crew, Sanji couldn't find it within himself to turn you away.

You smiled and hummed, chopping up the vegetables as you're ordered to. Sanji watched from the distance, eying your hands and found himself nearly wincing when the knife gets too close to your skin.

From you putting the chopped ingredients into the pot to you checking when to weaken the fire, he followed you like a hawk. Even if Sanji knew about your experiences as a responsible cook and allowed you to work with him, he couldn't help but feel worried when your face gets so close to the boiling hot stew, seeing if it's ready or not.

As he watched you, he often noted in his head how you carried yourself with this sir of professionalism regardless of what kind of establishment Luffy picked you out of like a orphan. Your steady hands, your sharp and precise sight, your sense of smell and taste also having that professional feeling as well.

He thought of your well-being so much so that he forgot about himself. And when you turned to warn him on his hand inching closer to fire, he realized it too late and his hand now ached with burns.

When you moved Sanji away from the cooking area and treated his burns, a storm of emotions stir up all inside him. Embarrassment, anger, his pride crushed and crumbled to pieces, and another thing.

Warmth.

He watched you, gaze never flicking away from your furrowed brows and scrunched nose. Worry written all over your face as words leave your mouth, words he faintly recognize as scolding and curses. His face flushed, bright red that you'd assume he stayed under the sun far too long for a pale person like him.

And when you leave his side to check on the stew, he finally snapped out of his daze and turned away from your figure, cursing himself internally for letting him look like an idiot in front of you.

Little did he know you were actually quite fond of idiots. Especially blonde ones.

[sage-green-matcha]

can you please do “there’s only one bed” trope with Ethan Landry and it’s pure fluff but reader and Ethan are just “friends”, pretty please and thank you 🩷🤗

THE PERFECT PAIR - ETHAN LANDRY 💐

“You know me, better show me that you could say it to my face. 'Cause you know we're the same, there's worse things I can take” - beabadoobee

Content includes: fluff!! Sweet Ethan!

A/n: thank you smm for the request! I hope u love it!

<3

<3

<3

"Damn Y/n, is your bag really that heavy?" Sam watched as your shoulder sunk to one side, the heavy bag pulling you down. "Yea you're struggling, do you really need all of that?" Tara chuckled.

"Okay well first of all, Yes. I do need all of this. Also yes, it's really heavy" you mumbled, kicking the bag in front of your legs as you walked. "Hey, woah! You're gonna snap yourself in half" Ethan lifted the bag off your shoulders, sliding it easily into his. "Thanks..." Chad smirked as you looked up at Ethan.

Everyone knew you two had a thing for each other, which is exactly why they made a plan. A very thought-out one, but not very original. "It's working!" Mindy mumbled with a big smile. "It hasn't even started" Chad looked back at the two of you with a smirk.

Ethan had confirmed he was crushing on you, accidentally slipping it out when he was tipsy. For days he begged Chad not to tell anyone. But the whole group already knew. That was just confirmation. "You sure this is gonna work?" Tara walked by his side. "I know this is gonna work"

"Okay! Pair up with your hotel room buddies" Everyone ran to one another, it seemed like you and Ethan were sick with how fast they paired off, avoiding the two of you. "Well uh, guess we'll be good roommates right?" You nodded, your heart beating like crazy. You didn't wanna room with him, you couldn't. Being next to him made you all giddy so staying in the same room with him? You could never.

"Okay, good!” Mindy smiled, walking up to the front desk. "We have a reservation.." You blacked out as she talked, nerves filling your body. This could go so wrong. Or so good. Or it could be the most mediocre thing that you're overthinking about. But you also knew that nothing that included Ethan was mediocre.

"Here's the room keys" she handed them out, everyone slumped as they walked over to the elevators. "I'm so tired" you mumbled, everyone, shaking their heads. "You slept the whole ride, Ethan's shoulder suffered from your fat head" "Mindy, shut up!" You glared at her.

You all got to your floor, everyone spreading out to find their rooms. "What number is it?" You stood on your tiptoes, holding onto Ethan's arm. "306" you furrowed your eyebrows. "Huh...that's separated from everybody else" he just shrugged, pulling up your bag while he looked around. "Looks like It's on the other side of the hall" 

You eventually found the room, swiping the key onto the door lock. You searched for the light, your eyes widening when you saw the bed. "Uh...are we sure this is the right room?" He plopped your bag down, looking around the room. "Well..? The key worked"

You ended up dragging Mindy and Ethan to the front desk, making her ask for a different room. "Sorry kids, that's the only one available at the moment. We're packed for the next couple of nights" You wanted to die. "Tara, please! You know damn well you're gonna sleep in the same bed as Chad. Just trade rooms please?" She shook her head, hiding her smile. "No, I'm not sleeping with a drunk ass Chad" you groaned, covering your eyes.

You asked everyone. They all said no. "You guys are so rude" you mumbled, walking back to your room in defeat. "So...what did they say?" Ethan prayed that they all said no. As much as this was uncomfortable for him he was kinda happy about it.

"They said no" You slipped off your shoes, sitting on the bed next to him. "I can just sleep on the chair…it’s fine! Really!” You shook your head. "It's whatever, we'll figure it out" You knew it was wrong, that you didn't wanna figure it out. Your heart bounced around inside of you, nervous for the night. It could be normal, one of you on the couch and the other on the bed. But maybe, somehow you two could end up together on the same bed.

After a long afternoon of chatter and laughter in Tara and Chad's room, you headed back to yours. You were too tired to even care about the bed, completely forgetting about it till you opened the door.

"What are we gonna do about the bed?" Ethan mumbled, wiping his eyes. "It's okay, we can share" "Are you sure? I don't wanna make you uncomfortable. I can just sleep on the chair..." you took a glance at the red chair in the corner of the room. "It's okay Ethan, trust me. That chair is way too small for you" his face got hot as he saw your smile, watching you grab your pajamas before walking into the bathroom.

A swarm of butterflies flew around in your belly, making your face heat up. You didn't wanna get too excited. You wouldn't even be facing him anyways. He was just a friend and nothing more, this was just a friend thing! You tried to convince yourself but you couldn't get that feeling out of your stomach. You felt creepy. He definitely didn’t feel the same way, but you decided to let your delusions take over for a bit.

As you walked out of the bathroom Ethan was already laying in bed. He cuddled up to one of the pillows, his face smushed against the fabric. He looked so cute.

“Is it okay if I keep one of the lamps on…?” “Uhm, yea it’s okay” You peeled back the white bed sheets, adding your favorite throw on top. The room was dark besides the lamp and the moonlight that peaked in through the blinds. The smell of cleaning products filled your nose as the sound of a fan played in the background.

You were glad Ethan let you keep the light on. You could never sleep with it being pitch black, it gave you the heebie-jeebies. You positioned yourself, trying to get comfortable as you faced away from Ethan. You tried your best to get comfortable but you couldn’t, turning around to face Ethan’s back.

Ethan quickly caught onto this, also feeling the same amount of discomfort you were in. “This bed isn’t very comfortable, is it?” His voice was low and raspy, facing you with a small smile. “Uh uh” your hair rubbed against the sheets, the small sound filling your ears.

You scanned his face as he stared back at you, noticing details that you never got to see before. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, small marks all over his skin. “You have really nice eyelashes” It just fell out of your mouth, but you meant it. “I- oh. Thank you” You noticed how his cheeks filled up in a pinky hue, gaining you some confidence.

You could go on and on about his face. How full his lips were, the pretty color of his skin. But you didn’t wanna creep him out, keeping it to yourself. “I like your lips…” you held back a smile, covering the bottom of your face with the blanket. “Thank you” your laughs were whispered, Ethan, noticing how flustered you were getting.

You felt yourself move back as he brought his hand up to your face, realizing how weird it probably was. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t know what l was doing” You chewed on your lip as he brought his hand down, pulling the side of your face closer to his. “It’s okay” your whisper was unstable. Your nervousness escaped your body through your voice.

You watched as his eyes scanned your face. From your lips to your eyes, an unorganized pattern of movements that slightly confused you. You could tell he was nervous, his hand getting warmer with each second that it was on your skin. His face was inches away, feeling his soft breath on your face.

You had begun to grow impatient, lips seconds away from touching. The anticipation made you go insane, only paying attention to the way his heart was beating with your hand on his chest.

As crazy as it seemed his was probably pounding harder than yours, lips on lips. “Don’t be a tease E” Your lips brushed against his, the feeling of warmth and satisfaction filling every pore in your body.

Your face grew hot, Ethan pulling you in as he became addicted to your taste. Your lips were soft and cushiony, perfectly fitting onto his. Breaths and words were jumbled as you two got even closer, Ethan’s hands finding their way to your hips.

All you could feel was fire. It was like a giant firework was exploding in your stomach. Your hands ran through his soft curls, noses touching as you pulled away for air. His face was so red. Making you giggle with a hand on his cheek.

“You look so cute when you blush…” you combed your hand through his hair, pushing it all back as he admired you. He pulled you closer, hugging your body tightly into his. “Better?” “Way better”

[wanderingblindly]

could I ask for 5 in the kiss prompts for landoscar?

-💜

Ahhhh “where it doesn’t hurt” was so vague!!!!!! But I decided it just meant… warm. Sappy. Maybe a peace that’s new to them! Anyways, click here for the prompt list :)))

Seam Ripper

There isn’t a lot of separation, typically, between their work and their life. Their PR personas are intricately woven into their marketability, their marketability correlated to their contracts. And, despite their best efforts, their PR personas are even more tightly stitched to their private lives — like a second skin, a not-quite-person-suit.

Lando’s always felt that it fit him too tightly, claustrophobic.

He spent years — years where he was probably too young to pull himself free — trying to find a version of himself that could do it all. He tried to find the perfect balance of friendly and cutting, confident and humble, driven and human. And, as he looks back at it, he spent years becoming someone that wasn’t meaningfully him.

Because it’s hard to pop the stitches one by one, to shed parts of yourself that are technically real and find parts of yourself that are true.

But there are moments where it’s easy, people who make it so. Like here, on a yacht atop an ocean so blue and undisturbed that it makes Lando wonder which way is up. Like here, where he stretches lazily on his towel and covers his eyes against the sun, smiling when an Oscar-shaped shadow does the work for him.

“Hey handsome,” Lando winks emphatically, propping himself up on his elbow. Oscar rolls his eyes and tosses one of the water bottles in his hand, nailing Lando in the stomach. With a grunt, “Ungrateful little prick, huh?”

“Hey yourself,” Oscar ignores Lando’s barb, used to his loose tongue in moments like these: private, easy. “Gonna look ridiculous if you don’t tan your back, too,”

“You offering somethin’?” He wiggles his brows, already starting to shift onto his side.

“You need somethin’?” Oscar mimics, already putting down his extra water bottle and moving to kneel beside Lando.

“C’mon, Osc,” He whines, but he doesn’t think twice about it. Because it’s safe, in moments like these: flipped over onto his stomach, Oscar’s hands — never secretive in their intentions — slide up his back.

He giggles when he feels Oscar’s lips press against the lowest notch of his spine, the dip right above his shorts. “This what you wanted?” Lando can feel a hint of his teeth — his smile — as his lips slide up his back, a kiss pressed to each vertebra.

Lando hums in agreement, shifting to make a pillow out of his elbows, resting his head and closing his eyes. Like this, with Oscar’s lips making slow work of dusting rose petal kisses on his skin, Lando finally feels it: himself.

It lulls him to sleep, later covered with an umbrella before he burns himself in the lazy summer sun.

[eyesfullofsttars]

✩‧₊˚ ellie, who passionately made out the previous night in the restroom of a bar with a taller blonde who could easily break her nose with a single solid hit, woke up in the morning with those strong arms embracing her waist and the blonde hair covering her freckled shoulder. she opened her greenish eyes with the desire to begin planting gentle and soft kisses on abigail's lips to delay time, to be hers a few more minutes before this fleeting nocturnal encounter comes to an end with the arrival of the sun... ✩‧₊˚

[metalhoops]

Steddie Week Day 4:

Familiar / Hurt/Comfort / Here Come the Tears by Judas Priest

Eddie and Steve had never been close before the world went to hell. They’d known of each other, as everyone knows everyone in small town, middle America. They’d gone to the same school, smoked behind the same abandoned buildings and knew all the best places to make the worst decisions, but they hadn’t done it together. They were disparate figures, drifting around each other’s edges. That all changed in 1986 when through fate or chance the two boys had been flung together. 

By the summer of 1988, they’d grown into and around each other like vines beneath forest foliage. They’d become inseparable, familiar. Steve showed up outside the garage at closing time, the Beamer tearing down the gravel path, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. When Robin and the kids weren’t around, Steve drove fast, throwing caution to the wind. No one else knew that about him. Eddie did. 

He didn’t know what to do with all of the pieces of Steve that were uniquely his. He felt the illogical urge to write them down, catalogue each one as though designing a character for a new campaign. He wanted a record of each minute detail of Steve. 

“Your yuppie boyfriend’s tearin’ up the drive again, Manson,” Eddie's boss, Frankie, hollered from his spot behind the service desk. 

In the year he’d worked at the garage, he’d never seen the guy move from behind his desk, yet his hands were always grease-stained. Eddie hated his boss, but the job paid well enough. He was saving up to high tail it out of Hawkins, where nicknames like ‘The Freak’, and Frankie’s newest addition ‘Manson’, as in that Manson, the one with the cult in the 60s, weren’t so widespread. 

“I was off twenty minutes ago, Frankenstein. You want him to stop kickin’ up dust you could just let me off on time,” Eddie grumbled, grabbing a spare rag and trying to scrub the worst of the grease and engine gunk from his hands and overalls.  

“You think that carburettor was going to replace itself? You wanna finish on time? Work faster,” Frankie noted, punctuating his point by kicking his feet across the desk. Charming. 

Eddie made his way to the car, drummed his knuckles against the passenger door and waited as Steve leaned over to push it open, his precious seats covered haphazardly with one of Eddie’s ruined bandannas. This was their habit, how the two worked. Steve was wearing sunglasses, which usually meant he was fighting off a migraine. They’d been more frequent in recent months. Eddie blamed the hot weather. 

“How was your day?” Steve asked, starting the car.

Eddie flopped into the passenger seat and groaned. He let his body lay slack and boneless as the leather seats cradled him and the cool air from the A.C. took his breath away.

“That good, huh?” 

“Everyone’s cars decided to break down on the hottest day of the year and Frankenstein’s still giving me shit about being a cult leader. I think the dude used to hold out hope for you since you were the town's golden boy, but now he thinks there’s some kind of Stepford wife thing going on.” 

Steve snorted as he turned onto the familiar street leading to The Harringtons’ house. 

“I saw Dustin today. The kid wanted me to remind you, you’re picking the twerps up on Monday,” Steve informed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. The guy had no sense of rhythm, but Eddie never had the heart to tell him. 

“Remind me why you can’t,” Eddie muttered as Steve’s house came into view. 

“Because I work late and you get off by two.” 

“I thought you said my van was a ‘death trap’. I could always take your car,” Eddie proposed with a devilish smirk. 

That car was Steve’s baby. Not even he was allowed to drive it, save that one night in Indianapolis when Steve was drunk and Robin broke her wrist. They’d spent five hours together in the emergency room. It’d brought back all the wrong kind of memories for Steve and Eddie could tell. 

Steve and Eddie talked about everything except Eddie’s stay in hospital and defining the liminal space between platonic and romantic, their relationship had been drifting for the past six months.  

“In your dreams, Munson. You staying at mine tonight?” Steve asked, pulling up and walking around to open Eddie’s door for him. 

He always made excuses about Eddie getting engine oil all over the passenger door, but he thought Steve liked playing chivalrous in the same way he liked playing up his less-than-stellar reputation.  

Steve kept asking him to spend the night. Eddie had his own drawer in Steve’s room. He couldn’t help but feel like he was asking him to move in. Eddie kept turning him down, not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in Hawkins, even if it was with Steve. He’d tried to convince himself he’d be able to do it, so they could get out of their goddamn stalemate and get on with the rest of their lives. Yet, Hawkins had always been inhospitable for the likes of people like him and the person Steve was becoming.

“If you’re cookin,” Eddie agreed, unbuttoning his overalls.

By the time Steve found his keys, Eddie had managed to strip the sweat-slicked clothes from his body and dumped them unceremoniously on the front stoop. The good thing about rich people’s houses? No neighbours for miles. 

They followed the same old routines. Eddie made his way upstairs to shower while Steve started prepping for dinner. Once Eddie didn’t smell like the inside of a boys' locker room, he returned to find Steve spaced out in the kitchen. 

Eddie’s heart was a hummingbird in flight. Steve’s body was stock still, his eyes a thousand miles away. 

“Steve,” Eddie breathed, signalling his approach. 

He tried to focus on the kitchen. This wasn’t two years ago. Vecna was dead. 

He laced his fingers into the crook of Steve’s elbow and finally caught the boy’s attention, the pot on the stove having boiled dry. 

“Migraine?” Eddie asked as Steve’s eyes snapped shut, frown lines marring the landscape of his forehead. 

“Yeah,” Steve confirmed through gritted teeth as Eddie guided him to the couch, switching off the lights on the way.

“Looks like you’re going to have to put up with the Munson special then, eggs on toast,” He breathed, sitting down beside Steve and guiding his head into his lap. 

He’d sat through a couple of Steve’s migraines. Sometimes they were fast and painless as a sun shower, other times he’d spend hours disorientated and puking up his guts. There wasn’t much Eddie could do for him, but sit there and be with him for it. In sickness and in health, all that crap. Eddie wasn’t sure when he’d become close enough to Steve that he’d sit through anything with him, but he knew now he would. 

“Stevie, you know when I get outta this hellhole, I’m taking you with me, right?” Eddie breathed, feeling the sudden need for candour. 

Sometime in the space between getting to know Steve and getting to love Steve, they’d crossed the line from familiar to familial.

Steve’s face nudged against Eddie’s palm, his forehead beaded with sweat. 

“I’d like that,” he confirmed. 

“We’d have to take Robin with us, though,” Steve added after a beat, causing Eddie to let out a breathy chuckle and dip down to press their foreheads together.  

“Fine by me, long as you’re there.” 

[blueironywrites]

Title: More than a Dream

Rating: M

Word count: 295

Summary: Remus and Sirius wake up in bed together.

Only one bed prompt by @wolfstarmicrofic

This was so much fun to write! It's been hanging out in my head for the last few days and I wrote it while waiting for baked eggs to cook. Baked eggs and Wolfstar, what a combination <3

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Remus woke slowly. Smiling happily, he burrowed closer into the warm body next to him and sighed as he inhaled a familiar scent that never ceased to drive him wild.

He lay still for a moment, enjoying the quietness of the morning, before running a hand up the smooth lines of the man next to him. His fingers trailed up and rested on the soft skin of the man's neck. Lifting himself up slightly, Remus brought his face close to the man's, pausing for a moment before bringing their mouths together.

Remus sank into the kiss, a small sound escaping his mouth, but pulled away after a few seconds in confusion.

In this part of his dream, Sirius would usually be kissing him back, his long body twisting against Remus's. However, this morning, Sirius lay unresponsive under him.

Remus's skin went cold.

Oh, my God.

Remus's flew open and met the shocked eyes of Sirius.

Sirius. His best friend. His best friend who had cheerfully told Remus they had nothing to worry about the night before when they had realised the hotel they had booked for James's buck party had put them in the same room, rather than seperate ones.

The same room. With one bed. The bed they were both currently in where Remus had just humiliated himself.

"Oh, my God," he muttered, flinging himself out of the bed and not pausing to look behind him as he raced out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

***

Sirius stared at the door as it shut, his heart thudding in his chest.

Making a split second decision, he also leapt out of bed and ran out the door. He didn't know what had just happened but all he knew was he wanted more.