#why does this come up every year like fucking clockwork?

[theostrophywife]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ best friend! enzo who is a little manipulative. ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

enzo comes off as so sweet and caring (and he is, but he also has a dark side).

he's the guy best friend that every boyfriend worries about. specifically, your boyfriend. the two of you are so close, practically attached at the hip, but you swear that nothing is going on between you two.

you're just really good friends; just friends.

there's no reason to be jealous.

you don't even see enzo like that.

there's absolutely no way that your innocent best friend would ever think of you that way either.

of course he'd never steal your favorite scrunchie — the pink one with little yellow daisies on it — just to spray it with your vanilla scented perfume and wear it on his wrist while getting himself off in his restroom, panting and pressing his forehead against the closed door, peeking through the opening to watch you make yourself comfortable in his shirt, his sweats, in his bed. the sight of it alone drives him over the edge, making him cum all over his fingers as he chokes down filthy moans of your name.

enzo definitely doesn't take a different girl to bed every night, wishing it was you underneath him, moaning and screaming his name instead of whatever random he settled on because he couldn't get to you.

cause really they're just distractions before you finally figure out that the two of you are meant to be together.

best friend! enzo has dropped so many hints over the years, he's not been subtle at all about it, but you insist that you're just friends. enzo thinks it's cute how blind and oblivious you are. but he doesn't think it's cute when you start dating your loser boyfriend.

he hates his fucking guts.

you're his girl. you belong to enzo and enzo alone. doesn't that stupid twat know that?

it's fine, though. enzo knows he'll win in the end. he has a plan.

he'll do whatever it takes to drive a wedge between you and your boyfriend; chipping away at the relationship bit by crumbling bit. enzo does everything in his power to make him seem like a terrible boyfriend.

he doesn't stop any of the cuddly affectionate best friend behavior cause why should he? who cares if you have a boyfriend? he's just for now; enzo is forever.

・❥・ best friend! enzo would give you flowers and chocolates when you ace your exams.

・❥・ best friend! enzo would pick up your favorite tea and stationary when he's at hogsmeade.

・❥・ best friend! enzo would come over with a heating pad and snacks when you're on your period.

ofc your boyfriend doesn't like this, he tries to tell you that enzo is crossing a line and you're just letting him. but you tell him that he's being ridiculous; enzo is your best friend.

you often have fights about enzo, because the little shit will purposely do things to piss your boyfriend off.

・❥・ jumping up at the chance to give you his hoodie to wear when you're feeling cold.

・❥・ leaning in so close to you while you're standing by your locker, whispering things in your ear to make you smile and laugh.

・❥・ leading you by the small of your back when the two of you are in a large crowd cause he knows it makes you anxious.

best friend! enzo does all of this in front of your boyfriend because he literally just doesn't care.

every time you have a fight, enzo comes to the rescue. it's like he has a sixth sense for it (he bugged one of your stuffed animals so he can listen in on your conversations).

like clockwork, enzo is at your door with a movie and snacks to take your mind off of things. cuddling you up in a fuzzy blanket and hugging you tight and stroking your hair while you sit and sniffle on his lap.

"another fight again? you don't deserve any of that. if I were him, I'd never make you cry, honey."

hand sliding up your back, rubbing soothing circles while he wipes the tears away. kissing your forehead and playing with your hair to comfort you.

"s'kay. i'm here for you. let it all out, sweetheart."

he hates seeing you upset, but he loves that it gives him a chance to push the boundaries. so what if you're spooning? you used to do it before, you should still be able to do it now.

best friend! enzo loves to hold you tight, his chin tucked into your shoulder while he brushes his knuckles over you ribs, the sensation of his cold rings against your skin making you shiver involuntarily.

"are you cold, honey? here, come snuggle."

just as an excuse to press his dick against your ass. like he pretends to be this golden retriever sweetheart but your best friend is shrewd and calculating. he knows how to push your buttons.

always making little comments like:

・❥・ "oh he left you to hang out with his friends? that seems a bit selfish, doesn't it?"

・❥・ "he doesn't want to take you to your favorite restaurant? don't worry, honey. I already made a reservation."

・❥・ "he forgot to give you flowers for your anniversary? that's okay, sweetheart, I picked out this bouquet for you just in case."

best friend! enzo is working overtime, but that's okay because it's all going to pay off.

cause one night when him and the boys are hanging out in the common room, you come stumbling in, obviously looking for him — teary eyed and sad.

enzo immediately ditches the boys to comfort you. taking you up to his dorm so you can talk in private.

"what's wrong, sweetheart? I hate seeing you so upset."

"we...we broke up."

best friend! enzo hugging you and whispering soothing words in your ear, "oh no, honey. come here, tell me all about it."

all the while he's smiling because hell yeah he finally got rid of that prick.

you're sniffling, telling him that you had the fight to end all fights.

"what was it this time?"

you tell enzo that the two of you fought about him, how enzo doesn't respect your boyfriend and that he's always undermining him and obviously plotting to break up your relationship so he can have you all to himself.

and your boyfriend is obviously 100% right.

but enzo tells you that your boyfriend is just insecure because he knows he isn't right for you.

"I know, and I realized that when he tried to make me choose." "what do you mean?" "he said I had to choose between you. it was either him or you." his heart stops when you look up at him, glassy eyed and pouting. "and I chose you." enzo kisses your tears away, peppering soft little pecks on your cheeks. "you didn't have to do that, honey." "of course I did, enz. I'd rather lose a boyfriend than my best friend." best friend! enzo leans in closer until your noses touch, his hand coming up ever so slowly to gently cradle your jaw. "I’m glad you chose me, y/n." "you were a better boyfriend than he ever was anyways. he couldn't even remember my favorite flowers."

"peonies," enzo says confidently while staring at you with those big puppy dog eyes. "you like them cause they bloom in the spring and they only last a week, so it makes them extra special."

"you remembered that?"

"I remember everything you tell me, honey. I know you better than anyone. your boyfriend knew that and that's why he tried to come between us. he was jealous of what we have."

best friend! enzo mumbling all of this with his eyes closed, nose to nose with his big hands gripping your hips as he holds you in place.

"but he had no reason to be jealous, right?" you whisper as his hands travel underneath your shirt, his callouses rough and scratchy against your exposed skin.

enzo shakes his head, coming closer and closer until the gap between the two of you is basically nonexistent.

"of course not, sweetheart. we're friends, right?" licking his lips while his lashes brush against your cheek. "and friends comfort each other and help them forget all about their shitty exes."

enzo’s lips are basically touching yours as you sigh, melting into him. "they do?"

"mhm," enzo mumbles against your lips. "let me show you."

he knows he shouldn’t. he should probably wait, but enzo doesn’t really give a fuck. he’s waited too long. he wants you and he’s gonna show you exactly how much.

best friend! enzo cradles your cheek and gives a look that makes you melt. you hold your breath as the gap between you closes. butterflies erupt in your stomach as his lips press against yours, the pressure of his kisses making you sigh softly into his mouth.

he’s definitely pushing it. this could be a disaster. you could push him away and it would ruin the entire friendship. but you don't.

you do nothing to stop him. if anything, you kiss enzo back just as eagerly. cause his lips are so soft and he tastes like peaches and you can’t really think straight with his big hands gripping your hips so roughly, squeezing your ass while he moves you over his lap.

his big hands moving higher and higher till he’s feeling you up, slipping a hand under your bra to cup your breasts. distracting you with hungry kisses that make you feel dizzy. all you can do is wrap your arms around his neck and tug at his hair because wow enzo can kiss.

best friend! enzo puts his whole body into it, he moans like a whore into your mouth when you accidentally roll your hips. there's a smile on his face when you finally pull away and enzo is pleased to find you glassy eyed and kiss bitten.

then he's diving back in to eat. slipping some tongue in there to really rob you of all thought like there’s not a single thing on your mind right now but enzo, enzo, enzo.

manhandling you so that the two of you are in a spooning position and making you whine cause all you want to do is to keep kissing him, but enzo just shushes you.

best friend! enzo leaves hot, sloppy kisses on your neck while he slips a hand underneath your sweats.

"told you i'd make you feel better, honey," he says in that rough sexy deep voice. "are you gonna let me?" you gasp when he rubs over your panties. "please, enz." the neediness in your voice makes enzo smirk against your neck. "good girl."

then he's tugging your panties aside, rubbing your slick all over and groaning into your ear. teasing with one finger, easing in so it makes a filthy squelching sound.

"so eager for your best friend, hm? you’re dripping, honey."

all you can do is whimper as he adds another finger, curling those long, slender digits inside of you while you gasp and moan.

"don't worry, sweetheart. I'll take real good care of you."

best friend! enzo fingers you until your eyes roll back while his other hand squeezes your tits. he’s insatiable, there’s no stopping him now. enzo scissors his fingers inside of your soaking wet pussy, spreading you wide and marveling at the sight of you greedily riding his hand.

his sweet girl is just so desperate and needy. but enzo is more than happy to help, pressing his thumb down on your clit and whispering filthy things in your ear as he coaxes you to cum for him.

the orgasm tears through you, making your whole body shudder as you ride out the high. the comedown has you seeing stars, flinging you into the far corners of space, but enzo is right there, his mouth a hot brand against your skin as he leaves love bites and teeth marks on your neck.

"you sound so pretty moaning my name, but I wanna hear you scream it, honey."

best friend! enzo hoists your leg back so he can line up. you can’t help but whine as he teases you with the head of his cock, those shallow little thrusts setting your teeth on edge.

you want him so bad you’d beg at this point.

best friend! enzo knows this. all those months of plotting and scheming brought the two of you up to this point. this is it. this is the moment.

as much as he wants to fuck you senseless, enzo restrains himself, hovering at your entrance as he releases a long suffering sigh.

"best friends don't do this, baby."

enzo pretends to stop so he can watch you panic, mascara streaking down your cheeks while you whine and groan. you’re aching for him. you need him so badly that it hurts.

"enzo, don't stop. please. I need more." "hm, so do I honey." he murmurs into your neck. "but you'll have to say the magic words for that to happen." "what is it? I'll do whatever you want." "say you're mine," enzo says while his fingers possessively wrap around your throat. "say that you belong to me." "but - but - we're friends." your head is spinning, barely able to speak as enzo squeezes. "sure, baby, and the sky is red."

his little smirk is the first glimpse that you get of his hidden manipulative side and oh it suddenly clicks that your ex-boyfriend was right all along, enzo has been scheming and manipulating and plotting for this to happen from the very beginning.

and you should be repulsed by it, but fuck why is it so hot?

"you've been planning this all along."

enzo shrugs nonchalantly. "what can I say, baby? I know what I want and I get what I want. I wasn't going to let your stupid little boyfriend get in the way of that."

"that's wrong - you shouldn't have -" gasping when enzo slips in a little more, stretching you out.

"you can be mad at me later, honey. but right now, let me convince you that I was the right choice."

"we shouldn't -" you start to protest, but it's half hearted. you already forgot what you were about to say as soon as enzo kisses your neck. he sucks at your earlobe, his breaths hot and ragged while he slowly grinds against you. both of you know that you're close to breaking.

"don't you want to feel me stretching you out, getting so deep that you feel me in your guts? I know you want it, baby. you just have to say the words."

you don't even try to fight it, because why would you? enzo would go to the ends of the world for you, that much was obvious. he wanted you - no, he needed you, and he'd stop at nothing to get you.

for the first time in your friendship, you know exactly how it feels.

so you turn over to look at him, pretty eyes brimming with tears because it hurts not to have him inside of you. "I'm yours, enzo. I belong to you."

best friend! enzo gives you a messy, filthy kiss as he finally slips all the way in. you gasp, fingernails sinking into his back as his thick cock stretches your walls. you can feel him throbbing inside of your pussy, every ridge and vein increasing your pleasure as he fully sheathes himself in your warmth.

"wanted to do this for so long," enzo grunts, nearly dizzy with how tightly you’re squeezing around him. fuck, you’re so perfect and you don’t even know it. "I love watching you fall apart on my cock. this pussy is mine and so are you. you’ve always been mine, baby.”

"I don't care that I had to lie and cheat to get you. now that I’ve got you, I'm never letting you go, honey."

meanwhile you’re reduced to a whimpering mess. you writhe and arch against the bed, wanting more and more of him.

"do you think it was easy watching him hug you, kiss you, touch you?" thrusting in so sharply as he fucks all of his frustrations out. "it was fucking hell, but I don't mind playing the long game. you should know there isn't a line I wouldn't cross when it comes to you."

the words make you moan and clench, because god this side of him is just so unhinged and sexy.

"it's a good thing I chose you, then."

and that makes enzo smile, flashing you that sweet disarming look before absolutely railing the fuck out of you.

best friend! enzo rolls over on his back and positions you on top of him, driving in deep and fucking you until you’re a blubbering mess, blissed out on his cock. enzo rubs your clit, urging you closer and closer to the edge.

"that's it, sweet girl. let go, I've got you."

best friend! enzo kisses your shoulders as his orgasm builds. enzo melts when you lift his hand up to your lips, kissing his knuckles so tenderly that his heart clenches at the sight of it. the sweet gesture sends him over the edge. his thrusts turn sloppy as he paints your walls with his cum, filling you up until he’s dripping out of your pussy and making a mess of his sheets.

the two of you lay in silence for a moment, his big arms wrapping around you as he places a kiss on your temple.

you snuggle closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "I'm still very mad at you, you know."

and best friend! enzo just smiles cause he knows you don’t really mean it. you never could stay mad at him for too long.

"would eating your pussy until you cry count as an apology?"

"enzo!"

"can't blame a guy for trying."

[lordprettyflackotara]

after hours || eyeless jack

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. mutual masturbation? jacks a lil horny freaky fuck

Jack stumbled into his bedroom, gritting his teeth as he slid his hoodie over his head.

He had an abnormally awful day, one that ended with him being hungry and angry. Typically when Jack went hunting he was confident in his ability to leave on a full stomach. Instead he was abruptly interrupted by a force of nature, one that was shaped in the size of a small child. Truly, how was Jack supposed to know his victim had children? With the economy in such a tragic state Jack had every right to assume the regular humans would stop reproducing. Or delay that desire at the very least.

Nevertheless his meal was interrupted by a curious child, one whose innocence reeked off of its skin. Jack couldn’t even tell if it was a boy or girl, the peering in through the dark doorway enough for him. Its presence threw Jack off of his game, his moral dilemma scratching at his brain. It landed him hungry and annoyed, the demons stomach growling. He shrugged off his mask, tossing it aside on his bed. He took a deep breath, inhaling through his nostrils. It was then he smelled a scent so intoxicating he’d recognize it anywhere: your arousal.

Your affair with Jack had started many summers ago. Jack had done a pretty job of keeping his heat cycles under wraps. You were almost as old as he was and you hadn’t had the slightest clue why the demon disappeared like clockwork every early summer. It was this ignorance that led you searching for him unknowing of the sinful things rummaging through his mind.

Jack was sitting in his room, back hunched as he jerked his cock. Muffled whimpers managed to escape his lips, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to silence any further sounds. His chestnut brown hair stuck to his foreskin, his eye sockets screwed shut. You showed up at his bedroom doorstep, blissfully unaware of the unholy acts he was committing on the other side of the door. Jack’s mind was so scrambled, so lost in a daze that he didn’t hear your knocking. It was the same preoccupation that resulted in him forgetting to lock his bedroom door. The demon didn’t know what to think, staring at you blankly as you stood in his doorway. There was no concealing it, his tip leaking precum as you stared back at him.

Your doe eyes were so large he swore he saw stars dancing in them. Your lips were slightly parted, your evaluated heartbeat audible to Jacks ears. He expected you to be revolted. To despise him and the ground he walked on. Instead you awkwardly cleared your throat, unzipping your jacket.

“Want some help with that?”

It was that question alone that led to your arrangement. Every early summer, you both would disappear together. Jack had never considered having a mate before, the concept overly tedious in his day to day life. But during his heats? He considered marking you every single day. You needed stress relief and living amongst a mansion full of killers, you were reasonably picky about whom you allowed to assist you. Jack had never considered entangling himself with a mansion resident. He didn’t like the idea of the drama or any of the other bullshit. You were the perfect solution. During the rest of the year the two of you remained friends from a distance. No one would’ve ever guessed the late nights you had spent in his room. Or the amount of times he had buried his head in between your thighs.

But the moment he went into heat? He could smell you from a mile away. Your scent became intoxicating. His body yearned for you. To be buried inside of you.

Yet as he ran his fingers through his hair he froze. He wasn’t in heat. Not anywhere near it. It was autumn, the cool breeze coming through his window enough to prove it. Jack had never once thought of you this way outside of his heats. After all, he found it disrespectful. But now? The hunger in the pit of his stomach was raging on. The longer he smelled your arousal, the hunger for organs subsided and the craving for something more intimate arose instead. He swallowed, shaking his head. Jack had never approached you for sexual favors outside of his heats. How was he supposed to go about this?

He mind racked itself for an answer, his feet carrying him out of his room. He trudged past the other residents rooms, ignoring the sound of faint moans and loud music as he went to head down the stairs. What was he even supposed to say? Jack was anything but subtle during his heats. His aching cock usually did all of the communication for him. He headed down the hallway, landing himself outside of your bedroom door. He sighed, raising his hand to knock on the old chipped wood. It was then his eyebrows raised, your door cracked open. Unsurely Jack inhaled again, ensuring your presence in your bedroom. He peaked through the door, knowing his nose had landed him in the right place.

It was then he saw you, a scene straight out of the filthy depths of his mind. You were almost completely exposed, minus a crop top pulled above your breast. Your head was tilted back, whimpers so quiet they were almost inaudible falling off of your lips. He watched you bite your bottom lip, your fingers going in and out of your drenched cunt. Your beautiful eyes were fluttered shut, Jack freezing in place. Surely this was his sign to turn around. To go back to his room and follow through with his original plan. Yet you looked so angelic like this, mind lost in pleasure as you fingered yourself. Jack could feel his own ache arising, his cock threatening to burst out of his pants.

He felt like a dirty perv, turned on by the sight of the display in front of him. You didn’t even know he was here, yet you made his cock throb in agony. Jacks large hand had a mind of its own, trailing down to his shaft. He sucked in as he palmed himself through his jeans. His hands and lower arms were still coated with dry blood from his failed meal. He watched as your other hand twisted and toyed with your nipples, the exposed buds only growing more perky from the crisp autumn air. Jack bit the inside of his cheek, knowing what he was going to do next was utterly absurd. It went against his morals, it went against his entanglement rules with you.

Yet none of that mattered as he unbuttoned his jeans. Glancing nervously to his left, he realized your room was right next to Jeff’s. Unlucky for you, but lucky for Jack. Typically the pale killer spent his nights actively killing or fucking Nina’s brains out. Either way he would be occupied. Meaning Jack could watch you in semi peace. He pulled down his jeans and boxers, taking his cock in his hand as he watched you. Jack watched as you desperately began circling your clit, your whimpers turning into desperate whines. Jack withheld his own sinful noises, jerking his cock as he watched you play with yourself. He adored the way your face scrunched up in pleasure, your heart racing as you pushed yourself further to the edge.

Jack thought of all the things he’d do to you if he came in. The way he’d plow you into the mattress. Or maybe he’d make you cum on his tongues until you passed out. Those thoughts alone were enough to make him hot and bothered, his mouth running dry as he jerked his cock faster. He ran his thumb over his slit, shuddering under the sensation. Or maybe he’d force you to your knees and face fuck you until your jaw became sore. He’d eventually have to punish you for being such a tease, that was just one of many ideas. Using one hand to finger yourself and one to circle your clit, you were a riled up mess.

You were heaven sent, your doe eyes finally opening. Jack froze momentarily, afraid he had been caught. Instead you looked down at arousal coated fingers, removing them from your cunt. Jack nearly groaned at the sight. He knew his felt better. He knew his thick fingers reached places yours couldn’t. Jacks mouth fell open as he watched you bring your arousal coated fingers to your mouth, sucking the juices off of them. For a moment it felt like you were putting on a show, getting off on Jack watching you. The concept alone was enough to make him beat his cock faster. You smiled to yourself as you brought your fingers back to your cunt, more desperate this time.

Your muffled noises were louder now, your heart rate indicating to Jack you were close to your orgasm. The demon bit his bottom lip, eager to cum with you. Fuck, you were so ethereal and you didn’t even know it. He cupped his balls with his other hand, fighting the unholy noises that threatened to escape from his throat. Your eyes fluttered shut again, your moans becoming louder. They were heaven to Jacks ears, the demons orgasm coming closer and closer with each stroke. It was then your hips buckled, your mouth falling open as you came. Jack watched you cream around your own fingers, your heart pounding so loudly it sounded like a drum in his ears.

Jack struggled to contain himself as he came on his hand, his seed coating his dark gray skin. His chest rose and fell profusely as he came down from his high. He wanted to admire you more, the sound of footsteps in Jeff’s room disrupting him coming down. The demon immediately became flustered, registering the sound of Jeff’s window closing. Jack stumbled to shove his cock back in his pants, panicking as he redressed himself. His hand was still covered with his cum, the demons eye sockets widening. Jeff’s footsteps seemed to be coming closer to his door, each step making Jack panic. The demon opened his mouth, licking his cum off of his hand until he was clean.

He faced away from Jeff’s door, facing the end of the hall. He ignored the salty sensation dancing across his tongues as Jeff stepped out into the hallway. “EJ? What the hell are you doing?” Jeff asked sarcastically. In front of Jack was a portrait of Slenderman and his brothers. The pale killers eyebrows were furrowed as he joined Jacks side, trying to understand what the demon was looking at. “Just admiring some art, it’s late I should turn in,” Jack rambled. Jeff eyed his blood stained arms and hand, noting his right one was clean. “Uh huh, right,” Jeff muttered. He watched as Jack excused himself, practically running down the hallway. Dumbfounded the pale killer scratched his head, shrugging.

“Jesus, everyone becomes weird around here after hours.”

[seireitonin]

“Toby/ other characters would be an abuser!1!” A talk on why that pisses me off

Hi. My name is Seirei. I don’t want to share super personal shit on the internet, but due to certain factors in my life I have BPD. (this is NOT self diagnosis. I have been to a professional and for now they think I have this due to certain trauma/ symptoms I’ve shown) This is part of the cluster B personality type. That being said Toby and many other creepypasta characters either canonically have ASPD/ BPD or it’s a generally accepted headcanon that they do. Now this in itself doesn’t bother me if it’s done well and with research. But the problem is most ppl just slap these labels onto them without doing the proper research. I’ve gotten multiple comments on my TikTok like “well I think Toby is an abuser bc he has ASPD/ BPD” I hate that. I hate that so much. You guys say it’s for “realism” but you’re just demonizing mental disorders. You’re demonizing people like me. In you having your “realism” youre hurting me and ppl in the cluster B personality type. ASPD/ BPD doesn’t instantly make you an abuser. These are personality disorders brought on trauma. Especially trauma with parents/ family. People with ASPD/ BPD know that we’re not well all the time. We’re suffering from disorders that affect our lives. From trauma/ experiences that we didn’t ask for. These are DISORDERS. These aren’t fake edgy illnesses that you can slap onto a character with no thought when you want them to be angsty. For example when ppl say “Toby would be an abuser/ not be capable of love because of his ASPD and he went through abuse in his past” not only are you taking away the depth of his character, you’re just straight up demonizing mental disorders. If you read his story, he loves his mom and sister so much. People with ASPD can love. But it does cause him to be obnoxious and rude. But this isn’t coming from a place of malice. He’s a traumatized man w a disorder! This isn’t me saying Toby can do no wrong and he’s 100% healthy. Toby definitely has issues and I’d never erase that. But to call him an abuser because he has ASPD is so gross and you’re just demonizing ASPD to be edgy without doing research on it or the cluster B personality type in general. As I said before, people with cluster B personality type KNOW we have disorders. We live with them every day. They affect our lives, our relationships, ourselves. We know that we fuck up and what we do isn’t healthy all the time. We KNOW. We’re not doing it because we’re “abusers” we’re suffering and hurting. Again this isn’t me saying that everyone with BPD/ ASPD is a good person who’s willing to do the work and grow. There are bad people with these disorders. But that doesn’t mean everyone who has them are instantly abusive. I’m not an abuser at all. Never have been and never will be. But BPD does affect me and the way I act that can come off as hurtful/ unhealthy and I KNOW THAT. Im always actively putting in the work to be better, like a lot of people with ASPD/ BPD. Just because we have these disorders doesn’t instantly mean we can’t change/ be better. Doesn’t mean we’re not humans with emotions/ trauma of our own. Toby obviously had to do some kind of inner work to be able to be with Clockwork the way kastoway portrayed them. (If it’s canon or not is irrelevant here)When you say shit like “Toby is abusive bc of ASPD/ BPD” that’s what you’re telling us you think of us. You see us and treat us like monsters but then talk about how much you love Toby/ other characters for having our very real disorder. ASPD/ BPD can be seen as two sides of the same coin. They have so many similarities but are shown in different ways. Do proper research before you talk about mental health because you’re stigmatizing/ demonizing disorders that are already looked down upon. Toby does canonically have ASPD and possibly BPD but it’s written into his character pretty well(as well as a 13 year old in the 2010s can do) and now that ppl are older we can actually analyze his character/story correctly. But Jeff and many other characters still aren’t getting this same treatment and they need it.Do better.

[moonshynecybin]

Dovquez rosqeuz fic 🤌

If I may get your thoughts on a few things.

So it's the first heat Marc isn't spending with Vale. But has Vale already started spending ruts without Marc, how crazy does it drive Marc and how does Vale internalize whatever emotions & realizations were awakened in him during the rut with someone else.

i think. this is dumb and an au of my own au bear with me. but i think that since vale and marc are almost EXACTLYYYY 14 years apart that their heat/rut schedules align literally perfectly. every four months like clockwork. which rules for both of them ass A. horny freaks, and B. workaholics. suddenly there’s a person in the paddock who is hot AND a quote unquote dynamic match AND a direct competitor to boot so it takes a bit of the sting out of losing out on a session for heat because HEY so is the other person… and maybe it’s something they come by organically but maybe it’s also something worked out by honda or yamaha (insert pedrenzo of it all here…) to low-key lock in mutually assured destruction and eliminate the snafu of trying to go out and find a heat/rut partner in the middle of an unfamiliar country. pairing up the riders usually for two days a year (the alphas rut and the omega’s heat but because marc and vale are lined up it’s only ONE day) hello. hi.

like. rookie marc rocking up and getting assigned vale as his heat partner. having the most insane nasty sex ever. vale having done something like this before (lmao. casey ?) but never so neatly never so intensely and never with someone he LIKES this much. who likes HIM this much. seeing each other in the off-season (vale trying to get him to visit the ranch for like a YEAR..). starting to have sex outside of heats and vale being like. oh no. first time after sepang they have the option to choose another partner but STILLLLLL choose each other because that’s their fucking competition !! argentina happening and marc switching to choose DOVI… the logic honda uses is that it’s because vale is aging and isn’t competitive anymore so why not take it to ducati instead but it’s really marc being heartbroken…

[pedrito-friskito]

happy summer babes!!! 🍉🦀🏄‍♀️ thank you for the amazing sleepover fun!! I'm going with 🎲 ROLL FOR FIC 🎲 because it just sounds so fun and I hope I do it right lmaodvdf rose gold sparkles set PP character list and ofc smutty (are we surprised??? no ofc not)

love u to the moon and back!!!

MY DARLING SWEET SIL 🤍

yes yes yes roll for fic ROLL FOR FICCCCCC - we landed on: Frankie Morales and “You better watch your fucking mouth.”

love you MORE 🥰

done for - frankie morales x fem!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: drinking, brief violence (frankie punches a guy), unwanted advances from a third party (nothing explicit), car sex, dirty talk, I love frankie morales this was way too much fun to write

You’re the only reason Frankie comes to this bar.

It’s not his usual scene. Will dragged him in a few months back — despite his protests, but the eldest Miller brother was always stronger than Frankie, so he was left with little choice. But then he stepped through the doorway, spotted you behind the bar, and it didn’t matter that the music was too loud and every other person in the place looked to be at least ten years younger than him.

“What can I get ya?” you’d shouted over the music when he and Will approached the bar, leaning forward and giving him a healthy eyeful of your cleavage. Will shouted back his order and had to elbow Frankie in the ribs to get him to spit it out.

He called out the first beer logo he saw on the taps to your right, and you winked at him as you fished a glass out from beneath the bar and started filling it.

The pair of them lingered at the edge of the bar a while, Will combing the crowd for his fiancé, who had said she’d meet them there, and Benny, who was never one to say no to a night on the town. Will eventually spotted her, and after polishing off his drink, headed into the throng of people on the dance floor, leaving Frankie alone..

“Your friend abandoned you?” you called, and Frankie turned so fast he nearly fell off his stool. “That wasn’t very nice of him.”

“Nah, his girl’s here,” he responded, finishing his beer. 

You took his empty glass and refilled it without asking, and when he opened his mouth to protest, you waved a hand at him. “It’s on the house.”

He shouted his thanks and you winked again.

The bar became an almost weekly occurrence, every Friday night like clockwork, either or both of the Millers in tow, and Frankie knew he was getting a little too hung up on the way your eyes lit up when he walked up to the bar. A few times, you finished your shift while they were still there, and finished your night on the other side of the bar top, drinking Benny under the table and talking to all three of them.

Before Frankie knew it, you were…friends, for lack of a better word.

“I don’t know why you don’t just ask her on a date, Fish,” Benny drawled, turning and walking backward in front of Frankie and Will, putting his arms out wide. “She’s into you, I know she is.”

“Yeah, cuz you’re the great expert on women,” Will jabbed, grinning at his little brother.

Frankie shook his head, lifted his shoulder. “I dunno. I don’t wanna screw it up.”

“Can’t do that if you don’t give it a shot,” Benny threw back, dodging Will’s fake punch. “What’s the worst that’s gonna happen? She says no?”

Both the Millers looked at him and Frankie felt his cheeks flush. “Well, yeah.”

“Then onto the next one, my guy!” Benny shouted, grinning broad. “That’s how it goes!”

Will rolled his eyes, shoving at his brother until he nearly stumbled backward. “Ignore him. You know I hate admitting when Benny is right, but I agree with him. She does seem into you, Fish. Gets all smiley when you show up.”

It just became a matter of finding the courage.

Tonight’s the night, he’s decided. It’s been a few weeks of hyping himself up, fake conversations in the bathroom mirror until he gets sick of staring at his own pathetic reflection. He’s seen you a couple times since Benny and Will’s pressing, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed your being a little more attentive to him than the Millers, leaning a little closer on the bar, your shoulders pressed together when you’re off shift and flagging down another bartender to order.

It’s late. He had a long day to say the least. He’s tense, his whole back a twisted knot of muscle from the moment he woke up. You seem a little off too, your smile tighter than usual when you greet him, something strange in your eyes when you slide his beer across the bar top. When you bring him a second, nearly an hour and a half since he arrived, he sees it again, and catches your wrist lightly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer, too quickly, eyes darting down the bar before meeting his. “Fine. No Millers tonight?”

“Nah, just me,” he replies, “sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you shoot back and your face softens, the tightness receding. “Always happy for your company, Frankie.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “The feeling is mutual. What time are you done?”

You flick your wrist, glancing at your watch. “Another hour. Why?”

“You wanna go somewhere after? Get something to eat?”

He’s shocked at himself. The words roll so smoothly off his tongue, but when your eyes widen just slightly, embarrassment makes a home in his gut, his ears scorching and for once, he’s grateful for the dim lighting in the bar.

But then your face splits in a smile, and that strange look in your eyes is gone. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You tap your fingers against his on the bar as someone calls your name and he nods as you step away, grinning to himself as he sips his beer.

An hour later, and you’re cashing out for the night, talking quietly to one of the other bartenders. You’ve stopped by a few times to check on him now, getting him a glass of water and confirming you’ll still be out on time. The second time you came by, the strange look in your eye had returned, your gaze darting around as you spoke to him, and the tightness wasn’t just in your voice, in your mouth, but your whole body. It makes him uneasy.

He watches as you disappear through the doors that lead to the rear of the bar, and five minutes later, you reappear at the far end, changed out of your work uniform, your purse over your shoulder and a sweater slung over your arm. Frankie keeps his eyes on you as you try to close the distance between you and him, but halfway, something stops you.

Someone stops you.

It’s a hand on your arm first, halting you, and then the man rises from his stool, towering over you, and Frankie knows what that strange look in your eye is.

It’s fear.

His gut twists as he pushes himself off his stool, tossing a bill on the bar top as he steps away. He’s far enough that he can’t hear what the guy is saying to you, but judging by the look on your face — your eyes not only fearful, but watery too — it’s nothing good.

“Hey, is this guy bothering you?” he says, trying to sound as smoothly as possible as he steps around the man, offering you his hand. Your eyes go wide when you see him, and Frankie slides himself between you and the guy, turning to face him. They’re about the same height, and Frankie squares his shoulders.

Behind his back, he flexes his fingers wide, and you slip your hand into his, squeezing tight.

“Move, asshole,” the guy spits, and Frankie raises his brows.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he quips, “no.”

“We were having a conversation,” the guy continues, and makes the most comical looking angry face that Frankie has to stifle his laugh, “and you interrupted it.”

“Didn’t look like a conversation,” Frankie replies and pushes you another step back, trying to angle you towards the door that leads outside. “Looked like you grabbed her without her permission and were trying to scare her. Not a good look, my guy.”

“I’m not your guy, fucker. Now let me finish my conversation; you don’t wanna get your lights punched out for a dumb bitch like this one.”

Over his shoulder, he hears your sharp inhale, and the hand not wrapped in yours clenches into a fist. “You better watch your fucking mouth.”

“Do you even know her? Clearly you’re just as dumb as you look if you think she’s worth this sort of trouble. You don’t—”

Frankie decks him.

His knuckles explode in pain as his fist connects with the guy’s jaw. When was the last time he even threw a punch? He’s honestly not sure, but he releases your hand to hold his hurt one, and you cling to his arm.

“Frankie.”

It’s a good shot, cuz the guy drops. He falters back against the bar, spilling his glass, and it pours over the edge of the bar and onto him as he falls to the ground beneath the bar. His mouth is full of blood, and he moves like he’s trying to get up, but Frankie steps forward, you still half-wrapped around his arm, and steps on the guy’s chest.

“I said, watch your fucking mouth,” he spits, and pushes his boot down hard before turning away. Your eyes are wide, shining in the dim light, and you grab his bad hand gently, inspecting it.

“You…” you trail off, shake your head. “Why did you…”

“You still wanna get out of here?” Frankie asks, and he swallows hard, waiting for your answer. Did he scare you off? Fuck, did he—

“Yes.”

The moment the night air hits his face, Frankie feels like he just ran a marathon. He’s never been the guy to go punching other guys in bars. That’s been Benny’s MO, most of the time, Will a few times. Santi only gets testy when he drinks tequila, but that’s almost every time they go out.

But…he put his hands on you. And it was obvious you didn’t want him to.

He offers you his good hand as you step off the sidewalk, crossing the street to where his truck is parked. He walks you around to the passenger’s side, opens the door for you, and you clamber inside, dropping your purse to the floor of the truck, but then you turn back, grabbing his shoulder.

“I should explain,” you start, fingers curling in the fabric of his t-shirt. “He’s…he was a mistake.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he tells you, and your eyes soften again, your hand tugging at his t-shirt now. “I don’t make it a habit to go around punching people, but anyone could see he was making you uncomfortable, and I…I’m sorry, if it freaked you out.” His gaze drops, staring at his boots on the curb, your feet resting on the truck’s sidebar.

You cock a brow. “You’re apologizing? You just defended my honour in front of a bar full of people and you’re apologizing? Frankie.” You slip two fingers under his chin, lift his eyes back to yours. “I might have some explaining to do when I go in for my next shift, but you don’t have to apologize, Frankie. I should be thanking you.” Your hand curves to cup his jaw, and your thumb fits perfectly into the sparse patch in his beard, stroking light at his skin. “I am thanking you.”

He doesn’t know who leans forward first. He feels like he’s falling, for a moment, until his palm hits the leather of the seat, and your other hand moves up, knocking the hat from his head before your fingers lock into the curls at the back of his head. Your mouth tastes like mint and he hopes he doesn’t taste too much like beer as your teeth graze his bottom lip.

It’s a heavy kiss. He can feel it seeping down his throat, spreading through his limbs, spiking his bloodstream. He’d be a liar if he said he hadn’t thought about kissing you from the moment he first laid eyes on you, but something in the way you’re kissing him now, something like desperation in your movements, tells him he’s not alone in that.

The noises you make have him half-hard in his jeans. He goes to plant his other hand beside your hip, but you let go of his jaw to grab his wrist, redirecting it so his palm lands on your thigh instead, feeling how warm you are through the soft fabric of your leggings. His thumb digs into your muscle, finding you hotter towards the seam, and his breathing comes faster. “You still wanna go get something to eat?” he asks, the question more of a gasp than anything as you first try to chase his lips, but then instead let your mouth glance across his jaw, down his neck and over his pulse.

“No,” you answer, kissing your way back up. “I want you to take me home, Frankie.”

He makes it halfway.

Halfway before the hand you’d curled around his bicep slides further and further down, cupping his cock through his jeans, your body leaning across the centre console and your breath hot on his ear: “Pull over.”

He does as you ask, coasting the truck along the dirt shoulder. The road is empty; you’ve only been passing cars once every few minutes thus far. As soon as he shifts into park, your belt clicks open, and you’re shuffling across the seats, swinging one leg over his waist to settle into his lap.

You kiss him hard, licking into his mouth, hands roaming his hair, tugging at the strands. It steals his breaths, pulls low moans from his chest, and you drop your hips, grinding down on him. He palms your hips, tilting his head back against the headrest as all his blood flows south, cock now straining against the zipper of his jeans.

“Would you fuck me right here?” you ask, your mouth sliding across his jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath his ear. “Right now?”

You’re wearing a skirt, and as Frankie opens his mouth to answer you, you grab his wrist, leading his hand right up under the edge of the fabric, between the juncture of your thighs. He hisses when you press his fingers against your underwear, nearly soaked through.

“You feel that?” you murmur, and Frankie feels like he’s drunk, desperate to press his fingers into you, hear more of those noises you’d made when he first kissed you, see what other sounds he can pull from you.

“You’re sure…?” he asks, the words trailing off, one brow arching, and the hand not curled around his wrist moves from his hair to cup his cheek, thumb stretching up to trace his eyebrow.

“I’m sure,” you answer, “if you are.”

It’s a mad shuffle of fabric and hands, you reaching for his belt as he shifts you back slightly, both hands diving beneath your skirt. You moan as he runs his hands over you, unabashedly reaching beneath the elastic of his boxers to pull his cock free. Frankie groans  when you lean forward and spit, saliva dripping off the end of your tongue and bullseyeing the tip of his cock. Your palm covers him a second later and his hips lift off the seat, chasing your warmth.

He gets his fingers beneath the band of your underwear, smirks when he strokes you clit and you mewl, your hand stuttering on his cock. “So wet,” he remarks, leaning forward to bury his face in your neck, licking at your pulse. “Wanna spread you out and eat you for days.”

You say his name like a prayer, and Frankie can’t help himself. His fingers pinch the fabric of your underwear and he tugs. The lace rips easily, the soft tearing sound mixing with your breathing and moans.

“I’ll buy you new ones,” he tells you, and you shake your head, sinking down deeper onto his lap, guiding his cock to rut along your soaked pussy. “Fuck.”

“I’m on the pill,” you breathe out, and he nods, “and I’m clean.”

“Same,” he replies, but the word snaps when the tip of his cock catches where you’re the wettest. All you’d have to do is angle your hips and—

You slide onto him in one fell swoop, his cock filling you to the brim. It’s your turn to toss your head back, and your hands move to his shoulders, fingers curling in the fabric of his t-shirt while his return to your hips.

There’s something desperate in the way you move, and Frankie hopes his movements echo yours. He’s never had his cock ridden this hard, and when you grab his chin in one hand, force his eyes up to yours, he knows he’s done for.

“You feel so goddamned good,” he manages to grit out, and the face-splitting grin you give him makes his heart ricochet in his chest.

You tilt your upper body back slightly, and Frankie takes it as an opportunity. He grabs the hem of your shirt and shoves it upward, exposing your bra. Your eyes follow his movements, and you open your mouth, letting him press the hem between your teeth, you keeping it held up while he curls his finger in the cup of your bra and pulls. Your back arches when your nipple becomes exposed, and he moves quickly, latching his mouth around it, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin.

It’s hard to meet your thrusts, bodies bent in the truck cab as they are, but he does what he can, both hands roving your back as you keep moving, pulling yourself up and slamming back down. A few more thrusts, and he finds your clit with his thumb, fingers curling around your thigh as he strokes it.

“Frankie,” you nearly wheeze, head tilting back on your shoulders, lips parted in the most perfect o-shape. “Oh fuck, god, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he commands, head snapping up to stare you in the face again. Your features are bathed in moonlight, shadowed and illuminated, and he’s struck by how beautiful you are. “Cum for me.”

It ripples through you like a tidal wave, and Frankie feels every single moment. The way you go impossibly tight, every muscle in your body bearing down on him, but your hips still snapping. The way you flood his cock, the way your face screws up with pleasure, hands clawing at his shoulders as you ride him through it. It’s a miracle he doesn’t follow quickly, forcing his body to savour your orgasm before trying to find his own.

You drape yourself over him as you come down, your chest heaving as your hips slow, but don’t stop. He turns his head as you rest yours on his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“You look so pretty like this.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “Fucked out?”

He grins back, hums in approval. “Can’t wait to see what you look like once we actually get home.”

“You didn’t cum yet,” you nearly pout, and he opens his mouth to protest, to tell you he can wait, but you shake your head, a finger over his lips that has his cock twitching inside you. “I wanna see you cum.”

It doesn’t take much. You’re so warm around him, doubly wet from your orgasm, and you ride him impossibly harder. The whole time, your hand cups his jaw, lips near his ear, whispering the dirtiest things that have sparks of pleasure shooting down his spine.

He tries to stifle his shout as he cums, painting your insides, and you swallow the noise, lips covering his, tongue poking past his teeth. He leans his forehead into your chest, tries to catch his breath. “If we were closer to my place, I’d drive the rest of the way just like this.”

You grin like the devil as you slowly disentangle yourself from him, both of you groaning as he slips out of you. He mourns the loss of your weight against him as you shuffle back into your seat, the scent of sex now permeating the air in the truck. It’s intoxicating.

You don’t settle back completely, however, still leaning halfway across the console, your thighs pressed tightly together as you lay your palm on his thigh, resting your head on his shoulder. “I have other ideas as to how we can spend the rest of the drive,” you say, lifting your jaw to kiss his. “How long’s your refractory period?”Oh yes, Frankie thinks to himself, he’s done for. He had a hunch the first time he saw you behind that bar, but now, as he shifts the truck back into drive and feels his cock twitch with attention as your hands roam, he knows it for certain.

[angelkissiies]

in this light, you’re mine

abby anderson x reader

cw : angst, fluff, pining

wc : 1K

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ for a more immersive experience, it’s recommended that you listen to the song attached ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

The day had come and went, casting a familiar haze onto the walls of your bedroom. The large windows of the stadium rooms proved useful, showering your intertwined bodies with the last haze of sun before the night's frost took over. It was times like these you wished the days never ended, you wished the night never came. With the slow descent of the sun, you saw the rift begin to pull the two of you apart, because every night like clockwork- she made her way back to him.

“Abby..” You spoke, hand running through her honeyed waves as you felt her shift on your chest. You loved her, in every sense of the word, which is why you’d taken to being the best friend she needed. Though, now, the feeling had blossomed in your chest- making you want to be much closer than friends.

The girl made a small noise of acknowledgement, her face buried in the fabric that covered your stomach, muffling her words- if she spoke any.

It was moments like this where you thought, for just a second, that she loved you. Her body was relaxed, full weight tossed upon you as if you were the only person in the world. She hadn’t spoken in an hour, allowing the silence to fill the drift between the two of you, something you’d noticed she couldn’t do with him. It was reserved solely for you. And as much as it hurt, you soaked these moments up- taking the love she’d give you greedily. God only knows when she’d take it away and trade it for the comfort of the man she called boyfriend.

“I-..,” You couldn’t find the words to say to her, though you had so much to say. You wanted to spit it all out, to tell her the depth of your devotion to her, to let her know that you would always be hers. Even if she wasn’t yours. Your heart was trapped in a limbo, perpetually captured by a girl who seemed to only have eyes for one other and wrapped up in these moments of pure bliss that furthered your deluded imagination. “Nevermind.” You whisper in defeat, not willing to risk the domesticity you’d become so familiar with.

How did it even come to this? How did you go from being friends to whatever this was? Just a year ago you’d never imagined even being able to hug the wry girl but now here you were, watching the sunset drop below the horizon with the girl so close she might as well have been a part of you. It would never make sense to you, the pace in which you’d gained the trust and love of someone so naturally off put by people. Maybe it was the whole reason you were found by the washington liberation front, maybe it was some fucked up fate you’d been allowed for the sins of your past. Whatever it was, you thanked it.

You always knew that somehow this would end in heartbreak, as you only were granted these moments when Owen was away. When the dove in your arms felt free enough to fly home to you. Was it real? You didn’t know and didn’t want to ask.

In the light of dusk, she was yours.

Abby shifted, turning enough to be able to look up at you with doe eyes. “I love you, (y/n). I don’t know what I'd do without you.” She whispered, settling back in to rest on your soft tummy. It was so simple with her, or at least it should’ve been, the love was so pure. You couldn’t imagine anyone else being in a place you reserved so especially for her.

The words made your heart leap, and once she turned away, your eyes pricked with the blossom of tears. As she rested upon you, you watched as her free hand toyed with the necklace that Owen had gotten her for her birthday. You wanted her. You needed her. She was so close but somehow still out of reach, yearning did nothing when the object of your affections was actively thinking of someone else whilst with you. You tasted metal from how hard you bit your tongue.

“I love you too, Abs.” Was all you could muster, chest slightly hiccuping as you bit back the sobs that bubbled in you. You dared not disturb the girl, watching as her hand dropped to rest upon your free one. It was so simple, but it filled your stomach with guilty knots. You spent so long longing for her touch, only to get it and think of the man she had waiting for back in her room. It made you sick to your stomach to think of how she loved him, how much he took for granted as he complained about her excessive display of care. It made you so fucking sick.

But right now, she was yours.

Softly leaning into your touch every time you ran a hand through her hair, sighing in contentment as you drew tiny patterns into her exposed shoulders, murmuring small ‘i love you’s’ as she fell in and out of love sleep.

Before you knew it, the girl had begun letting out small snores, falling asleep and effectively trapping you beneath her. Her back rose and fell with every breath she took, mesmerizing you as you mapped out constellations her freckles had made a map of. It was as if her life story was here, recorded in tiny brown dots along her rosy skin. It made you draw a soft breath as you let your hand ghost over the spots, thinking of how much love you carried in the depths of your heart for her. More love than she had freckles to account for.

The silver chain of her necklace caught your attention as you admired her, and for a moment you wanted to laugh. Owen had gotten her silver. You never really paid much mind, but now you wished you had.

Everyone knew that Abby Anderson wore gold.

Everyone but Owen.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

'Tis The Damn Season

Javy 'Coyote' Machado x Reader

Description: You've made your closest friends over the past decade as a Naval Aviator. That close friend group only expanded when your best friend fell in love when you were in flight school. Nat and Jake are cute together, you can't deny that. It helps that you get along well with Jake. Sadly, where Jake Seresin goes, so does Javy Machado. You can fly with the man, be the perfect wingman, but when both your feet are on the ground, you can't stand him. You're so sure the feeling is mutual. 48 hours in a car with him teaches you differently. Javy Machado is sweet and funny and you might just be falling in love with him. Or have you been in love with him all along?

Themes: Stuck in the snow, showers, shower-thoughts, hate-to-love, stranded in the snow,

Warnings: Female!Reader This fic is for adults age 18 and older, only! There are some fairly spicy thoughts in this part and 100% spicy happenings in the next part! Please do not read if sexual intimacy is disturbing to you!

Word Count: 3938

Author Note: This is part one of two of Gypsy and Javy's story and was written for @bellaireland1981's Winter RomCom Writing Challenge! I had an absolute blast writing this fic for Trope #17, Stuck Together/Snowed in/Stranded. I hope you all love reading this fic as much as I loved writing it! All my thanks go to @desert-fern who was instrumental as I bounced ideas back and forth for this fic, as well as for beta-reading it for me!

Cross Posted on AO3 Here!

My Masterlist

It was supposed to be the start of a fabulous holiday - supposed to be, being the key words. It’s rare, honestly nigh on impossible for you to end up having vacation leave lined up at the same time as your friends. You’re in the Navy, you’re a pilot; it kind of comes with the territory. But what is the likelihood you’d find yourself stuck in a car in the middle of a Colorado snowstorm with none other than Javy Machado? You’re unsure who you should blame because the universe clearly has it out for you.

Well, it's either the universe or Natasha Fucking Trace. Honestly, between mystic powers controlling everything that has been or will be and Nat, you’d pick her any day. A part of you has some sympathy for her. It can’t be easy dating a guy and knowing your best friend and his can’t stand each other. It’s the truth, too. You can’t remember why or when you started to get angry at the sight of his smiling face. Still, it was probably sometime between when he asked you if you needed a booster seat to see out of the cockpit and when he blitzed you on the first of the many flights you’ve taken with him. 

Why the fuck isn’t he going home to Louisiana? That’s what he usually does. God, if there’s anyone who’d know, it would be you. After all, you’ve been flying with Coyote Machado for the better part of the past decade. Every year, he’d cash in all his leave and fly home. Like clockwork, he’d return after the new year more infuriating than ever. But your knowledge of his behavior doesn’t explain why he’s in Colorado. You were both on an aircraft carrier in the Philippines, for fuck’s sake. There had to have been a transport to Louisiana via the East Coast. But against all odds, the two of you had been on the same transport and flight, hell, even the same bus to the terminal once you landed in Denver.

Now he’s staring at the same board you are, with flickering red signs as flight after flight gets marked as canceled. Including the one you were supposed to be on. It’s just your luck that Tash and Jake are reporting to Norfolk Naval Base right now. It’s just your luck that the only transport you’d been able to get on had landed in San Diego. And it’s just your luck that the cheapest flight you could get had been via Denver in the midst of what has to be the worst snowstorm the region has ever seen. Reception is spotty, but you huddle in a corner, praying to all the gods you don’t believe in that your call connects.

“Tash?” Her voice is grainy and barely audible, but god, if it doesn’t make you want to cry. “I’m in Denver, yeah. There’s a colossal snowstorm blowing in. My flight’s been canceled.”

“I don’t think I’m going to make it in time.”

“I know.”

“I know. I’ve missed you so much. But I don’t see a way for me to get out of here and get there in time?” 

“Yeah, Javy’s here.” You can’t control your eye roll as you say his name. “Yeah, I’ll give him the phone.”

“Yo, Machado. Tash wants to talk to you.” He takes the phone from you like he doesn’t want to touch you, which shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

It’s loud and crowded at the airport, so you can’t hear a word of what he says to Nat. There’s nothing else to do but stand at the window and watch the snow fall and fall and fall. There’s already close to a foot accumulated on the ground, and while you’d been wishing for the snow in the heat and humidity of the ship, you hate it now.

“Here, Gypsy.” You accept the device with a half-smile. “Tash had a pretty good idea, y’know?”

You can’t help raising your eyebrow. Javy swallows, more than a little discomfited at your gimlet gaze. “She suggested we rent a car and drive out to Norfolk together.”

Eighteen hundred miles, and he wants to spend all of that time and distance stuck in a car with you? You scoff, “You couldn’t pay me to do that, Machado.”

“Yeah, I know.” There’s something sad and haunted in his eyes. “I know. Believe me, I do. But this isn’t about you and me. This is about Jake and Nat. They want us there, celebrating Christmas with them. So don’t think about doing this with me. Think about how you’re doing this for them.”

Damn him. Damn him for being right. “How are we going to get a car in this?” People are yelling at the poor airline staff behind the counter, kids are screaming, and Christmas Carols are pouring out of the speakers. It’s chaos - loud, unmitigated chaos.

“You leave that to me. You have your bags?” Before you can think or even respond, he’s cutting a swathe through the crowd, and you’re left standing near two Navy standard-issue duffel bags and your one small rolling suitcase. It takes half an hour before he comes back. In that half an hour, you find you’re glad you’d opted for carry-on bags because the mob at the counter waiting to collect check-in bags descends into an outright fistfight.

Javy’s rumpled, his sweater mussed when he lopes back to you, thankfully with car keys in hand. “I got ’em. We have to head down to the main concourse.”

“Anything to get out of this shitshow.” He chuckles and grabs your bags and his own despite your protests.

The car is old but functioning. It’s tiny, though. It's so small that you’re not sure he’ll fit behind the wheel. It can’t be comfortable when he does end up in the car. It looks like his knees are pressed against his chest, even with the seat pushed back as far as it can go. You’re in the passenger seat because he refused to let you drive, and as expected, you’re surrounded by snow the minute the car leaves the parking garage. Visibility is shit, and it feels like the car is moving at a glacial pace. You’re surprised the roads are open at all, and to add insult to injury, you’re sitting in silence. The radio isn’t working, there is more snow - this time of the feedback variety, ironically - and the car is old, so there is no auxiliary cable or USB cable to connect your phone to. And, well, you’re not a fan of the man you’re stuck in the car with for the next 24 to 36 hours, so the less conversation you have, the better. It’s not even like you can read. You’ve only been on the road for an hour at most when the sun sets. But the roads are still open, and traffic is still moving.

As the minutes turn into an hour on the dark, snow-covered roads, you feel your exhaustion setting in. You’ve never slept well on planes - go figure that ninety percent of the time you’re in a cockpit, you’re flying - but flying commercial somehow makes it work. Strap yourself into a jump seat on a cargo plane, and you’re out like a light. Sleeping on a carrier with planes taking off round the clock and midshipmen screaming outside the door, you’re snoring like a baby. But flying economy? Forget about it. So, besides the few hours of fitful sleep you’d gotten on the cargo plane - because you can’t sleep where Javy Machado can make fun of you - you’ve been awake for nearly 48 hours. Your eyes feel itchy and hot, each blink torturous as you fight exhaustion. The car is so warm, and Javy's silent. Even he can't object if you rest your eyes a little, right?

You wake up to a roar of the word, ‘SHIT’, echoing through the car. You startle, and if you were a cat, you’d be stuck to the upper upholstery, fur ruffled and back arched. A coat covers your lap, the soft, rich wool imbued with spicy cologne. It has to be Javy's coat. When did that get there? The visibility out of the windshield is even worse, if possible, and Coyote’s arms are corded as they clutch the wheel in an iron grip.

“Hey, how long was I out?” He doesn’t even look at you when usually he’d be more than ready to tease you on how you probably have drool on your face.

“Coyote? ‘Yote? Hey?!”

“Javy? What’s going on?” You place your hand on his arm, pretending not to notice how firm and warm it is under the bunched-up sleeves of the soft sweater he’s wearing. “Javy, you’re scaring me. C’mon. Tell me what’s happening. What’s a wingwoman for if she can’t help?”

“We’re somewhere in Kansas, and the snow makes this really hard.” There’s something unreadable in the expression on his face as he snarls at the other, far slower drivers on the road in front of you.

“We should stop for the night then.” 

“No.” He snarls the words at you, and that’s when you know something is wrong. “No, I can keep going.”

“Javy, maybe you can, but I can’t. I need to take a break, hit the head, and stretch my legs.” 

He doesn’t respond, content to make you worry the longer the silence spirals between you like an oppressive living thing. He pulls off the highway when the next exit presents itself. The motel he pulls up to on the side of the road is rough-looking. It’s small and old, but at least it smells clean, or well, at least clean-ish. As luck would have it - because your luck couldn't be any shittier - there’s only one room left for the night. You slap your credit card down on the counter before he can object. He’s Javy Machado. You know what he’s like better than almost anyone else. You may not like him very much, but you can read all of the signs. He’s not the type to let a woman pay for anything, not when he can pay for her. He can take it up with you when he’s not acting weird.

You push him into the shower once you’re in the room, content to just sprawl out on the bed until he’s done. Really, all you're hoping is that the hot water is enough to snap him out of this eerily quiet, angry mood and back to the pain in your ass you're used to. When he steps out, it’s wrapped in one of the motel’s paper-thin towels, and you have to avert your eyes. There’s just a shadow of a smirk on his face as you pass under his arm with all of your clothes bundled up against your chest, trying and failing to avoid making eye contact with all of his wet, glistening muscles. It takes you far too long for your brain to reboot after that sight, and mortification and anger are your companions as you hurriedly strip off your snow-laden clothes.

You’re grumbling the entire time it takes the shower to heat up because it is not fair that Javy Machado looks like that under his uniform. No wonder every girl within a ten-mile radius of base wants to get into his pants. You step into the shower nearly too early, stifling squeals as the too-cold water splatters across your skin. After a few minutes of determined shivering, you finally step under the warming water, coming out in a steady, roaring stream. At least it’s getting hot now, though it’s not as hot as you’d like. You let the spray beat your muscles into submission, relishing the first moment you’ve had by yourself since you left the carrier fleet hours ago. But you’re left in peace only for a few moments. Unbidden, your one-track mind finds its thoughts consumed by Javy Machado again. It starts off with an innocuous thought, “How did a man that large fit into this tiny shower? He could probably see over the curtain rod!” Then you’re wondering if he’s alright. But as your soapy hands trace over your skin, you start to imagine other things. 

You start to imagine water droplets sliding over the ridges of his muscles, skating over defined abs, and collecting in the dip of his collar bones. His hands are big and calloused as they lather soap across his skin and then over yours. Shit! When did you start dreaming of yourself in the shower with Javy Machado? There’s an ache in your pelvis as you clench your thighs together as you dream of how those calloused fingers feel on your skin. You get yanked violently out of the vision when the water goes cold on you. It feels like you’ve been immersed in one of the snowbanks outside. You almost fall as you step out of the shower, but it’s silent. Your face is flushed in the fogged-up mirror, your eyes fever bright as your blood pulses in your veins in the same rhythm as your aching cunt. You inhale and exhale raggedly, trying to get your libido under control. Please let there be a bar near Nat and Jake’s place - please - you need to get fucked so bad that you’re fantasizing about your wingman, of all people, now. 

It’s getting cold in the bathroom as the steam dissipates when you finally pull yourself together and get dressed fast in a bid to escape the cold. But it is still silent outside the bathroom - almost too silent. You expect laughter at the very least when you open the door because your warmest pajamas are covered in dancing penguins. Instead, Javy’s sitting on the bed, staring out the open window at the milling snow, looking for all the world like he’s lost something he’s just found.

It’s cold in the room, the motel’s shitty heating is barely able to combat the frigid snow outside, and he’s not wearing a shirt. But he doesn’t even notice the gooseflesh on the smooth, broad expanse of his back and chest. The cold blue light reflecting off of the snow piling up outside makes the room even colder, casting deep purplish shadows over his face and making the room eerie. You check that the door is latched and bolted before walking back towards Javy. He doesn’t move a muscle when you take his hands in your own. They’re like ice. He doesn’t even seem to care when you put the pillows down and fish one of your warm fleece blankets out of your bag. Bless Nat and Jake for not having a fully set up guest room yet because there’s no way you’re sleeping in this bed using sheets you’re not sure are clean. The blankets you brought are going to be perfect for the night. He doesn’t move or do anything until you intertwine your fingers with his own and tug on his arm's broad, burly expanse. He lists to the side without protest, and now you know something is wrong. Javy's not the type to do anything quietly. He's the type to shit-talk all the way while flirting endlessly. He turns towards you as you tuck the blanket around his big form, and when you move to pull another blanket out, his hand tugs you in until you’re in his arms.

The pinched furrow creasing his brow finally dissipates slightly. Something’s wrong, and you’re not sure what it is. If this helps, you’ll stay where you are. After all, you’ve slept in far more uncomfortable beds with much worse companions. Javy smells incredible, like soap, cologne, and something you can't place. You curl in closer despite yourself, letting him drag the blanket even further up around your shoulders. Everything is muffled around you. All you can hear is your breath and the soothing thud of his heart. It would be easy to curl in and fall asleep, but you can’t until you know your wingman is alright. But he seems content to lie there, brown eyes glittering with emotions you couldn’t read even if you tried. There’s barely any space between the two of you. Every breath you take has your chest brushing against his.

With the howling wind and the tink of snow against the window, you feel like you’re in a dream. Finally, Javy’s eyes close, even if he is still indescribably tense. You can feel it in the arms wrapped around you and in the muscles jumping in his jaw. His eyes fly open when your fingers trace the stressed tendons lightly.

“What’re you doing, Gypsy?” You’re unsure how to respond; instead, you trace your fingers over the furrow in his brow. Maybe your touch will wipe the stress frown away from his usually jovial face?

“You’re being awfully sweet, Gyppie.” You snort at the diminutive form of your already short callsign. “And here, I thought you hated me.”

Your gasp is barely audible, but you’re sure he can hear it anyway. “You never let it affect things between us when we fly, but I know you can’t stand me.”

“I’ve spent over a decade wondering why.” His next exhale is a harsh whoosh of breath. “But you’ve never told me, and right now, I think I know exactly why. It’s just me, isn’t it, Gyp? Just me and everything that I am.”

Your voice feels stuck. Trapped, lost, chained up behind a decade of hatred, hatred which wavers like it’s standing on a stool that may just have had all of its legs cut out from under it. You curl into Javy’s embrace, wrapping your arms around his waist like it’ll show him you feel differently. Because you do. At first, you had hated Javy Machado. You hated his effortless grace, charm, and ability to pick up concepts you’d had to work to understand yourself. But then he’d been persistent, and you’d been thrust into his company by the presence of Nat and Jake. 

That’s when you’d been able to see past the bravado, the mask he put on every day. That’s when you’d fallen headlong into a more profound and long-lasting crush than any relationship you’d found yourself in. But by the time you realized your feelings, he’d picked up on your stand-offish behavior and realized he couldn’t befriend you. Your crush never faded, but it’s evident that Javy had noticed your initial feelings and acted accordingly. But why would he blame everything that happened on himself?

“I know you’re probably wondering why I’m not home for the holidays right now.” What does that have to do with what he was just talking about? “Just chalk it up to another textbook case of me being myself.”

“I can't say I didn't wonder. But it's not my place to poke and pry. Why you're not heading home to Mama Machado is your business.”

“But you can't deny that you're curious, can you?” You shrug as much as you can with your arms wrapped around him.

“Of course you're curious. But how could I have gone home, Gyppie? How?” There's so much pain in his voice as he growls the words out.

He goes silent then, a frown creasing his face as his jaw moves under your fingertips. Your gentle touch doesn’t seem to bother him, just like the prickle of his stubble doesn’t bother you. In another world, in another life, could you have been sleeping every night in his arms like this? You’re not sure you deserve it. Javy was right earlier. You’ve been rude ever since the day you met him. Would anything have changed if you’d acted differently? If you’d been shy and withdrawn instead of angry and argumentative? That water’s long since flowed under the bridge. Too much time, too much history, too much animosity. All you can hope to do is listen. For your wingman, that’s the least you can do.

But your little nap in the car hadn’t been of much use. The longer you spend pressed against the human equivalent of a space heater, the sleepier you feel. You have to stay awake. This could be your one chance to go from rivals or enemies or colleagues to friends. Maybe you could even casually ask Javy to grab a beer after the holidays? But the first step to all of that is to stay awake.

His hands slide up until they're cradling the back of your head, pulling your face level to his own.

“You're not falling asleep on me, are you, Gyppie?” You shake your head wordlessly, captivated by how you can feel his breath against your lips, practically taste the mint from his toothpaste, and how you could kiss him if you leaned in just a bit further.

“It's okay if you do. You barely slept on the plane. My problems don't mean a thing in the face of your exhaustion.” Once again, you're speechless. How is he so selfless? How did you not notice before this very moment?

“I'm okay, Javy. Tell me one thing that's bothering you, the most important thing.” Your voice is the barest whisper, a sigh as he maneuvers you closer and traps your feet between his calves.

“Well, your feet are like itty-bitty ice cubes, Gyppie. The fuck did you do? Stick ‘em in a snowbank before you get into bed?” You gasp and growl playfully at him, pushing at his chest until he pulls you in even closer.

“But in all seriousness, you've been wondering why I didn't go home.” His words are expelled on exhales of breath, just as quiet as yours were earlier, spilling out in stops and starts. “I can't go home, Gyppie. My brother's wedding is on Christmas Day. But it's not that I'm against my brother's marriage. It's more like his fiancée is against having me there.”

You can’t believe anyone would go so far as to ban Javy from his brother's wedding just because she didn't want him there. You cup his jaw gently, letting your hand curl around to cradle the back of his in a position mirroring how he's still holding you.

“You want to know the kicker, Gyppie? She was my fiancée first. She dumped me because she couldn't stand the deployments and fell into bed with my brother days after.” 

“What a stupid thing to do.” You're no longer looking into his eyes, focused on his collarbones. “That was a dumb move, and you know it, Machado. She just alienated herself from most of your family. Your Mama first and foremost.”

His laughter has you giggling, too. When your laughter and his finally taper off, you're left to marvel at how much things have changed.

“You want to know the best part?” You hum in response. “The reason why we broke up was because I was already in love with someone else.”

He doesn’t wait for you to ask or even allow you a chance to get past your shock. His hands tip your head up again until you're face to face, and he kisses you, slow and sweet. Your moan takes you by surprise as you try to pull him even closer, letting him imprison you in his embrace.

“Fuck, this Christmas would've been so different if I'd just told you how much I loved you before we left flight school, Gyppie.” 

This time, you tug him in, kissing him slow and sweet until there's molten lava in your veins and there's snow in your mind. It's beginning to feel like a holly jolly Christmas indeed.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

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[chanyeolsbiggestfangirl]

hey!! Can I request a chanyeol fic, reader is fwb with chanyeol and is madly inlove with him, confesses to him but gets rejected then when she decides to move on, chanyeol realises what hes lost 🥺

Synopsis: You met Chanyeol in the final year of college by pure accident when your previous roommate moves out and he comes in his place. Being roommates with a college hottie has it's pros.... but also it's cons. Every moment spend with Chanyeol tangled between the sheets ignited something deep within you, deeper than just bodily lust. But the real question is, is it the same way with him? Does your smile pull at his heartstrings just the way his pulls at yours?

Pairing:- Chanyeol X Fem Reader

Genre:- Smut, Angst

Author's note: YAYYY THIS IS MY VERY FIRST REQUEST. THANK YOU SOO MUCH ANON FOR REQUESTING THIS! IT GOT ME SOOO EXCITED! I HAD A LOT OF FUN WRITING THIS. I TRIED TO KEEP IT SHORT EVEN THOUGH THIS HAD ME CARRIED AWAY. ALSO I AM SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY :((

.... Sometime in late evening ....

It was a daily occurrence now, almost like clockwork. One of you would be having a shitty day (and that's mostly every other day) and you'd seek each other out.

Or rather, he would seek you out.

You didn't even enter the living room properly and he was already on you, his hand on your ass as he pulls you closer harshly, claiming your lips with a fervent need.

One of his hands took the books from yours and placed them on the table absentmindedly, his other hand squeezing your ass through the fabric of your jeans, all the while his tongue clashed against yours in a never ending battle for dominance.

It was exhilarating for him, for no matter how many times he'd have had you, you were always that wild, untamed brat that never quite bend at his will easily like the other girls who practically threw themselves at him.

You tiptoed as you tried to keep up with his kiss, giving him a run for his damn sanity with the way you bit on his lower lip, your moan was followed by his deep groan against your lips. Your arms were around his neck, fingers naturally tangling in his luxurious locks.

That was the way you guys were.

If someone would ask you what you and Chanyeol are, you would have no answer, absolutely none. You weren't together. You certainly aren't lovers. You were just two people who would seek each other out to let out your pent up frustration.

You still remember how it all actually began. It was the second last semester and your neat freak of a roommate moved out suddenly, and a tall and drop dead gorgeous giant came in.

At first you didn't give in to his advances, knowing fully well that Chanyeol wasn't the type to commit, wasn't the type to have something serious. But one drunken night and one taste of his lips was enough to convince you otherwise.

Outside the bedroom, you were roommates with completely different lives. Inside the bedroom, however, Chanyeol fucked you like he owned you, every inch of you. He was gifted at the art of the bedroom. He worshipped every inch of you like he cherished nothing more than he cherished you.

But you knew it was all a facade.

It was an unspoken agreement. No strings attached. Just sex. Nothing else.

Simple.

Or so you initially thought.

But every touch of his upon your heated skin, every kiss that took your breathe away, every word he uttered to you, it all built up into something until you realized that the reason why you can't go out with some other guy is because you're in love with the one who's interested in owning you only while in the sheets.

That jolt of harsh truth was what brought you back to the reality.

Chanyeol's lips leave your to trail a wet path down your neck, biting and suckling at your sweet spot on your neck, making you moan yet again.

Chanyeol always managed to coax moans from you like how one coaxes melody from an instrument.

You arch your neck, letting him have his way with you. You had little defenses when his lips and tongue and teeth made you lightheaded. He groaned against your skin, pulling you incredibly closer, grinding his hard length against your clothed center and gods, that almost made you see literal stars.

"Bedroom. Now." His deep baritone was laced with a needy growl, his hold on your waist turned impatient, tapping your thigh in a way to tell you to wrap your legs around him as he took you to his room, his lips finding solace in yours yet again.

Chanyeol let go of you lips only after your back hit the mattress, lips tracing a path downward, pulling your skirt and panties along and throwing them absentmindedly in some corner of the room.

What happened next is the same yet different for you. The same disregard for clothes, the frenzy of lips and tongue and teeth, his impatience in getting his hands on your bare skin. But even when the majority of these occurrences were the same for you, what was different was the way it felt each and every time.

His lips fervently mapping out your heated skin felt personal, his hands worshipping crevices; that even you don't deem worthy of attention; felt personal. When he ate you out like a man starved and made you come upon his skilled tongue, it felt personal. Each and every thrust of his girthy cock into your tight cunt felt personal.

They say to not catch feelings but how could you not? How could you not catch feelings when he whispered sweet nothings in your ear in his deep voice? How could you not catch feelings when he made you feel like you were something different, something important, and not just one of the many girls he sleeps around with? How could you not catch feelings when one smile of his could brighten your whole day? How could you not catch feelings when you beheld the passionate gleam in his eyes whenever he's doing the things he loves.

Time spent with Chanyeol tangling in the sheets was blissful, but that's exactly where the bliss ends and the harsh reality slaps. The sound of Chanyeol rolling off the bed, the light shuffling of feet, the rustle of clothes, oh and the final nail on the coffin, the sound of the door slamming shut as he leaves your room. All of it clawed away at your feelings. Whenever you get high hopes, Chanyeol slams the door shut on them.

It was getting exhausting, this cycle of mental torture. The fact that he probably fucked around with other girls and would touch and kiss and hold them the same he did with you. The fact that while these mutually agreed escapades meant nothing to him, they were the reason why you weren't seeing anyone else anymore. The final semester was coming to an end, and so was your sanity and patience.

You couldn't take the weight of the feelings locked deep in your heart anymore.

You make up your mind, deciding that you'll tell him, hoping against hope that his reaction would be affirmative.

"What if he doesn't reciprocate?", whispered a little voice in your head.

You pushed those thoughts aside, trying not to think of how exactly Chanyeol's possible rejection might effect you.

.... A Week Later ....

The past was repeating itself yet again when Chanyeol stood up from the couch he moment you entered and crossed the distance between you both, lustful intentions swimming in his brown orbs. He made to pull you closer, hand reaching out when you stepped back.

Unspoken questions were evident in his gaze, a slightly pained expression taking form in his eyes. You took that was an opportunity to speak, your voice low, your eyes on his.

"What are we, Chanyeol? What am I to you?"

Chanyeol's demeanor shifted at that, body going rigid as he pulled back the hand that was reaching out towards you. He underwent a whole change. His eyes went vacant, face going neutral and you were no longer able to read the expressions on his face, the emotions in his eyes.

Standing right before you was a man who couldn't care less.

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest, "It isn't that deep. It's just sex, y/n. We talked about this."

The audacity. The mere audacity of this man, to shrug and cross his arms as if this isn't like the matter of life and death for you.

You took a step closer, your feelings replaced by bubbling anger, anger and pity, anger on how stupid you've been, anger on him, pity for yourself, pity for the pathetic situation you've got yourself in. While you were boiling up from within, tears had started to line the corner of you eyes with the way this conversation was turning out.

You tried to sound anything but broken, but your voice betrayed you. "You've got to be kidding me, Chanyeol! It isn't 'just sex' and you know it too!"

The tall man had the audacity to huff a humorless laugh at your words, and it further made your composure crumble. He ran a hand through his hair frustratingly, throat bobbing as he took deep breaths.

"C'mon y/n, don't be absurd. Or perhaps.. did you think that we are a thing? It was just sex, dammit! We talked about this. About not catching feelings. Don't be a child, y/n."

Ouch

That. That was perhaps the last straw for you, for you and the tears you've been holding back. They cascaded down your cheeks in a hot, salty trail and you let them. You were done trying to act like you were okay when you actually weren't.

Chanyeol stilled, taking all but one step towards you before you held up a hand, taking two steps back, away from him.

"y/n... please... I'm sorry. It.. came out wrong.. listen to me.. let's talk-"

"No."

You were done. After being trapped in an endless cycle of having nothing but one sided feelings, making a fool of yourself in front of this man who is brushing it off as if your heart isn't at your fucking throat, you were done. You still have some self respect left in you and you'll not do the mistake of letting him affect you this greatly again.

Pining Chanyeol with a stern look, you turned to your heel, running up the little distance to your bedroom, closing the door behind you and locking it. All of Chanyeol's half hearted pleas were put to a deaf ear.

You leaned against the door, your legs giving out beneath you as you sank to your knees. Back against the door, you pulled your knees to your chest, head bowing as you cried and cried and cried, the voice of Chanyeol's pleas fading and then vanishing entirely followed by a soft thud of footsteps as he left.

.

.... Three Hours Later ....

After an hour of crying, two hours of pitying yourself and stewing in your grief, you finally raise your head with a determined gleam in your eyes.

You were done.

So very done.

.

Sometime around 10 the next morning

"y/n?"

Chanyeol's deep voice reverberated throughout the apartment, getting no answers. He called out again, desperate and breathlessly this time. He had already knocked thrice on your door, three harsh raps on the wood that would wake even the dead.

Now that he was awake after a very disturbing sleep last night, he wanted to make amends. He wanted to talk to you. Just the mere thought of losing you; because of something he said in the heat of the moment without prior knowledge of how he actually felt; just that thought alone made him lose his fucking mind.

He took a deep breathe, readying himself, for what, he didn't know. He took out the extra pair of keys from his pocket, pulling out the one to your door, putting it in and turning it before he could second guess himself.

He gasped.

No

It couldn't be

He had braced himself for a lot of ways in which this situation could have unfolded in front of him and yet the particular way in which the things played out caught him completely by surprise.

The room, which belonged to you, was empty, save for the the bed, the table and the closet and the various drawers and other conventional things that were always there. All your posters were gone, all your favorite books were gone, every single thing that screamed your name to Chanyeol was gone.

He took unsteady steps towards the bed, grabbing the pillow that lay there. It smelled faintly of you, strawberry and vanilla. His breathe came in raspy pants as he wrapped his mind around what had happened.

You had left.

Left him.

Chanyeol sank to his knees and wept, tears free flowing from his beautiful eyes in angry torrents.

.

A very much requested Part 2 of this

Masterlist

Wanna Request a Fic?

[offsidekineticist]

For owlcatober prompt #6, "family"

CW: grief, loss of a family member, referenced nonverbal episode, estrangement, lack of closure, spiders mentioned

The Sixth of Lamashan

You hate this day: the sixth of Lamashan. You hated it when it was just Ascendance Day to you, just a day when Iomedae's faithful ran around with toy swords to celebrate their goddess passing the test of the Starstone. But now you hate it for what it does to Thay every year.

"A birthday on Ascendance Day–that must've been rough when he was a kid."

"Not really–it wasn't nearly as popular in Brastlewark as it is here, so his birthday easily overshadowed it."

He always takes today off from his storytelling. Instead he comes downstairs and quietly prepares a cup of tea for himself before returning to your room. He doesn't speak during this process, even if spoken to. Sometimes you think he's lost in memories. Sometimes you think it's one of his nonverbal episodes. Whatever the case, it is in silence that he goes to your room and settles down in a rocking chair with the same book he reads every year: On Fighting Demons, by Regill Derenge.

"Wait–you have a brother? What the fuck–I've known you for thirty fucking years and you never told me you have a fucking brother?"

"Well it hardly matters now that he's dead, now, does it?"

You hate it. You hate seeing him in pain, but you especially hate seeing him in pain over someone who doesn't deserve it–and from everything your husband has told you, Regill Derenge doesn't deserve shit from Thay. Even ignoring the fact that he was a hellknight (though you're not sure why you'd ignore that), the guy apparently sat down to settle his affairs and didn't think Thay deserved so much as a notification of his death. Thay only found out because one of the other expats from Brastlewark heard about it from her sister and offered her condolences. Because apparently the local newspaper in Brastlewark got a notification and an obituary to publish, but Thay? Why the fuck should he be told his little brother was dead?

"Don't hold it against him–we parted on difficult terms. I was rather cruel to him. I understand why he wouldn't want to see me again."

"He didn't have to see you again. He just had to write a fucking letter for you to read after he died."

Thay still hasn't read that obituary. There's something in there he's afraid to see. He won't say what, but from the way he tenses up when you ask about it, you can guess: it has something to do with Rivad.

"Was he there? Was he there, Thay?"

"I don't know. If he was, I don't want to know."

So every year, like clockwork, you send the kids out to play at being knights with the Iomedaeans while you sit in the kitchen and stare at the wall and wait, because your husband is mourning his asshole brother who didn't bother reconciling and might have fucking tortured him.

"It's my own fault–I tried writing to him once, but the letter came back and…I gave up. I should have tried harder to find him."

"Thay, you lived in the same fucking house for a hundred fucking years. You're not the one who should have tried harder."  

It's always long after dark, the kids sound asleep, by the time you hear the door open. His eyes are always dark from crying–they don't get red because his blood is gray–and he always apologizes for keeping you up so late. You sometimes answer with words. You always answer with a hug.

"Does it help? The book, I mean."

"I don't know. I can't hear him when I read it. Maybe I'm not listening closely enough. Maybe I've forgotten what he sounded like. Or maybe he changed so much that I just don't know what he sounded like anymore."

You lead him to bed and let him rest his head on your chest. He falls asleep listening to your heartbeat while you card your hands through his hair. Sometimes he quietly cries himself to sleep. Sometimes he tells you stories as he drifts off–the time Regill made Thay sneak into a pub for their first drinks, or how Regill used to just lay down and take naps wherever he felt like, or how Regill was terrified of spiders, and whenever he found one in their bedroom Thay would carry it outside and then regale his brother with tales of the itsy bitsy spider's grisly grisly death.

"You never actually killed them?"

"Of course not. I considered them my friends."

"..."

"I was a very lonely child."

You always stay awake until he's sound asleep, keeping vigil against some unknown threat, some monster made of grief. And every year, lying in the dark listening to the sound of Thay's breathing, you become more convinced that Thay deserved a better brother, and Regill deserved worse one. You know not every hellknight goes to hell after death, but if there's any justice in the world, Regill did. And every year, on the sixth of Lamashan, you hope the devils of hell are as creative as you are, because he deserves to suffer for what he's still doing to Thay.

[inherstars]

Just random spitballing about another dumb idea I had about the Marcus / Scylla thing. I'm not gonna write it, but it's been fun to dick around with in my head.

So like... let's say it's now been almost a year. Early summer. Scylla is studying, both independently and under Baird, and every week he's over the estate like clockwork. Sometimes towing some busted-ass vehicle, sometimes with a new piece of equipment, sometimes prepared to work with her on something already at the estate. He's just eating up being able to talk shop with someone who's keen to learn, and she's busy absorbing whatever he wants to teach.

That becomes the habit for their weekends. Baird comes over to reap the benefits of whatever she's brought home from the cafe for breakfast, the three of them do whatever work needs to be done around the property, and then Marcus works alone while Scylla and Baird dig in to whatever new project he's dragged over. When it starts to get dark they have dinner together, and Scylla retires to her books while Baird and Marcus drink beers and talk about whatever it is entertains old soldiers. Sometimes Cole even joins them.

Except Scylla starts having difficult even making it through dinner. She begs off one night and leaves them partway through dinner, just needing to rest her eyes. They later find her passed out asleep on a sitting room couch, evidently having some kind of nightmare.

Marcus calms her with a touch, but comments to Baird that she's been having them more frequently. She can't say what they're about -- she never remembers them when she wakes, and the lack of meaningful sleep is slowly starting to drain her. She's been resistant to see a doctor, having had her fill of them at New Horizons.

Baird is no doctor, but he offers to run a scan on her to see if he sees anything amiss. Marcus agrees, if it comes to it, but not yet. He'd rather the decision be hers.

But as days progress, she doesn't improve. When she sleeps, she has nightmares about things she can't remember, never gets any actual rest. She stops eating, loses all the weight she'd gained back since coming to live there. One morning when she misses their Saturday breakfast altogether, Marcus and Baird both go up to find her sitting on the edge of her bed, almost trance-like, just staring into space.

At that point Marcus is done fucking around. They pack her up and take her back to Baird's facility, where he runs every test on her he has the technology for. The relatively good news is that he can see exactly what's wrong with her; there are key enzymes her body should be producing, that for some reason it isn't. She'll eventually waste away and die, if it isn't resolved. What he can't tell is why -- whether she could never produce them at all (in which case how is she still alive?), or if she suddenly stopped (and why?)

He also discovers an implant near her pancreas. It's dead, not emitting any signals, but he postulates that it might have been placed there to correct the deficiency. Or maybe to cause it, like keeping her on an enzymatic leash. Either way, he's able to turn it back on, and is tentatively hopeful it will correct the problem.

And in the short term, it does. Baird is able to give her an infusion to make up the shortfall, and she starts to come around almost immediately. Marcus takes her back home, agreeing to monitor her, while Baird reviews the scans and schematics taken of the implant.

He puts her to bed, sleeping on the floor alongside her to keep an eye on her overnight, but for the first time she sleeps restfully, without nightmares.

In the morning, she finally has an appetite back, and he's all too glad to try and get some food into her.

When they go downstairs, however, they find a cadre of COG vehicles parked at the front gate, demanding entry.

They're from New Hope, and they've come to take her back.

[variaoftevinter]

hawke x varric

fem!hawke x varric, mention of fenris x hawke i wrote this literally over two years ago (never posted) and just edited it a bit, enjoy!

content: v light smut, hickeys, b0ners, conversation about sex

Hawke and Varric were sat as always in the back room of the Hanged Man, hidden away from the rest of the rabble— to her preference. She never made a fuss when they got a table in the front, but she always got quiet-- surprising for someone as seemingly sociable as her. She said she doesn’t like when people watch her eat. The barmaid walked over and placed a bottle of dark wine and two chalices in front of them. Varric filled both of their cups. 

“I believe we have to keep tradition and get shitfaced, madam,” Varric said. She groaned. “What’s wrong?”

“Trust me, it’s not that I don’t like getting drunk,” she said with a smile, “it’s just that I black out every damned time. Without fail.” He laughed.

“It’s reassuring to know Hawke is bad at something. I’ve never seen someone handle their alcohol as poorly as you. Even Daisy.”

“We have no clue what those Dalish could be chugging on.”

“Hawke, how the hell could they make wine out there?” 

Hawke took a swig from her cup.

“Blood magic.” 

Varric groaned.

“That one was terrible.”

“I thought the delivery was pretty good!”

“I won’t deny you that,” 

She chuckled, her cheeks already flushed. “No one delivers like you do, Hawke.”

“That’s for damned sure. They don’t call me the Whore of Kirkwall for nothing.”

That one earned a hearty chuckle from the dwarf. 

“You’re lucky I’m working to help your reputation, that would be quite the fucking legacy.”

“What’s wrong with being a whore, Varric? I’ve been one all my life. I know how to get what I want from people, fucking is one of the ways I do that. It’s methodical. Often times I know exactly how to get someone off, like clockwork. Or a machine, or something.”

“Isabela’s really rubbed off on you.”

“She certainly has.”

Varric, mid-drink, spat and sputtered into his wine.

“Maker, woman!”

“Oh come now you’re not some prude, are you? Goodness, it’s like I’m sat with a chantry mother.”

“My innocent ears!”

“You’ll be alright,” She said, and refilled both of their now empty cups. “I never really here you speak of sex, come to think of it.”

“Truth be told, it’s not my favorite pastime. There is a lot more to a connection than that, at least for me,” He said. Hawke leaned forward, intrigued. “I have to know a woman, intimately, before it can come to that. I’ve tried casual sex, but it’s just far too vulnerable. It might sound sad, but I have to be able to laugh with that person. It’s such a serious matter when it’s with a stranger.”

“Laughter and sex, huh?”

“It’s necessary, yes. Absolutely.”

“Interesting. In all my days I’ve never experienced that.”

“Well,” he laughed, “I highly recommend.”

“Sex is often how I get to know a person. I don’t know why, but I greatly enjoy it. It tells me all I need to know about a person. What they want from you, if they’re a giver, if they’re a keeper, even.”

“I’ve never seen you find a keeper.”

She flinched at the comment. He quickly apologized.

“I have found keepers. The question is if I’m what they want.”

“Hawke, I don’t know how you couldn’t be. You’re a good, good woman. I mean it.”

“Well, people have specific tastes,” He raised a toast to that. “Like you, Varric. You’re commitment to Bianca is unwavering, and that never ceases to confound me.”

“She’s a good bow. She’s sturdy, and-”

“Varric.”

“Right... You wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh trust me, I do. She doesn’t deserve you.”

“You’re hung up on that broody elf, aren’t you? I could say the same for you. He has hurt you again and again... I suppose like she has to me.”

Hawke took a sip of her wine. Varric followed suit.

“You can do better than him, Hawke.” He repeated.

She sighed. “There isn't anyone better than him, in my eyes. But you can do better too. You deserve someone who does need you.”

“You need me,” Varric said. They looked at each other. “If we both can do better then where does that put us?”

She laughed loudly and genuinely— which was a rare sight.

“Maybe that puts us right here in front of each other.”

“What are you saying, Hawke?” Whatever bluff she had, Varric called it. They held eye contact for a moment.

“What are we, Varric? I mean, I’ve never had a friendship like this before.”

“Neither have I,” Varric said. “Family?”

“Maybe…” They locked eyes again. Varric furrowed his brows. 

“I’ve never really liked a woman that wasn’t a dwarf.”

“I’ve never really liked a dwarf.”

“Fair,” he backed off. They thought for a moment. “We’d be good for each other.”

“I… yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she decided. “We would, wouldn’t we?”

“Yeah, sure. Absolutely.”

She took a sip of her wine. Varric simply watched. His eyes made their way to hers. She looked back, setting the chalice down. He shifted in his seat.

She stood up. Varric inhaled, tilting his head up to look at her. She stepped over to him in his seat, and laid herself across his lap. He slid a hand over her rump. She brought a hand to his chin, rubbing her thumb gently across his scruffy facial hair as she lifted his face up to hers. They kissed— only for a moment, then pulled away to look at each other. Neither could discern what the other was feeling so they went at it again. As their lips pressed together they wrapped their arms around each other, enveloping them in one another’s embrace. This kiss lasted longer. Slowly, gently, the tip of Varric’s tongue brushed against her lips. She parted her mouth for him, letting him in. They continued. His left hand still wore a leather glove. He gripped her jaw with it, keeping her right against him. She felt him start to press against her, growing hard. She whimpered.

“Fuck.” He whispered. 

She tried to stifle a laugh, to no avail, giggling down his throat. He pulled away, resting his hands on the armrests of his chair.

“What?” He demanded, embarrassed.

“What do you mean, what?” She said, still in his lap, her face almost touching his.

“You laughed in my mouth!”

“You just said... I just felt bad. Or guilty I suppose.”

“Why?”

She leaned in, and started to kiss his neck. He tossed his head back, groaning in surprise. Slowly, she bit and sucked at him, until the skin turned deep red.

“Because,” she whispered into the crook of his neck, “I have you right where I want you.”

And with that, she rose from their shared seat, grabbed the quarter-full bottle of wine, and started to walk away.

Varric, unsure of whether to cover his neck or his bulge, awkwardly stood up and started to follow.

“Hawke! Maker’s breath, wait, woman!”

[millesbianforce]

I love real people because there's no useless intracommunity wars

"Transmascs are all evil transmisogynists" "this trans woman is a rapist don't ask me for proof because this is really just a baseless smear campaign" "the transmasc community is doing this" "transfemmes are doing that"

Meanwhile no trans person I've met irl has mentioned any of this divisive bullshit ever. People on here are really starting to act like non-transfemmes are the "cishet whites" of trans people. "Transmascs have a responsibility to make sure they aren't perpetuating transmisogyny" yeah everyone does you fucking moron. Why do you think it's JUST transmascs who are being transmisogynists? Why aren't trans people who don't fall under these labels ever a part of your conversations?

Every single day we manage to recreate the gender binary and gender essential essentialism without a single shred of self awareness. Like clockwork we come up with these dumbass words every couple of years that cause more harm than good and cause people to start social discourse that is 100% avoidable and unnecessary.

Not everything is "us vs them". The people you're mad at are transphobes. Stop putting their gender identity before the problem they're causing because then you're just generalizing an entire, massive subset of people that can't possible be generalized as a whole.

I may kill myself if I come on this website one more time and read that I'm naturally evil and terrible because of the genitals I was born with. I thought we were against that? Or are we only against that sentiment when certain people say it?

[queen-haq]

Alive - Part 20

Summary: Aidan traced the thin chain around his neck, rubbing the infinity pendant between his fingers. No longer a symbol of their everlasting love, it was something he touched in anger when he thought of Sage. It was the only thing of hers that still remained with him after eight years, the last possession which still connected them together. When he 4did find Sage again, and he would no matter how long it took, he planned to destroy the pendant - and her.

Taking place across two timelines, Alive tells the story of Aidan and Sage, high school sweethearts driven apart by who they are and where they come from. Once enemies then lovers, their relationship runs full circle when they meet again in the present, now prepared to destroy each other.

My Masterlist (contains links to previous parts)

Then...

Sage's first week back in school had her staying late every day to catch up on all the work that was missed during her expulsion. It was hectic, and she went through the motions like clockwork, keeping herself constantly busy. David was worried about her but was smart enough to leave her alone and she was grateful for it. Almost on cue, Cat's loud, flirtatious voice drifted from a few tables down to drag Sage back to reality. "

"Aidan, stop it!" Cat squealed dramatically, laughing.

This was the first time Sage was having lunch in the courtyard since her return, and it was a stark reminder of why she'd avoided the place for so long.

"We don't have to stay here, we can go to the back," David offered.

Watching Aidan and Cat flirt a few feet away was bad enough, but what made it worse was the gnawing dread from waiting for the inevitable to happen. It was only a matter of time before Aidan spilled the intimate details of her relationship with him. Everyone would find out she'd slept with him, all those deeply personal things she'd said in confidence to him, and her entire life would be open to ridicule. "I can't run every time I see them together. I just have to suck it up and deal with it."

"Why the fuck does Aidan keep looking over here?"

She was grateful to have her back turned to them. "Ignore him."

"Not that easy to do when he's glaring at us."

"Do you want to switch seats?"

It was David's turn to send her an irritated glance. "You know, you don't need to pretend everything is fine. We're friends. If you want to cry or scream or bitch about them, I'll listen."

"There's nothing to bitch about. I did something stupid and now I need to move on."

"He fucked you over. You're not the type to take something like that lying down."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't want to fight anymore. It's exhausting."

"How are things at home? I hope you don't have to see them there."

"He's not allowed to come over anymore. And Cat's Cat, just a lot more smug. She loves to remind me how stupid I was about Aidan."

"Want me to kill her for you?"

Mimicking his deadpan tone, Sage shook her head 'no'. "She's not worth going to prison for."

"Just think, we'll be outta here in a few months. No more losers, just lots of hotties to keep us busy."

"Only if I get into college. Don’t exactly have a great record, remember?"

David huffed. "Must you let your crappy reality get in the way of my awesome fantasy?"

Sage chuckled. "Ok, fine." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. "We'll be roomies in college, and we'll date really hot twins. Yours will be a-"

"A hockey player. Oh, wait! No, not hockey-"

"He'll play hockey, football, soccer. Whatever you want."

"And guitar. My boo has to know how to play guitar."

"So a future rock star on a sports scholarship?"

"Fuck that!" David's face twisted into a disgusted scowl. "I don't do poor."

Sage laughed.

"And yours? What's he gonna be like?" David prodded.

A sharp bolt of despair cut through her attempt at normalcy, she swallowed the lump in her throat. Two weeks ago she'd been fantasizing about a future with Aidan. Now, she was determined to never see him again. Just when she thought her composure would crack, David reached out to hold her other hand. "Your twin’s going to be awesome. Smart, sweet." David paused, squeezing her hand. "Nothing like him."

Sage sent back a half-hearted smile. "Promise?"

"Yes, you loser. I promise." David winked at her. "We’ll have an awesome life. You'll see."

For a moment Sage actually believed him, until the thought of Aidan and Cat pulled her swiftly out of that fantasy. Maybe David was right about the future, and things would get better. For now, however, she still had to find a way to live through the hell that was her life now.

*****

Sage was caught somewhere in dreamland when the nonstop ringing of her cell phone abruptly woke her up. Thinking it was the alarm going off, she tried shutting it off only to realise it was Aidan calling. Immediately she sat up straight, staring at the screen. It was past two in the morning. After everything that happened, why was he calling her? Her first instinct was to answer. In those moments when her control slipped and she allowed herself to remember, her heart ached for him. There had been no closure between them, no time for her to process that things were over – something Aidan didn't seem to struggle with as he'd moved on to Cat the very next day. Then again, it's not like he'd ever actually loved her, which he'd openly professed.

The phone stopped ringing. Maybe he'd dialled her number by accident trying to reach Cat, Sage mused bitterly, and then chastised herself for it. It was better for her to suppress her feelings than wallow in them, because, otherwise, it meant Cat and Aidan had won.

Her phone buzzed again, this time with a text message notification. 

"I miss you."

Sage sat there dumbfounded, gawking at her phone. Did he take her for an idiot? How could he possibly think she would respond to him after he'd been flirting with Cat day after day, flaunting their reconciliation in her face? Or maybe she was over-thinking the whole thing. Maybe Aidan was looking for a quick fuck and figured he would try his luck again with her since she'd slept with him so easily before.

She turned off her phone, set it back on the table, and crawled back under the covers. It was a while before she felt relaxed enough to sleep again.

The next morning she was getting ready for school when another text message from Aidan popped up on her phone. 

"Meet me at out spot at 9. Please."

All her determination to stay composed dissipated in an instant; rage coursed through her veins. Acting on pure instinct she rushed out of her room and into the main house to look for Cat, whom she found in the kitchen, drinking a smoothie.

"Tell your boyfriend to stop harassing me! I'm not his goddamn fuck buddy!"

Before Cat could respond, Sage stormed out.

*****

Later that day, despite having to walk past Aidan several times in the hallway, Sage felt a lot more in control of herself. Although his gaze remained fixated on her every time their paths crossed, it was easier to ignore him knowing he wouldn't approach her with others around – he wouldn't risk word getting back to her sister. 

An hour later Sage was at her locker to grab a textbook when Aidan came up behind her, startling her with his sudden appearance.

"How long are you going to keep avoiding me?"

She didn't respond, she didn't even look at him.

"I know I fucked up. I shouldn't have given you an ultimatum about mom," he said. "I was just so pissed off at you that day, and I know I said shitty things. I didn't mean it, any of it. You know that, don't you?" His voice quivered with raw emotion. "I'm so sorry."

He was close, too close. She slammed her locker shut and tried to walk away but he blocked her path, trapping her against the wall.

"I say fucked up things when I lose my temper. It's just a heat of the moment thing, it's not personal. It never means anything. You've done it too," he reminded her. "When we fight, that's just how it is. That's who we are, and then we get over it and move on. Remember?"

Was it really that simple for him? His declaration of hate was seared into her brain, ready to taunt and torment the second she thought of him, and while it was true she'd said horrible things in the past she'd regretted them instantly. He, on the other hand, had clung to that rage, using her sister as a weapon to punish her.

"Say something. Please."

Refusing to even glance at him, she focused her attention on his neck and realised he was wearing her necklace. A part of her wanted to rip it away from him immediately but she didn't want to do anything that would betray her emotions.

"How do I fix this? Tell me."

How could he sound so sincere now when only a few days ago he'd been cruel and callous, and sucking face with her sister? What was wrong with her that she was actually considering speaking to him?

"Talk to me, Sage. Say something."

He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against hers. She felt his breath hum against her cheeks, the touch of his fingers stroking hers, and her body trembled at his close proximity. How could being with him feel so right when she knew how little he really felt for her?

"I know you're angry right now. I was too. I was so fucking mad until I realised I was about to lose you. But I can't do that, Sage. I can't be without you, and I know you feel the same. We're stuck with each other. That's how it's meant to be."

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I'm fucking empty without you, I'm nothing, a complete mess. You make everything in my life better. You make me better. You get that, don't you?"

He cradled her face, gently nudging her to meet his gaze, and she was struck by the deep pools of emotion in his eyes. It would be so easy to drown in them and forget all the pain.

"What we have is amazing. It's special. It's worth fighting for. So scream at me. Yell at me. Hit me. Punch me. I don't mind, I can take it. As long as it makes things right between us again, I'll do whatever you want."

The bell rang; the hallway started to fill up with students. The whispers grew louder, their stares more blatant; Sage realised they were the center of attention.

His voice was hoarse with tears when he spoke again. "I... love you. I'm sorry it took me this long to admit it but I've never said those words to anyone. Not my parents, not... anyone. Except you."

David's words resurfaced in her mind, reminding her of how easily Aidan had dismissed their relationship to Cat. If Aidan's feelings were true, sincere, he wouldn't have felt the need to hide them.

"I love you, Sage."

It was the final straw; she couldn't take it anymore. Using all her energy, she pushed him away. "I want my necklace back," she said, amazed by her own ability to sound so serene when her heart was bursting with pain. "Give it to Theo, not your girlfriend. I’ll get it back from him.”

She walked away, ignoring the anguished look on Aidan's face and the hushed murmurs of everyone watching them.

*****

The rumour mill seemed to have gone into overdrive after her public confrontation with Aidan two days ago. It seemed like everywhere Sage turned, there were people whispering about her. She used to think being called a terrorist and other racial slurs were bad enough, but now they gossiped about her being a slut and it stung worse.

A while back when things were still good some girl had walked in on Aidan and her in the bathroom. Now that everyone seemed to be curious about them, the freshman was sharing details and enjoying her moment in the sun. Every day there seemed to be a different version of the hookup, the rumors snowballed and now there were stories about Sage fucking multiple guys, even having full- on orgies. It was absolutely ridiculous but the assholes at Belleville were happy to spread the lies. It was degrading, and she'd come close to losing her temper many times but she forced herself to ignore them. She couldn’t afford to get in any more trouble. And knowing the school administration, they’d blame her for any confrontations.

Aidan hadn't shown up in school since their last fight. Neither had Cat. Sage figured he ran to her sister for comfort and now the two were probably holed up in his place, fucking each other's brains out. People always gossiped that Aidan and Cat ended up together no matter what. If only she’d listened.

The bell rang, snapping her out of her reverie. Knowing the hallway would be crowded if she were to go out there now, she lingered in class for several minutes. Asking Mr. Smith inane questions about the study material was far preferable to dealing with the assholes waiting out there to taunt her.

*****

Sage exited the school, relieved to find the parking lot practically empty save for a few students hanging around. As she neared her car, it became clear one of the back tires was flat. Someone had stuck a pin in it.

She circled around to inspect for more damages and spotted a piece of paper stuck in the front windshield. Her body tensed as she picked it up to read it.

Eat my dick at lunch tomorrow? I'll pay more if you swallow. Whore.

Sage ripped it up and threw it to the ground.

"Looks like you need a ride."

She turned around to find Theo standing a few feet away, looking down at the punctured tire. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

He smiled. "Bad day?"

"Bad year."

"Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

"My car-"

"We'll have one of dad's drivers fix up the tire and drop it off at home."

That sounded a far better option than waiting here. "Thanks."

Shortly after they were on their way, with Theo zooming along the road while Sage stared out the window. The car was filled with awkward silence which wasn't unexpected. Except for a handful of occasions, like the time he'd urged her not to hurt his best friend, they barely hung out or even spoke. She pondered making conversation but, frankly, wasn't in the mood.

"I don't know what's going on with you and Aidan but can you talk to him? He's so fucked up right now."

Sage clenched her jaw. "He's not my problem."

"That's a shitty thing to say. I thought you liked him."

She turned to face him. "And I thought he wasn't an asshole. Guess we were both wrong."

"I knew the two of you were a bad idea!" Theo smacked his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. "I told him to stay away from you. I told him it was a big mistake!"

"Now you can rub it in his face and gloat." She plastered on a fake smile. "Every cloud has a silver lining, right?"

He shot her an irritated glance before turning his attention back on the road. After a short bout of silence, he spoke again. "You really don't give a shit, do you?"

"I don't. Not anymore," she lied.

"He cares about you.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "He'll get over it. Faster, if you dangle Cat in front of him."

"Fuck, no! She's messed him up way worse than you."

Which only proved Aidan's feelings for Cat were a lot more intense. Sage swallowed the lump in her throat. "Look, he has a chain of mine which means a lot to me. Can you get it back from him?"

"Why should I help you when you won't help me?"

Sensing Theo's frustration, she paused, choosing her next words with caution. "You're worried about him. I get that. And yeah, he's probably in a bad place right now, but once things blow over he'll be fine. Think about all those times he and Cat broke up. Things eventually went back to normal, right?”

Theo nodded begrudgingly. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, it'll be the same again. Probably quicker." As much as it hurt to admit, she knew it was the truth. "It's better to cut off all ties now instead of dragging things along indefinitely. He'll move on faster."

"You sound so sure."

"Because I am." Her heart ached; she felt sick. "You were right, Aidan and I were a huge mistake. Things should have ended a long time ago."

"He seemed so happy though. He was actually making plans for college; he's never done that before."

Sage gave her brother a small smile, shrugging her shoulders. "He was excited about frat parties."

Theo didn't respond, instead watching her curiously. She turned away from him, reminding herself to keep it together.

*****

The next day at school she was sitting by herself in the courtyard, working on an assignment while waiting for David to join her for lunch. There were people snickering behind her, catcalling and saying shit, but she willed herself to ignore them. If this was what was in store for her until graduation, she had to find a way to cope with it – sooner the better.

She looked up and suddenly froze at the sight of Aidan striding towards her at a fast pace. She didn't realise he was back in school. Aidan slid onto the spot next to her on the bench, grabbing her pen away from her hand. She turned to glare at him, finding it difficult to remain apathetic when he was sitting so close. It wasn't bad enough that his eyes were focused and penetrating right through her, but she also sensed everyone else staring at them. "Leave me alone," she said, surprised by her own calmness.

"You're not getting your necklace back. Want to know why?"

"Because you're an asshole?"

"Because you gave it to me. You gave it to me. I didn't ask you for it, I even told you I didn't want it because I knew how important it was to you. But you looked right at me, and you told me you loved me, and you said you wanted me to have it. You chose to do that; I didn't force you into it. You don't get to change your mind now just because we're going through a bad phase."

Heat spread across her cheeks, both from anger and embarrassment. Why was he bringing up something private? Was he trying to put on a show for his friends? She moved to stand up but his fingers curved around her elbow, pulling her down again.

"Tell me how to fix things between us." There was a frightening desperation in his eyes. "Because I can't stand this anymore."

"There is no fixing things. We're done."

"Fuck you!" he bit out, leaning in closer. "I love you, and you love me. We're not done."

Her resolve to remain unaffected dissolved right away. "Oh, were you showing me how much you loved me when you hooked up with Cat again? Was that why you had your tongue down her throat every time I turned around?"

"That was a mistake." His voice softened, his eyes flashed with regret. "I was pissed and wanted to hurt you. That's all. People do it all the time."

She wanted to laugh at the utter ridiculousness of his words. Seeing him with Cat, day in and day out, had devastated her and made her feel more worthless than she could have imagined. Yet here he was, using anger to justify all of his actions – probably a lesson he learned from his parents.

"I know it was stupid, I shouldn't have done it," he continued. "I swear it'll never happen again."

No longer concerned about the attention, she pried his fingers off her arm and stood up. Filled with contempt, she glared down at him. "You think I believe you? You're a filthy. Fucking. Liar. And I don't want you around me."

Grabbing her things haphazardly, she tried to walk away but he was fast and stealthy and blocked her path before she could leave.

"Hey dude, be careful. It's my turn with her after lunch and I don’t like ‘em all bruised up," yelled Jordan. A friend of Aidan’s, he stood a few feet away, enjoying the howling laughter his words elicited with the crowd. 

Tears threatened to overwhelm her but she refused to give into them. Not in front of Aidan. Not anyone else. They could try and break her but she would never let them win. No matter what. Her jaw clenched, she leveled Aidan with a hostile stare. "Get the fuck out of my way. Or I'll start spilling secrets that you don't want your friends to know."

His eyes turned cold, his face blank. She waited for him to hurl insults at her but he remained quiet, his gaze boring into her. Finally he moved away, swaggering towards the table where Jordan and the rest of his group was at.

One minute everyone was hollering and cheering on Aidan as he approached them. The next Aidan had grabbed Jordan by the neck, pulled him to the ground, and started beating on him viciously.

Her first instinct was to rush towards Aidan, stop him from making a huge mistake. Instead, she walked back into the school building.

***

Now...

Sage stepped out of the shower, grabbed a fresh towel from the shelf and started drying herself. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she scrutinised her naked body. Shit. She looked the same. What the hell? After finally managing to carve out some time for the gym (something she'd been putting off for months now), she'd been killing herself during work-outs, hoping to see results sooner rather than later. Yet, there was no change in her body. The trainers did say it would take at least six weeks to see any improvements, and it had barely been a month, but she was running out of patience.

"Mommy, someone's knocking."

Snapping out of her pity party, Sage slipped into a robe. "Okay, I'll be there in a sec."

"Can I open it?"

Sage quickly swung the bathroom door open and found her seven-year-old daughter staring up at her. An eager smile curved the little girl's face, her beautiful brown eyes – so very similar to Layal's – shining with excitement.

"Can I?"

As hard as it was, especially with Ziyah playing the doe-eyed part to perfection, Sage shook her head 'no'. "Honey, you can't. You're not old enough, remember?" As the knocks grew more insistent, Sage made her way out of the master bedroom, heading to the entrance door located at the end of the hallway. Ziyah followed beside her, tugging at her arm. "I'll be right there," Sage yelled, hoping they could hear her over Ziyah's loud pleas.

"But you said I could when I turned eight."

"Are you eight now?"

"No, but I'll be eight soon," Ziyah whined.

Sage tried a different approach. "When you're tall enough to look through the peephole, then you can answer the door."

"What if I never get that big?"

"You will, if you eat the vegetables I give you instead of pushing them around."

"No! I hate vegetables! They're so gross!" Ziyah stormed back into the den but not before sticking her tongue out at Sage defiantly.

"Big girls don't have temper tantrums!" Sage called after her. Turning around she opened the door, and found David waiting for her on the other side, wearing the same disgruntled expression as Ziyah.

"Geez, took you long enough!" he huffed, handing her one of his bags. "Don't just stand there, help me."

"What are you doing here?" She pulled the rest of his things inside. "You're supposed to be here tomorrow night."

"Oh, is this not convenient? Should I come back tomorrow?"

Sage gave him an exasperated smile, shutting the door behind him. Her best friend may have been an adult but there were times when he could just as bratty as her daughter. "No need to be so snippy, drama queen. I'm just surprised you were able to get up here without security stopping you."

"Pretty boy Rob was about to call you but I told him not to bother.”

"Seriously? He just let you come up here?"

"Maybe I’m his type.”

"Maybe you blew him.”

"Now who's being snippy?" David pointed out. "And as to why I'm here early. Let's just say Patrick isn't too happy with me right now and I needed some extra loving from my favourite girls."

"Aw." Sage encircled him in her arms and gave him a tight hug before pulling back to examine him. David was always in a jovial mood but today his eyes were red, like he'd been crying. "You alright?"

"I'm fine. Nothing wine can't cure."

"Something tells me the one bottle I have won't be enough."

"Oh honey, think more. Think at least five."

"Looks like I'll have to make a pit stop at the liquor store."

"Uncle David?" Ziyah squealed. Her long braid swung side to side as she ran towards them from the opposite end of the hallway. Upon reaching David, she wrapped her arms around his legs. In turn he picked her up, playfully nuzzling her while she giggled hysterically.

"Is this my Ziyah?" he teased. "I didn't even recognize you, munchkin. You're so big now!"

"Tell Mommy that!"

Curbing back a smile, Sage gave her daughter a stern look. "What do you think Uncle David will say about the hissy fit you threw?"

"Uh oh." David tapped Ziyah's nose lightly. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing, Ziyah? Really?" Sage asked, reaching up to brush the hair away from her daughter's face. "Munchkin over here just yelled at me."

"That's not nice, hun."

"But she was being mean!" Ziyah whined, playing with the necklace around David's neck. "You were knocking, and I asked her if I can open it, and she said no."

"Seems like Mommy wasn't being very nice either."

"David!" Sage glared at him with disbelief. "She can't be opening the door. What if it was a stranger?"

Realising his mistake, David affected a disciplinary tone. "Mommy's right, Ziyah. It could be a stranger and we shouldn't be opening doors for them."

"But you're not a stranger." She wrapped her chubby arms around his head and squeezed him with a tight grip.

"Okay, smarty pants," he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "So your mom tells me you have a new boyfriend, Missy. What's his name?"

"His name is Bobby. He calls me Zee."

"Zee? That's silly. That's not your name."

"But I like it. And he gave me a flower."

Chatting animatedly with each other, David carried Ziyah back to the den. Sage was left alone in the corridor, surrounded by his things. "No, no, go ahead. I don't need any help. I can do this all by myself,” she muttered to no one.

He was supposed to be staying for a week; he'd packed enough for a month. As usual. Exhaling a heavy sigh, she started dragging his very heavy luggage towards the guest room.

*****

Grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses, Sage headed into the den. David was plopped down on the couch, surfing through Netflix.

"Here." She handed him a glass, filled it halfway with wine.

"That's it?" he asked, pouting.

"How about you finish that first, boozehound?" Sitting down on the opposite corner of the couch, she raised her feet to rest them on his lap. She poured herself some wine before setting the bottle aside.

"I love that kid to death, don't get me wrong, but oh my god is she exhausting!"

Sage laughed at David's words, taking a sip of her drink. "Welcome to my world."

"I can't believe how much she's grown in a few months. Next time I see her she'll probably look like a teenager!"

"Ugh, don't even go there. She's already so frickin' stubborn."

"Takes after her mother, obviously."

She kicked him playfully and he grinned.

"Sooo..." He turned towards her, spreading his arm along the back of the couch. "How did the date go?"

"What date?"

"The one you told me about last week on the phone. Don't even pretend like you don't remember."

She rolled her eyes. "He freaked out when he found out I had a kid."

"Here's an idea. You could have just not told him."

"Yeah, 'cause it's so easy to keep something like that a secret."

"Not like you have to marry the guy. Date him, fuck him, and then cut him loose."

"Not that easy to do, my friend."

"Yes it is, my friend. You just have to give it a shot."

"Honestly, he was a drag. One of those douchebag stockbroker types. I couldn't wait to get out of there and come home."

"You don't need to like a guy to fuck him and get off.”

"You think he knows how to get a woman off?”

David chuckled before studying her with a scrutinising stare for several seconds. "I don't know if it's the wine or whatever but you look really good. Happy, you know?"

Sage beamed. "I've been hitting the gym."

"Ah, that's what it is."

"That and work’s been going well lately. I sold two houses last month and it looks like some more things will pan out soon. And Ziyah's happy, healthy." She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I guess I'm just in a good place right now."

"I'm glad. You deserve it."

"So do you. Want to tell me what's going on with you and Patrick? I know something's wrong."

He downed the rest of his drink. "Not right now. Maybe later."

She reached over to give his hand a tight squeeze. "I worry about you."

"And I worry that you'll never get laid again."

She hit him lightly. "Shut up!"

"Haven't you heard? If you don't use it you lose it."

"Yeah well, it's been used. So stop getting on my case!"

"Why didn't you just say so? That's all I needed to hear."

"Can we drop the subject now?"

"Yes. Fine."

She smirked, throwing her hand up in the air. "Thank God."

A short while later she was fixing up the guest room when David walked in, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. "I want to tell you something but I don't know if I should."

She cast him an exasperated glance, sitting down on one corner of the bed. "I hate when you start a conversation with that." He didn't respond but the gleam in his eyes was certainly disconcerting. "What's going on?"

"I ran into Madeline a few weeks ago."

Her body stiffened immediately upon hearing that name. David sat down next to her. Deep-buried anger from long ago threatened to expose itself and crush her but Sage refused to let that rage break the inner peace she'd fought so hard to cultivate. Those people were a part of her past, and that's where they would remain. Before she was alone and vulnerable, a perfect fodder for predators, but not anymore. Now she had a daughter to protect, a life she loved that was free of hate and prejudice and no one was going to threaten it. Absolutely no one. "Did you say something to her?”

"Nope. She didn’t know who I was."

"Good. Stay out of her radar."

"You ever think about-"

"No," Sage interjected before he could finish the thought. "I don't. That part of my life is over." He leaned in closer and placed a gentle kiss on her right cheek. The gesture was affectionate, warm, and exactly what she needed to pull her out of her gloomy state. Linking her arm through his, she settled her head on his shoulder.

"You're the toughest girl I know," he said.

"I'm not a girl, David."

"Fine. Woman. Whatever. Point is you're tough, but you've been through a lot. It's not easy to put all that shit behind you."

"No, it's not. But I did it and that's where it'll stay. Behind me."

There was a brief moment of comfortable silence between them.

"Hun, as much as I'm enjoying you cuddling me to death I need to catch up on some sleep. I have to take that daughter of yours to the park tomorrow and you know that ain't going to be easy."

"Pussy." She stood up, dropped a tender kiss on his forehead before turning to leave.

"Thanks for the talk."

"Thanks for letting me stay."

"Like I have a choice."

He rolled up the wet towel and threw it at her; she blocked it with the door. Chuckling, she walked back to the kitchen to clean up.

*****

The water in the tub was almost scorching hot, just the way Sage liked it. Submerged in it, she lolled her head back on the edge of the tub and let the warmth wash over her. Baths were a luxury with the schedule she kept; luckily with David taking Ziyah to the park and spending the afternoon with her, she had the time to indulge in one today.

She was a few chapters into a murder mystery novel when the knock on the main door reached her ears. She contemplated ignoring it but then grew anxious when the knocks turned incessant. Sage stood up and climbed out of the tub, grabbing the nearest robe along the way to cover her dripping body as she walked to the door.

She looked through the peephole to see who it was. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her lungs.

"Open up, Sage. I know you're in there."

His voice. Aidan's voice. Playful and taunting, the same yet completely grown-up.

"I can hear you freaking out in there. You too scared to come out here?”

Provoking her. Like always. 

"I can stay here as long as I have to, whole night even. Carpet doesn't look too comfortable but I've slept on worse.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

She had to get him out of here, as quickly as possible. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to cool down. Losing it was not an option, not now, not in front of Aidan. It took a few seconds but at last she managed to regain her composure. Calm and collected, she finally opened the door.

Aidan stood there leaning against the wall, one foot crossed over the other, striking a casual pose. His hair was slightly longer while his face held the slightest hint of scruff – like he hadn't shaved in a few days. Dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt and a leather jacket, he looked every bit the jackass she remembered and more. He had always been good-looking but now there was a hardness to his features, a weathered edge that made him so much more hotter. 

As she waited for him to speak her hands felt clammy, stomach queasy, heart drumming so loudly she was worried it would give out. Except he remained silent, his dark eyes locked in on her.

To be continued...

Tagging @bustlingcrowdsxorxsilentsleepers 

@idaofinfinity 

@tiki-tequila

[mystery-moose]

BOOKS

Sometimes I read books! This time I read Dan Chaon’s Ill Will.

This was a real fucked up piece of work! (affectionate)

Okay, maybe not entirely affectionate. This is a hard one to read, not in terms of prose or structure (the nonlinearity and unconventional scene transitions and typographical tricks are actually a lot of fun for me!) but because of raw content. I haven’t read something this fucked up since I was going through Berserk and that should REALLY fuckin’ tell you something about the sorts of content I’m talking about.

I’ll say it’s never quite as... lurid as Berserk got in its worst moments? Part of the consequence of being a prose novel and part of it is just what the writer chooses to describe or focus on and for how long. But it is just about every upsetting thing or taboo subject that can come up will come up, and eventually it just got to be sort of... numb? Like at first it hits you REALLY hard but as you go on you’re just like “yeah, of course, sure. What the fuck else could happen to this family?” And it stops feeling upsettingly real and starts feeling like... well like reading a fiction. Which it is, so this wasn’t actually a problem! It never crosses over into being cartoonish or contrived, really, it just... I dunno! People can get used to a lot, I guess, and I got used to horrific shit being discussed!

It’s largely a psychological thriller and a character study, and it succeeds wildly at both of those things, because I learned a ton about basically every major named character, and felt absolutely propelled to keep reading by around the halfway point. It uses multiple perspectives, nonliinear storytelling, and a few weird tricks that feel pulled from Danielewski to great effect. Chaon really knows how to pace out his reveals, explore his characters and their lives and the events that shaped them, and how to fuck with your head and make you fall into the same traps as he’s writing about -- seeing patterns that don’t exist, making connections between unrelated events, and feeling paranoid when nothing is out to get you.

But he also builds such a thick atmosphere of suspense, dread, and the uncanny that you’re never quite sure where the story is going to go or how it’s going to land! UIntil about the three-quarter mark, anyway. Then you kind know who done it, or who’s gonna do it, or who’s been at it the whole time, or whatever. The trick then is how it all shakes out, and in trying to decide whether or not you can really trust that you know... what you know.

Some examples: numerous characters feel a looming sense of dread or unease, as if doom approaches. Multiple people feel as though they are being watched, or that someone is right behind them. Several describe a kind of “presence,” a malevolence, an idea of evil that is outside of traditional reality. These are all vague feelings, never concrete, never quite enough to make them or you believe in anything supernatural occurring.

But then why does it seem that multiple people echo each other across time and space? Why does one person see someone and call out their name, and then days, weeks, months later, someone hears it in the same place? Why do two different people, decades apart, who’ve never spoken and have very different knowledge of events, imagine the same two robed figures? Why does Guland represent drowning?

We don’t know. We’ll never know. We see dots, and we connect them. The individual stars in a constellation are separated by hundreds or thousands of light years. They exist totally apart from each other.

But what if they are connected?

What’s worse: suffering that is random, disconnected, dispassionate, and fundamentally meaningless? Or a perfectly designed cruelty, a work of malevolent clockwork?

In summary: killer pacing, sick use of typography, wish it had ended stronger, gonna have weird dreams tonight, four outta five I enjoyed feeling bad!

[mingirn]

I posted 705 times in 2022

That's 705 more posts than 2021!

478 posts created (68%)

227 posts reblogged (32%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mingirn

@sorikkung

@yeoandmoon

@sage-space

@hongism

I tagged 691 of my posts in 2022

Only 2% of my posts had no tags

#[✉️] mail - 315 posts

#[⭐️] lia - 105 posts

#[☄️] speaks - 86 posts

#[☎️] anon - 78 posts

#[📖] recs - 39 posts

#[💌] mail - 33 posts

#[🦇] v - 31 posts

#stray kids - 27 posts

#[🗒] mine - 23 posts

#ateez - 22 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#i see so many people without ages in their bios and it’s so stupid. if you’re an adult it literally takes nothing to just put your age in?

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

trust a feeling that stays

lee know x reader

synopsis: being with minho is familiar, until it’s not

genres: angst!!, smut, fluff at the end

warnings: fwbs to lovers, rough sex, d/s dynamics, belt used as handcuffs, mentions of safewords but no safewords used, soft sex, mentions of dirty talk, marking, crying during sex, aftercare

word count: 2k

It's not like it's the first time, it's far from it actually, but this time it's not familiar. You’re familiar with harsh slaps and fingers gripping your skin so hard it forms bruises, you’re familiar with the want and the need to get hurt, and that is what Minho gives you. For the past two months that is what has been happening, you’d both started it drunk beyond the ability to make a good judgement and in the haste of it you slept together, hands all over eachother in your friends bed during a party. That was the first time and ever since then Minho has been all raucous grips and sharp words, just like you had agreed.

It was clear to both of you that you wanted to continue it, not wanting to let go of the pleasure you’d brought eachother and when Minho proposed the idea of being friends with benefits you couldn't say no. A quarter of it was the need for intimacy, just anything to feel like you’re close to someone, another quarter of it was the fact that Minho had fucked your brains out and that was worth keeping, and another whole half of it was the fact that you had been pining for him for years. It was worth it to have Minho, even if it wasn't in the way you would have wanted, because it was better than nothing.

It doesn't really shock you when you get a 'Are you at home? Wanna come over' text from Minho at 8:47pm, it shocks you even less when he rushes into your apartment twenty minutes later, and it's like clockwork when Minhos hands start to pull at your clothes.

It's familiar.

You don't mind when Minho hoists you up, fingertips digging into your hips to the point where you’re breathing gasps from the pressure into his open mouth. You like that, you love it, you adore it; the fact that Minhos hands are so effective and they do such a good job at keeping you just where you need to be, and you love it even more when Minhos hands throw you onto your bed.

It's familiar.

You’ve done this enough times for Minho to act on autopilot, throwing you on the bed, pulling the belt out of the loops in his jeans to secure your hands to the bedframe with it, then grabbing the lube from the second drawer in your nightstand. It crosses your mind then that that's why you like doing this with Minho, because he knows exactly what you need without you having to say it out loud. He just knows that you need to feel some pressure.

It's familiar.

Minho sucks marks into your skin, always does, and in the moment he moans out something like "this means you're mine". You’re not, but you ache to be. You don't hide the marks anymore, you let them be on display for all your friends to see, they all know what you do anyways, so you wear his marks with shame-filled dejection. Minho says things and makes promises when his lips are against your neck and you fall for it every time, turning into putty in his hands.

It's familiar.

Minho only has to move one hand down your torso for you to willingly spread your legs open and you stay pliant when his fingers work you open, listening and obeying to every single one of his orders. Minho showers you in compliments, telling you how good you’re being and how pretty you sound, and it's all so good that your eyes well up with tears. Minhos hands aren't harsh on you like usual, he's got one hand resting on your stomach while the other eases himself into you. You’re still holding back the tears when Minho thrusts himself inside and stops to bottom out. You don't want to open your eyes, don't want to see Minho look down at you with dark eyes and know that he will tease you for crying. You do anyways- opens your eyes, and find Minho staring back down at you. You’re prepared to hear about what a needy slut you are for this emotional desperation, but Minho leans down and presses a long kiss to your lips, one to ease the tears away but it only makes them start to fall. Minho keeps kissing you, swallowing all of your moans and thrusting slowly for an unbearably long time. Sex with Minho always hurts, in some way, because Minho makes it hurt, but the only thing causing you pain right now is the fact that Minho is looking at you with something you can only read as love. Your hands pull at the belt, squirming under Minhos touch and his gaze, and you’re starting to feel the leather dig into your wrists. Minho stops, removing the belt so gently that you know its hopeless to try to stop the tears now, and then Minho even graces his finger over the marks on your left wrist, and pulls the right one up to his face to kiss it.

It's not familiar anymore.

You wonder if Minho is playing some game to make you beg, so you do, ask him to please go faster, harder, anything. But - Minho halts instead, grabbing onto your thighs and easing your legs around his own, your heels digging into the back of his thighs. When he finally starts thrusting again it's harder, but not like usual, Minhos hips aren't slamming against yours hard enough to make the bed shake, instead its long and deep strokes, calculated to pound against that sensitive spot inside of you. You don't know what to do, you’re not used to Minho being gentle and you don't know where to put your hands if they aren't tied up or if Minho hasn't told you to stay still. So you do nothing, lets yourself cry and shake underneath Minho and just giving yourself over, submitting in a way you never have before. The thought strikes you like a jolt that you can safeword, that it’d be enough to tap Minhos arm to change the pace or stop altogether, but even more jarring than that is the realization that you don’t want to, that safewording or stopping is the last on your list of wants. You want this, want him. When you give yourself over to Minho the latter usually responds by pinning your hands above your head, or flipping you over and spitting out filthy, raspy words about what a desperate whore you’re being. Ususally. But now, Minho forces his arms underneath your shoulders to hold you close and he then buries his face in your neck, your chests pressed together. You’re sure Minho can feel your heart, feel how it's close to pounding out of your ribcage.

It only takes three deep thrusts of his hips fucking into you before the pooling in your gut tips over and you’re coming, your arms wrapping around him in the desperation, nails starting to claw down his back when Minho just picks up the pace while you’re riding through your orgasm. Minho chases his own high once yours washes over, adamant to come with you and he isn’t unsuccesful for he comes only moments later with your name on his lips and his fingers curling into your hair.

Minho stays inside of you, wrapped around your body for a while, just breathing while you both recover and you have to clench your jaw and eyes shut to keep from sobbing. He pulls out slowly, letting out a groan, and then he plops down besides you. Thank the heavens, you think when Minho doesn't look at you because he'd see how hard you’re trying to keep from breaking down, and before Minho has the chance to say anything at all you make an excuse and beeline towards the shower. You wait until the water is flowing and then you cry, washing away the feeling of Minhos hands on his skin.

When you get out of the shower, cold and empty, Minho isn’t in your bed.

There’s no care in the world for your wet hair or state of undress when you fall down on your bed again, burying your face into the sheets and breathing in the scent of him still on your sheets. Even this, his sweat and musk faint on your bedding feels like enough, feels like something you’d dare to call home. The fleeting, tethering grasps to have him in any way you can. Pressure booms behind your eyes, pulsating in an incoming headache, but you’re inept to anymore tears.

”What are you doing?”

The plunging descent of your stomach when you hear his voice behind you is indescribable, totally consuming. Your heart picks up, and for a dejected moment you fear it might have been your imagination driving the final nail in the coffin. It’s not, because Minhos footsteps near your bed soon enough and then the bed sinks next to you. He lays down, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body.

He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t repeat his question. Minho just lays, builds a home in your silence and lets you stay where you are.

It’s hard to say how much time has passed when you finally roll over, turning towards Minho yet not really looking at him. It would kill you to look at his face now, you think, so you settle for a spot on his chest and take a deep breath. He’s still undressed, just in his underwear, and you’re lost. You thought he had left.

”You need to let me take care of you afterwards, you know,” he says, quiet and soft. He’s on his side too, looking at you in a way that feels a lot more intense than any sex you’ve ever had with him. He continues, ”I couldn’t leave like that. I need to take care of you. I need to know that you’re okay.”

”You don’t have to do that.” The words get caught in your throat for a second, stuttering and hesitant.

See the full post

511 notes - Posted March 6, 2022

#4

hands all over

park seonghwa x reader

synopsis: you’re hongjoongs sibling and have been in love with seonghwa for years when he suddenly kisses you one night. hands all over eachother in your brothers dorm, seonghwa unlocks the box you’ve stored all your feelings for him in.

warnings: smut, blowjob, making out, spit, handjob, it’s pretty tame to be honest, angst, gender neutral reader, first time, inexperienced reader, jealousy

word count: 4k

link to part 2 <3

Seonghwa kisses with a lot of tongue.

This shouldn’t be a shock, considering Seonghwas entire presence and the way he performs, but it makes your heart surge nonetheless. Maybe it’s because you’ve spent so much time daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss him, and you swear you’ve spent eons in your imagination, but it still hadn’t computed in you that Seonghwa would be the type of guy to stick his tongue down your throat the second he gets the opportunity.

For as long as you’ve spent thinking about kissing Seonghwa, it all comes about suddenly, fast; it hits you like a freight train. And you know that beggars can’t be choosers, you shouldn’t even be questioning why or how Seonghwa suddenly has your neck in a firm grip as he’s running his tongue along yours. It’s just that, in one moment you’re sitting next to him, in the dorm he shares with your damn brother, and the next second Seonghwa is leaning in and suddenly his mouth is on yours entirely.

And perhaps you should be pulling away, probably should be asking him why now, what’s going on, or at the very least, what about my brother - your friend? What you should be doing, and what you actually do are two different things. Pulling away from Seonghwa seems a near impossibility when this is all you’ve wanted for a long time, longer than you’ve been able to really articulate or even understand. Liking Seonghwa for so long has made you selfish, it has built a deep dark ache that resides deep within you, locked in a box that you swore you’d destroyed the key of. Then here you are, and Seonghwa has retrieved the key all on his own, twisting open the box inside of you much the same as he swirls his tongue against yours.

So you lean in, letting Seonghwa kiss you. There’s nothing else inside your head besides want; urgent want and desire for Seonghwa. You want his hands on you, want the breathless moans he hums against your lips to be louder, you want to crawl onto his lap and card your fingers through his hair. The want is so all-consuming that your needs become second priority, but then all of a sudden you can’t ignore it anymore. You’ve been kissing so long that your lungs ache, and you need to breathe.

When you part for a breath you fully expect Seonghwa to stop and pull away. As if the kiss (is it still a kiss when minutes have passed? When his tongue has explored your entire mouth?) had been a sudden rush of insanity, and that breaking apart would have him come back to his senses. As if Seonghwa would be lulled back to reality, tell you that it was all a mistake and you’d have to accept it. You’re ready even before the thought crosses your mind, having been trained to push away your emotions. The box, the key, the clicking sound of the lock shutting your deepest desires in.

Instead, Seonghwa pushes you further up on the bed, almost in your lap now, with the way he hovers above you.

He lets you catch your breath, and instead he sucks at your throat. You wonder for a second just how Seonghwa is managing all this, how he can go on without even stopping to take a breath, but the thoughts quickly quiet in your head. It’s hard to think of anything other than him when he’s licking and sucking at your neck, like he’s intent on leaving marks. His hands are still gripping you tightly, holding onto your neck and your shoulders, roaming everywhere he can.

You swallow hard when you feel his hips roll down, as if he’s looking for friction. Your hands hold his hips, clenching and squeezing in time with the movements of his hips and he hums breathy moans into the kisses he leaves across your throat. He’s so eager, in a way you almost read as yearning, and it’s hard to stay sane when he’s sucking the thoughts right out of you. But then your eyes flicker open, and your focus falls on one of your brothers figurines. Where the fuck is Hongjoong?

”Hwa, Hwa, hey,” you say, feeling your voice croak in the back of your throat. He’s kissed you fucking stupid, pulled the ability to speak from you completely.

”Mm?” he hums, and finally he pulls away to look up at you. He’s barely even winded from all the kissing, perhaps the dancer stamina keeping him miles more capable than you are. But then, also, he isn’t kissing the person he’s had a crush on for the past five years, so you give yourself some leeway.

”I- um, Hongjoong.” Your brothers name feels heavy in your mouth when you say it, disgusting and misplaced, on the very last spot of the list of things you’d like to say as you’re kissing Seonghwa. But it’s a valid point, and a very real obstacle seeing as he’s Seonghwas best friend and you’re currently in his room.

Seonghwa still hovers above you, hips settled against you like he’s supposed to be there. He looks at you in a way that implies normalcy, and it makes your mind reel. Why is he not freaking out?

”Hongjoong isn’t here,” he says simply. ”That’s kinda why I’m kissing you.”

”But- he’s gonna be back.”

In truth, you can’t even remember where Hongjoong is. You can barely even remember the day, and trying to remember everything that has lead up to this moment feels futile. Your mind is just Seonghwa, Seonghwas mouth, Seonghwas tongue, his hands, and his hips still pressed against you.

”Probably not for a while though.” Seonghwa states. Simple, obvious. Like he’s not currently pressing his dick into your hip.

Your fingers flex into the flesh of his hips, where he’s all muscles and soft skin. You nod then, unable to really do anything other than that. Seonghwa smiles, and his eyes fall to your lips again. His tongue darts out to lick at his own lips and then he swipes thumb over your lip, pushing and prodding to hint that he wants entrance. You feel malleable under his hands, and when he presses down on your bottom lip to force your mouth open it sets a deeply unhinged feeling within you. Like you’re nothing but a doll, like you’d let him pull all your strings and decide what he wants your body to do for him. It’s a far cry from what you’ve ever felt for Seonghwa before, all the years you’ve spent retaining your emotions and keeping your composure. Now, under Seonghwas hold, you swear you’d do almost anything if he just asked for it.

Seonghwa leans in again, and licks into your open mouth. His own thumb is in the way and his tongue catches onto it, leaving saliva on the skin that he spreads over your cheek when he drags his thumb out of your mouth. It’s all so dirty and it should be disgusting, Seonghwa touches you in ways you’d never even dreamed of and the most inconceivable part of it all is the fact that he wants this. He’s the one spurring it on and letting out desperate pants between each kiss, he’s the one currently rolling his hips against yours. You’ve spent so long wanting this pretty boy, and here he is, taking the risk of kissing you when you’ve presented all the dangers.

Seonghwa continues to kiss you. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and graces his teeth over it just harsh enough to have you feel it. You still feel stupidly pliable, like you’re a useless puppet or him to play with, so you pluck up some courage and move to touch him back. Seonghwa gasps in susprise, a sudden ’mmpf’ that turns kind of sing-songy when you let your fingers grace underneath his shirt. You can feel the way his mouth turns into a smile against yours, one of those devilish smirks you swear you’ve watched a thousand fancams of. The smile doesn’t subside even when you run your hands up high, feeling his naked skin under your fingertips as you push higher under his shirt. Now, Seonghwa pulls away and looks down at you.

”Is this okay?” he asks. You nod, a little too eagerly to be casual but he doesn’t seem to mind.

This feels like the breaking point, because suddenly Seonghwa is pressing into your thigh. Not just because he’s seeking closeness, not like before when he was rutting against you to gain intimacy. Now, he’s hard against the top of your thigh and he’s staying so perfectly still as he waits for your permission. This, you realize, is the point where it all tips over. You could back out, tell Seonghwa you’re not looking for more and you know he wouldn’t blame you. You do want more though, and he seems to be feeling the same, with the way he stares up at you like he wants to eat you alive.

You connect your lips to his again, initiating for the first time this evening and Seonghwa positively whines. He sees this as an invitation and resumes the ravenous kissing, grabbing hold of your jaw. He’s still keeping his posture, pressing his hard dick into you firmly but staying still, like he’s waiting. Your hands are still on his rib cage, still feeling his naked skin, and you decide to chance a feel downwards. Your hands are trembling, but if Seonghwa can feel this he says nothing of it. Rather, he sucks in a nervous breath and lifts himself up to create space for you to trail your hands further down.

His kissing becomes distracted when your hands finally make contact with the waistband of his jeans. You run your fingers along his toned stomach, stopping just shy of his zipper. Perhaps it’s just your imagination, fueled by desire and dazed from Seonghwa, but you swear you hear him whisper a faint ’please’ in the midst of a rushed kiss. He doesn’t need to speak though, for he gives you permission with the way he bucks up into your hand. It’s all you need in order to pop open the button, drag his zipper down, and push your hand into his underwear.

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568 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

#3

hard to disguise as nothing at all

jeong yunho x reader

genres: smut, angst + college!au, childhood bestfriends

warnings: friends with benefit, drinking, alcohol, hangovers, biting, oral, hair pulling, swearing, bisexual!yunho, mingi and yunho kiss once, jealous reader

word count: 5,4k

link to part 2

There are things friends do, and things friends don't do. It's tough to say exactly where the line should be drawn, and even more arduous to apply it to what you share with Yunho. There are things friends do that you do with Yunho, like the years you'd spent growing up together. Playground laughter, bruised knees, sleepovers, bike rides, homework turned in late, graduation, enrolling in university - there is a lot you've experienced with Yunho that constitutes a regular, true friendship. Things that friends do, you've done plenty.

What friends don't do, is wake up in each others beds hungover with marks of each others mouths scattered across your skin.

There's an absurdly bright sweater thrown next to your bed, nothing too irregular if you'd ignore the way it had been discarded, pulled over Yunhos head in a tipsy, desperate mess the night before. The smell of beer still lingers in the room, despite not having been drinking that much last night the alcohol stings in your nose and makes you feel nauseated. It's way too bright to crack your eyes open and sickening to feel the stench of the room. Your solution is rolling over to your side, humming a groan in the back of your throat at the sheer strain, and pulling the covers over your head.

Nine am sun shines through the opening between your curtains, unceremoniously disturbing the peace of sleep. Further disturbing is the stirring boy next to you, long tangled limbs taking up too much space in your bed. He's been twitching next to you for quite some time now, twisting and turning in your sheets and bumping into you, the direct cause of your awakening. He must be awake, if his low hums are any alert, and then his arm slumps down over your middle.

"Hey," he coughs. The duvet covering your head muffles his voice, barely even being able to make it out at all through the barrier, but you've become so accorded to him that you'd be able to make out his words had they only been a thought in his head. Yunho clears his throat, and speaks again, "Hey, hey. You up?"

"Trying not to be." you croak back.

Yunho whines, suddenly all too awake, and tugs down your blanket in one swift movement. You bury your head further into the pillow, a childish protest to Yunhos nose suddenly prodding at the back of your neck. He starts to leave kisses over your shoulder blades, still bare from yesterday. Fingers trail carefully over your naked back until he curls them around the dip of your waist, squeezing purposefully around your skin. The touch makes you shiver, though you blame it on the chill brought on by the duvet being snatched from your body.

Yunho is relentlessly cheerful in the mornings, far too awake in the contrast to last nights drunken stupidity. He's always been like this, seeming to run on endless amounts of energy even after falling asleep in the late hours of the night, even when he had fucked you until you cried before you'd both fallen asleep, and even when he had drank the double amount of alcohol than you. Maybe his stupidly long body disposes of alcohol faster than yours, or maybe Yunho is just abnormally gleeful, either or. Maybe both.

Sharp pain shoots through your shoulder when Yunho sinks his teeth into your skin, biting down on a spot just above your shoulder blade.

"Ow! Fuck, Yunho." you grumble, twisting in his grasp to lay on your back instead. "Go away, let me sleep."

"No, give me attention," he demands in a whine. Yunho lifts your duvet up, climbs underneath it, and straddles your lap entirely. His fingers force themselves under your neck until both of his hands are grasping at your head, using his strength to turn your head to look at him. Still, in his coercive movements, Yunho treats you gently and strokes his thumbs over your jaw before he leans down and leaves a swift, tender kiss on your lips. He speaks again, against your mouth, "I want you."

His touch is almost intangible for a few moments, feeling a bit far away as your body is still waking up and gaining tactile senses. All you can feel is the weight of him on your thighs, his soft lips ghosting over your mouth, his hands applying gentle pressure to the sides of your head. You allow yourself to revel in it for a moment, to just feel the soothing touches he adorns your body with, and to feel comforted by the familiar weight of his body on top of yours. You're starting to feel him now, completely, the warmth of his nude thighs against yours and his cold fingertips moving down your body now. Then, you feel the warmth and weight of his dick, half-hard and pressed against the top of your thigh.

"How are you horny this early in the morning? Oh my god, Yunho," you murmur, though you feel your stomach swirl at the sensation of him getting harder against you. "How can you even be awake right now? How are you not hungover?"

"Dude, you had like three beers yesterday. You can't be hungover."

And yeah, he's right, you've definitely been worse for wear. Truthfully, you hadn't really been drunk at all yesterday, barely tipsy. It's just that, between the stressful tempo of university and the growing responsibility of adulthood, alcohol got to your head and stomach fast. You had quit while you were ahead, swapping the beers for soda when you started to feel the buzz of it in your head. Then, the way Yunho had fucked you within an inch of your life last night didn't really help with your state either. Soreness spread through your legs and back, and your head ached from the way he had robbed you of your breath with his fingers in your mouth yesterday. If anything, it was Yunhos fault, this whole dreariness, though you'd never allow him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"Well. I'm not a teenager anymore, Yunho. I can't handle my liquor the same these days."

"You couldn't handle it back then either. Hey! Remember when you did shots for the first time and you threw up all over my new shoes, and-"

"Yunho. Shut up." you groan, flailing your arm aimlessly to attempt a slap at Yunho. "Just, shh. I'll let you fuck me if you just shut up."

He kisses you another time, sweet kisses pressed against your lips as his hand cradles your face.

"Don't say it like that," he whispers. "You don't let me fuck you. I fuck you because you want me to fuck you. If you don't want it, then I won't."

Sweet; unbearably sweet and loving Yunho. He's so kind, so good to you, that it makes you want to cry or spread your legs, anything and everything. It's easy to see why you'd started fucking him in the first place, this annoyingly sweet friend of yours.

Yunho kisses you once more, and mumbles into your mouth, "Besides, I don't wanna fuck you. I wanna go down on you."

A soft, breathy sigh leaves your lips at that and your hands come up to grasp Yunhos waist instinctively. You press your fingers into his sides, dancing up and down to his chest and then his hips, massaging the smooth skin. You curl your hands around his back, pushing and pulling him down to you so you can meet his lips and kiss him back for the first time this morning.

Yunho leans back down, meeting your lips in a fumbling crash. He sucks your bottom lip between his, gracing his teeth over the sensitive skin of your lip before he bites down. You whine into his mouth at his growing harshness, the unrelenting need he always kisses you with when he gets like this. A long, protesting groan leaves your lips when he pulls away again in the middle of a kiss.

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578 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

#2

the way you taste

synposis: san has been training you to deepthroat him

genre: smut. just smut

warnings: blowjob, deepthroating, dirty talk, praise, d/s tones, dom!san, spit, leg humping, cum

word count: 1,3k

"You're doing so good," San assures from above you. "But you can take more, can't you?"

The hand on the back of your head is gentle, even though he's putting pressure on the back of your head. He's holding you in place, fingertips pressing into your scalp as his hips push forward, and his thumb is stroking over your hair. Sans other thumb caresses over your cheekbone, and he taps your cheek as a reminder to relax. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you push the last little bit before your nose touches at Sans pelvis.

San has trained you for this, kept your mouth around him and talked you through it plenty of times to prepare you for taking him down completely, and now with him as deep as he can go, San coos praise.

"There you go, pretty baby. So good, keep it there."

The feeling of his cock so deep in your throat is filling, distracting and all-consuming, and Sans praise is clouding your mind already. Spit pools in your mouth, and you swallow around him as best as you can, probably dribbling saliva down your chin. San hisses at the sensation of your throat clenching, swallowing around him, and you can feel him twitch in the back of your throat.

"Feels so fucking good like this." San praises. It would feel better to him if you were bobbing your head, swirling your tongue over the sensitive head and meeting your mouth with your hand. You know it, and San does too, but this isn't just about mindless pleasure and making him come, it's more. It's the control, his hand on your head holding you down and his instructions teaching you how to breathe, suck, open your throat. You want to be good for him, that's what this is about; with Sans control, you can be good for him. He's still humming sweet assurance above you, and it makes you want to be even better, so that eventually you can suck him down entirely without him having to hold you down.

It's now that you dare a look up at him, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. He's awed, looking down at you with a dazed smirk on his lips, and even through the tears in your eyes you can see the pink blush that flushes from his cheeks to his chest. San looks beautiful, already fucked out and it makes you moan around his cock to know that he's so affected by just this, just your mouth on him.

Your lungs are starting to scream for a fresh breath, robbed of all oxygen when your mouth is closed around him and your nose is flush against his pelvis. San notices when your nose starts to fan out hot, jagged breaths around him, he loses his grip and pulls you off his cock with a grasp on your hair. You gasp for breath, air filling your lungs like you desperately need but far less satisfying than the fill of Sans cock, and you want him back in your mouth already.

"Breathe for me," San murmurs above you, and suddenly the thought of his cock is a little less important. He's so good, he helps you refocus when you need it, when he knows what's better for you. "You're doing so good for me, baby."

Sans fingers have left the back of your head, now petting over your hair, and he's wiping at the tears leaving your eyes. Kind, tender fingers wipe away the drool on your chin, and he just lets you take your time.

"More," you whisper. Your voice is shaky, coming out in an ugly croak, but Sans dick twitches in front of your face when he hears it. It's heady, the combination of his body hovering above you, his cock just inches away dripping with your spit, and the realization that you're rutting against Sans foot comes when he laughs heartily.

"Fuck," San hisses. "So eager, aren't you? My good baby. Just a little longer, breathe for me."

San knows better than to rush this, he knows that the cloudy daze of wanting to be good for him means that you forget your limits and he needs to wind you down. He's so kind, knows just how to take care of you.

After a few more breaths San taps his finger against your lips, a silent urging to get you to open your mouth, and you do. Your mouth falls open and you shuffle closer, keening into his hand gripping your face, and then San guides his cock back into your mouth.

Both of you know you're not going to be able to take much more - you had already sucked him off for a while before this to relax your throat and it's getting harder to keep him down without the ache getting too overwhelming.

"Only a little more," San groans. "Feels so good, you're gonna make me come soon, just- ah, a little more."

He pushes at the back of your head, meeting the push with the nudge of his hips to bury himself completely in your mouth again. The slide is easy now, able to take him without gagging and your tongue readily pushes up to make space for him. You have to look up at him now, have to see his face to feed the haze in your head to keep going when your throat is stinging so deteringly. San is panting, chest rising and sinking with his heaving breaths above you, and he's looking down at you with half-lidded eyes.

"Doing so good for me," His voice is low and breathy, fading out in a moan. He pulls your head away once more, gives you a few seconds to gasp in breaths of air. "Just one more time."

With one hand on the back of your head and the other enveloping your jaw, San pushes inside of your mouth once more. Fighting to keep his composure, he lets out a drawn-out moan in time with the thrust inside your mouth.

"Just like that," he whines. "Close your eyes for me, yeah? Keep that mouth open too."

He pulls out again, replacing your mouth with his own hand and you watch for just a second as he starts stroking up and down his cock before you close your eyes, letting your mouth fall open. A small complaint dies down in the back of your head, because you much prefer to be able to watch Sans face as he comes, rather swallowing his cum in your mouth. But there's the settling reminder that your throat aches, a lot, that you wouldn't be able to take the erratic thrusts of his cock in your mouth as he chases release, and much less the push of his cock down your throat when he comes.

"F-fuck, I'm gonna come, ah- you look so hot, I'm gonna come, baby." San stutters, heaving breaths interrupting his speech. He comes with a hand still in your hair, holding onto you as his cum spurts in streaks of white, landing over your cheeks, chin, lips, a little into your mouth. Instinctively, routinely, you swallow the little cum that coats your tongue happily, still rutting your hips against Sans leg. He hisses through his teeth, you can hear the sound of his hand still pumping his dick to work through his orgasm, and with a content sigh San stills his movements.

"You did so well for me, you were so perfect." San hums, dragging his thumb through the sticky cum on your chin, pushing it into your mouth. His foot nudges up at you, connecting with your crotch, and San speaks again. "Stop that."

You whine before you can even think - before the disappointment even settles in. Your hands are wrapped around his thigh, but you still the movement in your hips, dejected.

"What?" San quirks, a small smile on his lips. "You didn't think I'd let you cum like that, did you? My baby has been so good for me, and I'd let them cum like a bitch in heat on my leg? No. Let me clean you up, then I'll take care of you."

587 notes - Posted February 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

ateez: giving you head

notes: this feels so sloppy and unfinished but i’m posting it anyways bc brrrr brainrot. i have so many more thoughts as well but i had to tie it off or this would have been way too long.. anyways talk to me abt ateez

warnings: NSFW, oral, talks about d/s dynamics but nothing extreme, sub!idols, dom!reader, sub!reader, dom!idols, dirty talk, gender neutral reader, includes both dick & pussy

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856 notes - Posted January 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[itsforeverforme]

My "family" does this very interesting thing where they do all sorts of shit to me, literally ALL sorts. And, I'm supposed to be okay with it but when I fight back or say or do the same things that they do then I'm the problem, I'm out of line. I'm the bitch. Then, every fucking thing is my fault. So, we'll do whatever the hell we want to do with you. But you can't do shit. They can beat me, abuse me, and say very mean and awful stuff, all of that is okay. But no, I can't. I'm being disrespectful. If I display the hurt and don't indulge them and pretend that everything is okay then too I'm the issue. What is this? How do I understand all this? I've been trying since childhood to understand why they're the way they're but I just can't. I can't find a single reason other than the fact that it was their conditioning but as an adult is it conditioning or a choice? Using your past to hurt others?

Suddenly, I'm the bad person. Isn't that a victim card? Is that okay? And then to say that this is the way we're. Are they kidding me?!

I don't want to be mean or hurtful either but if it comes as self-defense then I will not hold back anymore. I will not let them treat me like shit ever again. They will not touch me. I will kill them if they ever try to touch me again. For so many adults to abuse a child is okay but if that child becomes older and tries to defend themselves then it is wrong? What kind of world is this? What is wrong with this world? I feel like I'm the bad person 24×7.

Still, I try my best to respect them because I don't want to be like them but at what cost? Only for them to think that they can treat me like shit again? Because that is what they do and because I can't. The energy I've to put in to be like them, to be all calculative and manipulative is immense. It is fucking exhausting. One fight in a year is more than enough for me (and even that I regret but until when am I supposed to hold back? But the minute it is over I hate, I loathe myself for participating in it) but for them to go and do it everyday like clockwork is hell.

And, then there's the new narrative that I don't listen to them, that I don't do what they say. I'm 23 years old, is it really wrong of me to want to do the things that I want to do that affect my life? Things that will impact me? And why should I be listening to them when their words, actions and behaviour have done nothing but hurt me, to decisions that have been made to cause me pain? Why should I listen to them? I don't want to. I'm so tired of them and their awfully shitty behaviour. And yet, I'm not supposed to be even then I'm in the wrong. Why? Because they're family. I can't hate or dislike them. Which I no more do. I feel nothing except anger towards them because they keep crossing my boundaries. And I can finally stand up for myself, I can say no and point out their shit.

I don't want anything to do with them. I will not stay here and end up like them. All resentful and awful.

I want to write my own destiny, my own truth. I want to live my own life, and find my voice in this massive world.