#will be thinking about this for at least two weeks. i haven't burned through a book this quickly in months it was sooOoooO good!!!

[goldentangerines]

some terrible indescribable things happens and you come back wrong from it and you can't tell what it is ..... and the world curls away from you in disgust and helpless admiration because you came back Wrong and you shouldn't exist at all but you do ...... you did something you can't remember and it turned you inside out because you've come back Wrong and your own skin is revolting against you ..... yeah

[personasintro]

Mutual Help | #03

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭: @kithtaehyung

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

One week later and you're walking into the club, hands in hands, trying to act like a real couple. It feels weird, although it's not the first time you're holding Jungkook's hand. But this time, it's a different concept and his fingers are tightly laced with yours. On the other hand, it does feel nice. His hand is way bigger than yours, and it's almost ridiculous how much comfort and security you feel.

It happened too fast. You haven't got the chance to talk about basic rules or how this is going to work. But apparently, Mr. Mutual Help thought it's a great way to show yourselves off when Jimin asked you both to go clubbing. One thing is sure – they can't know your relationship is fake. Of course, at first you were against it. You can't lie to Jimin and Taehyung, they're your friends. Although, Jungkook made sure you knew he doesn't want to lie to them either, but it's the only way to make sure it's believable. Words spread fast, and it doesn't matter if you trust that person. It can slip out accidentally and the whole plan would be useless.

"It's only for a month. We'll say we just wanted to try it and that there was no spark." he told you before you got out of the cab, lacing your fingers together that made you jump in shock.

"Stop jumping whenever I touch you. This has to be believable." he even scolded you.

That audacity.

You've never liked clubs that much. Besides the smell and proximity of sweaty and horny bodies, you never got the thrill behind it either. There's no toilet paper in the restroom which is always annoying, especially when you spend the rest of the night drinking and having to use the restroom all the time. But this is your chance to show yourselves, as a couple.

Jungkook leads you through the crowd, holding your hand even more tightly while he glances over his shoulders at you from time to time. Two minutes later, he manages to find Jimin sitting in a booth with Taehyung and some woman you've never seen before.

"Hey guys!" Taehyung waves excitedly, his cheeks slightly flashed showing off his boxy grin that makes you grin at him.

"Finally!" Jimin yells over the rap music, waving at you before his eyes drop to your locked hands. It's only a matter of a split second, before he smiles back at you as the both of you greet them properly.

"Oh, this is Hattie," Jimin says, introducing the woman with beautiful dark skin and curly hair that's sitting beside him. "We just met her before you guys got here, she's visiting for a few days." he explains, letting her introduce herself more properly.

As you're sitting down, Taehyung goes to order some drinks while you listen to her. She seems to be super nice, explaining how this is her fourth time visiting Seoul before Jimin starts to talk about Busan, his hometown, trying to persuade her how she should visit it as well. You talk back and forth for a couple of minutes, or at least try to through the loud music, before Taehyung is back and you're sipping on your drink.

There's slightly more alcohol in it than you'd appreciate, but you don't mind it that much.

Jungkook's hand is outstretched behind you, something you haven't noticed, until he taps your shoulder causing you to glance at him. He's sitting so damn close that you can smell his cologne that you've always loved and see his soft skin illuminating in the gloom lightening.

"I don't think we're doing a good job." he leans, lips brushing against your ear as you hear his husky voice causing you to almost shiver.

"What do you mean?"

You know exactly what he means by that. You've been in the club for a few minutes, but nobody can tell that you're dating together. Fake dating, of course.

"I think," he says, fingers brushing over your exposed shoulder since your denim jacket slipped down. "You know exactly what I mean." he breathes into your ear, your eyes anxiously dancing between your friends.

Your breath gets caught in your throat when you notice Jimin's eyes on you, watching how close Jungkook is. From his angle, it might look like Jungkook is kissing your neck or whispering sweet things into your ear. You shudder, staring with widened eyes when Jungkook pulls away, satisfied smirk adoring his lips. And then you get it.

He knew Jimin was watching. He wanted him to watch.

"You're a better actor than I thought." you comment, making sure he's the only one who can hear you.

"You've no idea." he smirks, licking his lips before he reaches for his drink.

Jeon Jungkook is going to be the death of you.

It seems like Jungkook has it all planned out to the details. Considering Hoseok, Jungkook's and Kiko's mutual friend that introduced them to each other, is here as well. He walks up to the booth you're all sitting in, grinning at everyone with red cheeks that mimic Taehyung's. He's not drunk though, speaking perfectly fine as he's catching up with everyone. You almost forgot how social and happy he is all the time.

He talks with all of you for a few more minutes, before he checks the time on his watch causing his eyes to slightly widen. 

"It was so good to see all of you again! But I'm supposed to bring drinks to friends I came here with, they're probably gonna kill me." he explains, glancing at everyone.

"Oh, with whom are you here with?" Taehyung asks cheerfully, back straightening in an almost cheerful manner of the thought of meeting new people. You know it's just a pure curiosity.

Hoseok says names you don't know, but when Jimin lets out an occasional Ah, you know he must know some of those people. It's that moment when Kiko's name leaves Hoseok's mouth, his own eyes cautiously glancing at Jungkook who seems to look unbothered. Although, you feel his shoulder tense against you. Still, he doesn't react to it verbally, calmly sipping his drink as Hoseok excuses himself.

"You wanna dance?" Jungkook asks loudly, leaning into you while you can smell vodka on his breath. It's not strong, nor uncomfortable. It's very faint.

"I can't dance," you almost whine, protesting at the idea of you dancing.

You're confident in a lot of things, but unfortunately, dancing between a bunch of bodies that can dance way better than you, is not one of them.

"I need more booze for that." you tell him, knowing he's aware of your drunken phase.

You don't care about dancing, as long as you're drunk enough not to care. It barely happens, but still.

"Oh, come on. I'll lead you." he insists, already standing up as he outstretches his arm for you.

Well, you can't say no now. So with a roll off your eyes and telling him how annoying he is, your hand clasps into his before he leads you into the crowd. Luckily, he stays at the edge, so no one's pushing into you as he grabs your hips. Your arms automatically wrap around his neck, trying to follow the way his hips move before he presses you closer. Your chests bump against each other, causing you to let out a surprised gasp while you're looking into Jungkook's eyes. He's grinning at you, leading your hips with his hands.

"You knew she's here?" you ask him, having an urge to say something.

You don't have to say her name, he knows exactly who you're talking about.

A soft sigh leaves his  mouth, almost unnoticeable but you still notice it, before he nods curtly. "Yeah, Hoseok texted me over the week and he might have mentioned he's gonna be here tonight. Usually, where Hoseok is, Kiko is there as well." he explains.

For some reason, you just wished he'd tell you. You'd appreciate to be included in his small plans because now, you just feel like a figure in his own game. You're supposed to be in this together, whilst you're completely clueless about what's going on. It makes you more annoyed than it should have.

"Are you mad?" he asks, eyes watching you with worry, noticing the sour look on your face.

"I just wished you'd tell me, that's all." you tell him, voice almost inaudible because of the loud music that makes your whole body vibrate with each bass.

He turns you around, quickly catching you when you almost stumble from the sudden movement, your back pressed against his firm chest. Your naked back brushed against the material of his black dress shirt, his silver necklace cold against your skin. He leans down, lips brushing against your ear once again while you're trying to distract yourself from the way his belt digs into your lower back.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes quietly, but still loud enough for you to hear him. "I'll tell you everything from now on."

With a quick nod, that's all he needed for him to relax, intensifying his dance moves as he rolls his body into yours. He makes it feel easy, leading your body as if you were some doll, while you brush against him. You don't think you've ever danced with him this hard, especially when his belt brushes against your ass every now and then. He turns you around, your forehead almost bumping into his chin, while your eyes meet right away.

"Hi," you blurt out, blinking at him as he grins at you.

"Hello," he tells you back, reaching for your denim jacket that managed to slip off your shoulders as he puts it right back, covering your skin. He cups your face, while his other hand is placed securely on your hip. "I think it's time for me to find out what kind of kisser you are."

Wait, what--

Before you can react in any way, his head dips down as his lips softly brush against your own. You almost flinch back, but he holds your face close to his, nose brushing against your cheek before he pokes your nose with it. It's cute and you'd almost giggle at the soft touches, but he presses his lips more firmly now, moving them much more eagerly and harder. You gasp, feeling him to lick your bottom lip. You can't even react, standing there in pure shock at the way he's kissing you because fuck, this man can kiss really good. You've never been kissed this way. So passionately and impatiently, yet with elegance and no imposition.

He takes your moment of surprise to invite himself, tongue slightly brushing against your own. It's not uncomfortable and he's not forcing his way inside, letting himself to test waters with you. He's back with kissing you, biting into your lower lip before he tugs it, eyes boring into yours. Your whole body feels hot, insides quivering with anticipation mixed with lust. But he pulls away, catching a breath which you do as well, noticing you held your breath this whole time.

"Sometimes it's good to dominate your partner," he tells you, causing you to blink at him in confusion before it clicks. He's giving you advice, doing his part of the deal. "And stop staring at me so shockingly. We're supposed to be dating." he jokes, brushing his dark locks out of his eyes, that are currently crinkles in amusement.

"How can I not? My best friend just kissed me out of nowhere!" you exclaim, realizing what has just happened.

Your best friend just made out with you and it left you breathless, and not just because your air was cut off for a minute.

"You better get used to it," he tells you with a grin, his body moving against your own again. "We're dating now." you hear him say, his eyes moving somewhere behind you.

The slight shock is switched with dark eyes on the same spot, causing you to subtly turn around. You don't see it at first, eyes following his line of vision before you notice Kiko standing just a few meters away from you, her eyes boring into Jungkook's before one of her friends catches her attention.

"I didn't know she was there." Jungkook tells you as soon as you turn back to him, and you almost laugh at his sudden distressed face. He's really being honest with everything right now.

"I mean... It's a good thing that she saw, right?"

He lets your words sink in, eyes flickering between yours before his lips curl into a satisfied smirk. "Yeah."He's not sure whether she saw you two kissing, but he could recognize her shocked eyes from miles away. Bingo.

[heich0e]

The faint plucking of guitar strings drifts around the corner from the bedroom, greeting you as you press yourself flat to the wall just on the other side of the doorway.

Your hands rest over your diaphragm, feeling the way each unsteady breath makes your ribcage expand and contract every time you breathe in and out. The material of your t-shirt is soft underneath your fingertips, and you twist it up into your fists as you brace yourself.

Slowly, you peek your head around the corner.

Semi is seated at the edge of the bed, dressed in only a pair of underwear. His guitar is in his lap, one hand loosely circling the neck while the other is scribbling something down into the well-loved notebook he carries with him at nearly all hours of the day. His silvery hair is pinned back at his temples with two cute little barrettes he'd stolen from you, and it leaves his concentrated face on full display for you to appreciate.

He notices you immediately when you appear, his eyes flickering up from the page of his notebook to meet yours. He smiles, slightly crooked and deeply fond just like it always is.

"Hey, stranger."

You smile back, or at least you try to. Something about the soft way Semi speaks to you has always made you preen slightly--made you feel shiny, and special, and precious. Its effects are slightly dulled today.

"Hey," you greet him in return, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe and resting your weight against it. "You busy?"

"No, no," he shakes his head emphatically. "What's up?"

The curtains hanging over the window behind him are open and letting in the view of the morning outside. The light is soft, an early fog still hanging in the air that the sun hasn't yet had the chance to burn off, diffusing the sunlight delicately through the sky. It saturates everything--the world outside, the bedroom, the boy sitting atop your bed--in warmth.

Eita looks at you with no reservation. His face open and honest and unsuspecting.

"So, it's not a big deal or anything," you start, your fingers plucking absentmindedly at the oversized shirt that you'd worn to bed, "I just told myself that I'd tell you today if nothing changed. And, uh, it didn't so..."

Semi's brow furrows, his smile dipping slightly in confusion.

You look up at the ceiling.

"It's probably not anything, so there's no reason to worry or whatever, but like... I'm late. By three weeks. Which isn't... like... you know. But I mean it's kind of a lot."

Your eyes burn as you stare at a spot of sunlight on the ceiling. You wonder what it's reflected from.

You're too scared to tear your eyes away from it.

"Do you think..." Semi can't even quite bring himself to pose the question in its entirety. Can't even bring himself to speak the word, like uttering it might make it real. You know the feeling.

You shrug apathetically.

"Not sure."

You hear some rustling.

"Hey, c'mere."

You look down and see that Eita has set his guitar aside, and sits with his arms opened at the end of the bed, beckoning you into his waiting embrace. You swallow and shuffle over, standing between his parted thighs. His arms wind tight around your waist, and he presses his face against your sternum as he pulls you tightly together.

"You shoulda told me sooner, you must have been stressed," he says gently. It's not really chiding, at least not in a way that leaves you any room to feel admonished. He sounds guilty that you were going through it all alone.

"I've just been trying not to think about it too much," you admit quietly, one hand on his shoulder and the other at the nape of his neck, tracing through the soft tresses that curl there.

You hold each other like that for a moment.

"I mean," Semi's breath is caught in the material of your t-shirt each time he speaks, the fabric warming with every word. "It it even possible?"

You shrug a little bit again, even though he can't see you. You two haven't been the most responsible lately, nor the least. But stranger things have happened. He pulls away and glances up at you.

"I mean, it's not impossible," you reply.

He catches the edge of his lip between the point of his canine, gnawing on it thoughtfully.

"Okay," he says after a moment. "So we should like, get you a test or something, yeah?"

You're a little shocked that he's being so rational. So calm. You're not really sure what you expected. It's not like Semi's irrational or un-calm as a general rule, or anything--this situation just isn't one that you have any point of reference for.

You find yourself nodding dumbly in response, lost for words.

Half an hour later you and Eita stand side by side in the pharmacy, dressed in similar haphazardly put together outfits of sweatpants and hoodies and sneakers. You have on a baseball cap, and Semi still has those barrettes in his hair.

You had no idea there were so many kinds of pregnancy tests.

Blue box, pink box, white box. Digital result. Consumer's choice. 99% accuracy. Fast response. Most trusted brand nationwide. Your eyes flicker from one variety to the next, taking in their various packaging and claims, the terms whirling around your mind nearly incoherently. You're overwhelmed.

Eita must notice.

"Hey,"--he dips down so his face takes over your line of sight, bent at the waist to get close to you--"you should go get us some coffees next door, I'll grab what we need here."

Your eyes scan his face for a moment, but you find only reassurance in his gaze, and then you nod.

Semi finds you outside of the coffee shop not long after with two iced drinks in hand, seated on a little bench. The plastic pharmacy bag with his purchase is looped casually over his wrist, and your eyes are drawn to it unconsciously as it rustles with each step of his approach.

"What did you get me?" he asks with a blithe, easygoing smile as he looks at the coffees in your hand. He always gets the same thing--a black americano--but every single time he asks anyway.

You hold up his drink for him to take.

"My favourite!" he says, accepting the beverage excitedly. "Thank you."

At home, the two of you sit on top of your bed with your coffees in hand, and Eita reads through the instructions that he'd found after he shook the contents of one (of FOUR) of the pregnancy test packages he'd bought out onto the bedspread.

"Okay, so it says here that you just have to pee on this part,"--Semi puts his coffee cup down in the cradle of his legs and then uncaps the little stick in his hand, pointing at the end. His eyes scan over the sheet of instructions of his lap. "It says you can also 'collect a sample' but if you do that you have to make sure you're using a clean cup."

"I don't wanna piss in one of our cups," you say miserably.

He glances up at you sympathetically.

"Okay, okay," he says, reading onwards. "It says that if you're testing early in the suspected pregnancy it should be your first pee of the morning, and that you shouldn't drink a lot of liquid beforehand if that's the case too."

That wouldn't really apply to you, given how late your period is.

Eita looks up suddenly, his eyes fixed to the cup of coffee held to your lips. You watch him curiously.

"What?" you ask him, chewing on the end of your straw.

He bites down on his lower lip for a moment, like he's grappling with something. "Should you be... y'know. Drinking that? Coffee, I mean."

You blink. You're not sure, actually.

"I thought, like if you are..." His eyes flicker up to yours, his expression a bit strained.

You hadn't thought twice about ordering your usual coffee that morning. You haven't thought twice about anything you've been drinking, or eating, or doing over the past three weeks. The thought makes you feel nauseated. You don't know anything about pregnancy, but you know that there's a list longer than the Shinano river about the things you're supposed to avoid.

Your lips flatten into a line.

"Hey, hey," Semi senses your sudden panic and rushes to reassure you. "It's gonna be fine. We might be worrying for nothing. We're gonna be fine."

The pregnancy test says the results will be final after three minutes, and Semi waits outside the bathroom door with a timer as you wash your hands. You would have thought that the three minutes would have taken a long time to pass, but by the time you finish drying your hands and shuffle back out to the bedroom where your boyfriend is waiting for you wringing his hands, it really takes no time at all before the alarm on his phone to signify the three minutes has elapsed is chiming through the room.

Not pregnant.

The results on the test are clear, and you feel an immediate rush of relief.

"Let me see," Eita says after you read him the result, reaching for the test.

"Eita, I pissed on this," you say with a laugh, keeping it from his reach. You turn the test in your hand so he can see the result, and you watch as his eyes scan the little stick intensely.

"You should take another one," he says almost immediately, surprisingly serious in tone. His eyes flicker up to yours and the corner of his mouth lifts in a weak smile. "Just in case, y'know?"

It takes you almost an hour and a half to get through not one more, but all three remaining tests (at Eita's continued insistence)--because, as it turns out, your body was not meant to urinate on command.

Finally, all four tests return the same result.

You are NOT pregnant.

You flop back onto your bed with an almost hysterical giggle, tossing your arm over your eyes.

"That was so stressful," you say, letting out a long breath.

Eita is very quiet below you.

You open your eyes and push yourself up on your elbows. At the end of the bed, your boyfriend is sitting with one leg pulled up onto the mattress, staring at the four completed tests with an emotion you don't quite understand.

"Hey," you call down to him, and he looks over at you. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he assures you quickly. He laughs a little, shaking his head. "Nothing. I promise. It's just,"--he stares down at the tests again-- "I think I got a bit excited, is all."

Your eyes widen, your heart giving a great, almighty throb in your chest.

"Is that weird?" he asks you, turning to look at you once more, his tone barely above a whisper.

You blink, utterly dumbfounded.

The midday sun outside your bedroom has cleared away the early morning fog now, and it shines brightly on the city outside. Eita is backlit by the glow, eclipsing it.

"No, no of course that's not weird," you finally reply, your throat tight. "But a baby, Eita?"

Semi's head hangs a little bit.

"I mean, we both wanna have them some day right?" He fiddles with a piece of packaging leftover from one of the tests idly. "We're both adults. We've got good jobs. We have our own place, and I know it's not huge or anything but I think it would get us by for a few years. And I love you, so..."

Your stomach clenches, and you push yourself up, crawling down to the bottom of the bed and into Eita's lap at the end of his sheepish explanation. His hands rest at your waist, his fingers dipping under the hem of your hoodie without thinking.

"You wanna have a baby with me?" you repeat a variation of your earlier question, still incredulous but now almost giddy.

Eita's eyes trace your face: your eyes, your nose, your lips.

He nods. "Yeah, I do."

He leans forwards and kisses you sweetly.

His lips still taste like his americano.

His fingertips are calloused from years of guitar playing.

He's warm like the sun.

You pull away, but Eita follows you a bit before he lets your lips part.

"If we have a baby, you have to marry me you know," you tell him firmly.

He laughs, his smile wide and bright. He leans forward, resting this forehead against your shoulder.

"I'd have taken you to the city register's office first thing this morning before we stopped at the pharmacy, if you would've let me." He lifts his face and peeks up at you, his lashes fluttering against his suddenly pink cheeks. "I'd still take you now."

You swallow thickly, watching the way Eita's tongue peeks out to moisten his pink lips. You dip forward until you can feel the heat of his mouth under your own.

"Courthouse can come later," you whisper.

There's something you'd much rather spend the day doing, after all.

[dtrghost]

closeness and proximity part.6

pairing: ghost x f!reader

synopsis: callsign is sunshine, because you're anything but. team 141 thought ghost was bad? at least they could crack a smile out of the guy from time to time, you? you were stone faced, all day, every day. until one day you're not, not with a certain someone anyway.

warnings: fluff, some angst, ooc simon, virgin! reader, 18+ smut, cunnilingus, piv, praise kink, this a softer smut, degrading terms are still gonna be used but in a praising way because i think after everything that's happened her first time shouldn't be too much, he still gets rough though. size kink, overstimulation!receiving, some masochism!receiving on simon's behalf, some sub!ghost, cursing.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT:

word count:

The last half a year wasn't as bad as she thought it'd be. Turns out she wasn't a sociopath, she had some tendencies sure, but in reality she was just broken from years of unresolved trauma. She had a long way to go, but according to the reports sent to HQ by her therapist, Ms. Maeve Riva, she was making excellent progress.

Price moved out halfway through her leave, and at first she was happy about it, the flat was a lot cleaner, quieter, she had more space for herself and she could decorate it in peace without hearing him grumble about how feminine her decor was.

But she got lonely within a week, and adding on the depression from reliving her worst traumatic experiences, she'd end up calling someone to talk to, which was more often than not, Price. She trusted him enough for that, and she knew he wouldn't tell the team. She wanted them to think she was getting better, and in a lot of ways she was, but some aspects of recovery couldn't be helped.

It was the last day before she was officially off leave and back on call, and she wanted to make it memorable. She sat down in her usual spot in front of Maeve who smiled warmly at her.

"Last day! I brought.." She pulled out two half liter bottles of cherry coke, handing one to her with a cheeky look in her eyes.

"These, to celebrate you! Look how far you've come!" Her therapist gushed emotionally. She chuckled, cracking it open and taking a sip. She sighed at the burn of the carbonation as it slide down to her stomach.

"Thank you Maeve. Couldn't have done it without you and you're weird obsession with tea." Maeve rolled her eyes, snickering as she took a swig from her bottle. Normally she'd do this with alcohol, but knowing her client it was best not to.

"So what's on the agenda for today. Party your heart out, one night stand." She hummed, shrugging her shoulders.

"I was actually gonna call a friend of mine."

"Oooooo one night stand with a friend then. Those are always interesting." She laughed and looked at her incredulously.

"No no no just for some time to reconnect. I'm getting tired of being alone all the time." Maeve nodded, tilting her bottle towards her in agreement.

"Who's this friend of yours? Are they hot?"

"Name's classified, but damn straight he's hot. Shit. I wanted to climb him like a tree when we first met." Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Alright then. So have you asked him out yet?" She sighed, leaning back on the couch.

"Nope. Don't even know where he is right about now. Haven't tried to call in the last 6 months either."

"And why is that?" Here the therapy session truly started.

"About 2 weeks before I was put on leave we had an.. altercation. Meaning a knife to my neck and some hurtful words. He apologized, we moved on, but a part of me still feels like what he said was true." She knew what she was referring to, and she leaned forward and put her hand on her knee gently.

"You then and you now are two very different people. Yes your occupation requires more, gruesome methods of getting information out of people, but you feel remorse, you do it out of necessity. You can't keep beating yourself up about it." Y/N nodded, looking down at her phone for a second in contemplation.

"Give him a call. I'll be here with you." Her eyes flickered to Maeve's, only seeing comfort and reassurance. She sighed, her tongue poking at the side of her cheek for a moment before she picked up her phone and looked in her notes. She'd asked Price for Simon's number before he left, and she saved it for when she got the courage to actually contact him. She took a deep breath, hitting the call button and listening to it ring in her ear.

"This is Ghost." Her heart was beating out her chest, the sound of his voice causing her eyes to water involuntarily. Maeve noticed the immediate panic in her eyes and reached over to squeeze her hand, gesturing her to respond. She couldn't hear the conversation, but she could tell by her facial expressions the idea of what was going on.

"Uh-, hey, it's Y/N." All the air left his lungs for a moment, his throat dry as he sat up from his bed. It was his off day, so he back at his flat, watching some old crime movie that he'd seen a while back and took a liking to.

"I just wanted to ask if you um, if you wanted to just ya know, hang out with me later. If you can." She hated how she sounded. Her voice was shaky and she was having a hard time getting the words out. The silence was killer, and it was because he was shocked. 6 months of no contact and suddenly she's asking him to dinner.

"...Yeah. Alright. Time?" Her eyes blew open, Maeve cheering her on as she forced herself to remain calm.

"Does 6:30 work for you? I know you prefer staying in so I can-"

"S'alright I'll come to you. I know where you live anyway."

"Oh alright." It went silent for a bit, and she shrugged at Maeve's curious look.

"...You doing alright then?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah. I'll tell you about it when I see. I don't have alcohol so if you plan to drink you'll have to bring your own. Oh, and no masks. Bye." She hung up quickly, taking a deep inhale as she looked at Maeve with wide eyes.

"So you have a date then."

"I guess so. He's coming to me... fuck." She realized she had no idea when he was going to show up.

"We can cut this one short. I got you covered." She thanked her, seeing it was 4 and she needed time to get ready. She rushed home, cleaning up before racing upstairs to change where she was suddenly at a loss. What the hell was she going to wear?

Simon was in no better situation either, staring at his closet that consisted of hoodies, cargo pants, black t-shirts, and mostly work attire. What did a hang out at her place constitute? Nothing formal surely, casual? He decided on a black t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of black shoes he had that weren't too worn out.

The idea of no masks surprised him, but he didn't care too much. They'd known each other for years and he'd been meaning to find a reason to show her his face, and seeing her own. Then realization struck him.

Did that mean she's not wearing one either?

He couldn't help the sudden bloom of excitement in his chest and stomach at the thought of it. He sprayed on his cologne and grabbed his keys before heading to his car. He had memorized the way there, having driven by sometimes to catch a quick glimpse at her as a way to check in.

She sighed, looking in the mirror at her final look, fear and overthinking plaguing her mind. She didn't wanna look like a bum in her own house, so she put on a nicer pair of clothes, which was really just an all black, long sleeve two piece. She looked comfortable but put together at the same time, even if she was anything but the latter.

What if she just called him and said something came up? What if he's already driving over here?

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts, mentally cursing herself as she sprayed herself with her favorite perfume and scurried downstairs while adjusting her hair. With a deep breath, the door opened and her eyes blew open, and so did his.

Fuckin' hell. I'm not gonna make it through the night. He thought to himself.

Her mask was off, revealing her perfect nose, skin, and god those lips. They were just the right size, shiny with whatever lipgloss she was wearing. She flashed him a smile that took his breath away. Her outfit hugged her curves in sinful ways that made him swallow his drool before it had to chance to run out of his mouth.

He was just as hot, the way his clothes perfectly hugged him figure, showing off the slim of his waist and broad, bulky shoulders. His pants accentuated his muscular thighs, getting just that much tighter around them as he moved in them.

His jaw was chiseled, as if sculpted by the Gods themselves, his scars added depth to his face with plump lips and a look that would make anyone's drawls or panties fall off. She's surprised hers didn't.

"You look great."

"You look beautiful." They said at the same time, their cheeks beginning to burn.

"Thank you Simon. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too Y/N, oh and I.. I brought these.. for you." He pulled out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back, her eyes lighting up in surprise as she hadn't noticed his arm behind his frame in the first place. They were gorgeous. White roses with stems of lavender to compliment them.

"Awwww thank you. These are beautiful." She smelled them, humming at the aroma.

"Do you mind if I put them in a vase really quick?" He shook his head, watching her shuffle back into the flat as he trailed behind her, shutting the door. He took his time looking around, nodding to himself as he was impressed at how well decorated it was. He left his fairly bare, the walls were gray and he'd only furnished it with the necessities. He watched her walk back into the room, bending down to put the flowers on the coffee table in front of the couches.

He almost groaned at how perfectly those pants hugged her legs, complimenting the shape of her ass as she adjusted the vase to be at the center of the table. Her hair fell off to the side beautifully, her velvet locks entrancing him as this was only the second time he'd seen it naturally. He forced himself to look away as she stood back up, smiling at them before shifting her gaze to him. She noticed that he didn't bring anything other than the flowers.

"Not drinking tonight?" He shook his head, dropping his keys onto the table.

"Alright, do you want anything else? Water, I have some coke."

"Coke's fine." She hummed, quickly grabbing two bottles from her fridge and coming back to see him getting himself comfortable on her couch.

"Here." She passed it to him before taking a seat next to him, crossing her leg over the other as she grabbed the remote to put on a movie.

Fuck, those thighs of hers.

He couldn't help but let his mind drift off for just a moment.

How good they'd look locked around his head as he ate her pretty little cunt out until she was begging for him to stop. How'd they feel against his body as he fucked her through the night. Their smoothness, how'd they be shaking by dawn.

"Simon, you okay?" Her voice dragged him out. She looked at him curiously as he snapped out of it suddenly, embarrassed.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She pressed, making him snicker to her surprise.

"I don't think we'd make it to the end of the movie if I told you that." Her jaw dropped for a moment, suddenly not sure how to comprehend his blatant statement as her thighs unconsciously pressed together.

"Don't do that." He commanded roughly, eyes flickering away from her legs and his hand squeezing the bottle in his hand a bit tighter. Suddenly she understood, and she couldn't help the grin stretching across her face making him roll his eyes.

"I know I know, I'm hot. Don't gotta tell me." She teased lightly, chuckling to herself.

"Don't get all cocky on me now. You were the one fantasizing about me while I was in the shower that one time." "Fuck yeah. Told my therapist about it too, she thought I should've shot my shot when I had the chance back then." He looked over to her for a brief moment, watching as she took in the look in his eyes before they flickered back to the screen.

"You could still shoot it." He suggested quietly, his cheeks burning red as he took another swig of his drink. He wished he'd brought the damn whiskey.

"Would I miss?" He huffed a small laugh at her uncertainty.

"You never miss." Her throat went dry, her eyes darting around the room in front of her before her hand reached out to the one he had on his thigh, grasping it in hers before resting it on the meat of hers.

She sighed lightly at the feeling of his hand squeezing her quads, her eyes shutting for a moment as she let her head fall back.

"Call it a miracle if we get to the credits Riley." He chuckled, his thumb stroking her clothed skin gently. They watched the movie in tense silence, their breathing a bit ragged in an attempt to not jump on each other.

"So, how's the team been?" She began, watching him shift in his spot.

"S'been good. Soap's still a shithead but what's new with that." He listened to her chuckle, missing the melody of it.

"Not surprising."

"How's therapy been? Honestly." He was looking for a genuine answer, turning his head and seeing her bite her inner cheek for a moment.

"It's been rough at times, but I guess I should've been expecting that." She avoided Simon's gaze for a bit while, feeling a bit odd talking about it. When she looked back up, she noticed his look focused on her neck.

Her hand reached up, feeling the unevenness in the area from the scar that was left after he pressed his knife against her neck.

"It's okay, forgot it was even there." She brushed off.

"No it's not." Every part of him regretted that, he never forgave himself.

"It was justified. I threatened you before that too. You were just scared, rightfully so." She had reached over to the other side of him, grasped his clenched fist and gently poking her fingers through the break it apart.

"Si, honey. Look at me." His eyes flickered to hers, his chest tightening at the tenderness looking back at him as she squeezed his hand. She was so close, he could smell her lovely perfume, one that made his head spin.

"I forgive you. Okay?" He hesitated, his hand slowly relaxing as hers slipped in, intertwining their fingers for a moment before she sat back. She noticed the dazed look on his face, his mouth slightly opened as his eyes flickered all over her body, from her face, to her waist, to her legs, and back up.

"So how long have you had a crush on me for."

"Oh fuckin' hell."

"What it's a fair question! I'll answer if you answer."

"I'm not answering that."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a bloody stupid question that's why."

"No it's not! If we're gonna fuck then I should at least get to know how long you've been waiting." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his eyebrow and listening to her laugh.

"Well, hopefully not JUST fuck, but I'll take what I can get." She added on quietly, picking at her nails with a small smile on her lips.

"Since a few months after we met." He answered suddenly, looking back up at her. His stare was intense, as it always was, his amber eyes boring into hers.

"Yeah. About the same for me. I didn't understand it for a while until I went through therapy, a bit before that but I wasn't completely sure until I talked it out." He nodded.

"Thank you, by the way." She spoke up, her leg beginning to bob nervously.

"For?"

"Everything. Trying to help me when I didn't want it, coming back for me, fighting HQ for me. All that stuff."

"Of course I came back for you." She placed down her bottle with a shrug.

"I didn't think you would."

Sick, selfish bastard. I don't want something like that on my team.

Those words had stuck with her, and he could tell.

"Oh um, speaking of. We did this thing in therapy where I had to write a letter to the person I think I hurt the most and you were one of them. I was gonna mail it but I never found the courage. Can I just give it to you now?" His eyes widened for a moment, placing down his coke on the floor next to him and giving her a curt nod. She rushed upstairs, opening her drawer and taking out the singular letter she had kept, the rest already having been shipped out.

She stared at it for a moment. Was she ready to hand this to him? For him to read her thoughts and emotions during one of the most vulnerable times of her life? She could say she lost it, accidentally shipped it to the wrong address by mistake. She could've just wrote "sorry for being a prick my bad" and moved on, but she made it personal, emotional, she was pretty sure that there was a stain on it from a tear that had fallen as she wrote.

"Get lost?" Simon called out, noticing how long she'd been gone. She took a deep breath before going back down, staring down at it as she took a seat next to him. He could see her hesitance to hand it to him, her fingers tightly glued to the sides.

"Read it to me then." He offered, shifting his body to face her.

"I'm not sure if that'll be any better."

"I disagree. Go on. Take your time." She felt small in that moment, his intense gaze causing her hands to shake as her finger glided over the indents of his name written on the front. She turned it over, gently slipping her finger underneath the seal of the envelope and opening it, pulling out the letter.

"I tried to keep it short." She spoke, her heart pounding and her voice wavering. He nodded, though she likely didn't see it with how trained her eyes were on the letter. With a deep breath, she started, her voice being the only sound in the room as Simon paused the movie.

"Dear Simon, I dreaded writing your letter because of how personal it would be, but I managed to force myself to pick up my pen and put ink on the page. This letter has no goal, and my therapist told me it was supposed to make me feel better, but that isn't the case for this one."

She stopped for a moment, feeling her throat close up and tighten.

"Take your time lovie." He crooned softly, watching as her eyes darted around the page. She could do this, she thought to herself, clearing her throat and beginning again.

"We've known each other for a few years now, and at first I thought we'd be great friends. We were alike in some ways and even if some our conversations were painfully awkward, I looked forward to them. I was excited when I found out that I was being moved to team 141 because I'd see you again. I used to stay up sometimes and think about some bullshit future with you, where we'd live somewhere quiet together, getting old with a cat and a small garden in the back or whatever else I imagined. But then I actually got there."

She could feel the tears burning in her eyes. Simon didn't speak, instead he just continued to stare at her with a soft gaze, watching the emotions flicker in her eyes, like the candlelight he had seen all that time ago.

"I was confused. I didn't understand why I imagined these fantasies about us or why I wanted to be around you in the first place. I couldn't handle all of it at the time. I had done horrible things in front of you, tortured people in ways that now I can't stomach thinking about. There is no amount of money or apologies I can give to take my actions back, to bring those people back to life and figure out another way. And I did it because I'd seen it done before. I've watched the strongest of people break in Verdansk, and I replicated it because I knew it would work, and that's what matters right? That i got the job done."

Her voice had cracked, the tears that had once blurred her vision now streaming down her cheeks.

"I know that none of this is an excuse, and I won't ask for your forgiveness because I know that I don't deserve it. But I need you to know that I'm sorry, for hurting you, for scaring you, for failing you. Your face in that room is what I see when I close my eyes at night, consistently reliving it every chance of sleep that I get. You tried to save me and I didn't let you, and I'll always regret that. You words stuck with me, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life trying to make amends with myself and everyone else I've hurt. If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading, and for what it's worth, if anything, I'm truly sorry for what I've done to you.

Yours wholeheartedly,

-Y/N L/N."

He watched as she covered her face with the paper to try and hide her sobs, even though her body shook and convulsed lightly as she cried. His body moved before his mind did, getting up silently. She thought he was leaving, and she was okay with that.

"Hey, look at me." He cooed softly, gently taking the paper from her tight grip and placing it on the table behind him. Her eyes flickered to his, her cheeks red and puffy in his hands as he cupped her cheeks.

"I forgive you, Y/N." His voice was calm, even. She shook her head, her hands coming up to her face to hide her tears, only for him to pull her arms away and intertwine their fingers.

"What I said was fucked up. It's not true. You're not sick, you're not selfish. Do you hear me?" The resolve in his eyes only made her feel worse. She wanted him to hate her, to scream in her face and rip up her letter, but here he was. On his knees in front of her and holding her hands, doing the opposite.

"You're all I want, and you're all I'll need. I know that now, always have." He could still see the hesitance and disbelief in her wide range of emotions, so he did what he's been wanting to do for so long. His hands went back to her face, and with a gentle tug their lips met. It was almost too overwhelming, the sensations that flooded her senses soon overpowered her. She kissed back with the same fiery passion, sighing into his mouth as his hands dropped to her waist.

He rose, pushing her frame back into the couch, hovering over her. She was engulfed by him, he kissed her like it would be his last, pouring every ounce of his soul into hers, and she drank it gladly. She engraved the feeling of his soft lips on hers into her mind, feeling the roughness of his palms gliding under her top to feel her skin against his.

"Let me show you how much I need you lovie." He muttered against her lips, his eyes dark with lust, love, and desire.

"Let me take care of you."

Her throat when dry at his words as they sent shockwaves through her body, her thighs pressing together once more as heat gathered in the place she now needed him the most. With a single nod she was picked up in his arms, her legs wrapped around his middle as he began heading up the stairs to her room.

"Where." He followed her point to the right, pushing the door open with his hand and shutting it with his leg. His lips met hers again, moaning at the feeling of her hands combing through his hair. He tossed her onto the bed with a small umph, and she suddenly regretted wearing pants.

~ Oh we're switching to 2nd POV for this yall. Buckle up! Or should I say saddle up ;)))) ~

He settled himself between your legs, his hands squeezing the flesh of your plump ass as his lips hit yours, this time rougher and more needy.

"You ever done this before lovie?" He mumbled against your lips. Your breath hitched, your body tensing underneath his as you look away, embarrassed by your unspoken answer. He on the other hand, he loved it. His length grew impossibly harder at the idea of him being your first and your last.

He'd be damned to let you go again. You were it for him, it ended here, just you and him.

"Hey hey, look at me." Your eyes flickered to his, only to find fondness and excitement in his eyes as he rested his forehead against yours.

"It's alright love. I'm more than happy to be your first." He could feel you relax, his lips grazing over yours as he moved to your ear.

"I'll do it right yeah? I'll take my time with you, give it to you real nice and ruin you. You want that sweet thing? You want me to ruin you?" He could hear your uneven, shaky breaths as your legs pressed together, trying to relieve some of the pressure of your arousal. He groaned at the sight, of your small body under his and aching to be touched by his big, rough hands.

"Please Si." You whimpered, your eyes shiny with lust and need. He used his knee to push your legs open, his hand traveling down your body and cupping your hot sex. Your skin burned at him feeling how wet you were, the moisture pushing through your panties and just nearly to your pants.

"I know lovie. I got you, always have right?" You nodded vigorously, buckling your hips into his hand desperately for some friction. He hummed, pressing a sweet kiss on your lips before they traveled to your neck. You felt his tongue travel over your scar in a silent apology, one of likely many as his hand cupped your breast under your shirt. He loved how perfectly they fit in his hands, how soft and supple they were.

"How about we take some of these things off." His suggestion was more of an order, and you worked quick, pulling off your top and unclipping your bra as his knees sat on either side of your hips, watching with a raging hard on and sultry eyes.

"You're fucking beautiful love, so perfect for me." You felt vulnerable under his intense gaze, gripping the sheets to stop yourself from covering your chest. His head came down, swirling his tongue around your nipple as he teased and pinched the other one. Your breathy, soft moans were music to his ears, and they only grew louder as you felt him grind his clothed length against your core. He kissed and sucked, leaving marks all over chest to claim you as his.

"Simon" You whined, grabbing at his shirt, watching it ride a bit to showcase his lower back. With a smirk he lifted himself up for a moment, slowly peeling off his shirt as if he were giving you a show before tossing it somewhere in the room. Your hands began to roam, and he watched as you became entranced by him, your fingers delicately tracing his scars and running over his muscles.

You shivered, feeling his finger gliding underneath the waistband of your pants. You watched as he got off of you, sinking down to his knees as he began to slide them and your panties off of your legs. With a grip of your thighs he yanked you closer, amused by your small yelp as he examined your wet cunt.

Were you okay down there? Your thoughts began to race as he sat in silence.

"You... are a fucking goddess." His words caused you to gasp lightly, his hands pushing at your now arched legs to open them wider for him. You exhaled shakily at the feeling of him kissing and nipping at your inner thighs, leaving more marks he'd probably reencounter soon.

He was addicted to you already, fuck knows how many times he'll be in your room on base, doing just this.

He gripped your hips, cementing you in place before he licked a strip from your hole to your clit, listening to you moan as your head fell back against the bed.

"Eyes on me lovie. Want you to watch me eat this delicious fucking pussy." Once your eyes met his, he began eating you out like a starved man who had been deprived of a good meal for months. Your hands landed on his head in shock by his vigor and need as you moaned his name. He hummed, the vibrations adding to the hot pleasure that was coursing through your body as his tongue swirled around your clit.

"Fuck this is the best pussy I've ever had." He growled, his tongue entering your hole as he fucked you expertly. He forced himself to not thrust his hips into the bed for some relief, focusing all of his efforts into this moment. You moaned his name as you approached your orgasm, his eyes shooting up to look at you as he almost came from the way you said it. You felt his fingers replace his tongue, grinning at you as two slipped into easily.

"Gotta get this pretty cunt ready for me lovie." When his mouth attached to your clit and his fingers moved inside you, you saw stars, your hand gripped his free one that pressed flat of your lower stomach.

"Cum for me. Cum all over my fucking fingers." He instructed. He felt you clench down on his fingers, your head thrown back in ecstasy as your orgasm rocked you. He continued his motions until your whined, pushing at his head to get him off for a moment.

"You taste amazing, fuck I could do that for hours." He came up, pressing his lips against yours and shoving his tongue in your mouth, letting you taste your euphoria. You tugged on the belt loop of his jeans, feeling his chest vibrate against yours as he chuckled. He stood back up, your eyes trained on his body as he undid his button, letting his jeans drop.

Your eyes blew open, a sudden fear striking your heart. He was massive, his tip red in agony from the lack of attention.

"Si... that's not gonna fit." You told him. He brushed it off, stepping out of his pants and returning to his position, hovering over you.

"I'll make it fit. Don't worry." Shivers ran up your spine at his deep, raspy promise to you. You reached down, gathering some of your slick and beginning to slide your hand up and down his cock. his head hung for a moment, moaning your name softly. You sped up for a brief moment, only for him to yank your hand away with a shake of his head.

"This is about you love. Just do me a favor and say my name all pretty like you did earlier while I fuck you." You moaned, your arms wrapping around his neck as he grabbed the base of his dick, slowly pressing himself into you with a quiet groan in your ear. You felt yourself stretching to accommodate his size, your eyes flickering down to watch as he slowly disappeared into your sopping cunt.

He bottomed out with a moan, looking down at you.

"Any pain pretty?" Your cheeks burned at the pet name, shaking your head as he shifted your hips to get comfortable, listening to him hiss at the movement. He gives you a moment to adjust, and with your signal of buckling your hips into him for friction, he began thrusting into you. His pace was slow, following through with his promise to take his time with you as he memorized the feeling of your pussy clamped around him, hot and wet and needy for him to fill you up.

You soon began moaning loudly, still sensitive from his tongue as your nails pressed into his back.

"You're taking me so well Y/N, swear your pussy was made just for my cock." He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he fucked you.

"You were made for me love, made to be fucked like the pretty fuck toy you are." Your mind was sent into cloud 9, the feeling of his hips driving into you with purpose and need sending you over the edge.

"Oh fuck si right there!" He knew just how to fuck you, his length hitting the spot he knew would make you see stars, spots that had never been touched or stimulated in your life until now. He grunted at the feeling of your squeezing him again, kissing and sucking your neck as he pounded into you faster.

"Oh f-fuck yeah. Pussy feels amazing, so fucking good for me Y/N. I can feel myself, right here love" He took your hand and used his to push yours down on your lower stomach, feeling him fuck you with rhythm.

You were the best he'd ever had, and the best he'll ever have. No one could compare to you, nobody could moan his name like you could, make him feel good like you could. He was yours now, and he intended to let everyone, including yourself know that. The pleasure soon grew to be overwhelming, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades and making him shudder and whine into your ear.

"Fuck, do that again lovie. Mark me. Give me something to show off and let em know I belong to you." And you did just that. You left deep, red scratch marks on his back, kissing and nipping at his neck and his chest, leaving dark marks that he could flaunt later. His praises never stopped, him talking you through every orgasm you had and quickly slipping his cock back in when one had forced him out. He had no filter now, saying anything he wanted, which consisted of the filthiest words you'd ever hear him speak, and each time it would bring you and him that much closer to the never ending ecstasy you found in each other.

"S-Si I can't." You cried, tears rushing down your face as you pushed at his chest, the pleasure mixing with pain as your legs shook against his torso.

"One more for me. I'm so close lovie." Your want for him to cum was more than enough to help you persevere, his thumb coming down to rub your clit as he felt his orgasm approach.

"Where do you want me my love." He groaned, looking down at your fucked out face with his hooded eyes.

"In me. Please fill me up Si." You begged, your doe eyes big and watery. He let out a dirty moan you'd have to get out of him again later when you were able to move again as he let your legs down, fucking you fast in missionary, your legs locked around his middle.

"You want me to breed you huh. Dirty little girl, I'll give it to you. Fill that tight pussy up, you'll be full of me every day, walking around with my seed running down those pretty thighs of yours." His words sent both of you into a euphoria, your cum mixing together as he shot his load into you, your pussy having a vice grip around him as he shuddered. He managed to fuck you through yours, only stopping when you had begged him to with your pretty voice.

"Shhhh. I'll take care of you Y/N. Just trust me." He cooed in your ear, slowly pulling out of you and hearing you whimper from the loss of connection. He picked you up, bringing you to the shower that you lazily directed him to. He ran a bath, noticing how you were unable to stand up without his help. He scrubbed you clean, leaving loving kisses on your delicate skin, feeling you shiver as his tongue swirled over a few love bites he made.

When you were all clean he dried you off and helped you get dressed. You sent him to shower and managed to keep yourself up enough to grab some old clothes Price left behind that you cleaned and left in your drawer for whenever he came back for them, which was never. You laid on the bed, your eyes closing from exhaustion as you curled into yourself under your comforter, missing Simon's warmth and body heat. You were asleep by the time he got out, throwing his clothes into your laundry hamper and slipping into bed next to you, bringing your body flush against his.

"Goodnight lovie." He soothed, brushing your hair back and pressing a slow, loving kiss on your forehead before falling asleep with you, happy and content to have you in his arms.

That night was the first in 6 months where you slept through the night, no nightmares to plague your mind, no loneliness to keep you up in tears. You were in his arms, full of his love in every way, your closeness and proximity being the last identifier you needed to believe that life would get better.

And it would, you both knew it.

And that's it people!! It was my first time writing smut to be published so bear with me if it's bad. I might write a follow up chapter to this series but this is what I'll consider to be the last part! Thank you so much for your love and support and if you have an ideas for the next series, any hcs, preferences, smut etc let me know!

@thaprilks @bowtruckleninja @almightywdm @niallcozidonthavebettername @gothgirl6-6-6

[shalotttower]

Sweetcheeks

Title: Sweetcheeks

Fandom: Black Christmas (1974)

Summary: You've been getting these odd calls for several months now.

Word count: 2000+

Characters: Billy Lenz x Reader (female)

Notes: Yandere!Billy (I'm not sure if there's a point to specify it, seems like his normal state), stalking, voyeurism, explicit and degrading vocabulary, some regular Billy perversions, NSFW, noncon touching, implied noncon by the end.

You've been getting these calls from a stranger for several months, ever since you moved into the sorority house. When the phone rings, what you might hear is easy to predict: creepy panting accompanied by lewd remarks. There's a breathy, slightly raspy voice on the other end; Hello, sweetcheeks, whatcha got down them pants?

He calls you that, "sweetcheeks". Says your name as if it were the loveliest word ever. "Naughty girl," he croons, "let me lick your hot cunt". Nasty bitch. Angel. He has an extensive collection of nicknames, and keeps expanding it with every passing day. Some of them are quite creative, others made your skin crawl at first, but eventually you got used to his bizarre expressions.

He never gets tired of these calls.

The sorority girls named him the Moaner, because he does it quite a lot - moans. Moans and says obscene things, which make your face flush in a hot wave of pink.

"Did you think of me?" he asks.

Do you ever think of me?

"I could-" he groans those filthy words, and you want to wash your ears with soap, "fuck your brains out. Dirty whore. Your... mmm."

You slam the receiver down. It always happens when least expected. In the middle of a conversation with other girls, during study hours, when you're cooking or getting ready for bed, he calls. There's no pattern, so it's impossible to anticipate; normally you just answer the phone when there's no one else around or let others tell him to fuck off.

Today is almost the same as usual, with the only exception that you don't pick up.

What follows can't be described: the unbearable, insane trilling of the phone ringing without a pause. You don't want to go downstairs, there're finals, tests and assignments weighing heavily on you and no time to indulge the ever-breathing presence behind the line. So you don't. Luckily, a set of ear plugs from the local pharmacy helps a lot.

***

You don't bother answering for the whole week, yet despite your neglect he still calls as if desperate for something you can't place.

***

If only Billy could tell you how sweet you look when getting ready for bed. Through the attic floor cracks he sees every small detail of your routine, the room which is nice and smells of a woman - clean, soft with the hints of perfume, it makes him want to bury his face in your sheets.

If only Billy could tell you how exhilarating everything about you is. From the way you move through the day to the sound of your bare feet padding on the wooden floors in the evening. His favourite part is when you shake off your jeans; it's a clumsy movement which makes your ass wiggle.

Billy has a small box where he stores the pieces of your life. There's a receipt from the bakery, two pencils, a silver chain that broke off from your neck and he grabbed it like a treasure, a lip balm. You are all his, every bit of you in those little things you leave behind, even if you don't know it yet.

He knows so many things by now. What time you usually go to shower (late at night when all other girls are asleep), what you are going to wear in the morning (he saw you ironing a blue fluffy sweater and a checked skirt). He knows what's in each of your drawers, from cosmetics to panties, soft cotton that smells like laundry detergent.

The box is hidden carefully in the dusty corner of the attic. Sometimes he opens it, caressing the items you left so carelessly on the desk or bathroom counter - they burn his fingers.

You have a mole under your left breast, a beauty mark on your inner thigh. He also knows that you haven't been answering his calls for a week.

Engrossed in your books with sticky notes, you don't even pay attention to the ringing when he's trying so hard. Too bad Billy can't read, letters dance before his eyes, mocking him with their squiggly shapes; maybe he'd know what exactly is keeping you so occupied if he could. He heard some girls talking about upcoming finals but didn't understand what that meant.

Billy knows how to handle a girl who doesn't answer the phone, a naughty, mean girl who ignores him and gets under his skin like the itch he can't scratch, irritating, driving him crazy.

Patience is a virtue - that's what they told him in the looney house, but it must've been a lie. Patience won't bring you closer, he thinks, sitting cross-legged on the attic floor with a phone clutched in his palm. Patience won't help him touch you, lick your soft skin and hear you moan for him. In the cramped space smelling of old wood, dust and cobwebs, patience only leads to days crawling by like sluggish worms.

He knows how to handle the girl who doesn't answer his calls, but you do look tired, the shadows under your eyes are too heavy and prominent. Billy watches you rub your temples for the fourth time in an hour, yawning. He's seen this gesture before, saw you massaging the back of your head after reading for too long.

He likes watching you when you think no one's looking, because then you're most honest. Just you.

Maybe Billy will let you rest. Yes, maybe...But his hands itch so much. Itchy-itchy-itchy when he holds the phone. He wants to dial your number again, listen to your breathing and tell you something that will make your voice waver in confusion, just like that time when he asked what sounds you make when touching yourself.

He strokes the cord and imagines when you'll finally start picking up again. You'll say your name and ask, "Who's this?" and Billy will laugh, because you're silly, so silly and should've known it's him all along.

***

When did it begin to snow?

You remember the sun peeking from behind the clouds a few days ago and now there's nothing but whiteness outside. White paths, white street lights and white flakes melting on the glass windows. The kitchen feels quiet today, walls drip with the evening chill which crawls inside your veins; it's a week before Christmas and the radio is playing jolly songs about sleigh bells and presents.

Something's been off lately.

Another pair of your favorite socks is gone; you bought five, but three vanished without a trace. Maybe you lost them, maybe they got mixed up with others' laundry. Yet you distinctly remember washing the two and putting them away in the drawer. Usually you're not that forgetful, but perhaps it's finals stress shows.

You glance at the clock - past six - the sorority house is mostly empty, everyone's either in the library or went home for Christmas. The last few hours passed in decorating the living room area with tinsel and ornaments, you even put a wreath on the door. A festive mood is slowly seeping in, and all that's missing is a tree. You know that one should be in the attic, Allison told you there's a lot of stuff up there. The house is old, and whoever owned it in the past had a lot of things, from clothes and books to trinkets, all stored away in cardboard boxes and plastic containers.

Sturdy and narrow, the attic ladder is hanging down to the hallway, beckoning with its crooked wooden rungs. Allison mentioned some odd noises coming from there sometimes. Probably rodents. "Go take a look, girl," she laughed and made spooky sounds, wiggling her fingers. "But don't tell me if you find something nasty, I don't wanna know about it."

Your eyes wander over the ceiling and stop at a small trapdoor. There are rusty hooks holding it closed, and you wonder if it's safe to go up alone. It's probably dirty, a real mess, but the living room looks empty and unfinished without a Christmas tree.

Just a quick look. As long as there aren't spiders swarming the corners it'll be alright.

Everything's dark up there, nothing moves and the sound of your quiet breath is the only thing breaking the silence. You pull a flashlight out of your pocket. Flick. Nothing. Stacks of boxes crowd the space, pressing together, on the side of a particularly large container is scribbled: BOX 23. You look through the labels - toys, photographs, china, books - dozens and dozens of them, some haven't been opened for years.

Dirty. Stuffy-dusty, Billy's saliva gets sticky, leaving wet stains on his sleeves as he wipes his mouth. He can see you from where he's hiding. It's hard to breathe. Harder when you bend over to open a box with Christmas decorations; you've got nice thighs. Nice legs. It's so good to have you here, sweetcheeks, you won't leave soon, pretty kitty. Dumb bitch. Sweet angel. You really should've stayed downstairs, in the warmth and light of the fireplace, instead of crawling up here into the darkness.

Into him.

You go through the attic space looking for something, and Billy thinks that your soft slippers will be covered in dust after you're done poking around, all filthy, so messy. But it doesn't matter, Billy will clean you up later with his tongue, and you can sit on his blanket while he licks your hot cunt till you scream.

Billy knows exactly what kind of sounds you'll make.

He's heard them countless times already.

A sudden clank makes you jump. Your heart flutters, but there's nothing except for shadows dancing on the walls under the ray of your flashlight. Maybe a rat? Oh, there it is. A green plastic branch of a fake Christmas tree is sticking out from the nearest pile, just what you were looking for. You tug at it, trying to free it from the clutches of old furniture and junk, but the thing is stuck tight.

Billy wants to grab you. Wrap his arms around your waist, press his face to yours and whisper in your ear that you shouldn't worry about the Christmas tree anymore, because now you're going to stay forever and ever with him. He'll let you stroke his cheek and kiss him softly on the lips before carrying you down the ladder to celebrate together. Billy will take care of it, he's always liked Christmas; there was a time when everything was different, a man dressed up as Santa brought gifts, he even remembers what he got - a shiny red truck and a candy cane.

The flashlight slips from your grasp and rolls over the dusty floorboards. You curse, crouch down and reach for it though the hole between the boxes.

The trapdoor shuts close with a loud thud.

Your hand freezes.

There's a breath. Not yours, it tickles your fingertips and the skin of your palm like a feather; it shouldn't be there - you scramble away from the darkness. Or try to. Something warm catches your wrist in a vice grip, pulls and next you're tumbling forward, right through the hole with Christmas ornaments spilling everywhere.

"Nasty piggy," says someone's raspy voice, "why don'tcha pick up my calls anymore?"

In the dim yellow of your flashlight too far out of reach, you can barely see anything, only glimpses of dirty auburn hair, brown eyes and a green stretched jumper.

It's not a rat in the attic, you think. It's not a rat, he smells like a wet dog and has hot lips which press into your throat. His hands shake as they travel up your sides, touch your breasts through the sweater, squeeze, and then he moans.

You've been getting these calls for several months now, from a stranger who pants on the other end of the line and makes obscene remarks. And you know him by voice, the one who likes talking filth and making you blush every damn day.

"Santa brought presents," he whispers in your ear. A hand slides down between your legs and cups your mound through the fabric. "Merry Christmas, sweetcheeks."

[godlygreta]

god is fair | j. t. kiszka

title | god is fair

word count | 7.7k

warnings | swearing, mentions of alcohol - nothing too terrible... yet ;)

author's note | i've had this in the chamber for some time now, i just lost the inspo to write, which is why i haven't in a long time. this isn't a promise that i'll post more fics as they come to me, seeing as i'm a senior in college who has a fuck ton of other things to do. there will be a part 2 to this fic, but i couldn't tell you when it's coming :)

also, very much so listening to god is fair, sexy nasty by mac miller while writing this & starting the next part, so take that as you will ;)

unedited as hell so pls excuse any mistakes !

You always had this rivalry since the beginning of freshman year. This guy, Jake, would never show up to any of the classes the two of you had together, but always got the highest grades on every single goddamn exam that your Intro to Bio professor gave out. It infuriated you.

You figured that in the spring semester, you would be freed from the disappearing boy, but you weren’t. While the teacher called roll, everyone shouted out here. She landed upon his name, calling out to the class and looking through the rows of students. He had been there for orientation, sitting in one of the middle rows, slouched in his seat.

You planned to confront him the next day you had class together, on Wednesday, but Jake was nowhere to be found. Your roommate and your friends had heard your exhaustive theories as to why he was never in class. “Babe, you sound insane. Just let it go.”

But you couldn’t.

Competition lived deep within your roots, having an entire competition with the second top student in your graduating class in high school. Though the rage held between each other was never taken far outside of the academic realm, the two of you never thought to be friends and encourage one another. Thankfully, the two of you resolved the competition when the two of you realized you would be going into two very separate fields of study in college. 

Camren, who knew she was going to be a chemist from the time she first learned about chemistry, had told you she loved the competition – made it fun and kept things interesting. And there you were, going to school for Pre-Med with the same feeling. The two of you kept in contact, updating each other on the strive for greatness in college as well.

You kept a close relationship with a lot of your teachers, making sure to get on their good side before classes had really begun. You emailed most of them, especially your Anatomy and Physiology professor, Dr. Sahnya Heinz.

She was incredibly skilled in her field, leaving the active medical field to teach the new and future minds of medicine. It was a cliche line she delivered on the first day, but it encouraged that familiar competitive fire that dwelled within you.

You don’t quite remember how you came to figure out that Jake was ahead of you, but you had found out somehow from your professor, although it was an accident.

It made everything in you burn with anger and frustration. Anytime someone mentioned him, or mentioned the fact that you were second, you clenched your jaw and your teeth gritted together. Your friends had an inside joke that you were only mad because you had a huge crush on him.

“I barely even know what he looks like, Mel! I fucking hate the guy. Don’t start shit.” You’d plead, beer can in your hand in the lounge of some fraternity floor.

Over the next few semesters, you kept trying your hardest, spending most of your free time in the library, reading everything that you could to prepare for every exam. You wrote papers early, having them done at least three weeks in advance. As soon as you would be told about a new one, you’d immediately start finding sources.

You sauntered around campus, thinking that you would be way ahead of him. He still never showed up to any classes, aside from orientation and exam periods. You’d stare at him for a few moments while the teacher passed out the exam, looking over his face as much as you could.

His long hair would obscure your vision on occasion, making it hard to catch any of his features at all. From what you could see though, he had nice, full lips. His nose was something you could have stared at the entire exam period.

You watched him as he licked his lips, whispering a thank you to Heinz before grabbing his pencil from his desk and getting to work. You looked away from him as soon as Heinz put your exam on your desk, offering her a small smile and a quick thank you before getting to work.

It was almost spring break, meaning some of your assignments had been slowing, some of them had been increasing. A group of your friends from different majors told you about one of the lounge parties a fraternity on campus was throwing. “Sigma Tau has the worst lounge parties, Tamia. You know this.”

“They’re joining forces with the Delta’s though, so it’ll be better than normal! You have to come, you’ve always got your nose in a book. You haven’t drank with us in so long, I forget what you’re like when you’re drunk.”

“I don’t know… I need to work on this Midterm paper I have in Kainz’s class, it’s due next week.”

“Babe, it’s been done for weeks! You just keep editing it trying to find mistakes and there are none! I’ve literally read it five times. Please, go out with us, just tonight?”

You looked between Tamia and Mel, knowing in the end you would give into them anyways. “Ugh, fine! Tonight, and tonight only, just this once. If I don’t like it, though, I’m leaving and going to bed early.”

“You’ll have so much fun, I swear!” Mel and Tamia looked between each other, sharing expressions of excitement and happiness on their faces. You rolled your eyes, standing up from your chair.

You let them raid your closet, trying to throw something together quickly. Most of the time, Tamia and Mel never obeyed the dress code for the lounge parties, hating the idea of giving into the male gaze of the fraternity brothers. Tonight, however, was a bit different. The theme was Western, meaning it was cowboy hats and very tiny shorts.

You looked over the outfit that laid out in front of you, straw cowboy hat that Tamia had bought from Amazon (one for each of you), a pair of short shorts that may or may not show your ass a bit, and a red bandana top that Mel let you borrow last semester that you forgot to return. “I don’t know about this. I don’t even have the right shoes.”

“You forget we wear the same size, bitch, you’re going. No backing out.” They joked, tossing you a pair of white boots. “Just put that shit on while we heat up the curling iron, okay?”

“Fine, fine, okay.” You peel off your shirt, throwing on the one they picked out. Next to go were your pajama pants, which were replaced by the shorts. You kept the same socks on, knowing that nobody would see them anyways with the boots going up to the middle of your calf muscle. “I look fucking ridiculous.”

“You look fucking hot, now sit down while we do your hair and makeup,” Mel spoke, pulling out your desk chair while Tamia smiled wickedly with the curling wand in hand. You were nervous, looking at the both of them, but the good kind that settled under your skin and was left hidden behind the smallest smile.

You talked about upcoming exams with them while they did your hair and makeup, much to their dismay. They attempted to fill you in on the various drama situations going on around campus while you had been heavily plugged into your textbooks. You gasped often, finding shock and awe in some of the things they had been telling you about classmates.

They spoke about Jake, letting it slip that he had been planning on attending the party, joined at the hip with one of the girls he had been rumored to have been dating. One of the many. “Ugh, he just sounds like a douche. Gives me even more reason to hate him.”

“We’re not feeding into your delusion that he’s some douchebag. Dropping it.” Tamia spoke, putting her hands up in a surrender. Mel laughed, pulling away from you with an eyeliner pen in hand. “Maybe we’ll get you drunk enough to admit you like him.”

“I don’t like him, and I thought we were dropping the topic.” You looked at Tamia in the mirror, watching her face deadpan as she looked back at you.

“I have something hot in my hands, don’t be rude to me.” The three of you laughed, getting back into the rhythm of getting ready. You let them do their thing to you, curling the last bit of your hair and putting the finishing touches of highlighter on your brow bone.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, marveling at the job they did. You thanked them for getting you all dolled up, watching them change into their outfits. It was mostly just them taking off the sweats they were wearing, throwing them over the back of your desk chair. You took a few pictures with them in your mirror before finally deciding to head out.

The party had started a half an hour ago, walking into the party late like most people did. The three of you got in easily with matching the dress code, immediately looking for the drinks table. The boys in charge handed the three of you a free shot of anything you wanted. Mel chose for you, starting the night out roughly with a shot of Svedka.

You grabbed a Sprite from one of the boys in one hand, the shot of Svedka in the other. The three of you tapped your glasses together before downing the shot. The alcohol burned as it slipped down your throat, trying to soothe it with the taste and coolness of the Sprite. You shook a bit, throwing the cup away in a nearby trash can.

“That was fucking gross, I hate you so much for choosing Svedka.”

“I could’ve chosen something even more nasty, like Jack.” Mel laughed, leading the three of you over to a section in the lounge where you could stand a decent enough distance away from one another, instead of being piled on top of one another.

“I would have rather taken a shot of Jack, Mel.” You spoke, sipping more of your Sprite. Tamia pointed out a few of the people they had talked about earlier, letting you put names to faces.

In the midst, two of the Sigma brothers decided to start a dance battle, capturing the attention of those around them. Everyone joined in, gathering around the two guys. Mel and Tamia joined too, but you had slipped out of their grasp by telling them you had to use the bathroom.

You were happy to escape the party, sneaking out with a bottle of Smirnoff the boys had left unattended. You walked outside, taking a deep breath in. You were thankful to be met with the smell of fresh air, not smelling sweat and booze everywhere. Your peace and tranquility was ruined by someone’s voice, “Well, don’t you look adorable.”

Your head snapped towards the voice, seeing Jake sitting up against the bike rack with a cigarette between his fingers. “Shut up.”

“What? I can’t compliment you?”

“No,” you started, crossing your arms with the bottle still in your hand. “No, you can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I hate you.” Jake looked at you, up and down, taking a drag of his cigarette. You screwed off the cap of the bottle, taking a pull. You tried your hardest to not make a face, looking away slightly when the familiar sting settled in your throat.

“Why do you hate me? I’ve never spoken to you before.”

“Do I have to have a reason?” You asked, walking closer to him.

“Suppose not. But if I knew why you hated me,” he tossed his cigarette butt on the ground, stomping on it with his boot. “Then maybe I could find a way to make you not hate me.”

“Unless you flunk your next exam, I guarantee that won’t happen.”

“Oh, I get it.” He chuckled, standing up from the bike rack he was leaning against. He grabbed his cigarette butt up from the ground, tossing it into the nearest garbage can. He turned towards you, staring at you with his brown eyes. “You’re just mad because I’m smarter than you.”

“You’re never in class. You shouldn’t be ahead of me.” You glared at him, lips moving into a frown.

“Just because I’m never there doesn’t mean I’m not getting the information. I work five, sometimes six days a week. We only have class three days a week. Typically, I gotta work those days. Heinz sends me the powerpoints and the assignment notes so I never miss anything.”

“Oh yeah? Where do you even work then?” You asked.

He chuckled, fingers brushing yours that were wrapped around the bottle. “Now if I told you that, it would ruin all the fun,” he looked you up and down once more, licking his lips slightly. “Well, maybe I’ll see you and your bottle inside.” 

You waited til the doors closed behind him to roll your eyes, and huff outwardly. You took the bottle of Smirnoff, turned on your heels and walked towards your dorm hall. You hated Jake. You really hated Jake.

—

Your midterms came and went. The stress decreased slightly, but only to be raised again as the end of the semester loomed around. Assignments started piling up, various papers and presentations due all around the same week. Since the end of Spring Break, you had been holed up in your room, left to your mountains of homework.

Your Microbio class had a presentation due that coincided with the research project you had been working on all semester long. Human Anatomy and Physiology (or affectionately known as BIO 312) had a major cumulative exam on the entire semester, which stressed you out more than any other homework assignment or exam you had.

Thankfully, your school held an all day event that attempted to boost the morale of the students on campus. Filled with a bunch of free things, you took advantage of everything offered.

Lined up on tables were various student organizations set up, with their own little games and prizes. A few of them had speakers that played the music they wanted to listen to, all speakers attempting to outman the other. However, the one that ended up winning was a tie dye station located in the lawn, handing out free t-shirts to dye.

One of the guys at the tie dye station had a wide smile on his face while his hands were dripping with dye. Setting your prizes down at a table where Tamia and Mel had put their things, you walked over to him. He welcomed you over with a smile, “Hey! Lookin’ to tie dye?”

“Yeah, I’m a medium.” You smiled at him, blocking the sun with your hand. He called over to Benny, asking him to pull a medium out for you. Benny handed you the shirt with a smile. “I’ve never dyed anything before.”

“Never?! That’s a crime against mankind, darlin’, let’s get this shirt dyed.” He spoke, talking you over the colors in each of the buckets. He explained to you some basic color theory, although you had remembered that from your high school painting class, you didn’t stop him; he was pretty when he spoke.

The curls on his head stuck out from the shaved sides, the gold of his earrings stood out underneath the blistering April sun. He licked his lips often, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his forehead. He helped you pick out the style you wanted, making sure the rubber bands were placed exactly where you wanted them. “I’ll dip them in the bucket for you so you don’t get your hands dirty.”

“Thank you. I could’ve managed on my own, but I definitely appreciate it.”

“Of course. What’s your name?” You offer up to him, before he lets out a chuckle. You question him with a pull of your eyebrows. “Jake talks about you.”

“You know Jake?”

“Yeah, he’s my twin.” As soon as the word left his mouth, you could see the resemblance; you almost scolded yourself for not realizing it sooner. They were similar, especially in their features and their eyes, although the two of them had very distinct color differences. Josh, as he told you after dropping the bomb on you, had warmer eyes, filled with caramel colored hues of brown in relation to Jake’s colder tones; his eyes were a darker shade of brown, with the occasional gleam of flirtation laced within the reflection.

He spoke quite differently from Jake, mostly just with the sound of his voice. It matched their eyes, their personalities. Josh’s bright, bubbly stature followed in his voice, almost theatrical as he spoke. “I guess that makes sense, you two do kind of look alike. Minus the hair, of course.”

“Well, of course. Mine’s better,” you liked that about him - how kind his tone was. You attempted to grill him about what Jake was saying about you, curiosity flowing violently through your bloodstream as if it lit your body on fire. “He just says that you’re second in the Bio class you have with him, and that it makes you mad.”

“It does, Jake’s never there. I’ve seen him three times, and two of those times were for exams.” Josh wrung out the part that had been soaking in the dye for a bit, watching the water fall back into the bucket.

“Yeah, it’s cause he’s working all the time, if I’m honest. Jake stays home during the week to work at the nursing home in our hometown. We don’t really have a large CNA population, most of the people who work there are highschool kids, so Jake’s really been their guy. Especially since high school, as soon as he graduated he moved to full time. All the old ladies love him.” He snorts, dipping your shirt into the blue dye.

“I didn’t know that.” You thought he was lying about where he was, which is why guilt started to eat away at you. You felt terrible for making assumptions, but you couldn’t take any of that back now.

“Jake doesn’t talk to a lot of people, but we love him anyway.” You chewed at your bottom lip, rethinking your opinion of Jake. “You goin’ to the concert later tonight?”

“Hadn’t decided. Mel and Tamia want to, so I’ll probably end up going. Are you?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll probably go.”

“Do you know who’s playing?”

“Some local band I think? I’ve heard a lot of the girls think the frontman’s pretty handsome.” He spoke with a smirk. You promised him you’d go, just to see if the girls had been right. He handed you your t-shirt to hold while he grabbed you a plastic bag. He also handed you a piece of paper with instructions on how to take care of your new tie dye.

“Make sure when you wash it, you wash it by itself. Otherwise, you’ll dye all of your other clothes and believe me, you don’t want that,” he chuckled, as if he was speaking from experience.

You thanked him with a warm smile, waving to him before returning to your room. As soon as you got back, you opened your window, allowing the air flow to travel inside. It kept you cool, allowing you to walk around comfortably with a t-shirt and shorts on. You put your plastic bag in the closet of your room, writing on your white board to remember to take it out and wash it tomorrow.

You texted Mel and Tamia, knowing that Mel would probably have some smart comeback about why you want to go to the concert. It wasn’t that you didn’t join them on nights out, you just had a lot riding on your academic success. Not only because you were the first one in your family to go to college, but also because of your mass of scholarships that only continued to flow if your GPA was at a suitable level. Anything below a 3.2, and you would lose almost all of them.

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

Are we going to the concert tonight?

From: The 3 Dumb Sluts - Mel

Are you offering to come with us without us needing to beg and plead for you to join?

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

Don’t make me take it back, Mel

From: The 3 Dumb Sluts - Tamia

We’re absolutely going. Come to mine whenever you want to get ready :)

To: The 3 Dumb Sluts

The doors open at 8 right? I’ll be over about 5:30-6ish. Gotta finish up this paper for Heinz real quick

You locked your phone before they could scold you for doing homework on a day that was designated for relaxation and recuperation. You pulled out your Anat and Physio binder, pulling out the sources you printed off in the library. You ran through the last one with a blue highlighter between your teeth. 

You set an alarm on your phone for five o’clock, saving enough time for you to shower.  You were about halfway through the last page when your timer went off. You silenced it, attempting to hurriedly finish highlighting the page. The article was placed onto your desk, highlighter returned to the cup on your desk filled with various writing utensils.

You pulled out your shower caddy, putting it on top of your dresser before pulling out your robe. You laid it over the edge of your bed, removing all of your clothes. You threw them into your hamper and put on your robe. You slipped on your slides, grabbed your caddy and traveled to the bathroom.

Underneath the uneven streams from the showerhead, you thought about Jake.

Maybe your first impressions of him were wrong. When Josh told you about the nursing home back in their hometown, you felt instantaneously bad for assuming that he just never showed up. You knew from what Jake had told you, that he had work, but you figured that was just an excuse.

You bit at the skin of your lips, hands on your shoulders as you soaked the warmth of the water in. You were pulled out of your thoughts very quickly as someone flushed the toilet, making the water fade in from super hot to super fucking cold. You hated the school’s water system.

You finished your shower quickly, drying off with the towel slightly before putting your robe on and throwing your hair up into your towel. You walked back into your room, locking it behind you. You set your caddy back where it originally was.

You threw on a pair of jean shorts that hadn’t seen the light of day since early October, pairing it with a long sleeve shirt that you had gotten back in high school for Christmas. It was plain, brown, but hugged your body well. The sweatshirt debate lasted a few seconds before you remembered how hot it was going to be outside. A record temperature for mid-April, almost 80 degrees outside.

When you checked your phone getting back from the shower, it was just barely five thirty. You texted the groupchat again, asking if it would be cool to come over a half an hour earlier than you had originally said. You knew it was a dumb question, you would always be welcome in their room. You chuckled at Mel’s response of, “Are you fucking dumb? Of course you can come over. Bring wine if you have any left! No carry-in’s allowed at the concert.”

You put your phone down for a second and slipped on a pair of shoes that were comfortable enough for you to stand in for a long time. They used to be white, but had gotten progressively dirty from the years of use. You shoved your phone in your back pocket and slid a few different bottles of wine into your backpack, separated by extra clothing so the bottles didn’t clink together.

You walked down the stairs, out the door and over to the other dorm building across the walkway. You scanned your keycard to get into the building, walking through the hallways waving to the RA on duty, McKenna. She had been in a few of your classes and was always incredibly nice.

Her room this year was actually a few down from where you were living. McKenna was a great RA, knowing exactly how to handle the rowdiness of the floor while still keeping the resident’s respect. She didn’t bother them unless she needed to, and they didn’t bother her unless needed. She kept it underwraps about the underage drinking that would inevitably happen, mostly by telling the floor they could do what they want, as long as they were quiet by quiet hours (which was around ten thirty on the weekdays, and one in the morning on the weekends).

You took the elevator to the second floor of East Sunderland, getting off as soon as the doors opened. The booths that had previously been up had begun to dissipate, bringing the plastic tables back into the buildings they belonged in. You took a last glance at the people cleaning before heading into Mel and Tamia’s dorm building.

You knocked on the door, coming as soon as you announced yourself to Mel and Tamia. The girls laughed as you walked in, looking at a picture of Mel from when they were a kid. The two of them showed it to you as you settled your bag onto Mel’s chair in the corner of their room. “Your buck teeth! Oh my God, you were adorable, Mel.”

“Oh shut up, I bet you didn’t look any better.” Mel spoke to Tamia, making the three of you laugh. “Anyways, what wine did you bring?”

“The Barefoot we didn’t finish the other weekend, and then I still had some Rose, so I brought those over too. I wasn’t sure what we were feeling.” Tamia pulled some glasses from her shelves, passing them out to the two of you. You filled their glasses with the Rose you brought.

The three of you talked specifics on the plans for tonight, hitting up another fraternity party as soon as the concert ended. There were two separate ones going on at the same time, so the two of you weighed your options over which one to go to. “The Sigs are throwing one, but I’d rather die. Delta’s throwing one, too, we’ll go to theirs instead. And maybe see if anyone’s at the Sig party that we like and stop there before heading back to the dorms.”

You walked down with them to the Athletic Department, hoping to have gotten there early enough to get a good spot. As soon as the doors opened, you were filtered through the doors, making sure that you were students with the college. The three of you half ran to the barricade, settling yourselves against it on the right side, although still somewhat in the middle.

The show wouldn’t start for quite some time yet, the three of you talked amongst yourselves about upcoming finals, what you had to do for various classes. You also found a few people around you to chat to while you waited, hearing laughter roaring through various parts of the crowd.

A few students from the Admissions Office had taken the stage, playing a random playlist of music that matched what the band was going to be playing. Rock thundered through the speakers, filling audience members with anticipation. Rochel addressed the student body, “Hello everyone!” welcomed by the sounds of cheers and screaming.

“We’ve got about fifteen minutes before the band comes on stage, so help us warm them up to the stage!” Everyone clapped, although some of the girls around you looked unenthused as they stared down at their phones. You checked yours for any text messages from any family members. You had nothing, so you put it back in your pocket.

Around four songs played before Rochel turned the microphone on again. Everyone shouted before she talked. “Well, it’s that time! Please, give a warm welcome to Greta Van Fleet!”

Rochel and the two other students walked off the stage, passing by what you had assumed to be one of the band members. He sat behind the drums, smiling and waving off into the crowd. You cheered for him along with Tamia and Mel, cheering just as loud when their bassist walked onto the stage. Both of their hair was longer, goofy smiles on their faces as they got situated with their instruments.

Your mouth hung open as you watched the last two boys walk on stage, seeing the twins. Jake’s eyes scanned the crowd as he slung his guitar over his shoulder. He found you after a moment, sending a smirk your way. You closed your mouth, glaring at him. Mel laughed at you, noticing your demeanor shift. “How we doin’ tonight everyone?”

Everyone cheered. “A lot of you might know me and Jake, seen us on campus and stuff. It’s wonderful to see all of you here, coming to support us as we celebrate the onslaught of spring! It’s been a particularly warm one today, so make sure to drink water! There’s plenty to go around.”

Jake started them off, pick between his fingers as he strummed the beginning chords to one of their songs. Some of the girls had begun to scream, shouting at Jake’s response to Josh’s little speech before he began playing. His signature smirk formed, watching the girls go crazy, eyes scanning the crowd before he found you again.

As Jake continued to play, he looked over to you any time he could. It was hard to tear your eyes away from him, enthralled by the way he looked on stage. You tried your hardest, truly, to look at any of the other boys on the stage aside from Jake but you just couldn’t. He fit the stage just right, bringing the attention away from Josh and demanding to be seen by the entirety of the crowd. He belonged up there.

Jake went to the center of the stage during his solo. Josh lingered around the drummer, keeping to himself, drinking whatever was in his cup. They kept on playing as Jake took the spotlight, everyone cheering and screaming for him. You kept silent, wanting to hear him play. His fingers worked against the frets of the guitar, not before sliding down and up it quickly. 

You tried to hide the awe you were in, but your friends knew. They saw it written all over your face. The frustration and annoyance you felt when you first spotted Jake on stage dissipated the second his guitar solo began. You swallowed thickly, watching as his attention turned from his guitar to you, pointing it in your direction. Your cheeks flushed, and your thighs pressed together.

This was going to be a long night.

The second the concert was over, Josh thanked everyone for coming. His smile was wide as he waved goodbye to everyone, walking off next to Jake who had his guitar by the neck before he passed it off to one of the stage hands. Josh put his hands on his shoulders as they walked off stage.

You stuck around mostly waiting for the crowd to die down before trying to leave the building. Mel and Tamia talked about the show, saying that it was fucking dope, commenting on how excellent Jake’s playing was. You didn’t speak about Jake’s playing, mostly praising Josh for his spectacular performance. “I never expected that voice to come out of him, how heavenly.”

“Talking about me?” Jake cuts through your conversation, walking over to you with Josh not far behind. You roll your eyes. Tamia and Mel congratulate him on such an amazing performance, gushing about how sweet his guitar looks. “Why thank you, ladies.”

“Mel! I didn’t think you were going to be able to come.” He gushed, wiping his hands on the sides of his khaki shorts he had changed into.

“Yeah, well, Miss Quiet over here wanted to see her archnemesis, didn’t you?”

“I-I–” You turned your head slightly towards Jake, who had an amused smirk written all over his face. “I did not, Mellie, stop lying.”

“By the redness of your cheeks, sweetheart, I’d say she was telling the truth.” You had barely noticed that Mel, Tamia and Josh had slipped away from the two of you, leaving you alone.

“I didn’t even know you were playing.” You admitted shyly, hiding underneath a guise of innocence.

“Even if you did, you looked pretty hot and bothered by my playing.” You held the back of your arms, trying hard to maintain eye contact with him. You looked into his eyes, they were staring straight at you.

“Yeah, sure. I actually came because Josh said he was going. He neglected to mention that he was going to be singing,” you looked at Josh who wore a smile that read ‘guilty as charged’ before patting you on the shoulder.

“Hey, you didn’t ask. You just asked if I was going.” You rolled your eyes and chuckled slightly. “Anyways, Sam and Danny are gonna spend the night in my room, so I’ll have to find somewhere else to be tonight. Are you guys going to either of the frat parties tonight?”

“We’re going to the Delta party. The Sigs’ reputation is not the best, and I don’t feel like seeing whether or not it’s right.”

“That is completely understandable. I shall see you ladies there then. You coming, Jake? We still have a lot to put away.”

“Yeah, in a second,” he turned towards Josh who had begun to walk away, waving him off before turning back to the three of you. “I hope you guys enjoyed the show, maybe I’ll catch up with you at the party.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, actually, I would.” He smiled at you before joining the other boys cleaning up their amps and cords.

“Jesus Christ, the two of you just need to fuck or something. I don’t think I can handle another interaction like that,” Mel joked, making a gagging face when she finishes her sentence. You pushed at her arm, turning around and walking out of the gym.

Tamia and Mel giggled profusely about your and Jake’s rivalry. The two even started making bets on when the two of you would finally ‘get it on’, as Tamia put it. You just rolled your eyes at the conversation, changing the subject to something different.

—

The party, though filled with lots of fun and drinking, was a bust. While Josh had shown up with his younger brother and his brother’s friend, as you learned, in tow, Jake was nowhere to be found. You thought to ask Josh why he wasn’t there, but he was too busy dancing with Micah. Through the grapevine, you learned that Micah and Josh had been together since high school.

You stayed around the party for almost two hours before you wanted to go back. A small part of you had wished Jake had actually come. You wondered if maybe the two of you would get along if you put your competitive nature aside. You tried not to dwell on thoughts of Jake’s absence for too long, wanting to enjoy the rest of the night with your girls. But when you had enough of the party, you shouted in Mel’s ear to let her know you wanted to leave.

Mel and Tamia had made sure you got back alright about two hours into the party. Your legs were tired and your feet had begun to hurt. The two of them stumbled with you back to the door of your building, making sure you were inside before leaving to go back. They almost came in with you, until you insisted otherwise.

Laying on your bed with your head pointed towards the ceiling you started thinking about Jake again. What was his reason for not being at the party? Did he just make those comments beforehand just to rile you up? It seemed like the only valid reason your impaired mind could come up with.

You grabbed your phone, almost dropping it on the floor. You sluggishly opened Instagram, and searched for Jake’s profile. You scrolled through, looking at the few photos he did have on his page. Most of the pictures he had were of his guitar, or places he’s traveled. You were sent into a panic when you realized you had accidentally liked an older picture of Jake’s, one from freshman year of college. Hurriedly, you unliked it and immediately locked your phone.

That had been a few days ago.

Now it was Wednesday and your first final exam was here. It was for the class you shared with Jake, BIO 312.  It wasn’t exactly final exam time, but Professor Heinz was going to be away at a conference for a week starting Friday. You didn’t mind, though, since it spaced out your other finals enough to have a decent amount of time to study for them.

You sat at your desk, looking over your notecards one last time before the exam began. A frequent look around the room and you noticed Jake walking in, going to a random seat a couple rows in front of you. He set his bag down next to him, before bending down to grab his laptop. He noticed you watching him and sent a wink your way.

You looked away as you tried to hide the rush of rosy skin that fanned over your cheeks and heated up your ears. You tried to ignore him again until at least when the test started, embarrassed that you got caught looking at him. Your phone pinged and you pulled it out of your bag to look at it, as well as turn it on silent.

jacobtkiszka wants to send you a message.

You swallowed and hit the notification taking you straight to the message.

“Person who turns their test in last pays for coffee?”

Your lips curved into a small smile, feeling your fingers type the first thing that comes to your head.

“Hope you brought your wallet with you, Kiszka.”

You put your phone on Do Not Disturb and shoved it back into your bag. The professor walked through the door, setting her things down on the desk in the front of the room. Her coffee mug still had steam coming from it, freshly poured. A quick look of her watch after getting settled and it was time to start the exam. “Okay, everyone. It’s time for class. Take out your laptops and begin your exam. You may leave when you have finished. Thank you for a great semester, and good luck.”

The questions on the exam were all ones that you knew and had studied for for weeks. It was strenuous, trying to remember everything on the cumulative exam. You had hoped it would go quickly and you would answer them faster than Jake could. Occasionally, you turned to look at Jake, seeing if maybe he was trying to look at you too.

With one question left of your exam, you click the answer and press submit after a minute of debate. You had a bad habit of second guessing yourself occasionally; it was actually the bane of your testing experiences. You hated when you felt confident about an answer, until you really sat with the other possible answers it could be.

You put your laptop back into your bag, zipped it up and noticed that Jake had already left. You cursed to yourself, knowing that now you had to buy Jake a coffee. You waved goodbye to your professor with a smile and walked out the doors. Jake sat outside of the classroom at one of the tables they had throughout the building. “Whatcha reading?”

“Josh recommended it to me, but I’m going to be honest, I fucking hate this book.” He laughed, shoving it into his bag. “You know any good coffee shops around here? I’m kind of tired of Starbucks.”

“I just so happen to know the best coffee shop in town, but it is a bit of a walk, if you don’t mind that?” You asked, walking through the door that Jake was holding before muttering a thank you to him. 

“I could also drive, if you’re okay with that.”

“I’m more than okay with that,” you chuckle, letting him know that your dorm building had enough stairs; any chance you could get to use an elevator, or get driven somewhere, you would take that opportunity in a heartbeat.

The drive was short in comparison to the twenty minute walk it would have taken to get to the shop. Jake tried to offer the radio to you, but you let him play what he wanted to listen to. You didn’t know exactly who was playing, but the blues music that played through the speakers was a breath of fresh air.

Your typical shuffle had a plethora of music from differing genres, whether that be rap or old country. You hadn’t known much when it came to blues music, especially the difference between good blues music and bad. Eventually, you got the courage to ask who was playing and Jake answered, letting you know that the song was by Buddy Guy. “It’s called She Suits Me To A T. I tried for weeks to learn this song when I first started playing music more seriously.”

“This is the coffee shop, at the next corner.” You watched his hand as he made a right turn, noticing him steering with just the palm of his hand. Letting the leather steering wheel glide back to its original position in his hand, elbow propped on the door with the window rolled down.

It’s all you thought about on your way into the coffee shop, completely relying on autopilot. Your responses to Jake were almost textbook, one word sentences that could continue the conversation without much effort. “What’re you thinking of getting?”

“Oh, um, I’m not sure. I usually have them surprise me,” you admit, shoving your hands into your jacket. “Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s not. That’s the gamble you take.”

“I like that a lot, actually. I think I’ll have them surprise me too, if you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all.” You smiled at Jake before he went to order for the two of you. You found a place to sit in the meantime, offering a spot towards the windows so you could watch people come and go, each on their own paths of life.

By the time Jake sat down, both of the coffees were in his hand. After a few questions, Jake set the iced drink down in front of you, and the hot drink in front of himself. “Yours is an iced chai, with brown sugar syrup and vanilla. Mine is some sort of tea, I wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying. I just wanted to remember what she put in yours in case you liked it.”

“Oh,” you spoke, bringing the cup towards you. “Thank you, that’s really sweet. Do you like your drink?”

“You know, it’s really not bad. I wouldn’t have gotten it otherwise, but it’s really not bad.”

“You hate it.”

“I hate it. It’s not good.” The two of you chuckled before you offered him a sip of your drink. “Mhmm,” he moaned. “That’s good, oh my God.”

The two of you continued small talk, whether it was over the classes you had previously taken, memories of parties from past years – anything. You shared previous high school experiences, mostly about the ridiculous things that were considered parties in your teenage years.

Conversation with Jake was surprisingly a lot easier than you thought it would be. Especially since you’ve hated him pretty much your entire college career. You figured he’d be stuck up, aware of his academic achievements and ready to flaunt them in front of anyone who’d listen.

He was the opposite. His sentences were wrapped with kindness, and the reflection in his voice seemed nothing but positive. His voice was like silk, he could’ve talked you into damn near anything as long as his voice sounded like that. It hurt when the conversation slowed, spending a few moments to take in the scene around you two, as well as finally being able to drink more of your drink (which was very delicious, it was almost like crack).

“How long have you been playing guitar?” You asked after the silence became almost uncomfortable to sit with.

“Oh jeez. I’ve been playing since I was… like three? Yeah, three.” You stared at him with eyes slightly wide, mouth agape. “What?”

“N-Nothing, that’s just a really long time. You’re what, 21 now?” He clarified that he was only twenty, his birthday roughly a week away. You poked fun at him, mentioning how you were older, even if it was by less than a year.

“Josh is throwing us a birthday party, if you want to come. Since it’ll be our 21st, we’re having it at our parents cabin on Lake Michigan. You’re welcome to bring Mel and Tamia if you’d like. Sam and Danny are going to be there, even though they’re underage, but we’re gonna pretend like they’re older.” Jake spoke with one last sip of his drink, letting the empty cup echo on the table as he set it down.

“I will let Mel and Mia know. I can’t make any sure decisions without talking to them first, but I’m pretty damn sure that they’ll say they would love to go.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they’ll say no either. They seem pretty adamant that you have a little crush on me or something,” he said, putting your cups inside of a bus tub to be picked up and washed.

“I don’t have a crush on you,” you laughed, walking out of the coffee shop with Jake. “I actually hate you, remember?”

“You may say that you hate me, but you’re not really good at showing it.”

[brayneworms]

wide eyes (cherry pies).

featuring. kobeni higashiyama/reader

word count. 1.07k

content. gender-neutral reader, kissing, intoxication, kobeni-typical crying, reader is kobeni's boss but no power dynamics, thorough consent checks, no smut but EXTREMELY suggestive, love confessions.

notes. this is an 18+ blog. minors and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked.

The hand with your key had shaken trying to unlock the door to your apartment.

It might've been the nerve, or the drink, or the fact that Kobeni had stuffed her face into the crook of your neck, breathing hard and fast, her hands pawing at the back of your suit jacket, squirming like a kitten.

Regardless, they're not shaking now.

The moment the both of you stumble through the cramped parlour and kitchenette to the bedroom, dimly lit with orange string-lights and a salt lamp petulantly aglow in the corner, Kobeni is on you with a vigour you see from her once in a blue moon and always on the field. She's slightly... damp, from sweat or rain or drool or just whatever keeps her perpetually sustained in a state of unspooling anxiety, but her strong fingers have a grip on your blazer, tugging it off like it had offended her.

"S-slow—" you manage to gasp out before she reaches up to kiss you again, fast and needy, parting her lips to lick into your mouth and you groan. "Beni," you pant between breaks for air. "Ben, Beni—"

She whines when you grip her narrow shoulders and push her down, bracketing her fast with your strength. When she peers up at you, your brain flatlines a little; her usual flouncy ponytail has unravelled, leaving two scarlet clips adrift in a wave of messy brunette hair, and it frames a face scarlet with blush from cheekbone to jawline. Her lips are red, full as candy apples, wet with spit, her dark brows knitted up, her dark eyes big and deep and starving.

She makes a needy noise, tries to lean in to kiss you again, but you manage to force her back down.

"Just—just lemme breathe a minute, babe," you pant out. Kobeni goes painfully redder and nods. "Alright. Okay. Look, we've both had a little to drink. Are you sure—"

"Yes," she blurts out, before you've even finished the question. "Th—I mean—that's the only reason I f-feel brave enough to..." Her voice wilts a little, but you can suddenly feel your pulse in your skull.

"Kobeni," you say, lowly. "I... overheard you talking with Himeno a week back. I know you... you haven't done this before. I just want to make sure you want—I mean, that you know what you want. With me, of all people."

Kobeni's eyes fill with tears. "I—I only want you," she hiccups. "I m-mean... God, this is so embarrassing, but I—ever since I got assigned to you, and working under you, I mean, oh, I'm messing this up but I j-just..."

"Breathe, dove," you murmur, and—trusting her to stop jumping you like she's springlocked—move your hands to cup her face. She burns beneath your touch, eyes pools of ink staring urgently up at you. "You're not messing anything up, 'kay? I just need to make sure here. I'm not some kinda scummy boss. I—I care about you. That's half the fuckin' problem, I mean—fuck. I don't want you to regret this. That's all. Okay?"

Kobeni sniffles. "I won't. I've always... it's all I've b-been thinking about. I—every night. And tonight, going out, I thought I was being annoying, clinging to you like I did b-but now we're here and—and I'm so close, please don't send me away." She hiccups pathetically. "I, mm. I love you. I love you."

Something presses down on your chest like a weight, compressing your heart into your ribcage. And you love her too, you love her too, so you lean forwards and kiss the tear tracks on her face whilst she huffs and squirms, craning her neck; her wet lips brush yours once, twice before she makes a whiny noise of desperation and you finally bring her in.

She's jittery, switching between being too enthusiastic and freezing up—presumably because she has no idea what to do. But at least she's moving slower now, satiated apparently by getting her feelings off her chest, and she lets you guide her this time.

"On the bed," you murmur against her lips. "If you're sure."

Kobeni nods frantically, clambering upon your mattress so eagerly that the sheets tangle around her. You bite back a giggle at the sight of her, sitting on her haunches like a dog awaiting its owners return.

"Tell me, okay?" you reiterate as you start undoing your shirt of your own admission; it slips off your shoulders, and Kobeni squeaks, eyes tracking your every moment like it's the last thing she'll ever see. Lamplight glints in the onyx of her eyes. "Kobeni. You can stop whenever. Whatever you're comfortable with. I need you to tell me what to do, how far you wanna go. Okay? You hear me?"

"Y-yes," she whimpers. "I, um..." Her hands wring together, eyes averting into her lap. "I want to... I don't know. I want... you to... t-touch me?"

"That's a start," you agree mildly. "How about we start smaller, though... you wanna take your shirt off?"

Her cheeks burn, but she nods, shaky hands moving to untuck her shirt from her slacks and start on the buttons. Pale skin slices down the middle, adorned with a worn, plain black bra. It looks like it's been through the washer two dozen times—you know Kobeni sends most of her paycheck home to her family. She must not be able to afford luxuries.

You could buy her one. Not in a weird way, like an old geezer sending lace thongs to his twenty-something secretary, obviously. Just... something that doesn't look like it's held together by two threads.

Kobeni covers the exposed skin. "Sorry," she mumbles, and you realise with a lurch you've been staring in silence. "I know I'm not—y-you're probably used to more—"

"Don't think that," you interrupt, walking over and slotting yourself between her legs. The fabric of her slacks strains against her thighs, and she stares up at you, slack-jawed, starry-eyed, alight with blush. "You're so gorgeous," you murmur. "So—the second you walked into my office, oh my god. Haven't been able to get you outta my head. Do I sound creepy? You can tell me if I do."

She shakes her head wildly. "N-no! Me too! I—like you said, the second I walked in—and you've been so kind. Nobody's ever..." Her lower lip trembles. "I really love you. Sorry. I love you."

"I love you too," you murmur, and swoop in to touch her.

[ghoulette-knell]

Touch Starved

Omega x Terzo

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Word Count: 2,158

TW: Rough Dom!Omega; Sub!Terzo; anal penetration; flirting to make another jealous; mild bondage; oral; handjob.

Terzo knew the exact way to make the fans scream with glee. That was flirting with his Nameless Ghouls. It always got the crowd going, and although his main target with this flirting was always Omega, today would be different. Ifrit, one of Terzo's other guitarists, would be receiving his teases and taunts tonight.

Terzo considered this payback as well as a punishment towards Omega. The Ghoul had been distant lately, not even willing to hang out with his Papa. Terzo suspected his little Ghoul might've been seeing someone else in the ministry, so two could play that game.

Papa Emeritus III galloped around the stage as Mummy Dust played; the crowd going wild as Zephyr grabbed his keytar, preparing for his iconic solo.

As Zephyr took the stage, Terzo took his opportunity to skip over to Ifrit; his eyes hungry for Omega's reaction.

He could feel Omega's eyes burning holes in the back of his head as he laid his hands softly into Ifrit's chest. The fire Ghoul gasped, not anticipating such a move from his Papa, but he wasn't upset with this. Underneath his mask, the Ghoul was smirking,

"What's this about, eh?" Ifrit yelled over the loud keytar solo, "What will Omega think?"

"Fuck Omega," Terzo growled while cupping Ifrit's face in his gloved hand, "That asshole doesn't even give me head anymore. I'm a busy man, and I can't wait around for him if he's not interested anymore."

Ifrit purred a bit and nodded, "I can surely help you out with that anytime, Papa. All you need to do is ask."

Terzo growled a little bit, the noise echoing through his chest. He loved it when his Ghouls referred to him as Papa. He was their Papa,

"Good boy," he whispered while patting Ifrit's cheek one more time, winking at the Ghoul.

Ifrit licked his lips, his smirk devious. He watched hungrily as Terzo skipped away to attend to the fans; his tail swishing around in anticipation.

As Zephyr raced back to his area in the back with the other air Ghouls, Terzo couldn't help but turn to face Omega. The Ghoul was staring at Terzo in disbelief. Even his mannerisms were off.

Usually Omega was wild on stage, always jumping around and showing his eager crowd how amazing he was. Now, he just stood still; glaring at Terzo.

The band quickly wrapped up the rest of the ritual as planned; Papa blowing kisses into the crowd as Pebble threw his drum sticks towards the screaming fans.

Before Terzo was even finished saying goodbye to everyone, he felt a hand wrap around the collar of his jacket; pulling him towards backstage.

He gasped, trying to catch his step as he was ruthlessly dragged away; the crowd erupting in laughter. They could see it was Omega dragging Papa backstage,

"Let go of me!" he growled once the two of them were backstage. He noticed it was Omega, and his anger melted away into amusement, "Ah, my sweet Ghoul. How did you enjoy the show?"

"What the hell was that?" Omega growled while pointing his finger right in Papa's face, "Do you want Ifrit to fuck you or something? Screw you, Terzo. You're such an asshole."

Terzo couldn't help but laugh as he led Omega towards the exit of the venue. Terzo was tired and wanted to take this back to his hotel room, which was strikingly-close to the venue, "At least Ifrit is willing to fuck me. You haven't paid attention to me in weeks."

All of the Ghouls decided to walk back together, and no one said a word about anything as Omega and Terzo fought back and forth. They could tell Omega was pissed, and Terzo would just fuel that flame.

Terzo told everyone goodnight as he got into the elevator. Although all of the Ghouls' bedrooms were beside one another, and Terzo's was down the hall, Omega opted to leave his fellow Ghouls to get an explanation from Terzo. Now that they were alone, Omega really lashed out,

"You have some nerve, Terzo," the Ghoul growled as Terzo unlocked his hotel room; walking inside, "Flirting with Ifrit? Really?"

"That's the only way to get your attention these days," the man rebutted while glaring at Omega, "What have you been doing these last few weeks instead of letting me fuck you? I'm sure nothing important."

Omega, once the door had shut, grabbed Terzo by the neck of his jacket and slammed his lips hungrily into Terzo's. The man groaned in pleasure, letting Omega take the lead without hesitation,

"Yes, Omega," Terzo growled while grinding his clothed bottom half across Omega's thigh hungrily, "Show me how much my antics with Ifrit has angered you. Punish me~"

"Just shut up," Omega growled against Terzo's lips; forcing the man down to his knees, "And don't think I didn't hear about what you said to Ifrit. About how I won't even suck your cock? Well, now you're gonna suck mine and I'll tell everyone the ministry how you were begging for it."

Terzo's eyes sparkled excitedly as he watched Omega fumble with his belt buckle as he spoke; his words full of anger, "Don't threaten me with a good time, little Ghoul."

Omega growled, removing his belt as soon as Terzo said that last sentence. Then, he got an idea. He looped around behind Terzo and grabbed his wrists; binding them together with his belt. Terzo's heart began to hammer in his chest. His mouth was watering.

"Because of how bad you've been, I won't even let you touch yourself while I have my way with you," the fire Ghoul spat while removing his dick from his boxers, pumping it a few times in front of Terzo's smirking lips.

"Now that's just mean," Terzo pouted; his mouth opening slightly to allow Omega to slip his dick inside.

That just caused the Ghoul to laugh,

"Aw, it's kind of cute how much you want my dick right now," he said while slapping it against Terzo's lips, "Alright, baby. I'll give it to you."

Terzo's tongue rolled out as Omega inserted his dick into the eager Papa's mouth. Terzo wanted nothing more than to touch himself while Omega had his way with his mouth, but the belt forbid this. Terzo groaned in annoyance over this; the vibrations running up Omega's dick.

"Lucifer... you feel so good with your mouth wrapped around my dick like this. Such a good boy," Omega groaned, his eyes slamming shut from the pleasure.

The Ghoul entangled his fingers through Terzo's neat hair; affectively ruining its perfect nature with his tugging and pulling.

Omega began thrusting in Terzo's mouth, using his Papa's hair as leverage to get a deeper thrust. Terzo's eyes had rolled back into his head as Omega had his way with him; his throat making unearthly squelching noises with every thrust.

"You're so good for me, Papa," Omega groaned while slowly his thrusts down to the point of clogging up Terzo's whole throat; restricting his breathing for a few seconds, "You better not think about Ifrit again. You're mine, you hear? Mine."

Terzo began to cough and sputter around Omega's cock. The Ghoul would occasionally remove his dick to make sure Terzo wouldn't pass out from lack of oxygen; a cocky smirk on his face every time Terzo gasped for air.

Then, during his final thrust, Omega groaned with an animalistic nature; burying his dick down in Terzo's throat. Ropes of thick seed immediately filled Terzo's mouth and trailed down to his stomach.

Omega removed his dick and smirked down in satisfaction as Terzo started coughing. There was still a line of saliva connecting Omega to Terzo, from dick to lips.

Terzo had a devious look on his face as some of Omega's cum dribbled down his lips, "Come clean me up, Ghoul."

His voice was hoarse from the rough throat fucking he had endured. The gravelly nature of his voice turned Omega on even more.

The Ghoul got down on his knees in front of Terzo and kissed him lovingly; his tongue occasionally trailing along Terzo's lips to clean up any of his mess that he may have left behind.

Then, Omega made it abundantly clear that he wasn't finished yet. He grabbed Papa by the belt that held his hands bound, pushing his face down onto the dirty hotel carpet below. With no hands, Terzo wasn't able to steady himself or regain balance. He was stuck like that; head down, ass up.

This dominance that Omega was showing turned Terzo on. He could feel his own dick pulsating from underneath his pants.

Without a single word, Omega took care of that pesky clothing that protected Terzo from the Ghoul. He grinned, noticing how hard Terzo was for him,

"You want me so badly, don't you, Papa?" he asked, emphasizing the word 'Papa' as he grabbed the man's dick; pumping it a few times in his hand, "I wanna hear you say it."

There was a growing sense of ecstasy growing in Terzo's abdomen; one that could only be cured by Omega's huge, throbbing cock, "Yes, Omega," Terzo whispered, his voice still horse from his throat fucking, "I need you now! Ifrit means nothing to me! Take what's yours!"

Omega, under normal circumstances, would've kept Terzo begging for his cock for hours, but his own instincts were fighting against him. His dick had already been lubed up thanks to Terzo's saliva, so entering his Papa wouldn't be too difficult.

"Just because you're our Papa doesn't mean you have free reign to us," Omega growled while probing Terzo's hole with the tip of his dick, "You don't just get to flirt with anyone, Terzo. You're mine and mine alone."

"Omega," Terzo growled, inching his ass back in a desperate attempt to force Omega's cock into him, "I get it. Lucifer... just fuck me!" he croaked out; his gloved fingers flexing in an attempt to untie himself.

"Good boy," Omega purred, pressing a kiss to Terzo's forehead before completely shoving his cock into Terzo's hole.

The pope screamed in pleasure as his demands were finally answered. Omega had his Papa wrapped around his little finger; the older man mewling like a kitten due to the pleasure Omega was giving to him.

Omega, with his left hand, grabbed Terzo's bound hands, and with his right, entangled his fingers into the man's hair. He pulled with every thrust, causing Terzo to grow overstimulated. The Satanic Pope was moaning and groaning with every thrust.

Omega gave all he could give in these precious moments with Terzo. His dick felt like a hot piston as it desecrated Terzo's asshole. Every thrust sent stars across Terzo's vision; drool beginning to trickle from his lips,

"F-F-Fuck," Terzo groaned; his hips moving in unison with the Ghoul's in hopes of maximizing pleasure, "Y-Yes!"

Omega bit into Terzo's shoulder as continued to deepen his thrusts. The Ghoul finally reached Terzo's prostate. That was enough to get an animalistic howl from Omega's mate; cum shooting from Terzo's exposed cock, which signified his orgasm.

White ropes of seed coated the dirty carpet below.

"Yes, cum for me," Omega growled low while quickening his pace. He was almost there himself, his Papa's orgasm pushing him ever so closer.

Using all of his strength, Omega continued to pile drive Terzo's asshole; the Papa laying tiredly on his face, subtle moans leaving his cum-covered lips.

Then, it happened.

Growling, Omega's pace began to grow sloppier and sloppier, "Fuck," he groaned, using both his hands to grab at Terzo's hips; burying himself balls-deep in his mate.

He filled Terzo's ass with bucket loads of cum. Stars overtook Omega's vision as he reached his peak; a real threat of passing out becoming reality. The pleasure was simply too much.

Both of the men breathed deeply and rapidly as they came down from their high. The Ghoul slowly removed his dick from Terzo's hole, a smirk on his face,

"So, what are we not doing to do anymore?" he asked his submissive partner, a hint of amusement laced in his words. He playfully pinched Terzo's blushing cheek.

Terzo looked back at Omega and blinked; the look of desire still in his eyes, "Look, if flirting with Ifrit will entice you to fuck me like that again, I might start doing it more."

The Ghoul chuckled and grabbed Papa's face, causing their lips to touch briefly, "I'll fuck you like this anytime, baby. Just don't flirt with Ifrit. You're mine.

Mine."

[jedi-enthusiast]

Similar Stories, Different Treatments: Anakin Skywalker and Abijah Fowler

Ok, so recently I've been re-watching 'Blue Eye Samauri' on Netflix and last night it dawned on me that, generally speaking, Abijah Fowler and Anakin Skywalker have very similar stories and actions...and yet their respective fandoms react to the two of them very differently.

So, here's my long ass post analyzing the two of them and why people react to them so differently.

----------

First, comparing the two characters...

So, assuming that y'all know me for my Star Wars content, you probably know Anakin's story but, for the sake of this post, I'll explain it briefly.

Anakin was born into slavery and lived as a slave for 9 years. Then one day he and his mother met two Jedi and a handmaiden, and his mother asked the Jedi to take Anakin and train him---which they agreed to do, so Anakin had to leave his mother. At 19 he had nightmares about and then witnessed his mother's death when he went back to Tatooine before being promptly drafted into war along with the rest of the Jedi by the Senate. After a harrowing 3 years of war and having his worst behaviors enabled/encouraged by the villain and his wife, Anakin begins to have nightmares about his pregnant wife dying. He then tries to prevent her dying, even though she's in perfect health.

We know a little less about Abijah Fowler's past, but we do know an integral part of it from this monologue:

"My country's history is one of manufactured suffering. I was a boy when the Tudors burned any food the rebels under O'Neill might think to eat. We starved. Everyone starved. Mouths on the dead stained green from chewing nettles---you get resourceful in a famine. My parents died early, left me and my sister catching rats. The rats ran out quick. Fed my sister on my blood, it kept her alive an extra two weeks. I didn't sleep for three days to protect her body from the starving 'til the ground thawed. I cut out her kidneys and buried her, fat cap on them like a pea. I haven't eaten a single meal since my mind didn't go to that bite. It was the last thing I ever did because I had to. I control my life now, every bite."

-----

From my point of view, Anakin and Abijah are very similar in their motivations.

Both of them started out as, assumedly, sweet and kind and caring young boys. You don't harm yourself to feed your sister and then cause more harm to yourself to protect her after she's already dead, if you're not. Similarly, you don't bring three complete strangers into your home because you're worried about them and then risk your life to help them, if you're not.

Both of them then went through great tragedies and likely felt completely powerless because of these tragedies and the circumstances they found themselves in.

For Abijah it was growing up during a famine, witnessing the horrors of famine and what people had to do during it, witnessing the deaths of his parents, being unable to stop the death of his sister, and being forced into cannibalism---of his sister and likely parents, no less---to prevent himself from starving. For Anakin it was growing up as a slave, having to leave his mother at a young age, witnessing his mother's death, and then being thrust into a war and witnessing the horrors of that.

Because of that powerlessness, both Anakin and Abijah hate the idea of them being powerless and their actions are made from a mix of anger at whoever they blame for what has happened---whether they're actually to blame, or whether they've done nothing---and refusal to ever be powerless again, or at least accept that they're powerless.

These motivations led them both to commit- (Anakin) -or attempt to commit- (Abijah) -mass murder, *genocide, **cultural genocide, and murder of their female main character counterpart.

*Abijah wasn't necessarily setting out to commit physical genocide, but he was willing to do so if the people of Japan weren't willing to go along with his plans.

**I do consider Abijah's plans as including cultural genocide, since he has a whole monologue about the people of Japan being "godless" and how he'd force them into Christianity- (Catholicism?) -if he succeeded in killing the Shogunate.

----------

Now, comparing fandom's reaction to the two...

For Anakin, he succeeds in causing Padme's death, destroying the Republic aka the only democracy in the galaxy, committing cultural and physical genocide against the Jedi, murdering an entire village of Tuskens including the children, and going on to oppress and enslave the rest of the galaxy for decades...

...in contrast, Abijah only succeeds in committing mass murder and fails in all of his other plans---and his success in committing mass murder is partially due to the Shogun's sons and wife locking people inside the burning palace.

But, despite all of this, if you look into how their respective fandoms treat them, you'd assume that it was the opposite.

Anakin is lifted up as this good person who had no agency in any of his actions or, if he did, then the people he murdered "deserved it"---he's loved by most of the fandom and everywhere you look you see think pieces about how Anakin was really a victim, how his actions were justified, how he's not to blame for anything.

Meanwhile Abijah is hated and his actions are labeled by the fandom as bad. He's a terrible person and he's seen as such. I've never seen a single post justifying his actions or trying to say he isn't to blame for his actions.

Now, this is not me saying that the Blue Eye Samauri fandom is wrong to view Abijah this way---on the contrary, I agree that his actions are heinous and he's a terrible person, there's nothing there that I don't agree with.

However, I do think it's interesting how differently both characters are treated when one of them is, unequivocally, worse than the other.

----------

Why is this?

Now, I'm going to preface this section with the disclaimer that part of it is because Anakin is the main character of his media and Abijah is not---however, I believe that this has a very small effect on how fandom treats them since, as we've seen with other characters, screentime doesn't really matter that much when it comes to whether fandom likes a character or not.

Moving on-

-----

I think a lot of it is just that Anakin is conventionally attractive and Abijah isn't.

Anakin and Abijah are both selfish, misogynistic, racist, have violent responses to most things, and have committed atrocities in the name of personal gain. The only difference between them---besides the obvious differences that come with the medias they're in---is that Anakin is pretty to look at and Abijah isn't.

It'd be even worse if Abijah was a POC or a woman, even if he was conventionally attractive---as proven by other Star Wars characters.

Mace Windu? Fandom hates him and makes him out to be a villain.

Saw Gerrera? Same thing.

Rey Skywalker? People hate her and say she's "unrealistic" or "too OP."

Reva Sevander? People fucking CRUCIFIED her!

None of these people even come near Anakin's level of "I'm a terrible person and I do heinous things because why not!" Mace and Rey never did anything wrong, and Saw and Reva did the things they did because of trauma/revenge and/or working to take down a greater evil---and even then, neither of them do anything near as bad as Anakin!

Yet they're hated and held to a higher standard and crucified in a way that Anakin isn't.

-----

Another reason is that people can project onto Anakin in a way they can't project onto Abijah.

With Anakin, they can twist the Jedi's actions to fit whatever trauma they personally relate to, they can shove characters like Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Mace, Yoda, etc. into whatever archetype they want to fit their story, they can excuse away every atrocity Anakin commits because he's doing it out of attachment and they think attachment means love, etc.

Meanwhile it's hard for people to project onto Abijah because everything and everyone around him is harder to change to fit his narrative.

There's no one really around him that you can say manipulated, abused, or otherwise forced him into doing the things he did. The other characters don't really interact with him, so people can't say the characters "deserved" what he did to them. And he openly admits that he's doing things out of greed, whereas Anakin says he's doing things out of love when he's really not.

----------

In conclusion, Abijah Fowler and Anakin Skywalker are both people that experienced tragedy and became terrible people that did heinous things because of it---but people only justify one of their actions because they think he's pretty and project onto him.

They're the same person in different medias 🤷‍♀️

[ghastlytofu]

I listened to Kamina's "All The King's Horses" while writing this. If you feel like crying about Wyll today. :)

Titled 'joke's on you i'm into that shit' while it sat in my drafts and you know what..? Still applies. Consider this chapter one of at least two, prompt courtesy of @hiriaeth: "Wyll offering Astarion to feed but feeling guilty bcse it's not just about keeping Astarion healthy it's cause he's really into it for sexy and deeply personal reasons" and @mz-elysium's replies positing masochist Wyll. I can only hope I deliver.

This ended up being very introspective and soppy, slightly gory? And probably only sexy if you're an unholy but SOFT monsterfucker like me, so. Fair warning.

(Still working on my other prompts!)

They are knee-deep in gnolls, which is one thing - but the next, oh, before they've cleaned the blood off their blades they're set upon by what appear to be human slavers. Thayan, perhaps, though Wyll can't say for certain. Normally not much of a challenge for adventurers of their ilk - there are no Red Wizards among them, only the grunts and thieves that make their lives easier, but they are fresh off a much harder fight and haven't had time to rest when the first strike comes.

He keeps the location of his companions in mind as he casts Arms of Hadar, sending necrotic power surging menacingly towards his target. It finds it, he notes grimly as the man screams, and Wyll ducks and takes him with his rapier, bloodspray hitting the soft soil like rain. A few paces behind him Shadowheart's mace crushes the skull of an unfortunate rogue and she's rushing to aid Lae'zel, casting quick healing spells to treat what looks like a sprained or broken ankle and - he winces - some kind of acid burn running up her leg, effectively taking them out of the fight, at least for the moment.

Wyll moves to cover them. Successive eldritch blasts slam into the only archer left, felling him. There are at least three more melee combatants on the field, and that's if they don't have reinforcements. They have to move quickly. Lae'zel stumbles to her feet with Shadowheart's assistance, already swinging her greatsword and Astarion -

He hasn't seen Astarion, until now. Hasn't needed to; knew that he would've slipped into cover of darkness when first the fight began, and that he has. He takes one of their foes by surprise, his whirling daggers at their wicked work as one plunges into her heart, the other arcing across her throat. She falls.

There's screaming, and burning. Someone is on fire to his right - another of their enemies, and over the noxious stench of burning flesh and the rising smoke he sees their suffering ended with a swift strike of Lae'zel's massive sword.

There was one more, wasn't there?

He turns, but it's too late. The enemy is upon him, driven by desperation and fear at witnessing his fellows' violent deaths to strike wildly and carelessly, but it's enough at this range. He can't avoid the blade, can't think fast enough to make the mortal wound a minor injury, steels himself against the impact -

It doesn't come. Not like he expects. The blade bites through his armor and grazes his flesh, but he isn't skewered. He turns to see - Astarion, backlit by the afternoon sun, one hand gripping his would-be killer's hair and the other grasping his shoulder. Faster than Wyll can think, he's plunging his fangs into his attacker's strong neck.

Astarion has kept to his word all these long weeks. Animals and hostiles only, he'd promised, hand over his unbeating heart. And when those bodies inevitably fell in the heat of battle - throats torn, blood burbling through gaping wounds and into Astarion's eager waiting mouth -

Wyll watches the slaver struggle, watches his struggling cease. Astarion is - Astarion is drinking deeply, hungrily, Wyll can hear him swallowing greedily as he devours the man before him. A wicked man, a man who'd every intention of ending Wyll's life just moments ago. He has never seen it. Like this, before. It's too intimate. Through the faint sucking sounds, Wyll's - he finds himself staring at those teeth, and after a moment his one working eye meets Astarion's two, catching over the almost-limp body of his. Food.

He knows it's a mistake as soon as it happens - his head throbs with psionic energy, and Astarion's eyes go wide. He is still drinking as he sees-feels Wyll's morbid interest through their tadpoles: something beyond simple gratitude for thinning their enemies' ranks (as had happened in the past: with all professional gravitas, of course, "I appreciate you doing your part to ensure our little group lives to see another day," he'd say. "One hunter to another.")

But underneath. His tadpole squirms - underneath lies the heart of his fascination, and he knows Astarion is consuming it as surely as he's consuming their foe: for every time he's witnessed an enemy die in Astarion's arms, Wyll is alight with pity and envy in equally terrible measure, a heady concoction that flies in the face of everything The Blade of Frontiers stands for: Gods, I wish it were me.

The body falls. The spell breaks.

They return to camp.

-

There is no use beating around the bush.

With their illithid connection, he knows he's been had. There is no point denying it. He'll have to explain himself or risk being subjected to endless teasing - has to hope that Astarion is feeling particularly magnanimous tonight. Because.

He does want to help. He always has. He feels earnestly that Astarion shouldn't have to go hungry - that no one in their camp ought to go hungry - wading through uncertain days and nights when there was a ready supply of fresh food available. It was only practical.

And yet...

It gnaws at him, how much he wants it. How easy it is to get lost in the fantasy of those sharp canines penetrating his skin, his flesh and blood yielding to hungry ministrations. He imagines his own hot blood coursing through Astarion's body, warming him up. Of being the flush in his cheeks, the throbbing in his loins -

Well.

It's a recurring thought, suffice to say.

It burns within him - something hot and hungry that was stoked inside long before the Hells got their hands on him. He expects Astarion's face to be mocking when he confronts him at camp that evening, perhaps just this side of cruel - the man takes his petty pleasures where he can, and following the life he's lead Wyll can hardly blame him - but instead the rogue's looking at him thoughtfully, tapping his chin as he saunters forward. Considering.

"You know, dear," he says, keeping some distance between them. But not much. "This could be quite fortuitous for you and I," and he gestures between them, easy and graceful, as if there could be any doubt about whom he speaks.

Charming bastard. My, but he is in deep.

Astarion's voice hasn't fallen into a seductive register, as one might expect. The tone one supposes he would've - might've - used to entice innumerable patriars of the past.

Not that Wyll's thought about it.

But he does sound hungry. Underneath the civility, there's an edge. And Wyll is intensely aware of that gaze on him - of his own heart hammering away in his chest, a bird beating against the bars of its cage.

It's almost worse because he trusts Astarion. It would be so much easier if he didn't, if the vampire spawn were just another monster to slay. He could be righteous then, and not want, and not wonder.

But wonder he does, and Astarion's incessant teasing doesn't help. Oh, not that Wyll minds as such - finds him more charming than not, by and large an agreeable menace - but some words rattle in his brain more than others: Astarion admitting within three feet of him, bold as day that he'd favor a taste of Wyll's blood above all others. No question, he'd said, and hasn't that thought kept him up countless sweaty nights.

Perilous were the waters of flattery when the source was such a danger. And Astarion was dangerous - is dangerous, deadly even. And catty, and brave. Surprisingly sweet under all the bluster and defensive sarcasm. He's proven a steadfast ally and delightful company to boot, if a tad knife-happy. And even were that not the case, Wyll thinks. He's of no mind to condemn any creature that isn't actively preying on innocents.

He's not sure if he counts himself among them.

He's struck by the memory of a book he once read, tucked away in his father's study. Certainly not meant to be seen by his young prying eyes, The Salty Mermaid was as debauched as it was dramatic, the salacious and harrowing tale of the mermaid Allura, a beautiful and brave battlemaiden of the sea, and the hapless half-elven fisherman that loved her.

Descriptions of desire and alien anatomy - the salt spray painting the scales of the mermaid's tail, running in rivulets down her iridescent body, slick in secret places. Her lover's tongue tracing them tirelessly, feverish in his devotion to her pleasure. She was known. She was heeded.

To this day the memory of that damnable book inevitably has him swelling in his smallclothes, clenching his thighs in a hopeless attempt to alleviate the arousal that builds in him. He's never thought of himself as a man of peculiar tastes - has always considered himself rather old-fashioned in love, if he's being honest - but it leaves an imprint on his memory that's tied directly to the fire within him - a chord that resonates in every nerve of his body, plucked by Astarion's knowing smile.

He can see his fangs.

Drivel, his father had called it. But still Ulder kept it in his drawer, a shameful but coveted secret tucked away like so much hoarded treasure. An action that befuddled young Wyll at the time.

He thinks he understands it better, now.

He doesn't want to. Use. And that is the crux of it - this mad desire to be bitten feels at odds with his sincere desire to see Astarion well-tended to, however symbiotic they may seem on the surface, and this is the why of it:

Motive is important. He's always argued - staked his very soul on the principle - that intent matters. It's how he's justified seven years in Mizora's service. He signed that contract for the people, and that has to matter, because if it doesn't. If it doesn't, and his soul is damned for naught -

That thought threatens to consume him, or it would if given any chance of flourishing. Wyll does not let it see the light of day. He cannot afford to dwell on such things. So he doesn't.

What does he have that's his? His heart for the Gate, laying there at his father's feet. His soul to the Hells, and now his body: Mizora has taken them both. All he has is his duty to the Coast, and here is someone who needs him, plainly.

He steels himself. Swallows around his shame, and speaks. He owes his friend an explanation - and Astarion is his friend, despite the odds.

"It isn't- I don't want you to think that's why," he starts.

"And whyever not?" Astarion interjects, voice honey-tempered and calm. He is very still, and Wyll feels clumsy, inadequate. He is twenty-four and feels like a foal, stumbling and uncertain. He has never had this conversation before. Hardly understands that which he's so desperate to communicate.

"I want to help you," he says, somewhat helplessly. It feels pathetic. He feels pathetic. But it's-

"But you want it," it's not a question. Astarion's tone is sharp, leaving little room for doubt though his face is not unkind. He nods thoughtfully without waiting for Wyll's response, seeming to have come to some conclusion within himself.

"Yes," Wyll says anyway, because he owes the man an honest answer. It would not do to lie now. He doesn't squirm, but only because he's had a lifetime of uncomfortable confrontations eerily similar to this: he's six years old standing stock still in front of his father, fighting against his trembling legs. He's ten, he's fourteen, he's -

He's seventeen, and Ulder Ravengard says go.

Wyll banishes the thought from his mind, but not before Astarion shoots him a knowing look, surely experiencing echoes of his unwelcome ghosts via the parasites nestled in their heads. He sighs.

"What do you want from me, Astarion? Yes, it's tempting. I don't- it isn't a consideration I want you to place above your own needs. It doesn't matter. We can drop it," he offers.

There is a lengthy pause. He hears only insects in the distant night, his own blood rushing in his ears. There is the faint whisper of his breathing; Astarion's chest is still.

"Or we could not drop it," Astarion responds evenly. Steady. It is a second option. Astarion is giving him a second option.

Something in him buckles, and he takes a step forward. Astarion grins victoriously - excited, gleeful even, the prospect of what's to come lending to his countenance a certain joie de vivre seldom seen on the road. "My dear," he coos, fully stepping into Wyll's space now. "Consider how we might take care of one another." One hand winds about the back of his head, caressing a horn. The other lands on his shoulder and Wyll relaxes into the touch, a familiar gallantry, his arms coming up tentatively to rest on Astarion's waist, earning him a brilliant smile.

It is a peace offering, Wyll recognizes. A familiar script he can follow, and he sighs with relief and gratitude. He has the distinct impression that the other man is indulging him with such pageantry, letting him play the strapping hero come to this poor vampire spawn's rescue in his time of need, offering selflessly of his body, his blood, though it's clear to him now - in his honest heart - that the two of them are offering of one another.

Ebb and flow, he thinks. Like the sea, sure as the steady thrum in his veins.

He feels... quiet. Perhaps it's the thought that if he says it quietly enough, no one but Astarion will know. "Will it hurt?"

Astarion's cool lips are close to his ear. "Only a little, my sweet," he admits, voice soft. "But you may well enjoy that."

Wyll shivers.

"Worry not, O Blade," he says, nosing along what part of Wyll's jaw he can reach from where they stand. "I like that you like it. Do you think I'd rather be where I'm not wanted?" It's not quite a pout in his voice, but something like it. Wyll can hardly argue, so he nods, feeling discordantly shy.

Astarion steps back. Wyll feels suddenly bereft - cold, though his companion's body is not warm by any measure. But he only takes Wyll's hand, leading him out from under the awning and into his tent proper, pulling him down so that they're kneeling together in the faint light of the hanging lantern. Softly instructing Wyll to lay back, sweetling.

He does as he's told. His breath catches. Some monster hunter, he thinks, in a voice not unlike his father's. Considers this moment, considers countless others in his recent and not so recent past. Thinks of the horns on his head and the fork in his tongue.

The tent smells like Astarion. Blankets and pillows especially, but the dusty tomes, the neatly arranged bottles on a shelf are all evidence of his presence. It's not unpleasant. Faint jasmine perfume, and underneath, traces of blood-iron seem to permeate the air and every surface. Evidence of the not-quite-living. Or... no. Perhaps a different, but equally valid form of existing. It makes him shiver.

Wyll's glad they're not doing this in his tent. He can't bear the thought of laying awake every night in a puddle of his own desperate sweat, triggered endlessly by the inescapable scent-memory of this moment. Such occurrences happen often enough already.

He's splayed out like a meal, and with a dull sort of shock remembers he is one. Astarion's leaning over him now, haloed by the glow of the lantern, shadows cast against the canvas walls of their shelter. His pupils are wide and dark.

He's looking at Wyll like he sees him. Wyll meets his gaze, and with a sort of courage that doesn't remind him at all of the Frontiers, tilts his head back to bare his neck.

"How very considerate of you, darling," his companion murmurs. He draws one hand across Wyll's face - across his day old stubble, his chin, down the scarred line of his throat - pausing significantly at his pulse point, which thunders like a war drum, riotously loud in his ears, he can't imagine what Astarion hears - before continuing his trajectory downward to better brace himself against Wyll's shoulder.

Astarion gives it a squeeze before catching Wyll's eye once more. Seeking confirmation - assurance, perhaps, that Wyll is here with him. That he wants this.

He does, desperately. It is too late to play coy; he owes it to Astarion not to attempt such a thing. So he swallows, and nods, and lays an encouraging hand over Astarion's where it rests on his shoulder. For a moment he worries it's too much. Too tenuous a path to tread in this fragile moment, but Astarion does not pull away. The look that it earns him - Wyll cannot put a name to it. It feels tender and put-together, furious and fraying.

"Thank you," Astarion says, simply.

He leans in, and Wyll closes his eyes.

tbc

[sweetlittlegingy]

Burning House

♤ Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Blue Jeans Masterlist

♤ Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Y/n "Tilly" Tillerson

♤ Word Count: 6.3K

♤ Warnings: Smut 18+, family fighting, reader gets hit (not by Rhett), angst, fluff

♤ A/n: I haven't written smut in years, so let me know. Also, I'm 30 minutes late, but this week has been a lot. Also, you are responsible for your own content consumption. This is an 18+ fic, please respect that.

♤ Library | Main Masterlist

The shatter of glass pulls you from your thoughts, a reminder of where you were. Thrown once again into the fire. Tugging your jeans the rest of the way up, you button the brass button. The tank top you’re wearing sticks to you like a second skin, in the hot Wyoming weather.

Yanking it off you grab an old Coors shirt, slipping it over you frame, before reaching down to tug on your boots. Mud flicks off on to the carpet, making you roll your eyes, you’d have to clean it before your mother saw.

You hadn’t been home in almost four years, leaving Wabang in the dust when you got accepted to Montana State to pursue a degree in business.

Montana had been your number one choice in schools for two reasons; it was out of state away from family, and it was still close enough that Rhett could drive down. It’d been at least 8 months since you’d last seen him, to say you were wound tight was an understatement.

The harsh reality of your father getting sick and you having to come home was thrown into your face, not even a week ago. Your mother made it quite clear, that whether you wanted to or not, you would be coming home with her.

Growing up as the youngest Tillerson, and a girl at that, hadn’t been an easy feat. The constant reminder that you would never fully be in control of your life, not while being a part of this family at least.

Luke and Billy were fine, as fine as they could be. Luke was so far up your mother’s ass, that you were surprised he could even function when she wasn’t around. While Billy was completely brainwashed by your father.

Though you would have happily dealt with them over your father and Trevor. Those two had tempers and matched against your own; the state of your life had been on fire for as long as you could remember.

The three of your tempers flaring at every incident, ended in more fist fights than you could remember, and the list of broken items was never ending. Fuel was just added to the fire when your mom was home, having all four of you in the same room always ended with Sheriff Joy, coming out on calls of domestic disturbances.

A quick look in the mirror, you double-check your makeup and hair and decide that you're more than hot enough to make a surprise appearance at the Handsome Gambler. Another crash has you looking back at your door, silently wondering what the hell was wrong now. Pulling open your bedroom door, you can hear the yelling voices of Luke and Trevor. Forgoing your hat for the night, you make your way to the den.

There was only one hat that you be wearing tonight, come hell or high water it would be yours.

Both voices raise, nearly scream, when suddenly a third voice cuts through causing you to pause your descent down the stairs.

“What she wants doesn’t matter, damn it.” A rough cough rises from your father’s chest, “She doesn’t even know what the hell’s going on, if you two idiots could keep your voice down.”

You mind races, trying to think of anything they could be talking about. Though you come up blank, having been gone you hadn’t worried about your father and brothers.

What in the hell could be so important that they needed to keep it from you? Staying on the stairs, out of sight you wait for them to go on.

“She’s gonna find out, I’m surprised Rhett hasn’t already told her. Abbott doesn’t know how to keep his fucking mouth shut.” You’d known that was Luke, his voice not rough like your fathers and Trevor’s. 

Though you couldn’t figure out why in the world they were talking about you and Rhett. It had been years since they’d seen the two of you together and there was no way they knew the two of you were still a thing.

The two of you grew up together, best friends since you were children. You knew every part of each other, sharing your deepest secrets, and eventually an unbreakable love. Puberty had hit the both of you like a fright train, leading to you two fucking in every pasture between his and your house. Fucking; eventually turned into more, friends falling in love hard and fast.

You’d officially been together three years when you graduated, though your story tale came to a sudden halt when you received your acceptance letter. With you moving and Rhett actively pursuing bull riding, the both of you had decided to end your relationship.

The both of you left it on good terms, and Rhett still came up to Bozeman, the six-hour drive nothing compared to trips he made on the circuit. You hadn’t told Rhett that you were coming home, the spur of the moment decision made by your mother prevented it, but you knew he’d be out tonight.

No longer giving a shit if they saw you, you make your way down the stairs. Their talking cutting off completely when you came into view, your brothers and father staring holes into your head as you push through the den into the kitchen.

“Don’t stop talking on my account.” The snap in your voice is evident.

The four sets of eyes following your every move, still not talking, as you dig around in the key jar.

“What are you doing?” It’s Trevor that speaks up first, his tone already pissy.

“What’s it look like?” You throw him a look over your shoulder, your gaze condensing in every way. His gaze back is still questioning, and you wonder if he truly is an idiot.

“I’m getting the fucking keys Trevor.”

A smile graces your face as you find the set to your father’s new pickup, the one he hadn’t been able to drive since he’d gotten sick. You raise your hand in triumph showing them, and silently waiting for the pushback.

“Where do you think that you're going?” This time it’s Luke that questions you, his tone less sharp not wanting to set off your temper.

Luke had learned over the years what buttons not to push, while Trevor knew exactly which one to push. It was like he thrived off the idea of making you mad, to see just how much you’d blow up.

“I’m not going to just sit around; I don’t really feel like listening to ya’ll fight. Mom might have forced me back, but she didn’t say I had to stay on the ranch.” Your eyebrow slightly raises “I’m going for a drink.”

Before you can turn to leave, a harsh, forced laugh falls from Trevor’s lips.

“When did you turn into such a fucking bitch? Saying that mom forced you here, like this ranch isn’t the thing that’s given you everything.”

Your jaw ached from how tightly you’d clenched it, all of them just staring at you. No words to defend you, you hadn’t expected it, but it would have been a nice surprise.

Trevor might have been right about your childhood. Getting everything you wanted, it wasn’t like you asked for it, it was just there. The exact way it was for each of your brothers, the only difference is that you left, and when you left so did daddy’s money.

Sure, you could have asked, begged, but you didn’t need it. You maintained a job with a company up in Bozeman, that paid you more than enough to live and the thought to being debited to this place, was enough for you to live on a smaller means.

“Unlike you Trevor, I no longer live off Daddy’s money. Though since I’m being forced to stay here, I will be taking liberties. The first on being, using the damn pickup.” The rattle you made with the keys, finally setting him off.

You’d said the wrong thing before, but the fire in Trevor’s eyes hadn’t been one you’d personally seen. Before you can make a move for the door, he was on you, the whip of your head and crack of the back of his hand on your face echoing through the kitchen.

Silent rage, you couldn’t feel the pain. The heaving of your chest should have been notion enough that you were pissed. It’s not till you feel the blood running down your lip, that you realize he’d done damage.

Sure, Trevor and your father had hurt you before, but it had been a long time since they had struck you on the face. You raise your hand up, still clutching the keys and brush your fingers over you lip. The blood smears as you do, feeling an evident spilt and swelling.

No one moves, Trevor stands just in front of you, while the other three don’t do so much as comment.

The harsh laugh that falls from your lips, should scare them. You never wanted to see a pissed off woman laugh, that was common sense, but to see a pissed off Tillerson woman laughing.

They should have been running.

Acting on pure instinct your fist reals back, flying at Trevor before anyone can react. The resounding crack of his nose brings you joy, his figure doubling over sightly. Your fist already rising back, ready to maim him. You’d seen bright red and you didn’t want to stop, not when he was the one doubled over in pain.

It’s only the feeling of Luke wrapping his arms around your waist, and dragging you back from Trevor that makes you stop.

“Calm down, damn it.” It’s your father that yells, the four of your gazes snapping directly to him.

Your lips curl back in disgust, of course it wasn’t an issue if you were the one bleeding. Oh, but if anyone touches poor Trevor, the fucking world was ending.

You scoff, shaking Luke off and double check that you still have your keys. Grabbing your purse, that had fallen, you move to leave, leaning into Trevor as he tries to stop the bleeding.

Your voice as sharp as a knife, “I’m not little anymore Trev. You touch me again, and I’ll kill you.”

Pushing past him ,you brush off your shirt noticing that drops of blood had collected on it. Cursing you brother once again, you head out the door, only offering Billy a goodbye.

Walking to the truck, you can’t stop the smirk that rises on your lips. You were ready to get absolutely hammered and fall into Rhett’s bed in a tangle of limbs.

Not caring that it’s your father’s truck, or that it was in fact brand new, you peel out the drive gravel flying. Your fingers beat along the steering wheel, music blasting and windows down.

Flicking down the visor you silently thank your father, you didn’t smoke normally, but occasionally you’d light one up. Flipping open the box of Marlboro’s, you slip one between your lips. Grabbing the lighter in the cup holder, the sweet relief the nicotine gives you instantly calms your jittery limbs.

The cigarette only just brushes against the left side of your bottom lip and has you wincing, the pain finally setting in. You’d need a stiff drink to take that edge off, the glowing neon sign of the Handsome Gambler a welcomed sight.

You’d checked your lip in the mirror, grimacing slightly at the swelling and taking a wet napkin to your chin, removing the dried blood. The music can be heard before you even make it to the door, upon opening it, it increases ten-folds. Rumbling through your body and instantly soothing you. The red glowing neon of the bar was a tad obnoxious but wasn’t unbearable.

The click of your boots draw eyes to you instantly, though the only set you're looking for sits at the end of the bar. Leaning over a glass of whiskey, unfazed by his surroundings.

You don’t take time to acknowledged anyone else, your sights set and your feet carrying you without another thought in the world.

He doesn’t notice you leaning on the bar next to him, surely overthinking his last ride, and it isn’t until you grab the hat off his head that you get his attention. You’re sure that bar goes silent as the hat settles on your head, a familiar piece; one you’ve worn on many occasions.

Your hand is reaching for his whiskey before he can even comprehend that it’s you. Shooting the drink back, you rest the glass once again between his fingers and let your eyes finally meet his.

Wonder and questioning cross his face. His eyes going to your lip and your positive you see a flash of rage, before his eyes move to the hat on your head and a smug smirk settles on his lips.

“You know there’s a certain rule about stealing a cowboys hat Tilly?”

His nickname for you falling from his lip, nearly has you melting into a puddle on the ground, but you hold strong.

A hum and a nod of your head is the only recognition you given him, before moving to him. His legs opening for you like muscle memory, and your arms lacing around his neck. Your mouth resting just inches from his ear, your breath hot against him.

“And I fully intend on cashing in on those rules tonight, Abbott.”

The way his grip tightens on your waist has your toes curling in anticipation, the burning in your core igniting now that Rhett’s within your hold. Your eyes meet his and your breath catches, the blue of his eyes no longer visible. His pupils blown, watching your every move, and full of want.

It’s his hand that comes up and knocks the brim of his hat up, his eyes taking in the way your lips part as tiny soft pants fall from them.

Every time, it was like this. Like no time had passed since the last time your trembling form was under him. The way that your body became putty in his hands would have been annoying, if you didn’t like it so damn much.

No, those hands and his mouth were a God sent you were sure, or maybe hell sent. Given the way they could have you trembling like a leaf and Rhett’s name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Your lip slips between your teeth, gently biting it, not caring any longer about the cut. Your stare is unwavering, neither of you paying mind to the bar surrounding you and you can’t deny the way your body craves him.

The whiskey you shot earlier didn’t come close to warming you up like he did, as his hands leave a trail of flames in their wake gently rub up your sides.

“You that needy, you have to come down here to me? Nobody work you over like me, hmm Tilly.”

You know he’ll question you later, want to know the full story. But it’s the fact that he knows just what you need to hear, the need to forget all the shit, that has you wanting to crawl up into his lap.

“No baby, I came cause I heard you needed me.”

Your hands slip into the hair at the base of his neck, lightly scratching and he can’t hide the shiver that slips up the base of his spine.

“Heard none of the bunnies could take you like I can. They're just too breakable for you.”

The tension has the both of you leaning in closer to each other, waiting for the other one to beg. You can feel Rhett’s breath hot against your lips, just barley touching, though not nearly like how you’re craving him. The need to have him flush against you, making your legs shake as tears run down your face.

Rhett caves just barely, his tongue slipping out and licking at your bottom lip. Swiping over the cut, a stinging jolt of pain and need courses through your veins. The moan that erupts from your chest, makes him smirk and pull you closer to him.  Your thigh barley nudging the front of his pants, his cock hard and pulsing against the thick denim.

Glancing down, the imprint against his jeans has your core clenching and a tiny whine coming from your throat. A chuckle falls his lips, his hand coming to rest on your cheek, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“You that needy, girl?”

Your head is nodding before you can even think to stop it. The need to be owned by Rhett, out-weighting your usually independent nature. He knew it, he always did. It was one of his favorite things about you; how you were a spitfire to anyone else, but when he pushed just right, you’d be on your knees.

The closeness in proximity to each other, leaves no room for outside interference.

You hadn’t seen her coming back from the bathroom, in her barley there shorts, and trashy boots. Though the whiny voice stating Rhett’s name pulls your gaze to the girl standing next to you.

Rhett’s vision never leaves your face, waiting to see how you’d react. He always loved to see you get territorial, and had a habit of forgetting to tell you about other girls hitting on him at the bar.

Your eyes rack up her form, your head tilling to the side as you take in her appearance. Looking back the Rhett, you see him shrug his shoulders, silently telling you to handle it.

Turning to her, the smile dropping from your face, “He’s got his hands full bunny.”

The hands once on your waist, slip down to grab your ass. Giving it a harsh squeeze, that has your legs clenching.

“I already claimed him for the night.” Her tone bitter, acting like she has made some miraculous point.

Your jaw ticks at her stupidity and the fact that she thinks that she has some claim over him.

The only person that had a claim over Rhett Abbott was you, and it always would be you.

Turning to full face her, Rhett’s hands settling on your hips, hands sneaking under your shirt.

“No bunny, you didn’t.” The tone of your voice is sharp and you’re sure the once loud bar has gone silent.

“For one, he’s a person, not an object, and “claims” can’t be made over him.” You take a step closer to her, your gaze unwavering. “Though if anyone has a claim over him, it’s me and this damn hat proves it.”

The flick of your finger against the hat, has her eyes rising to the hat resting on your head. Her eyes find yours again, and you can see the gears trying to turn in her head. Just as her mouth opens to say something; you’re quick to shut her up.

“I think you’d better leave bunny, unless you wanna find out just how I got the split lip.”

Her eyes flicker to your lip then back to your eyes, fire burning behind your gaze, and you watch as she realizes how serious you are. Her face falling and a slight fear crosses her eyes before she’s turning and walking away.

You turn back around to Rhett, a smug smirk resting on his lip. A new hunger burns in his eyes as he watches you and his hands slide back down to grab your ass.

“You put a claim on me girl?”

“I’ve had a claim on you, since that first time you fucked me behind the church.”

You can see the memory flashing through his mind, and before you realize it, he’s up and pulling you out of the bar to his pickup.

Your back hits the passenger door of his pick, your gazes watching one another. It’s you that sneaks up a hand around his neck, pulling his lips to yours. Not caring that you were the one to break this time, all you knew was that you needed Rhett like you needed air to breathe.

The clash of your lips against one another, stings slightly against your split lip, but the way Rhett’s leg slots between your knees has you forgetting.

It’s when Rhett nips at your bottom lip that has you cursing. Rhett’s fast to pull back, his eyes dropping to your lip and that anger from earlier reappears.

“Who the fuck did it?” the question leaves no room for you to evade it. Trapped within his arms and his hard gaze.

“Trevor.” His name taste like acid on your tongue and your sure Rhett doesn’t miss the way your grimace.

The hands at your hip tighten, surely causing bruises, and your hands drop to rub Rhett’s shoulders. A silent gesture from you, telling him that you’re okay.  

“I’ll fucking kill him.” And the heat between you is forgotten by him. The only thing incasing him now, was his anger aimed directly at your brother.

Rhett feels the way his breath picks up, he knew that your family was a bunch of assholes and that you all fought religiously. Hell, he’d been there for a few of them when you were both still in high school.

But to hear that Trevor had physically put his hands on you, set off something entirely new within him.

He doesn’t hear you; a ringing has started in his ears, and he can’t stop the replaying imagery in his mind of Trevor hitting you. He’s making his way around the pick-up and climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Tilly get in.” His voice is harsh and has you climbing in quickly.

Before you know it, he’s pulling from the parking spot and heading back towards both of your homes.

“Rhett what are you thinking?” though you don’t receive an answer, the sound of gravel underneath the tire’s echoes through the cab.

You can see the steam rolling off him and though you should be scared, you know that Rhett would never hurt you. The split in the road ahead is looming, one to the Abbott Ranch and the other to your families.

Looking over to Rhett you can see his hands shaking in rage. Reaching over you take one of his hands from the steering wheel and hold it against your lips. Giving his knuckles repeated kisses, as his gaze settles on your face.

“Pull over baby.” Your voice is soft and not demanding, though you know that Rhett will listen to your gentle request.

The truck stops in the middle of the road, and you can see a storm rising up against the mountains. Much like the one that is clearly racking through Rhett’s mind, he’s eyes look back to your eyes, watching the way you continually kiss his knuckles.

A shuttered breath leaves his lips, and his head is bowing down into his chest. His voice quiet, but you still hear him.

“He hit you.” The shake and pain in his voice is clear as day. “He put his fucking hands on you, and they did nothing.”

His face snaps to you, as you go to correct him, words failing you. His gaze proves that he already knows the truth.

“Okay, so they did nothing. What’s new?” The laugh that leaves you is more strained than you planned, “I got a good hit in though, think I broke his nose.”

Rhett watches you as you tell him, a chuckle leaves his lips at your comment. The hand you’d been kissing, raising to brush against your cheek.

“My Girl.”

Such wonder and love in his tone, his eyes showing nothing but pride in you. The feeling rattles you to your core. You and Rhett had broken things off, but that didn’t mean you stopped loving him.

The look he’s giving you, makes it seem like he still loved you too. You’re up and climbing across the truck before you can seconded guess the decision.  

Climbing over into his lap, needing to be next to him, to feel him and know that he was with you.

He welcomes you, grabbing your hips to settle your thighs on either side of his lap. One hand coming to rest on your cheek, grazing the split in your lip once again.

“He deserves so much more than just a fucking broken nose.” You nuzzle into his palm, placing kisses into it.

“And you would have killed him without a seconded thought?” Your laugh is silenced, as Rhett straightens your face to look at him.

“I’d burn the fucking world to the ground for you Tilly.” The way he says it, causes your core to clench.

A commandment of love, without actually saying the words.

You know that he would, but hearing the rasp and seriousness in his voice, made you feel like you were about to combust.

Your lips surge forward, kissing him in the only way you know how to express your feelings. You needed him and you didn’t care if you were in the middle of a public road. You needed him to quench the burning in your core. To make you scream his name, to feel his length hit that spongy little spot that only he reached.

Your need for him, drowning out the pain in your lip.

Your teeth clashed against one another, Rhett’s hand rising up to knock the hat off your head.  His hand settling at the back of your hair, pulling you down harder into him. His hip bucking slightly as you grind down against his hard length, pressing into you through the two layers of denim.

The harsh tug on your hair has your head dropping back and an airy moan falling from your lips. Rhett’s lips trail down your neck, wet open mouth kisses left in his wake.

You’d missed this, the way that only he knew your body.

And just like every time, his lips settle over the junction of your neck and collarbone, teasing and biting the spot.

Your hips push down harder, your core burning with need, his lips never leave your neck. Marking you as his own. No one would question if you were together by the end of the night, he was gonna make sure of it.

It’s the nip of his teeth, that has you let out a loud moan, and your hips moving on their own accord. His hands falling to your ass, pushing, and pulling you.  

“Atta girl, let me hear you.”

A whine breaks through your lips at the praise, keening in delight. The cab of the truck getting entirely too hot, and Rhett’s hands find the bottom of your shirt tugging it over your head.

Your lips finding each other again, tastes of whiskey and mint reach your lips, your tongue teasing his bottom lip.

His hands grasping and running over your unclothed top, hands slipping behind you and flicking the clasp of your bra.

Your eyes meet each other, time slowing. Your hands hold your bra in place, Rhett’s hands raising to trace your arms. His fingers slipping into the straps, to tug them down softy. His mouth descending to your collarbone, kissing over the tops of your breast.

Your back arches, your hips lifting slightly, chasing his tongue. He laughs at you softy, before striping your bra completely from your body.

A low groan leaves his lips, watching your chest rise and fall with each breath.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” His hand rising to cup one breast, thumb grazing your nipple. A shiver consumes your body, as your nipple erects in the cool air. “Such a pretty girl for me.”

He smirks at you, a teasing look that has you whining and your hands pulling his head down.

“So fuckin’ needy.”

The only reply falling from your lips is a moan, as his lips wrap around the bud. His other hand coming up to tug on the other. Your hands raking through his hair, tugging him forward, the tug of his teeth on you makes your head drop back. Your eyes falling shut, enjoying the way Rhett encompasses you.

He works your body over, still full clothed in front of you, and yet has you begging for release.

Quiet pleas fall from your lips, your need consuming every inch of your body.

“Please. Need it, Rhett. Need you.”

His hips buck up into you, and a high-pitched whine leaves you. Your hands moving to paw at his shirt, the need to feel him, is the only thought coursing through your mind.

You try to unbutton his shirt, but you can’t seem to process it. An upset whine from you, has Rhett’s hands replacing yours, getting the shirt off far quicker than you could.

Your hands falling to trace along his stomach, a smile gracing your lips, and you’re leaning in to kiss him.

Pressing into to him, needing the feel of his skin pressed against your own. The kiss far more than just that, Rhett’s hands rising to cradle your face, and, in that moment, you know you can’t leave him again.

He was as much a part of you, as your need to breath. Without him; it was like you’d been under water, your surrounding muffled. Being back; was like you were experiencing the world again, like you’d been gasping for air, and he was that first breath.

“Need you, Tilly.” The hand cradling your face, has his thumb tracing along your bottom lip. Gently tugging it down, you nipping as his thumb, your gaze never leaving one another.

“Let me have you.” The look in his eyes, pleading for you. Not for just a fuck; but you, wholly.

“I’m yours, Abbott.” Kissing him softy, leaning back to mutter against his lips. “Only ever been yours.”

He sucks in a harsh breath, his eyes watching you, silently questioning you. Waiting for you to laugh in his face, to tell him you didn’t mean it.

“I’m serious Rhett, —” Your voice cracks slightly as you watch him, overwhelmed by the emotions coursing through your body. “I — I’m not leaving you again. I can’t.”

You're afraid that tears might fall, the events of the night weighing on you. You know that Rhett loves you, you don’t need to hear it, he’d showed you how he did your whole life.

“I love you so fuckin’ much Tilly, never been anyone else. Not even with you gone.” Your breath is sucked from your chest when he mutters it. Your eyes shocked and questioning. “No one else baby, not even the bunnies.”

The revelation has you surging forward in need, finding out that he had always been yours, sets your skin a flame. Your hands fall to this belt buckle, tugging it undone, as he works at your jeans. The both of you curse as Rhett gets your jeans unzipped, but can’t lower them down your legs. You rise up, ripping them and your panties down your legs, and throwing them into the back of the truck.

Rhett laughs as you do it, your friendship and teasing spilling through the tension momentarily.

“Don’t laugh a me.” Your voice is teasing as you say it, loving the ways his laugh is so carefree. “Now get those off.” You motion to his jeans, more than ready to feel all of him against you.

“Yes Ma’am.”

He pulls them down quickly; a groan leaving his lips at his hard cock snaps up to rest against his tone stomach. The tip red and dripping with precum, your hand reaching out to stroke him.

His length pulses in your palm and you can’t stop the way you bite your lip. The need to taste him overwhelming; the need to have him groaning under your touch.  

His eyes move down to glance at your dripping heat, his hands reaching out to grab you instantly. Fingers tracing down your hip bones and up your thighs, teasing you, your cunt clenching down in anticipation.

“Touch me, please Rhett.”

As the last syllable of his name leaves your lips, his fingers ghost along your slit. Slipping into you slightly, then pulling out to graze your clit. Your hips buck as he does it.

Rhett’s other hand comes up to rest on your hip, holding you in place.

“Hold still.” The bite in his tone pulls at your core, his eyes watching your reaction. Gaging just how far he can push you, and when you bite your lip, his hold on you tightens a bit more.

“You gonna be my good girl?”

The way your eyes snap up to him, slightly glazed over, and the hurried nod you give him, makes him let out a low groan.

His fingers slipping back into your tight channel, nudging that spongy little spot, barely grazing it. Your hips drop farther onto his lap, working to feel him just a bit deeper and when they don’t, you’re crying out.

“Need your cock.” The burning in your core insufferable; and making your mind hazy.

“Take it darlin’.” His nose nudges against your own, lips barley touching.

“Take what’s yours, baby.”

Heat surrounds you, your mind lost in need, and you’re moving to hover over his cock as he finishes the sentence. Your mind only clearing up slightly, looking up into his eyes.

“There’s never been anyone else for me either.”

And you’re sinking down around him.

Those eight months apart, make it feel like he might break you. Your legs tremble, your heat stretching and you’re cursing out.

Your head drops back as a gasp falls from your lips. His cock hitting that little spot perfectly. Too deep, but not deep enough.

A string of breathy whines fall from your lips, and Rhett swears you’ve never looked prettier.

Eye’s glazed over, lips unable to form words, so fucked out, and all you’ve done it sit on his cock.

His hips buck up just sightly, and you’re dropping forward leaning against his chest, mumbling incoherently.

“So, fucking tight for me baby.” His hips buck once more, enjoying the reaction from you. Like his cock has broken your mind, leaving you to be his perfect little doll. “Such a good pussy baby.”

The praise has you keening against his chest, your hips rising up slightly, before dropping back down. Your heat clenching around him, like a vice, his own head dropping back to rest against the seat.

“That’s it baby, take what you need.”

His words spur you on, hands resting on his shoulders as your repeatedly rise and fall on his length. Your hands move to the back of his hair and pull him forward. Needing to feel his lips on you, the pace of your hips speed up.

The burning in your core only rising. Mouths barely touching each other, as breathy whines fall from your lips, working to keep yourself upright.

A particular hard thrust from Rhett has your head dropping back and a loud moan to leaving your body.

Rhett’s lips surge forward, working on your neck as your fingers dig into his scalp.  Tugging and pulling his hair as you climb higher.  

 He can’t hold himself any longer, grasping your hips he pulls you up off himself only slightly. Before you can even register what’s going on, Rhett’s got the center console up and you laid out stretching across the seats.

His eyes watch the way your chest rises in hurried breaths, how he’s got you laid out before him like a god damn feast.

He’s sinking back into you, grabbing both your legs, and wrapping them around his waist. Fucking into you at a feverish speed, your hands above you, grasping the door handle. White knuckled and crying out every time Rhett surges forward.  

The heat within your core becoming all too much as he fucks you. Hips snapping, and hitting that little spot, that has tears gathering in your eyes.

“Please, need it.”

Your babbling uncontrollable, body withering underneath Rhett.

“I’ve got you Tilly.” The snapping of his hips speeding up, and his hand reaching up to cradle your face. Your wild eyes silently beg him for more, anything to push you over the end.

His own release, tittering on the edge. He needed you to come first though, need it to see his girl fall apart on his cock.

To feel your cunt clench down on his cock, as you screamed out his name.

A sharp whine leaves your lips and Rhett feels you clench around him. His hand resting on your face, thumb stroking your cheek, waiting to give you that final push.

Your eyes fall to each other, silently begging.

“Let go baby, daddy’s got you.”

You tumble over the edge, hands grasping at Rhett. Cunt clenching around him, as his own hips stutter.

“Wanna feel you daddy. Need to feel your cum.” Your voice is breathy, as you clench around him even tighter.

Rhett’s hands fall to rest by your head, hips stilling as he coats your walls. His hips slowly fucking into you, coating you completely.

Claiming you as his, and his alone.

His face rests in your neck, as he feathers gentle kisses across your neck and jaw. Causing you to giggle, when he kisses behind your ear.

The both of you enjoy the feeling of each other, needing this moment of peace in each other’s presence.

Rhett pulls away slightly and your hand holds onto his cheek as he stares into your eyes. Love seeping from them, and incasing the both of you.

There would never be anyone else for you, he was it.

Your first love, your best friend, and the man you wanted to marry. How you stayed away for so long eluded you, but you wouldn’t be doing it again.

“I love you, Rhett Abbott.”

[jeanvaljeancheri]

Hi! Since TSC is coming soon I've been kind of on a jerejean binge in the past few weeks so here are some of my fav jerejean fics pt2. If you haven't seen it yet and want more jerejean recs go check out the first post :)

Mon Petit Oiseau 1k

Sometimes, Jean couldn’t stand to look at Jeremy for too long. He was the ever-burning sun, blazing his way through life and dragging Jean along with him.

Jean teaching Jeremy some French that turns into soft introspection that turns into sleepy cuddles

Plus One 28k

Stabbing the invite into the cork board over his kitchen counter, Jean figured he had a little over twelve months to come up with a date for at least one of these. Even someone as inept as him could manage that...

*

Jean has a bunch of wedding invites, and no date. Jeremy has a suggestion.

what softens 26k

Like this, Jean steps into his new life.

This one is a kevin/jean/Jeremy pairing :)

Lucky Stars 50k

“Concussion. My helmet-I...” Jeremy can hear the slight slur of his own words, and tries his best to carefully speak again. “I think I'm okay.”

Jean treats him to a withering glare, unimpressed, before his expression pales slightly, and Jeremy does not have to guess as to why.

Or: Jeremy is badly injured, and finds it increasingly difficult to keep his feelings for a certain former Raven under wraps as some interesting facts come to light.

Capitulation in Time of War 3k

Jean's time in California is a constant battle against resentment, humiliation, and his annoyingly persistent new captain.

OR

5 times Jeremy made Jean feel safe and valued, and 1 time Jean had to kiss Jeremy about it.

transferable skills 11k

It’s the way Jean watches his own hands as he guides the thread through the paper, pulling the gathering tight to the spine. It’s the way Jean bends, strong and handsome, over a tiny embroidery hoop to get the details exactly right. Jeremy Knox is supposed to be spending his senior year worrying about what comes next. Instead, he’s mesmerized as he watches each stitch come to life and finds, there in between the threads, something completely unexpected.

love is stored in the cat 28k

LD: Hey do u want a cat

LD: Since you’re lonely and life sucks etc

JK: Thanks

JK: IDK

JK: What kind?

LD: Orange

Jeremy gets a cat, and then a situationship. The two are somewhat related.

Falling for the first time 2k

Jean fell first, Jeremy fell harder but who said those three magic words the first time?

--

Or jerejean's first time saying 'i love you'

the service bought and paid for 10k

jean moreau, jeremy knox, and the concept of a gift.

I'll Crawl Home To Him 2k

It’s strange, how quiet this stretch of road is. How peaceful. Walking alone through the dark, with nothing but the moon and the sea for company, Jean feels a little bit like a ghost.

That, or like the last man alive.

C'est un peu une déclaration 1k

« Les Backstreet qui ? » demande Jean, ce soir-là, et le sourire de Jude l’avertit qu’il a posé la question de trop. Ce n’est pas une habitude – Jean ne pose jamais de questions, Jean encaisse, Jean accepte, Jean serre les dents. Ce n’est pas une habitude – et c’est peut-être pour ça que Jude, avec qui il partage sa chambre depuis bientôt deux ans, sourit aussi largement

As you may have noticed, this one is for the francophones! I know not everyone will be able to read it but it's so rare for me to find good French fics that I couldn't help recommending it!

Still updating fics I keep up with

This Time, With Feeling [81k, 13/?]

One Thousand Cuts (and all the other ways to fall in love) [4k, 2/?]

[g0ssipwhore]

BOY FRIEND

SYNOPSIS :: damn! Who knew you and that nerd were going to be best friends with benefits?

NOTE :: all characters are 18 above

TYPE :: fluff / smut

WARNING :: well, smut and feelings !!

It goes without saying that the two of you were inseparable since children. You've always been best friends, that is until you both attended middle school which had different cliques, once you're in that group they're the only ones who you'll be friends with. So, with that, your friendship with Warren faded, from frequent sleepovers to calling just once a week. Before it would be the two of you hanging out together in lunch, but now he's with his own friends and you're with yours.

You didn't expect to run into him in Blackwell Academy, you didn't even know he's a student there. It just sorta happened when you sat in Ms Grant's class and you saw him. Then, everything fell into place because the moment the two of you hung out after school, the nostalgia was there, you got to talk about everything that happened in your lives where he wasn't present. It was perfect!

So the very next day, no silly cliques, just another day where you didn't have to hold back from hanging out with him, and it looks like he feels the same. But your new friends at Blackwell still can't wrap their head in how you guys are friends.

“Seriously, why are you hanging out with that guy?” Dina asked, as she's busy painting her nails on your bed.

“He's a sweet guy, Dee. Plus, he's my childhood best friend.”You answered while jotting down notes on your paper for homework, “And don't you dare spill nail polish on my bed!”

So there it is, you guys had a platonic history. That sums it up, but then how come his stolen glances for you somehow tells something else. Pity you haven't caught up to yet. Until he couldn't help himself and he had to make you realize it or he's going to go crazy.

You guys didn't even get to process what the fuck you were doing, it was just one late night where you were both stuck at a party thrown by the Vortex Club, both drunk from red solo cups. Somehow the both of you ended up in the same room, everything was blurry, but the moment he said how beautiful your eyes were ever since back then, your hands were all over him as your lips drunkenly stole his. Then his hands started roaming your body once he got comfortable, and turned the tables around as he took the lead further. No matter how drunk he was, he couldn't even dare to hurt you, everything he did that night was soft and gentle. Even though that night was a blur, you can't forget the feelings that emerged from just, that, one time.

Then, a week has passed both of you had decided not to ignore each other, just over a mistake. This mistake can't be the only reason that you guys should stop being friends, again. Yeah, just a mistake. But can you really when you have already felt his touch? So, what did you do? You convinced him to think it through

You both promised it would be the last, spouting nonsense about how it was just a spur of the moment, a mistake. Yeah, fuck that. Because after just two days, the both of you didn’t get to stop yourselves from making out in his dorm, when you promised it would just be a study session. Who knew it would turn into a makeout session?

“Are you sure you want this?” He asks, his voice fills with turmoil, but his lips didn’t stop an inch from exploring your neck, nipping every part of you, desperate to at least leave a mark on you if this will be the last time. 

You couldn’t even think straight by how much attention he’s giving you, every time you feel his touch, you burn for him that’s slowly turning into an obsession. You’re sure you will be needing this everyday. His hand slowly snaked towards your waist, pulling you closer to him making you straddle his legs as both of you sink in his bed.

“I want this as much as you, Warren.” Your hands run through his hair, loving the feeling of how soft it is under your hands, in turn his hands trapped you in place his hold firmly settles on your hips while his left is at the back of your head, urging you closer to his lips and you obliged.

This time the kiss you both shared was much harsher than earlier, your passion and desire mixing with his lust and yearning. It didn’t take long when you impatiently removed his shirt, as he unbuttons yours, and the moment the piece of fabric wouldn’t come off he took an exasperated sigh, and you chuckled at his actions.

“Don’t you have any patience, Dr. Graham?” Laughing lightly, when his cheeks turned red by the way you were saying that silly nickname has got him all worked out, and it was evident as you felt him squirm under you. Your hands softly trace his chest down to his belly button until you reach the hem of his pants, you can feel him shudder and how his hold on your body seems to tighten.

“Please.” He quietly moaned, using every self-control to stop himself from tackling you and pinning you down by how you tease him. His hands moved to your face, caressing your cheeks. Even now, he’s still so sweet towards you. How can you not fall for him?

You gave him what he was needing, unfastening his belt and unbuttoning his pants, he can’t stop himself from moaning your name. You didn’t even realize when the world flipped upside down, because you were now laying your back on his bed and he’s on top of you.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” He whined, placing soft kisses on your ear as if it’s his way of apologizing, you smiled to yourself and wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer.

“It’s ok, let’s do whatever you want tonight.” It was the last words you uttered before he pinned your arms to the sides of your head. Those eyes, again, you’ve seen it before when you caught him staring at you. Something dark and depraved, but that only spurred further on when he took off your top, kissing every inch of your body to your chest making sure to hear those lovely moans of yours. He releases your wrist, but he still holds you down pressing your hips on his bed, as he goes down on you. 

You immediately covered your mouth from moans escaping past your lips, afraid of getting too loud and getting caught. Your other hand traveled to his hair, pressing him further on you. The pleasure was too much, but you need more. Everything he does was mixed with hunger and gentleness, like a starving man who finally found an oasis yet he’s careful with every part of you. 

Quiet moans and pants filled his room, as your hand tries its best to keep you from getting louder and louder. Yet the moment you reached your climax was when he stopped, that you didn't notice you lett out a needy whine.

He smiled at you, wiping his mouth with his hand before reaching from his night stand and pulling out a condom. 

“Warren…” You called out to him, your heart beat getting faster with every second.

He closed the gap between the two of you, resting his forehead against yours, “Are you really okay with this? We can just cuddle for the night.”

You immediately shake your head, “I want to do this with you, please. I’m okay, really. This is your second time asking me that.”

“I just don’t want you to regret it or make you feel uncomfortable. You know me, it takes me a bonk in the head to realize I’m overstepping. And honestly, I don’t want you to get hurt.” he whispered the last sentence before kissing your forehead.

God, it almost feels like the two of you were lovers at this point.

“I won’t get hurt because it's you. Unless, you're having second thoughts?” You asked gingerly, afraid if he realized that this isn't worth it. That you weren't worth it.

“No! I love this, the two of us. You're so gorgeous and sweet, I can't even begin how hot you are right now.” His rambling caused you to smile sweetly while a blush spread all over your face.

“Just shut up and kiss me, you dork.” You whispered before he kissed your lips, tasting your mouth then pulling down his pants and putting on the condom he got earlier.

“Warren!” You whined out his name, earning a grunt from his as he pushed further in you.

Your hands were on his shoulders, while his was at your back to support you up. It was that moment when you felt every thing crumble and was replaced with pleasure, feeling every part of him on your body. His hand runs up to your mouth to cover it, stopping you from moaning his name louder, he wants to be the only one to hear you like this. Hell, he wants to be the only one who does these things to you.

Every thing around you suddenly becomes blurry and his face was all you see, pants and moans coming out from his mouth, while the sweat on his brow glistens from the moon light. He looks so ethereal. You couldn't help but kiss him again, and he kissed you back much hungrier than the last. Then, everything falls apart both of you reaching your climax and coming down from the high.

“Look like a Goddess.” He mumbles, but it went pass your ears and instead kisses your earlobes, touching every corner and curves of your body wanting nothing more to wake up and see marks and bruises proving that this night wasn't just a fantasy that has been swirling on his mind ever since he saw you again.

Both of your exhausted bodies lay softly skin to skin on his bed, while he cleans you up and offers you a clean shirt, his cologne and the detergent he uses mixing together that lulls you to sleep. His hand reached for the covers and pulls you closer to him. You didn't say anything afraid to ruin the moment, while all he did was brush your hair with his fingers.

"Will this be a frequent fling?" He asks, you can't find any emotion on his voice. It was as if everything was casual to him. Yet his words and the tone of his voice, almost sunk your heart.

"Fling?"

He nods, “Why? You, do you want this to be something real?” He immediately questioned you, this time with startle and a bewildered expression. You instantly looked away from his eyes, afraid he'll see how tears gleamed in your eyes.

“No.. I'm okay with just a fling.” You said, burying you face in his neck to avoid his searching eyes.

“Oh.. sure, but we'll still be friends, right?” He asked nervously. So that's how it is, his friendship with you was much more important than starting a relationship.

“Yeah, always.” You mumbled, as you hugged him closer. This is enough, as long as you get to hold him. But for you, he's worth so much more that you'd settle with this friendship.

[go-to-the-mirror]

I joke a lot about Jon's tendency to get kidnapped, but honestly it's horrifying. Like, first kidnapping he goes from one near death experience to another, then has to go and confront his evil boss while still being threatened with death if he doesn't get results, Elias drops a bunch of bombshells, and is a victim blaming prick, then has to go home, records another statement -- that we know are draining, then takes Georgie's statement, and oh yeah in the week prior to this he wasn't at Georgie's home, and right he's got a burn and a neck wound that haven't got medical attention, and all of the above happened in the span of at absolute maximum two days.

(cont. under the cut)

Second kidnapping lasts for a month. A month of being tortured by lotion mannequins. Ah, there's some fridge horror to think back on. And then, his "rescue" is Michael threatening to kill him, and he accepts because dying is better than staying there, where he's presumably come to the -- unfortunately correct -- assumption that no one is coming for him. And then when Helen replaces/becomes Michael, he still doesn't know that he'll live. For all he knows, he is willingly walking through a door to his own death. And when he comes back he has to have a conversation with the aforementioned victim blaming prick, and stop Melanie from trying to kill Elias, who then blames him for her being stuck there, oh- and then has to record another statement.

(There's a fantastic meta of this. There's also another one that's a sort of continuation (and here it is on the wayback machine.)

The third kidnapping is somehow more tame than the other ones, which is horrifying in of itself, because how the hell is a kidnapping more tame than the other kidnappings. Especially when Julia and Trevor do make it very clear that they will kill Jon if he is a threat to them. This is tame. This is the one that has the least chance of him ending up dead at the end of it. What the fuck. At least in his third kidnapping he lives up to his reputation of World's Worst Kidnappee.

In conclusion, vote for Jon in the "Tumblr's Poorest Little Meow Meow" competition. This man did not get kidnapped three times to be upstaged by Will Graham.

Also, another, better, conclusion, Jon's really had a rough go of it, and although the jokes are quite funny, and I make them a lot, when you think about it it's like. What the hell.

@a-mag-a-day

[bidisasterevankinard]

tease tidbit tuesday! 🎸🎙️

Tagged by @heartbeatdiaz thank you love 💙💙💙

rule: share whatever scene or snippet from your fic that has you excited, ig???

I shared part of it for sss but I needed to share part with Bobby cause his my fav here and I actually excited about this scene

more enemies to lovers au

“Let's get started. Buck, you're the first, play that tune that you showed me a few months ago,” Bobby points Buck to the instruments.  Buck goes to the guitar to play a melody that he started six months ago, but the text never came to him and he never finished it. Maybe someday.  He almost reaches the chorus, when the damn brown-eyed begins to sing and his as it was called "a wonderful angelic drawling voice that makes you think sinful things"(Buck literally read it in twitter once) fills the room. And it took you five whole minutes To pack us up and leave me with it Holdin' all this love out here in the hall I think I've seen this film before And I didn't like the ending You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town Now I'm in exile, seein' you out I think I've seen this film before They end the chorus and both are looking at each other shocked. Buck can admit lyrics are good and go with music fantastically. Well, he can admit it for himself, never to anyone else. “I wrote it after Shannon sent the divorce papers,” the only explanation Eddie gives to Bobby, and the old man nods.  Buck feels the urge to be a jerk and doesn’t stop himself. “Couldn't satisfy your wifey?” Eddie turns to him so quickly that Buck is sure his neck will hurt for weeks. Fires of anger and hatred are burning in brown eyes and Buck wants to pour more gasoline. But he doesn’t have a chance to add more. “Well, at least I got into the label not through the bed of one of the producers,” Eddie says with the smirk that Buck hates from the first day he found out about Eddie Diaz, it always makes him want to start a fight.  “I slept with Abby after joining the label. And I didn't know she was a producer,”  “Come on, you're with your story and you haven't whored your way here? How many pussies have you licked and dicks sucked to get there?”  Eddie continues and Buck abruptly gets up and in a few steps overcomes the space between them, standing so close to the brunette jerk, using all his height and size, trying to seem bigger and intimidating. Bobbie’s quiet but rather intimidating voice scares both. “Both shut up and in the corners,” he points to two different chairs in different corners of the studio.  “The lyrics and music are perfect together, so whether you like it or not, we are finishing it. And you better start being a team. Otherwise, both of you will fly out of the label with a scandal that no one will ever want to work with you. Now you both have to stick to each other as if you haven't drank water for days, and the second one is a fountain of pure delicious water. Is that clear?” “Clear,” they both say looking at Bobby like kicked puppies, but then send each other looks that can set someone on fire. “Buck, do you have more for music?”  Bobby looks at him and Buck just shakes his head in denial and slight shame. He had never had to sit for so long with a draft of one song. And moreover, only with a melody. There are no words at all to put his heart in them as much as music does it. “Eddie, more lyrics?”  The old man changes his attention to brown-eyed but Buck prefers to look at the guitar or he might say something again, and maybe Bobby is a good man, and with the patience of the saint, but he has his limits too, and Buck pushed them enough in the past that almost lost his place in the label. “Only three more lines in the start,” the voice of a jerk playing an angel says and Buck can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. Well, looks like they are going to work long together. “Ok, Eddie, give your lyrics to Buck to read. Buck, give Eddie notes to look and Eddie, try to play it. Maybe while you look at the project of the other one it will inspire something. Learn from each other a little. I will go and work in my office, only try to start another fight. I’m serious about ending your careers,” on that Bobby leaves them alone in the studio.

Tagging if they want to share : @honestlydarkprincess @911onabc @alyxmastershipper @transbuck @cowboy-buddie @heartshapedvows @bekkachaos @panbuckley @rogerzsteven @the-likesofus @shortsighted-owl @buddierights @housewifebuck @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life @wikiangela @hippolotamus @transboybuckley @devirnis @spotsandsocks @monsterrae1 @spaceprincessem @userdisaster @caroandcats @mandzuking17 @useramor @paranoidbean @sibylsleaves @jobairdxx @translasso @bigfootsmom and anyone who wants to share

[weaselandfriends]

I just binge'd your Hymnstoke series. Now that HS^2 (HS^BC) is back up and running with James Roach at the helm, I was wondering if you could share your thoughts on the direction that HS^2 and Homestuck Beyond Canon are taking with the new updates?

Before I begin, I'll point you to a previous post I made on the topic of HS^2, back when it was under the previous management.

Truthfully, I still haven't read HS^2, either the old version or the new. I remain uninterested in it conceptually. For me, the Epilogues were the perfect finale to Homestuck and I no longer have any desire to see its story continued or its characters expanded upon.

I think I'm somewhat mismatched with the typical fans of Homestuck. From talking to fans, it seems many of them started reading as teenagers, who found in its something relatable and became invested in the journey of its characters. I wasn't like that. I began reading Homestuck in college. I was not introduced to it via fandom osmosis or seeing art of it or cosplays or so on. I didn't even learn of it from word-of-mouth from one of my friends. I was reading a post someone had made about so-called ergodic literature, which cited House of Leaves and Homestuck as examples. Having read House of Leaves only a few weeks prior, I was intrigued and looked up Homestuck, going into it almost as blind as possible.

As Hymnstoke probably indicates, my interest in Homestuck was literary from the start, and what impressed me most about it was always its boundary-pushing approach to medium and narrative. Even late into Act 6, past the point where most fans might say the story "gets bad" or whatever, Hussie was always, always concerned with that, and that is why I actually prefer Act 6 to Act 5 despite this being a fairly controversial take. I think in Act 6 Hussie is far more experimental, far more willing to take artistic risks and pursue innovative formal exercises. So, even as more traditional markers of narrative quality like character and plot stagnant, meander, or suffer altogether, Homestuck to me always felt like it was still growing in new and exciting directions.

At least until the series of super long pauses that ended with the whimpering and frankly pathetic Collide + Act 7 combo, two tragically substanceless flashes that really add nothing new or unexpected whatsoever.

The Epilogues, however, were a return to form on the formal front. The competing Meat and Candy narratives, though told in arguably Homestuck's most traditional format yet (prose narrative), are intertwined in ways that push even this ancient medium to new, unseen limits. In that sense, even ignoring all the plot/character stuff I mentioned in my previous HS^2 post, the Epilogues were a culmination of all Homestuck meant for me. A thematic capstone: A return to a traditional format that is then enlivened through daring experimentation. My Hymnstoke series often mentioned the theme of the meteors wiping out Earth so that a new society could be created out of recycled detritus from the old and stagnant world. The Epilogues are that simply in how they are made, and to me that is peak Homestuck, the chief thing that matters most about it.

HS^2 has not seemed interested in formal experimentation at all. The pre-Roach group was mindbogglingly retrograde in eschewing flashes altogether and even, really, art, preferring instead long script-style dialogues. Long pesterlogs were part of Homestuck before, but far from the only part. But there simply seemed to be zero interest in innovation, in doing anything new, in even trying anything new. To me, that's not Homestuck.

I'm not super keyed into the fandom drama, but my understanding is that the old HS^2 group was nasty and combative with the fans, while Roach has attempted to establish goodwill in the fans and repair some of the burned bridges from yesteryear. To that end, his approach seems to be succeeding. But there's a part of me that sees it as being similar to the Star Wars prequels and sequels. The prequels were an unmitigated trainwreck that the fans despised; the sequels, by contrast, began with a soft remake of New Hope that seemed tailored to tell fans "Look! Star Wars is Star Wars again! We're back! It's real! We have practical effects, and on-location filming instead of green screens, and the plot is straightforward instead of trade dispute politics!" It was like JJ Abrams watched the infamous Plinkett review of the prequels and decided to address everything directly, all to reestablish goodwill with fans.

For Episode VII, it worked. Perhaps if the rest of the trilogy were 1-to-1 soft remakes of the original trilogy, it would have continued to work. But the instant the new creators attempted any kind of innovation in the criminally underrated and over-hated Episode VIII, they were raked over the coals, and in the process of backtracking furiously wound up creating something on the same level as the prequels with Episode IX. And nobody was happy in the end.

In the position Roach is in, he can at best muster the kind of nostalgia-baiting soft remake that is so popular and common in Hollywood today, a Homestuck 2.0 rather than a Homestuck^2, something that is not in fact Beyond Canon but enslaved by it. By appealing to the goodwill of fans that's what you have to do, because what the fans love is the ghost of the story they remember, and the reason they come to Homestuck^2 over any of the endless amount of content online is because it has the name Homestuck in it, and they remember Homestuck. Waiter, I'm the critic from Ratatouille, bring me the thing I remember.

But that is conceptually antithetical to the thing I remember. And so, it'll be difficult for it to engender much interest in me. I think there are a lot of exciting, talented creators making amazing original content online today, new boundary-pushing content, a new avant garde, and that's where my interest will lie. I think the members of the Homestuck fandom who had the talent to create content like that, like Toby Fox and perhaps Tamsyn Muir (who I have not read but Gideon the Ninth is certainly popular so it must have some spark to it), have gone ahead and done it for their own original works outside the Homestuck label.

Anyway, those are my rambling thoughts on the matter, again without having actually read either the old or new HS^2, so take them with a grain of salt.