#yeah yeah I should I might come back and do something with it

[hauntedbyjoel]

Show Me How

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: age gap | oral (f & m) | unprotected sex | dirty talk | praise | virginity loss | gentle aftercare | no outbreak word count - 5.7k summary - He’s told himself a hundred times it can’t happen. He’s too old, too close to her family, too careful. But now she’s standing in front of him, asking him for the one thing he swore he wouldn’t give.

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You’d always told yourself it was harmless.

The crush. The looks. The way your stomach flipped when Joel said your name or glanced your way for a little too long. He was older—older in a way that should’ve been enough to stop this before it started. He’d known your family for years. Helped your uncle redo the kitchen. Fixed your car once when it stalled in your mom’s driveway. Brought over soup when you got sick last winter and couldn’t get out of bed.

He was just… around. Always steady. Always quiet. Always Joel.

And somehow, over time, that steadiness started to feel like gravity.

You learned his habits without meaning to—when he left for work, what time he ran errands, how he always wore that same faded Texas Longhorns shirt to mow the lawn on Saturdays. You pretended not to notice the way he looked at you sometimes, like he wasn’t sure if he should be. Like maybe he wanted to look away but didn’t.

You never let yourself believe he could actually want you. Not really.

Which is why showing up at his house tonight felt like something you weren’t supposed to do. Like stepping out of line in a way you couldn’t walk back from.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him.

About the fact that you were tired of feeling like the only one who hadn’t done anything—hadn’t been touched, kissed right, wanted for more than a second. And more than that, you were tired of not knowing. Of being afraid you’d do it wrong. Say the wrong thing. Be too soft. Too quiet. Not enough.

And if you were going to ask anyone—

It’d be him.

Joel, who never rushed you. Who always noticed. Who fixed things with careful hands and never made you feel small.

That was what brought you to his door.

And the second he opened it—hair damp, eyes tired, wearing sweatpants and a shirt you’d seen a dozen times before—your throat locked.

He blinked at you. Didn’t speak right away. Then: “You okay?”

You nodded, fingers curled in your hoodie sleeves. “Yeah. I was just… out. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Joel studied you for a beat, then stepped aside. “Come in.”

The door shut behind you with a soft click. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, clutching the sleeves of your hoodie like they might anchor you. Joel moved past without a word, walking toward the kitchen.

“Want some tea or somethin’?” he asked, already reaching for the kettle. “Still got the kind you like, I think.”

You nodded, unsure if your voice would even work right now. He filled the kettle. Lit the stove. Moved around the kitchen like this was just another Tuesday night and not the most reckless thing you’d ever done.

The house was warm. Familiar. You’d been here before—birthday barbecues, a couple of holidays, quick visits with your family—but never alone. Never this late. Never when the windows were dark and the only light came from that little flickering candle on the counter.

Joel glanced over his shoulder. “You can sit, y’know.”

You did. Quietly, on the edge of the couch like your body didn’t know where to land. Your heart wouldn’t stop stuttering. You weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you, but it didn’t feel like much. Not yet.

He brought over a mug. Set it down on the coffee table. Then took the armchair across from you and let out a low sigh.

“So,” he said. “You wanna tell me what’s really goin’ on?”

You looked down at the mug. Steam rising. Hands still tucked in your sleeves. “It’s dumb.”

“Doesn’t sound dumb.”

You let the silence hang for a beat too long. Then: “Can I ask you something?”

Joel nodded. “Course.”

Your heart climbed straight into your throat.

You stared at the mug, every nerve in your body buzzing, fingers twitching. It wasn’t that you didn’t know what to say—it was that once you said it, everything would change.

“I don’t have a lot of experience,” you said finally. Quiet. Careful. “Like… any.”

Joel tilted his head. But didn’t say anything.

“I mean, I’ve kissed people. But I’ve never really…” You swallowed hard. “I just feel behind. Everyone I know has—done things. They know what they like. What to do. And I just… don’t.”

Joel leaned back a little. His jaw worked once. Still quiet.

“I’m not saying this right,” you said quickly. “It’s not that I want to rush or that I feel like I have to, I just—” You looked up, finally, and your stomach flipped. “You’re the only person I trust to… to teach me.”

He stared at you.

Not with shock. Not with judgment. Just stillness. Like he was trying to decide if you meant it—if you even understood what you were asking.

“Sweetheart…” he started, then stopped.

“I’m not trying to make things weird,” you rushed. “And I know it’s selfish. And I’m probably not even your type or whatever, and I’ll never bring it up again if it’s weird, I just—”

Joel didn’t say anything right away.

You could hear the second hand ticking on the clock across the room. The silence felt like pressure on your chest. You weren’t sure what you expected when you showed up here—but it wasn’t this. This long, still moment where he just looked at you like he didn’t know what to do.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Careful.

“You’re so young.”

It wasn’t harsh. It didn’t sound like judgment. If anything, it sounded like he was trying to talk himself out of something.

You stared down at your lap, throat tightening.

“I know,” you said softly, barely more than a breath. “You don’t have to say it.”

Joel sat up straighter.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, quickly but still gentle. “I’m not—I didn’t mean it like that.”

You gave a small nod, even though you weren’t really sure what to say. Your fingers curled tighter around the sleeves of your hoodie. Your eyes stayed on the floor.

“I just thought...” Your voice thinned out. You cleared your throat, tried again. “I just thought maybe—never mind.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” you mumbled. “You’ve always been nice to me and I... I shouldn’t have ruined that.”

His heart dropped. He saw your hands shaking, saw the way you blinked too fast.

Then he saw it—your lashes catching just slightly, that faint shimmer in your eyes before you ducked your head.

You were trying not to cry.

“Hey,” Joel said, gently. “Hey, no—don’t do that.”

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “It’s fine. Really. I don’t want you to feel bad. Or like I’m putting you in a weird spot. I just—”

Your voice cracked. You turned your face away.

And that was it for him.

“Aww, baby,” Joel said softly, barely more than a breath. “Come here.”

You didn’t move at first, but he was already leaning in, hand reaching out slow, warm, careful. His palm cupped the side of your jaw, thumb brushing under your eye like he could erase the tears before they fell.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured. “You hear me?”

You nodded—barely. Joel’s other hand found yours, steady and sure, lacing his fingers between yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I just didn’t expect it,” he said. “Didn’t let myself think about it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’ve wanted you,” he said, voice lower now, rough around the edges. “I just didn’t think I was allowed to.”

You looked up at him, blinking slowly.

Joel’s thumb traced your cheekbone.

“I’d take my time with you,” he said. “Make sure you felt safe. Make sure it felt good. I wouldn’t rush anything.”

You leaned into his hand just slightly—barely—but it was enough.

Joel’s eyes dropped to your lips.

“You still want this?” he asked.

You nodded, soft and breathless.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, sweetheart.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. His thumb still brushed your cheek, your fingers still curled inside his. You were so aware of the space between you—barely anything, and yet everything. You could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing. It made you ache.

Joel hesitated.

“You sure you want me to kiss you?”

God, he really was trying. Still giving you an out, even now. Even when your whole body was already leaning in.

You nodded again, just as shy. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

Joel leaned in slowly—like he was afraid to startle you—and tilted his head just enough to brush his lips against yours. It was soft at first, barely a kiss at all, more like a question. When you didn’t pull away—when your breath caught and your hand tightened around his—he kissed you again, deeper this time. Warmer.

His other hand slid to your waist, grounding you.

You shifted closer without thinking, your knees brushing his thigh. Joel made a low sound in his throat, something surprised and almost pained. He pulled you gently, letting you settle in his lap with careful hands, like he didn’t want to scare you.

You felt so small like that. Not in a bad way. Just—held. His arms around you, his mouth on yours, the scratch of his stubble against your skin. Every inch of him was solid and steady.

He kissed you like he had time. Like he didn’t need anything else.

When he finally pulled back, his hand lingered on your cheek.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded, a little dazed. Your lips tingled, your heart pounding. “I—I’ve never kissed anyone like that.”

Joel smiled, soft and a little crooked. “Yeah? You did real good, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks burned, but you smiled too. You felt warm. Safe. Wanted.

And you still wanted more.

Joel kissed you again, deeper this time, like he was trying to show you what he couldn’t say out loud. His hands were warm where they held your waist, steady even though you could feel how tense he was—like he was holding back something big. Something sharp.

“Alright,” he murmured against your mouth. “We’re not gonna rush. Just want you to feel good.”

You nodded, breathless. “Okay.”

He leaned back, just enough to look at you. “Tell me somethin’, sweetheart.”

Your heart skipped. “What?”

His thumb brushed your cheek. “What’ve you done before?”

You blinked, nervous all over again. “Not much. Just… kissing. A little touching.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “That’s good. Just wanna know what you’re comfortable with.”

You bit your lip. “I want this.”

“I know. But I still wanna go slow.” He paused. “Has anyone ever touched you? Down here?”

His hand slid gently along your thigh, stopping just shy of where you were warm and aching.

You shook your head.

Joel’s eyes flicked to yours, his voice low. “And you?”

Your cheeks flushed. You nodded. “Yeah. A few times.”

He smiled—gentle, not mocking. “Good. That’s good, baby.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck. “I’m gonna touch you now. Just with my hand. That alright?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

Joel moved with such care—his fingers easing between your thighs, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts. When he found you already soft and wet, he groaned low in his throat.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You feel that?”

You nodded, shivering.

“This all for me?”

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Shit,” he exhaled. “You’re soaked.”

His fingers moved slow, parting you gently. You gasped, your hips twitching.

“Too much?” he asked.

“No,” you said, breath catching. “Just… new.”

He kissed the side of your face, murmured, “We’ll take it nice and easy. You tell me how everything feels, alright?”

You nodded.

He stroked you carefully—exploring, learning. Finding the spots that made your breath hitch, your thighs tighten, your lashes flutter. His fingers circled your clit, featherlight at first, and you whimpered.

“There it is,” he said, voice husky. “That feel good?”

You nodded frantically, too overwhelmed to speak.

“You’re bein’ so good for me, baby. You let me take care of you, yeah?”

Your whole body was warm and buzzing, every nerve alive under his touch. When he slid one finger inside, slow and patient, you gasped.

“Okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you said, breathless. “Feels… full.”

He smiled against your cheek. “That’s what it’s s’posed to feel like. Just one for now. Gonna get you used to it.”

He curled it—just a little—and you whimpered again. Joel groaned.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he rasped. “Look at you. All pretty and sweet, takin’ my hand like it’s the only thing you ever needed.”

You clenched around him, involuntarily. His eyes darkened.

“Shit. You’re squeezin’ me already.”

You whimpered. “I—I don’t mean to—”

“I know,” he said, kissing you again, slow and deep. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

Joel kissed you through it, his lips warm and slow while his hand moved between your legs—gentle but focused, like he already knew your body better than you did. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push.

He paid attention.

Your hips bucked when his thumb brushed over your clit again, light and teasing. You gasped into his mouth.

“That feel good?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Mhm.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you—his eyes dark, focused. “Yeah? You like when I touch you there?”

Your face went hot, but you nodded again, biting your bottom lip.

He smiled—soft, proud, dangerously patient. “Good girl.”

Then he went back to it. Circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes while that one finger inside you pressed deeper, exploring every new reaction you gave him. You were trying so hard not to make noise, but your body betrayed you. Your thighs trembled. Your stomach fluttered. Your breath hitched and broke.

Joel noticed everything.

“Y’ever touch yourself like this?” he asked, voice low.

You hesitated. “Not… like this.”

He raised a brow. “Not like what?”

You swallowed. “Not this slow.”

Joel chuckled—quiet and warm against your skin. “That’s ‘cause you’ve never been taught right.”

His words hit low in your belly. You whimpered as he curled his finger again, hitting something deeper this time. Your legs jerked.

“There?” he asked, voice roughening.

You nodded, breath caught. “Y-Yeah—oh—there.”

Joel groaned softly. “Fuck, baby. You’re already close, ain’t you?”

You nodded helplessly.

“Think you can come for me? Just from my fingers?”

You whined. He took it as a yes.

His movements stayed slow, but more rhythmic now—his thumb drawing tight little circles, his finger pumping deeper, coaxing something out of you so carefully, so sweetly. You clutched at his shirt, fingers trembling.

“Joel,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. “I—I think I’m—”

“That’s it,” he said. “Let it happen. Let me feel it.”

And then you broke.

It hit you like a wave—sharp and hot and overwhelming. Your body seized around him, legs clamping tight as the pleasure surged up and through you. You cried out, loud and wrecked, and Joel caught it with his mouth, kissing you hard while his hand worked you through every second of it.

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you come.”

You were shaking when he finally pulled his hand away—slow and careful. He kissed your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“You okay?”

You nodded, dazed, still trembling in his lap. “Mhm. Just… I’ve never felt anything like that.”

Joel smiled. “You’ve got a lot more to feel, sweetheart.”

He kissed you again—longer this time. Slower. But now there was something heavier beneath it, something hungrier.

When he pulled back, his voice was deeper. Rough.

“Can I show you more?”

You looked up at him. Your limbs were still jelly, your heart still racing, but all you could think was yes. You trusted him. Even like this. Maybe especially like this.

You nodded.

“Yeah. Show me.”

Joel smiled when you said it. Not cocky—just warm. Soft around the edges, like the tension in him had finally given way to something sweeter. He tucked your hair behind your ear with a gentle hand, his other still cradling your bare thigh.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Then lie back for me.”

You nodded, breath still shaky. Your skin was buzzing—still oversensitive, still warm, but already aching for more.

You obeyed without a word, heart thudding as your spine met the mattress again. The air felt cooler now against your flushed skin, your body still buzzing from the first time he touched you like that.

Joel moved with you, settling between your legs without urgency. He leaned down and pressed a kiss just above your knee—then another, higher up. It was careful. Unrushed. Like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

“I want you to tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he murmured against your skin. “You just say the word, alright?”

You nodded.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I will.”

“Good girl.”

His hands spread your thighs, slow and sure. Not to expose you—at least, not just that. More like reverence. Like unfolding something precious.

And then his mouth was on you.

Not forceful. Not greedy. Just… exploring. His tongue traced slow, soft circles, tasting you like he was learning something new and didn’t want to miss a detail. Every shift in your breath made him hum a little deeper, adjust, draw it out.

“Doing so good,” he murmured, pausing only to kiss the inside of your thigh again. “You let me know if it’s too much.”

It wasn’t.

It was everything.

You tried to be quiet, but your body had other plans.

Joel’s mouth moved with slow, deliberate rhythm—tongue tracing lazy circles that built heat like kindling. He didn’t rush you. Just stayed right there, steady and patient, until your hips started to lift, chasing every pass of his tongue like it might save you.

And he noticed.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice barely a rumble. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me have it.”

His hands slid under your thighs, pulling you just a little closer, anchoring you in place like he was afraid you might float off. And maybe you would’ve. Your hands gripped the sheets, searching for something solid as your breathing turned erratic.

“Joel—” you whispered, and it cracked.

He groaned low in his throat—like hearing you say his name like that did something to him.

“Feels good?” he asked, and when you nodded too fast, too desperate, he just hummed against you. “Thought so. You’re so fuckin’ sweet down here.”

The tension coiled again—hotter this time, faster. Your legs started to tremble, and Joel didn’t let up. Just flattened his tongue, applied more pressure, and listened to you fall apart.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispered. “Let it happen.”

You came with a sound that barely made it out—a soft, broken cry, thighs clamping around his head as you shook through it. Joel didn’t stop. Didn’t even think about it. He kept licking you through every wave, gentle and relentless, holding your hips like you might slip away otherwise.

Only when your body finally gave out—hips twitching, breath coming in shallow little gasps—did he pull back. His mouth was shiny, lips wet, beard damp. And his eyes…

Like he’d just seen something holy.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then leaned up slowly, palm cupping your cheek.

“There she is,” he murmured, voice like honey and gravel. “That’s my girl.”

Your lashes fluttered. You felt soft all over, unraveled, held together only by the weight of his gaze.

Joel smiled, just a little.

“You did so good for me, baby. So fuckin’ good.”

He leaned in before you could even catch your breath.

One hand still cradled the back of your head, the other brushing your thigh, grounding you. His mouth met yours in a way that felt earned—soft at first, just lips to lips, letting you settle into it.

You tasted yourself on him immediately.

Warm. Humid. Faintly salty. It made your whole body shiver.

You pulled back, eyes fluttering open like it surprised you. Joel didn’t move far. His forehead rested against yours.

“Sorry,” he said, voice a little rough.

You shook your head. “No. I just… I’ve never…”

His thumb stroked your cheek. “It’s alright.”

You blinked up at him, still a little dazed. “That was… nice.”

Joel huffed a soft laugh, like he wasn’t sure what to do with that word. “Nice?”

You nodded, suddenly shy again. “I liked it.”

His smile turned quieter—almost reverent.

“Good,” he murmured. “That’s all I wanted.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, pushing it up slowly, and he let you. Let you explore his skin, the soft stretch of his stomach, the trail of hair leading down beneath his jeans.

And still, he didn’t rush.

Just kept kissing you—until your body relaxed fully beneath his, until the last of your nerves melted into heat.

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing under your eye.

“You alright?” he asked, quiet.

You nodded. “I want to… I want to do something for you.”

His brow creased, surprised. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Your voice didn’t shake that time.

Joel hesitated like he was going to argue again, but then his gaze softened, and he gave the smallest nod. He leaned back against the pillows, watching you carefully—curious, cautious, but clearly affected.

You sat up slowly, heart pounding. Reached for his waistband with trembling fingers, giving him one last glance for permission. He lifted his hips, helping you ease his jeans down until he was bare to you.

Joel’s eyes darkened, but his voice stayed low. “You ever seen a man before? Like this?”

You shook your head, heart thudding. “Just… in pictures.”

He chuckled, more breath than sound. “Yeah?”

Your cheeks burned. “Not those kinds of pictures.”

He smiled, slow and fond. “Didn’t say they were.”

You swallowed. Then curled your fingers around him.

God—he was warm. Heavy. Hard already. You inhaled sharply as your hand moved, just a little, feeling the weight of him against your palm.

Joel groaned. Quiet. Barely restrained.

“Jesus, baby…”

You looked up, eyes wide. “Did I do something wrong?”

He shook his head fast, eyes pinched. “No. Fuck, no. Just—been holdin’ back too long.”

You smiled, nervous but proud. Then you started to stroke him—tentative at first, just trying to feel out the rhythm.

Joel let out a soft, broken sound and tipped his head back.

“Just like that,” he muttered. “You’re doin’ so good.”

Your confidence grew with every soft grunt he made. Every time his hips twitched or his hand gripped the edge of the couch harder.

“You wanna try your mouth?” he asked, voice rough with restraint.

You blinked. “I… yeah. But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes locked on yours—hungry and warm all at once. He cupped your cheek. “That’s okay, baby. I’ll teach you.”

You shifted down between his legs slowly, your knees pressing into the couch cushions as your hands settled on his thighs. He was already breathing heavier, watching you with those dark, heavy-lidded eyes that made your stomach flip.

“Start with your hand,” Joel murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Get comfortable first.”

You nodded, wrapping your fingers around him again. The weight of it still shocked you. How hard he felt. How hot.

You gave him a slow stroke. Then another.

“That’s it,” he breathed. “Just like that. You’re doin’ perfect.”

The praise made your cheeks burn.

You looked up at him, a little shy. “Tell me what to do.”

Joel groaned. “Jesus, baby.”

His hand moved gently to your hair, not pushing, not guiding—just resting there. Steady.

“Kiss the tip,” he said softly. “Start there.”

You leaned in and pressed a hesitant kiss to the flushed head of his cock. His breath hitched. You did it again, slower, then let your tongue flick out to taste him.

“That’s it,” Joel said. His voice had gone hoarse. “Just your tongue, nice and easy.”

You licked a slow stripe up the underside, watching his stomach tense. He was biting back a sound, jaw locked tight.

“You can put it in your mouth now,” he said, rasping. “Only as much as you want.”

You parted your lips and wrapped them around him—just the tip at first. He exhaled sharply, hips twitching. You stilled, looking up at him in alarm, but Joel shook his head fast.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

You sank a little deeper, hollowing your cheeks. He groaned, one hand tightening slightly in your hair, still not pushing.

“Use your hand too, sweetheart,” he said. “You’re so good, baby. So fuckin’ good for me.”

Your hand stroked the base while your mouth worked the rest. You tried to keep a rhythm, breathing through your nose just like he told you.

When he swore under his breath, you felt it in your chest.

“Look at me,” he said.

You did. Eyes wide, lips stretched around him, cheeks flushed.

He groaned—deep and wrecked. “Fuck, that’s it.”

You took him deeper, feeling your throat tighten, your eyes sting. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t—not with the way he was looking at you.

“You okay?” he managed to ask, even through the haze.

You nodded around him, and he growled.

“Goddamn. You were made for this.”

You pulled off slowly, a little breathless, a string of spit catching between your lips and the tip of his cock. He was flushed, panting, hands clenched into fists beside him.

“Holy fuck,” he said, voice blown out. “You sure you’ve never done that before?”

You laughed quietly. “I told you I’d be a fast learner.”

Joel leaned forward and pulled you into his lap again. His hands were everywhere—your back, your thighs, the side of your neck.

“You still sure about all this?” he whispered.

You nodded. Quiet. A little nervous. But you didn’t look away.

His hand brushed down your thigh, then between your legs—stroking over you slowly, making sure you were ready. “Feels like you are,” he whispered. “But I need you to tell me.”

“I want you to,” you said, barely louder than a breath. “Please.”

He exhaled like that did something to him. Something deep.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m gonna go slow, alright? Real slow. You just hold on to me.”

You nodded again.

Then he lined himself up, hand guiding, the heat of him settling right where you were softest. “You let me know if it’s too much.”

The pressure started before you could prepare for it—warm and wide and stretching you in a way you didn’t expect. You gasped, instinctively grabbing his arm, nails digging in.

Joel stopped instantly. “Too much?”

“I—I don’t know,” you whispered. “It just—hurts a little.”

He leaned down, kissed your forehead, your cheek, your jaw.

“I know, baby,” he murmured. “You’re doing so good.”

His hand found yours, threading your fingers together. Then he kissed you again—slow and deep, distracting, stealing your focus from the tight pull of your body adjusting to him.

Bit by bit, he eased in further, pausing when your breath hitched, pressing kisses to your mouth until the discomfort dulled to something else. Something warmer.

When he was fully inside you, Joel didn’t move. He just held himself there, breathing hard against your skin. “You okay?”

You nodded, stunned by how full you felt. “I think so.”

“God, you’re tight,” he whispered. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

His hand brushed your hair back, and he kissed you again—gentler this time, slower. “Tell me when I can move.”

You blinked up at him, dazed, breathless. “Okay… now.”

Joel started to move, just barely. A gentle pull back, then a slow press in, rocking his hips with an almost reverent kind of care. He didn’t take his eyes off your face—not for a second.

“You’re doin’ so good,” he murmured. “Feelin’ okay?”

You nodded, still a little overwhelmed. The stretch still lingered, but there was something else starting to build beneath it—heat, pressure, something that made your toes curl when he pushed a little deeper.

He felt it.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough with restraint. “There she is.”

He moved again, a little more confident this time, keeping his pace slow and steady. One hand stayed laced with yours. The other braced at your waist, thumb stroking gently over your skin.

Every inch of him felt impossibly warm. Full. You couldn’t believe how close he was—how real it was. And yet he still treated you like you might break.

“You okay?” he asked again, quieter now.

You bit your lip. “It… feels weird. Good. But—intense.”

His eyes darkened a little, smile soft at the corners. “Yeah? Gonna get better, sweetheart. Promise.”

He leaned down, kissed the side of your neck, murmuring something you barely caught—so tight, so sweet, can’t believe I’m inside you. The praise made your cheeks burn, made your hips tilt up without thinking.

He groaned. "Fuck, baby. Careful—you keep doin’ that, I won’t last long."

You looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, heat buzzing through your chest and down your spine.

“I don’t care,” you whispered. “I just want to feel you.”

Something about that must’ve broken the last of his resolve, because Joel kissed you again—messy this time, like he needed to feel your mouth while he kept moving inside you, slow but deep.

You gasped into the kiss when he hit a spot that made your whole body jolt.

“There?” he asked, voice low and strained.

You nodded fast. “Yes—God, Joel—”

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He kept hitting that spot, rhythm just right, hand tightening around yours like he could feel every wave of heat building inside you. You were shaking, thighs trembling, nails digging into his shoulder—

And then it happened.

You came with a breathless cry, body locking up around him, vision going hazy at the edges. Joel groaned, burying his face in your neck as he lost it too, hips stuttering, voice rough against your skin.

You must’ve dozed off at some point, warm and aching and curled into Joel’s side, barely able to keep your eyes open.

He didn’t fall asleep.

You stirred when you felt his hand brush your thigh—gentle, coaxing. Not trying to start something again. Just checking. Making sure you were okay.

“Hey,” he murmured. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You blinked, disoriented, but nodded. He helped you sit up slowly, one hand steady at your back. You winced just a little, hips sore, thighs still trembling—and he saw it.

“Easy,” he said, voice softer now. “I got you.”

Joel guided you to the bathroom, flipping on the dim light. He grabbed a towel, ran the tap until it was warm, and knelt in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You watched him in the mirror—his face focused, his touch careful as he cleaned you up with slow, steady hands.

“Still okay?” he asked, glancing up at you.

You nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah. Just… sore.”

“That’s normal,” he murmured. “First time’s not easy. But you did real good.”

You looked down, cheeks burning.

He noticed that too. Stood up. Pressed a kiss to your forehead.

When he walked you back to bed, he helped you lie down, then disappeared for a second. You heard the fridge open, the sound of water filling a glass.

Joel came back with a bottle of ibuprofen and handed you the water. “Take a couple. You’ll be stiff in the morning.”

You gave him a sleepy smile. “What, no post-sex pancakes?”

He grinned. “Tomorrow.”

He climbed into bed beside you again, tugged you into his arms like he needed you close to sleep. You let your body settle into his chest, warm and safe and still humming from everything that happened.

His fingers traced your spine, slow and rhythmic.

“Get some rest,” he said. “M’not goin’ anywhere.”

You believed him.

And for once, that was enough.

[moonstruckme]

hiii bb

first off all GURL YOUR WRITING IS LITERALLY TOP TIER I CANNOT WITH IT—

and second, i saw you had your requests open and while i’ve never done this before i really, really would love it if you could write a poly!wolfstar with reader coming from a pretty similar family background as sirius and gets triggered by loud noises and remus is in a bad headspace because it’s just a few days before full moon and he accidently yells at her and reader just shuts down and tries to brush it off because she thinks she’s being dramatic and tries to act unruffled but sirius sees through it and overall just hurt/comfort, pretty please? ILY

Awe thank you lovely! For both the sweetness and the request <3

cw: migraine, reader panics because of shouting/aggression

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Remus has told you to leave him alone more than once. You know that you should, that you really ought to make yourself scarce because these moods before the full moon almost never yield good things. The issue is that you care about Remus more than consequences, and as a result you’re not very good at doing what you should. 

“Hey,” you say gently, when he passes you by on his way back to his desk with another cup of tea. “That’s too much caffeine, lovely. You’ll make your headache worse.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Remus grunts. He continues on his way, and, despite Sirius’ look, despite knowing better yourself, you give chase. 

“You’ll regret it if you have another,” you reason, following him to his work-cluttered desk, which has been shoved temporarily into the darkest corner of your bedroom. “I know some caffeine helps, but too much—”

“I know how it works.” Remus’ voice is low. Low, but not thin. He doesn’t look at you as he sits down. “I need it, alright?” 

You take a breath. Yes, you can see how you explaining Remus’ own migraines to him might not be well received. But it’s not easy to watch your boyfriend act against his own self-interest. 

Remus has described the feelings leading up to a full moon to you before. He said it feels like something sizzling under his skin, or crackling. It’s not entirely pleasant, but it gives him more energy than he ever has otherwise. Makes him restless, productive, lively. Eventually, though, that energy builds into something he can barely tolerate—that’s when the migraines usually start. Remus gets irritable, his joints ache, it’s like his body is trying to hold something no human can, waiting for the full moon and the chance for Remus’ not-human body to expel it all. 

When you think about how much energy he’s storing, that electric sizzle under his skin, caffeine hardly seems necessary. Until you take into account that Remus has hardly slept for the past three nights. Then you wonder if perhaps his brain can no longer keep up with the tireless dynamism of the rest of him. 

“Maybe you should rest for a while instead,” you try. 

“I have work to do.” 

“It’ll still be there after a nap.”

“And I suppose I may as well just wait until after the full, then, yeah?” 

“I mean, maybe.” You pick up on Remus’ sarcasm, but you don’t disagree. “You can’t be expected to just power through when you’re having such a hard time.” 

“Really?” There’s bite in your boyfriend’s voice now. Enough that you retract the hand you were about to set on his shoulder. “I can’t be expected to? That’s exactly what’s expected of me. I don’t just get a week off every month.” 

You push out a frustrated breath. “I know, and that’s not fair—” 

“None of this is fair.” Remus turns in his seat, glowering with such virulence it shocks you despite the argument you’d thought you were prepared for. “There aren’t allowances made for lycanthropy. If I told my boss that I need a lighter workload and he made the connection, he could report me to the ministry. I can’t afford to complain about how my head hurts or indulge in naps and breaks when everyone else keeps working.” 

His voice rises, and he’s suddenly taller than you, looking down on you. He stood up. Your ears are ringing. 

“If everyone else is able to handle their workload during the full, I have to, too. Do you understand that?” 

You find you can’t speak. There’s a horrible ache sitting in the base of your throat which won’t let anything out. You nod. 

“Do you?” Remus seems exasperated. Baffled by your naïveté. “I don’t want to be told that I shouldn’t be working. I don’t want to be told that I can’t have caffeine to get through it, because I know what I have to do, and that’s not something you can understand. Alright?”

“Alright,” you choke out. 

“Do you get that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Remus,” says another voice. You don’t turn, but you don’t need to; Sirius always follows the sound of shouting. It’s habit for him. “That’s enough, love.” 

“I was done,” Remus snaps. 

Sirius’ hand wraps around your elbow. His fingers feel cool, or maybe you’re only hot. You feel very, very hot. 

“Hey,” he prompts softly. Now you look at him. Sirius’ expression is all tenderness, and it feels like whiplash. “You okay?” 

You dismiss the question with a shake of your head. Your ears are still ringing. “Yeah.” 

You look back to Remus. You can’t help it. You want to fix, and to leave, and to dissolve. But Remus is the epicenter of everything, and you feel as though taking your eyes off him even temporarily is a danger. 

“Let’s be done squabbling for now,” Sirius says, his voice unnaturally light. “We’ve all said our piece, yeah?” He gives your arm a gentle tug, and you take a step back. You’d been nearly right up against Remus, you realize. Frozen to the spot where you’d gone to rest your hand on his shoulder. Sirius runs his thumb over your skin before asking again, “Are you okay?” 

Tears invade your eyes without warning. Your face burns, and you feel it screw up in an attempt to keep them from falling. “Yeah,” you say unsteadily. “I’m just—so—sorry.” 

Two things happen seemingly at once: your voice fractures, and Sirius crushes you to him. 

Remus exhales. You hear the creak of his chair taking his weight again. “Shit.” 

“Shh, I know,” Sirius murmurs, petting your head while your tears spill over to wet his jumper—Remus’ jumper, which smells like both of them and probably also you. “I know, baby, it’s okay. You’re safe here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Remus says. His voice sounds muffled, as though he’s speaking into his hands. 

“No, it’s—I’m sorry.” You sniff, trying to wipe under your eyes. Sirius keeps you held to his front. “It’s not your fault.” 

“It is my fault.” 

“I believe I said we were done with the squabbling.” Sirius kisses your head firmly. “What do you need, sweetness? Some quiet? Time to breathe?” 

“I’m okay. Really, I’m fine.” You give Sirius a grateful squeeze before letting him go. He lets you, but watches you concernedly as you swipe a knuckle underneath your eyes. The ringing in your ears has faded to near nothing, aftershocks trembling through your fingers in its wake.  “I’m fine. I just—needed a second. Sorry.” 

Sirius makes a quiet sound. “Stop that. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

Remus nods his agreement. His head is in his hands, you can see now, but he lifts it up to look you in the eyes. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you.” 

You shake your head. “You were right. I was insensitive. And I don’t know why I reacted like that, I’m just being dramatic.” 

“Oi,” Sirius cuts in sternly, though half as stern as he’d usually be even to tease you. “I’m dramatic. Get your own personality.” 

That gets your lips to twitch a little. You watch as Remus sends him one of his fond, exasperated looks. 

“You weren’t being dramatic,” Remus says to you. “I shouted at you. However angry I was, that’s not alright. I’m sorry I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me.” Your eyes are beginning to burn again. You try to blink through it. “It was just—it was—” 

“I understand,” he says, softly. His expression is still taut with pain, but some of the harsher lines have melted away. “I’m sorry anyway. Do you want to come here?” 

Sirius hums satisfiedly when you go sit across Remus’ lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He draws his hand up and down your back slowly, with enough pressure to ease away any lingering tension coiled around your spine. You breathe out. Sirius doesn’t hold out long before he’s there too, curled around the two of you and squeezing heartily. 

“You two aren’t allowed to fight,” he mutters, kissing your head and Remus’ in turn. “In order for me to be petty and vain, I need you to be the sensible ones, understand? This is a delicate ecosystem.” 

“I don’t know,” you hum. “I think Remus should get breaks some way or another around the full moon. Can’t you take a sensible shift once a month?” 

Sirius lets out a sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but you hear the gentle sound of him pressing another kiss to Remus’ head. “Suppose so. Only once a month, though.” 

[woollypoison]

Lia miniseries: The last time

Itzy Lia x m reader a/n: go stream gwbg Word count: 16.5k words

The music is loud, but not loud enough. This place smells like sweat and cheap alcohol, the exact same mixture you can find at any college party. People shout over each other, cups crinkle under people’s dancing feet, and everyone is touching everyone.

You should be enjoying yourself, but even the loudest distractions can’t prevent your eyes from being locked on to Lia.

She stands near the edge of the room, far away from the life of the party, arms crossed, tears swelling in the corners of her eyes but refusing to spill over. Her boyfriend—the eternal class act that he is—leans in close, probably spouting some bullshit. His expression is all smooth confidence, but hers is hurt. You don’t need to hear what he’s saying. You already know. You saw him, lips on another girl, bodies flush against each other like Lia never existed in the first place. And now, he’s feeding her some excuse, no doubt in his mind that she will just swallow it like she always does.

But something’s different this time. She’s not buying it, and she’s not giving in. And then, just like that, he sighs, throws up his hands, and walks away. No fight, no desperation. He just walks away from her like she was never worth the effort.

You don’t even hesitate. No time to. She’s your best friend after all. You move.

Lia barely reacts as you step in beside her, but when you nudge her arm, she exhales, already privy to your antics. “Not now.”

“If it’s up to you, it’s not ever,” you correct. You don’t wait for permission. You snag a bottle of whiskey from the counter next to her and pop the cap. “Drink with me!”

She hesitates. She’s reluctant. “I don’t feel like drinking.”

“And I don’t feel like letting you mope tonight.” You take a swig straight from the bottle and hand it to her. It burns, but it’s bright and distracting. “Come on. When was the last time you lived a little?”

She eyes you, then the bottle, then you again. Something shifts in her expression—anger, defiance, something that reminds her of memories long buried. She snatches the bottle from your grasp and takes a drink. It burns, and she coughs, but she doesn’t hand it back.

You grin. “That’s the spirit!”

She scoffs through the coughs, but the corner of her lips twitch. “Shut up.”

You’re already scanning the party, looking for something to pull her out of her own head. There’s a group playing beer pong, hyping each other up like they’re at the Olympics. Perfect.

You drag Lia along with you, as you approach the would-be champions. Without warning, you grab a ball off the table and line up a shot. The guy who was about to throw blinks at you. “Dude, what the hell?”

You ignore him and flick your wrist towards victory. The ball arcs, bounces once, and lands straight into a cup. The crowd reacts with a mix of cheers and protests, but you don’t care. You turn to Lia, smirking with satisfaction, and hand her the next ball. “Your turn.”

She stares at you. Her body is shrinking, and it looks like she might retreat into her shell. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re up.”

Lia glances at the crowd watching, the challenge hanging in the air. She looks at you, your smile going from one ear to the other encouraging her to partake. She takes a deep breath, takes the ball, straightens her shoulders, and throws. The ball drops into a cup flawlessly.

The room erupts. The guy whose game you interrupted throws his arms up in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Lia doesn’t gloat. She just picks up the cup, downs the beer inside, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand like she’s been doing this her whole life. Then, she looks at you.

You whistle. “Damn.”

She smirks. “What can I say?”

You step in close, voice level adjusted to be just for her. “This is fun, isn’t it?”

She exhales, something loosening in her. “Yeah. It kind of is.”

But you’re not stopping here.

You scan the room for the next move. You spot it, your next target—an old speaker, unattended and inviting on a counter, playing the same overplayed pop song. With Lia in tow, you stride over and connect your phone. The music cuts off, and a few people groan, but you just open your library and hit play.

A completely different song blasts through the room. Something more obscure, something wilder.

People react immediately, some booing, others cheering. Lia’s eyes react instinctively. “Wait, this song—”

“You like this song,” you fall in, leaving no doubt about the reason for your choice.

She laughs, the sound light, unburdened but restrained. “I do.”

“So dance.”

She hesitates, but you grab her hand, spinning her once. She stumbles into you, laughing despite herself. The party moves on around you, but for a moment, it’s just the two of you, caught in your own little world.

You can see it on her face. For the first time tonight, Lia isn’t thinking about him.

But the moment shatters. Your efforts were beginning to bear fruit, but they were spoiled too soon.

From across the room, he approaches. Her boyfriend’s voice, loud and annoyed, pierces the carefully crafted atmosphere. “Lia, what the hell are you doing?”

You don’t even have to turn to see him pushing his way through the crowd, eyes locked on her, clenched fists like he was preparing for a fight. The fun, the freedom, it all fades from existence, from her face—hesitation, guilt trying to creep back in.

Not this time. You’ve seen it happen countless times before now.

You lean in close, voice out her boyfriend's reach. “Let’s get out of here.”

She looks at you, uncertain of it all.

Then, her boyfriend calls her name again, sharper this time, as if she’s making another mistake. But she knows better.

Lia grabs your wrist in her first act of defiance. “Let’s go.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You let her lead you outside the house, but once outside, the roles reverse. You don’t let her pause, let her stop here. Instead, you take her even further away from the party to the first and best thing your mind can think of.

The arcade is alive with flashing neon lights, the chaotic symphony of electronic jingles and mixed reactions filling the air. You shove a few bills into the token machine, spilling a handful into your palm before tossing a few to Lia. She catches them like it’s a practiced act, but her expression is skeptical.

“You seriously dragged me to an arcade?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at your great escape.

“You seriously gonna tell me you’re too cool for this?” You grin, nudging her towards the air hockey tables. “Come on, we’re settling this once and for all. Air hockey. I used to smoke you all the time. Loser gets a punishment.”

Lia chortles, but there’s a flicker of amusement behind her eyes. “You’re on.”

You pick your table, and from the second the puck drops, it’s war. Lia is fast, but her shots are wild. She misses easy blocks, fumbling the paddle once, but she’s so caught up in the fun she doesn’t notice how you start easing up, letting her slip goals past you. When she scores the final point, she throws her arms up, victorious.

“Destroying you has never felt better,” she teases, gloating as if she just settled a lifelong rivalry.

You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. “Alright, alright. Fair’s fair. What’s my punishment?”

She taps a finger against her chin before smirking. “Close your eyes.”

You sigh but comply. You’re not a sore loser, not after choosing to be one. A few moments later, she presses a cold can into your hands. You pop it open and take a sip—immediately regretting it. “What the hell is this?!”

Lia bursts into laughter. “Carbonated milk. Consider it payback.”

You sputter the concoction, wiping your mouth of its filth. “That’s foul.”

Her grin is as proud as it was mischievous. “Exactly.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. You’ve missed this. Missed spending time with her. “Alright, let’s move on. I’m winning you something.”

You drag her to the claw machine, and she crosses her arms, unimpressed. “Please, these things are rigged.”

“Not when you’ve got my skills.” You crack your knuckles, putting on an exaggerated show of focus as you deftly maneuver the claw. Lia observes your performance, still skeptical, until the claw actually snags onto a small stuffed bear and holds on long enough to drop it into the chute.

You scoop it out and hand it to her, the bravado of a man who won a teddy bear ten times the size you just had. “Told you.”

She takes it, eyes softer than before. “I… didn’t think you’d actually get it.”

“Guess I’m full of surprises.”

She holds the bear against her chest for a moment before stuffing it into her bag. “Alright, I’ll admit. That was kind of sweet.”

“Kind of?”

She rolls her eyes in the same mock annoyance she must have learned from you. Or was it you who learned it from her? Either way, she doesn’t argue any further.

Eventually, you both step out of the arcade looking for your next distraction, the night air cool against your skin. Lia stretches her arms over her head, exhaling. “Alright, what’s next?”

You glance around, spotting a near-empty grocery store parking lot, an idea sparking in your mind. A childish smile spreads across your face. “I think I see our next challenge.”

Lia follows the direction of your gaze to an abandoned shopping cart and lets out an incredulous laugh. “No way.”

“Oh, come on. You trust me, right?” Your rebuttal is tempting, tempting enough to get her to hum as she considers it.

She shakes her head but, to your delight, climbs into the cart. “Alright. Just don’t kill me.”

You take a running start, the wheels rattling as you push her through the empty lot. Lia shrieks high pitched and filled with life, clutching the sides as you pick up speed, laughter bubbling past her lips. It’s reckless and stupid, but it feels good—feels free.

When you finally slow down, she’s breathless, her face suddenly inches from yours. She doesn’t move away. You don’t want to either.

The cool air becomes heavy, something new unraveling in the little distance between your eyes.

Before you can say something you didn’t stop to think about, Lia clears her throat and looks away. “We should—keep going. What’s next?”

You nod, shaking off the moment just as easily as it came. “Let’s go find something else to conquer.”

You end up outside a rundown photo booth near an old convenience store, its flickering sign barely hanging on. The joy on your face says everything Lia needs to know. She eyes it, then you. “Seriously?”

“Come on. Gotta commemorate the night somehow!”

She huffs, exhaling air through her nose in a quick burst but follows you inside. The cramped space forces you close, her shoulder pressing into yours as she scoots barely into frame. The first flash goes off as she makes a face, sticking her tongue out.You paint a big smile on your face for the picture, throwing an arm around her to pull her into the frame for the next one.

Then, right before the third flash, you can feel Lia’s body tense up against yours. She’s planning something. She looks at you, really looks at you, before smirking mischievously. You can’t help but wonder what prank she has planned to pull on you, but you’ll let it happen nonetheless. Cheering her up was worth it all.

And then, instead of some grand, over-the-top stunt, she does something quieter. She leans in, sliding deeper under your arm, her head resting against your shoulder. Her fingers interlock with yours, and she doesn’t let go.

The camera flashes.

You glance down at her, your chest squeezing tighter then when you were pushing her around in a cart. She doesn’t say anything, just stays there, close, warm. The playful air shifts—becomes something calm.

She doesn’t move away, doesn’t laugh it off. Just holds your hand a little tighter, waiting. You rub your thumb over hers. It’s soothing. You’re just friends. You had never even considered Lia as something else. But what if…?

The next flash of the camera captures the sudden stillness, the quiet storm brewing between and inside of you.

You let out a breath, finally looking away. “Come on,” you murmur, squeezing her hand once before standing. “I know where we can go next.”

As you step out into the night, Lia doesn’t let go of your hand right away. She lingers, thumb brushing against your skin before finally, hesitantly, letting it slip away. Neither of you comment further on it.

After a few moments of walking in silence, you glance at her. “You remember the old jungle gym?”

She blinks, then lets out a soft laugh. “From middle school? The one we used to sit at, talking about nothing for hours?”

“Exactly, that’s the one! Haven’t been there in years.”

Lia tilts her head, considering. Then she smiles, a green light signal to go ahead. “Let’s go.”

You climb to the top of the jungle gym together, the city humming in the distance, but here, beneath the stars, everything feels still.

Lia stretches out, staring up at the sky absentmindedly. “It’s weird. I can’t remember the last time I’ve done this.”

“What? We used to climb this thing all the time.”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “No, not that! Just… let go like this.”

You watch her, the way her hair falls against the worn metal, the way the moonlight catches in her eyes. “We used to do that too all the time,” you remind her. “Back when we had nothing better to do than waste time here.”

She smiles faintly. “Yeah. Before everything got… complicated.”

You don’t say anything, only offering a smile that reaches half of your lips. You just watch her as she rolls onto her side, propping herself on an elbow facing you. “Why are you doing this?” she asks suddenly, eyes searching yours as if they’ll provide the answer.

You blink, caught off-guard by the sudden question. “What do you mean?”

“This.” She gestures vaguely around her and towards you. “Dragging me around, making me forget about him.”

Your throat tightens. You think about saying something inflammatory about her boyfriend, but don’t even want to let a thought of him taint this place. “Because I hate seeing you like that.”

She studies you, her gaze flickering over your face. She looks down. Her smile is small but real. Like she’s happy she’s here now, but already mourning the fact that it won’t last. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s easy when you’re with me.”

When you’re starving, and you have a bite, you only end up craving more. That same hunger is consuming Lia right now. She’s feasting on this moment, indulging in every reckless, fleeting moment like she's been starving for it. Watching her like this, so alive, enjoying each minute she has—you can’t help but feel the hunger too.

It quickly gets overtaken by quiet, only interrupted with the creaking hush of the metal under your combined weight and the cricket-thick dark all around. Then Lia speaks, softer still: “Do you think I made a mistake?”

You turn on your side so you’re facing her, knees drawn up, hands dangling in between them. “Yeah, I mean, you should have dumped that guy ages ago.”

She makes a face and you know you deserve it. “No, not that. Just—leaving like that. Walking out.” Her voice is directed away from you. She sounds ashamed to even be asking the question.

“Honestly?” You lean back against the cold rail, letting your head tip to watch the sky. It’s easier to be honest that way. “Nah. If anything, you should’ve gone harder. Made a scene. Gone full dramatic. Hell, even kiss someone else in front of him. Get even.”

“Yeah, because you know me as the type to kiss random dude at parties.” She’s grinning, a little, but she clearly thinks you’re ridiculous.

“Not random,” you say, and waggle your eyebrows. “I could’ve volunteered.”

She laughs, easy and bright, the sound running up your spine like a dare. “Oh, right,” she says, “Because that wouldn’t have made things weird between us?”

“Sure. It could have.” You nudge her with your shoulder. “Or you could have totally fallen for how good I am with my tongue.”

She hums, draws little circles on the chipped paint with her finger. “Yeah, well, maybe I should have. But I’m warning you, you’re the one that would end up smitten with me, not the other way around.”

You chuckle in response, but you don’t think you can say much more without fully tipping your hand, and this night isn’t about you.

You let the silence settle again. Can’t keep yourself from looking at her in it, and the way she looks at you makes you think you should stop joking around and actually fall for her. Just give in.

She just sighs when you don’t. You’re not sure if it’s because you don’t or some other reason that has yet to reveal itself. “I’m hungry.” The likely answer is that she’s just hungry, then.

You slide down the bar so you’re parallel to her, feet dangling above the mulch. “Let’s get pancakes. I know a great diner, within a diner’s capacity to be great.”

She sighs again, this time with more drama. “I’m also exhausted. Like, terminally. What if I can’t make it to the diner? Will you leave me here to be eaten by raccoons?”

You give her a look, one eyebrow up. “Do you want me to carry you or something?”

Lia scrunches her nose. “That’s so childish.”

“You’re right,” you say solemnly. “Better to perish on the mulch.”

She smacks your arm, but she’s smiling. “You won’t make it a block.”

You position yourself in front of her, crouching, arms out. “Now I need to prove myself.”

She hesitates just long enough for you to think she’s going to refuse, but then she’s climbing onto your back, arms slung around your neck. She is lighter than you expect, which is nothing to start with, all angles and heat and the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Don’t drop me,” she says, but there’s laughter in her ear, right by yours.

“Only if you don’t give me a reason to,” you say, and start down the sidewalk, Lia’s breath hot against your cheek.

The first step makes her arms grip your neck so tight you nearly choke. You consider dropping her then, but you have a reputation to uphold. Eventually, you manage to start up a rhythm that allows air into your lungs despite Lia’s best attempts. Her thighs clamp around your hips, and you can’t help but think that the last time you carried Lia like this, she didn’t have tits pressing into your back. It’s distracting. Every few feet, Lia shifts to keep from sliding, and every time she does, her body presses tighter into yours.

“You’re struggling,” she teases, but it’s breathless.

“Having less issues with the carrying than I’m having with your bratty comments,” you shoot back, and she pinches your ribs hard enough to make you yelp.

It’s only a seven-minute walk, but you are both panting when you spill into the fluorescent refuge of the twenty-four-hour diner, giggling like absolute idiots. A bored waitress barely looks at the two of you as you enter and drop Lia onto a vinyl booth seat before climbing the seat across from her.

You try to stifle your body’s reaction to the feeling of her hips and chest now that it's in vision of her, as you focus on the menu. Lia’ is already tracing the patterns on the scarred tabletop, her mind drifting towards what to say.

“So,” you say, when the pancakes arrive. “Why did you stay with him this long?”

She stares at her pancakes, then the syrup bottle, then you. Her mouth twitches. “He made me feel wanted, I guess. Like, he paid attention to me. Like I was—” She shakes her head. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” You’re gentler now, picking up her wrist and tracing the raised vein with your thumb. “But you’re still allowed to be pissed. Or sad. Or both.”

She shrugs, but she’s not pulling away. “He was hot. That was probably part of it. And he was so, I don’t know, confident? Like, he’d just do shit and not care what anyone thought. I always cared too much.”

You cock your head. “You ever think maybe you liked him because you wanted to be like that? Like, less afraid.”

She chews her lip. “I guess so. But his reason for not being afraid was because he didn’t care about anything. There’s a difference.”

You nod. “Yeah, you actually give a shit. Which is why you might be the only decent person left on the planet.”

She laughs, but then her eyes go soft and wet. “That’s so sappy. You’re sappy.”

You stick out your tongue and make a face, syrupy affection and all. "I am what you need me to be."

She chuckles, shakes her head with her eyes closed, and goes back to her pancakes. You do too.

For a second or two, and then you’re back to making sure she doesn’t get in her own head. You have a mission, after all. 

“C’mon,” you say, “you gotta give me something better than ‘he made me feel wanted.’ There had to be stuff you hated about him.”

She doesn’t answer right away. You watch her work through it, chewing each word. “Sometimes I felt like… a prop. Like, I fit into his world, but he didn’t really care what I was thinking. Or what I wanted.” She looks up, eyes somber and level. “You ever get that?”

You nod. “Yeah, with my parents. Or group projects. Or… you know, every time I’ve ever hooked up.” You regret it as soon as it’s out of your mouth. Lia’s eyes spark with curiosity. “Wait, you’ve hooked up? You don’t just—” she gestures at your outfit, at your face, “—go to your classes, eat lunch with your less attractive friends and then go home and read books?”

You snort. “Nah. I’m a total slut, actually. I just don’t tell you because you’d judge me.”

She leans in, elbows on the battered Formica. “I would be so proud of you if I weren’t jealous, actually.”

You swallow, hard. That’s a lot to process. “Good to know. But that’s not the point. The point is, you deserve more than being some guy’s prop.”

Her plate gets pushed aside, her chin now resting on her hand like a flower. “Can I ask you something embarrassing and you promise to not laugh?”

“Sure.”

“Does it make me pathetic that the thing I’m most mad about is that he never once went down on me?” She says it low, but not embarrassed. Just quietly furious.

You almost spit coffee over the table. “Wait, never?”

She shakes her head, hair falling in her face. “Not even once. But I gave him blowjobs all the time.” Her eyes flick to yours, and she’s smiling, but her teeth are bared. “I’m good at it, too.” She tacks it on so nonchalantly you’re not even sure what to think.

Shock is evident on your face, and you can’t help but think about it. It’s not even your fault. “How do you… know?”

She shrugs, taking a sip from her coffee before giving her answer. “No gag reflex. Plus, I did all my research.” 

You nearly choke on your coffee. "Okay, before I get a stiffy in a worn down diner with all your bragging, why did he never go down on you?"

She shrugs, and speaks matter of factly like it’s normal. “Said he didn’t want to. That it was gross.”

You don’t even have to ask if she’s fucking kidding you, it’s written all over your face. “Wow. Not even once? Was he, like, afraid he’d have trouble finding the clit?”

The edges of her mouth corner upwards, tilting, and she’s thinking if she should or shouldn’t say. “Maybe? Who knows. All I know is I’ve given more head than a guillotine and never once—”

You hold up both hands, surrendering to the image. “Okay, okay, point made. But, for the record, that’s insane. You should sue for emotional damages.”

She giggles, then sobers. “I know. But it’s not even about the sex, really. It’s the principle. Like, why is it only okay when it’s for him? Because you should have heard how whiney he gets if I tried telling him no.”

You click your tongue. “It isn’t okay? Fuck that noise, you deserve so much better. Like, at the very least, a guy who knows what a clit is, where to find it and how to spell it with his tongue.”

She laughs hard at that, but her eyes glint. “You volunteering again, manslut?”

You make your face very solemn, steeple your fingers like a cartoon therapist. “Lia, as your friend, it is my sworn duty to ensure that you, specifically, are not denied any life experience. I’d take one for the team.”

She stares at you, a little wide-eyed. Is she considering it? The tension is steeped in it, and you’re trying to balance on top of it. She grins, slow and dangerous. “You would not survive me reciprocating the favor. And I always reciprocate.”

You lean in, close enough to feel her breath on your chin. “Please. I’ve never cum from a blowjob before, I doubt even you and your boundless talent could change that.”

She eyes you, pupils blown wide, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. “That sounds like a challenge.”

You rest your elbows on the table, interlacing your fingers and staring her down. “It’s not, Lia. It’s literally impossible.”

She leans in until you’re nearly nose to nose. “You think you could still say that after experiencing someone without a gag reflex?”

The heat that shudders up your neck is involuntary. You force a grin, deflecting with bravado. “Maybe. I’m just saying, it’s not for lack of opportunity.”

She cocks her head, lashes low, voice a purr: “So you’re saying you’ve had chances, but no one could get you off?” Her hand is on the battered edge of the table, three inches from yours. There’s a beat where she just watches you, then she slides her pinkie across, hooks it in yours. “That’s really fucking sad,” she says, and you get the sense she means it. “But not as sad as me, never even getting head.“

“Tragic, really.” Your mouth is dry but you keep your tone light. “Honestly, I think we’re both lost causes at this point.”

She leans back, stretches with her arms above her head, arching her back forwards, and it’s on pure instinct you suddenly notice her breasts pressing against the thin cotton of her shirt. Something shifted.

Her eyes flick up to yours, and for a second, it’s all too hot in the booth. “You know, I really don’t like people doubting the skills I’m confident in.”

Your foot, under the table, finds her shin. You graze it, just lightly, and feel the need to press her buttons some more. She doesn’t move away. “Fine,” you say, “you want to prove your skills or something?”

She laughs way too confident, her hands already in motion, eye contact established and unbroken as her fingers pull her hair back into a messy ponytail, exposing her neckline. “Sure! You want to do this here?” she asks, incredulous but not like it bothers her. It’s painfully obvious this should be a bluff. It should be.

You, bravest of cowards, glance around the diner. The waitress is behind the counter, scrolling her phone. There’s a guy in a hoodie two booths down, asleep with a plate of fries at his chin. The world is asleep or indifferent. “Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

You nearly choke. “You wouldn’t.”

She arches a brow. “You don’t think I will?” You stare her down. “Not a chance.”

She slides out of the booth and stands, stretching like a cat in the sick diner light. Her gaze flicks to the denizens of the diner, and then back to you. “Bathroom. Five minutes. If you dare.”

You laugh, convinced there’s no way she doesn’t chicken out. “You’re bluffing.”

She shrugs like she’s already won, the fire in her eyes burning with something brave. “You really want to take that risk? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

You watch her saunter to the bathroom, legs crossing with each step, her hips swaying in a way she knows has you following her with your eyes. She doesn’t look back, but you can’t stop watching her go.

The first two minutes are spent waiting for her to return. The third minute is considering your possibilities. The fourth and fifth minute are spent realising you’re actually keeping track of the time. You slide out of the booth, your hands shaking inside the pockets you hide them in. This is a terrible fucking idea.

The optics aren’t great. Stepping in reveals two truths. One is that it is exactly as disgusting as you’d expect. Cracked tiles, a hand dryer that’s more sickly than anyone daring to touch it, and one overhead bulb casting a yellow light over it all.

The other is that Lia isn’t using the bathroom for its intended purposes, but was also checking her phone, waiting for you. She’s in front of the mirror. She meets your eyes in the reflection and she almost looks stressed that you did.

“You came,” she says, and instantly makes a face, regretting her choice of words.

You lean against the door, arms folded. “Yep. So, here we are.”

She spins to face you, hands bracing behind her on the sink. “Here we are,” she echoes, and the words hang between you, heavy with implication of what you’re both doing there

There’s a second—or a couple, or who knows how many—where you both wait for the other to chicken out, to call bullshit, to undo this and retreat to safety. Neither of you does though.

You clear your throat awkwardly, like this is your first time being in a tiny bathroom with your best friend you might have started developing feelings for when she’s about to prove to you she can make you cum from a blowjob. “You know, we don’t—”

She cuts you off, eyebrows raised at what she thought you would say. “Do you want me to?” She doesn’t look away from you though. She even forgets to blink, and that’s her tell. That’s how you know she’s shitting her pants, that’s she in way over her head, and that she’s hoping you’ll pull the plug so she doesn’t have to.

You think to oblige, a forced smile that is all too easy to read shows up on your face. “Don’t feel like you have to, you have nothing to prove to me. What do I know.”

She shrugs, digging the hole she’s stuck in a little deeper. “I want to.” She pushes herself up higher, sitting on the edge of the sink with more confidence than this kind of bathroom should allow, legs slightly apart, feet dangling off the edge. “Do you not want me to?”

Her cheeks are pink, even under the sickly yellow light. She’s not only messing with you—she’s also messing with herself. Testing if she can, testing if you would, the way she always does when she’s about to rationalize a mistake or say something she knows she shouldn’t. It’s a staple of hers at this point.

“I mean,” you say, “I don’t think I’d hate it? I’d probably like it. But I don’t think I’d cum from it.” Your voice is a little too honest, too floaty, and she catches it.

You get lost in looking at her for just a moment. Her knees slightly apart, the way her knuckles go white with how hard her hands grip the edge of the sink, the way her lips part every time she takes a breath.

You snap out of it and speak again. “Wait, Lia… are we really about to do this?”

She blinks, startled. For the first time since the challenge, the mask cracks and the real Lia steps out. Her face softens, small and vulnerable. “I—” She looks down, hands twisting together. “I don’t know. Are we?”

You exhale, relief and regret pouring out in equal measure. “I mean,” you say, “if somebody told me a week ago my best friend was going to try and deepthroat me in a public restroom, I would’ve called them a liar.”

She laughs, but the sound is threadbare. “Yeah. It’s kind of insane.”

You lean back against the cold cinderblock, arms crossed. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know?” The words feel stupidly sincere in the archipelago of dried vomit and mystery stains, but you say them anyway. “I mean it. If this is just… I don’t know, some kind of rebound performance review—”

She shakes her head, forceful. “It’s not. I just…” She trails off, and for a second she’s the same girl who used to triple-dog-dare you to eat glue, who overthought everything and then did it anyway. “I guess I wanted to see if I could be as spontaneous as you, for once.” She chews her lip, then lets out a nervous giggle. “But also, this bathroom is so gross I’m pretty sure I just caught tetanus from sitting on this sink.”

You hold up your hands, surrendering. “Yeah. Not like this. This is so—” You gesture around, taking in the cracked tiles and the ancient tampon machine stuck with a chewed wad of gum. “I mean, if we’re gonna do something dumb, shouldn’t we at least pretend it’s romantic?”

Her shoulders drop. She huffs a breath, then laughs. “Thank god. I thought you were gonna make me actually do it in here.” She rubs her palms over her jeans, eyes squinting in relief. “I was like, I will, but before we even kiss?”

You lean in. “For what it’s worth, if anyone was going to be the first to, uh, make me actually finish from that, I’d be honored if it were you.” You flick your gaze to her mouth, then back. “But not in a stinky diner bathroom, okay?”

She grins, genuinely this time, the tension breaking. “Deal. I’ll save the unwrapping of my talents for a more… prestigious venue.”

“Noted,” you say. You’re close enough now to see every fleck of gold in her irises, every ragged end of her ponytail. Something clicks into place in the air as you realise the implication of what you and what she just said. Technically, it could count as a confession. “But, uh. While we’re here—”

She doesn’t wait for you to finish. She grabs the front of your shirt and tugs you in, kisses you hard enough you nearly bruise your teeth on hers. It’s not romantic, not gentle; it’s hungry, desperate, tasting of syrup and coffee and the hours of wanting you both pretended didn’t exist. Her hands go straight to your hair, fingers tangling at the base of your skull, and your hands find her waist, yanking her off the sink until her legs wrap around you.

You barely have enough sense to lock the door behind you before her mouth is on yours again, hot and insistent, her breath loud in your ear. 

You both pull back in sync, breath staggered and eyes wild, twitching to find each other. It takes a moment to understand what you just did. She’s breathing hard, laughing against your throat, her arms still cinched around your neck like she’s afraid if she lets go she’ll wake up in her old life.

“You did say you’d volunteer,” she muses, slightly raw. She tries to sound like she’s joking, but it catches in the back of her throat.

You nuzzle her ear and whisper, “And I don’t regret saying it.”

She snorts, the sound dangerously close to a giggle. “You’re such a dork.”

“And you’re such a good kisser for someone who only ever dated selfish morons,” you say, still holding her, still feeling her pulse through your joined bodies.

You both collapse into laughter again, and then, like nothing happened, she’s smoothing her hair back into place and you’re straightening your shirt, already conspiring over the next thing to do. You slip out of the bathroom, Lia a half step behind you, and return to your booth. As you pass the counter, you catch the waitress’s knowing smirk, but you don’t care.

You slide into the booth. Lia joins you on your side this time, thigh pressed to yours, close enough that it’s basically an admission of intent. She grabs a strip of bacon from your plate and chews it like she’s mad at it, her leg drumming against yours under the table. You can’t stop touching: knees bumping, hands fiddling with the same syrup bottle, pinkies hooking and unhooking. If anyone saw you, they’d assume you were already together, some weirdly codependent pair of lovebirds, and you suddenly get why people always accused you of being “basically dating, but not admitting it.”

You’re texting under the table, a quick message to your friend with the backyard pool and the parents who are never home: “still cool to use your pool? need to impress a girl, promise no one will drown.” He replies fast: “go wild, just don’t get anything weird in the water or be too loud. neighbors know nobody is home so they might call cops.”

By the time you’ve finished that thread, Lia has finished your pancakes. She wipes her mouth and leans back, looking at you bright-eyed. “You got any plans for what’s next?”

You smirk, already one step ahead. “You ever broken into a pool before?”

She raises a brow. “Isn’t that illegal?”

You shrug. “Only if you get caught. Besides, I think it’s a rite of passage or something.”

She hesitates, chewing her lip, and you wonder if you’ve overplayed it. But then she squares her perfectly ninety degree shoulders, grabs your hand, and says, “Fuck it. Let’s do something stupid.”

You grin, adrenaline blooming. “That’s the spirit.”

The walk is long, and you’re both too keyed up to say much. Lia swings your hand, humming a song under her breath, and you realize you’ve never felt more alive than right now, running through the dark with her, doing something so aggressively pointless. The house is a monster in the darkness, all big windows and a backyard made for rich kids’ parties. The side gate is exactly where you said, the latch loose. 

You sneak in, and Lia—in a surge of confidence—leads to the pool.

“This is so illegal,” she whispers, giggling as she steps out of her shoes.

You glance around, the no lights on in any of the houses. “Keep it down and nobody will call the cops. And even if they do, we look way too good to be criminals.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s already at the edge, and then she stops, frowning. “Wait,” she says. “We don’t have swimsuits.”

You look at her like you can’t believe it took her this long to realize. She takes you in, judging her a little, and then shrugs, defiant. “Fuck it. I didn’t walk all this way just to chicken out now.”

You agree, and this time, you take the lead. You start with your shirt, because, well, it’s easy. It only takes a second for it to be gone and be just the first of many fabrics strewn across the floor. The cold night air hits your skin, and you hope the pool’s heated.

Lia, meanwhile, is watching you. Her mouth is pressed into a firm line, arms folded over her chest like she’s caught between moving forwards and regressing.

“Don’t look at me as I undress, you perv,” she warns. “I mean it. You get even remotely creepy and I will drown you. And then tell everyone you had a microdick.”

The threat is so perfectly Lia you have to fight down a grin. You stand with your back to her, taking off your jeans with exaggerated, cartoon modesty. “You’re the one who made this weird.”

She snorts. “Need I remind you that my truth is having a sexual history of one person?”

You hear the soft scuffle of fabric. And now you’re the one making it weird. Your mind does a dangerous trick, imagining the sound in freeze frame: her pale skin catching moonlight, the careful way she’d cross her arms to peel off her shirt, the way she’d maybe even blush, even if you weren’t looking. You keep your eyes laser-focused on the pool, but your entire brain is on fire with the idea of Lia, naked except for the confidence she’s wearing like a new suit.

You hear her step up behind you, breathless. You don’t look. “Okay,” she says. “Count to three?”

You both count off, but on “two” she shoves you, and you hit the water in a flailing, gasping mess. She follows not long after, so close to your landing zone that you feel her feet brush you as you go under.

The water is cold, but not as cold as the outside air. As you surface, (sputtering, thanks to Lia) you hear her treading water not far from you. She’s laughing so much she can be found through echolocation. You dog-paddle closer, the splash of the water still too alive to make anything out under the waves and she holds up a hand, palm out.

She slicks her hair back, shivering, but her eyes gleam, catching you getting closer with your eyes clearly open. “Hey, no. That’s not enough. You have to swim with your eyes closed. Like, the entire time.”

You shake your head. “That’s insane.”

“Trespassing into some random person's yard is insane,” she says, grinning now. “Eyes closed, or you’re getting your dick twisted off.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, then roll your them (behind closed lids), floating backwards on your back, arms splayed. “If I drown, it’s your fault.”

She huffs. “I’m an amazing lifeguard. I know how to perform mouth-to-mouth.”

You drift a little, keeping your limbs extended to try and not drift into any pool edges. You think you can feel her watching you, and you know you can hear her moving away. She’s got something planned.

“You’re not looking, right?” she calls.

“Only if you’re not either,” you shoot back, the words a little louder than they needed to be. You, good boy that you are, keep your eyes shut, but something tells you she’s smirking. You can taste it in the air.

“Eh, I don’t think I agreed to that rule,” she answers, and it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine, the way her voice is seeped in mischief. “Besides, you’re the one floating proudly with your dick above water like you’re trying to show off. I’m keeping everything nice and clean underwater.”

You blush, swearing at the way your body betrays you, heat blooming under your skin even though you’re half freezing. “You’re bluffing again, I know you wouldn’t look—”

“Wouldn’t look? Couldn’t help but look,” she nonchalantly intercepts, “I didn’t know you were packing. Isn’t it supposed to be tinier in cold water?” A beat passes where you’re lost for words. It’s still too generic, it’s a classic Lia bluff. “I half regret not taking care of that in the diner bathroom.”

You choke so hard on your own spit you almost dip under again. “You’re fucking with me.”

Her voice is lower now. “You wish I was. Also, you’re clean shaven. Didn’t expect that. Thought you were all hot and heavy for the vintage look.”

You open your eyes, protests be damned, and there she is, half-sprawled on the steps at the pool’s shallow end, arms propped behind her, legs out like she’s posing for a calendar. The moon catches on the water beading her skin, and for a second you’re sure you’re hallucinating her: you’ve never seen Lia look so open, so unguarded, so absolutely fucking beautiful.

She tilts her head. “I didn’t give you permission to look, pervert.” She stretches, toes pointed, and looks at you like you look at her. “But since you have, what do you think?”

You don’t have the words. You never have the words. You just swim closer, one hand out for balance, until you’re in front of her on the steps, knees bumping. “I think,” you say, “it’s taking everything I have to keep me from jumping on you.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s shivering, and you can’t tell if it’s the night chill or something else. “You’re such a dork.”

You risk it all. “Yeah, but I’m a hung dork.”

That gets her. She bites her lip, eyes gone dark and wild. “You’re such a slut.”

You haul yourself up onto the steps, water sluicing down your back, and she laughs as you nearly slip. “Careful there,” she says, softer now. “It’d be a shame if you broke your neck before I broke your little head problem.”

You pause, kneeling between her legs, and she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. You reach for her, she bites her lip, and it’s all culminating in skin touching and bodies trembling.

You look up. “You trust me?”

She laughs, but it’s honest and her gaze can’t keep up with yours. “Don’t fail me.”

Your hands slide up from her lower legs to her calves, cradling her hips, and the water makes it even easier to lift her. You stand, walking with the steps in the shallow end, carrying her above the water and she squeals right before you put her down on the edge of the pool. Perched on the concrete lip with her feet still in the water, and your head taking its place in between her thighs.

She’s clean shaven. She looks so fucking delicious and easy to devour you almost want to thank her boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend—for letting you be the first to get to taste this.

You rest your cheek against her thigh, and she goes very still.

You’re not expecting it to be so easy, how her legs melt open in invitation, how the scent and heat of her rolls over you like a sunrise. She’s blushing, hard, hands fidgeting on the concrete behind her, like she can’t believe you’re about to make her lose her mind.

You kiss the inside of her knee first, and her reaction is electric. She whimpers, softly, and it’s a promise of the sound she’ll make when you give her what she wants. You move up to her thigh, tasting chlorine and humid skin beneath it. Her eyes are wild, nervous with joy, unsure if she should stare at your eyes or your mouth.

She shudders with every touch, but her legs don’t close. Every inch you take, she parts them wider, pleading for you to continue, greedier to get her world rocked.

You glance up. “Stop me if you want.”

She shakes her head, breathless. “If you stop, I might cry.”

You slide higher up on her thighs, nudging her gently with your nose and lips, and her hands find their place in your hair where you wanted them all along. You let your tongue follow her horizon, and for a second, she goes so quiet you think you might have short circuited her. Maybe it’s internal water damage. But then she makes a soft, desperate sound, the kind of noise you can get addicted to.

So you do it again, and she does too. Then again, slower, letting your tongue linger at the place where her thighs meet her center, teasing the crevice where her legs meet her crotch with the tip of your tongue before finally letting yourself taste her for real.

She bucks up so hard you almost lose your grip. “Oh my fucking god,” Lia says, using her words for the first time since you started. “This is—shit, okay, fuck, okay, don’t—” she babbles, gasping, then giggling and going back to gasping again, like she can’t decide if this is so hot she should melt or so insane she can only laugh.

You break contact, looking up to her just to ask, “You good?” but she’s not having it, pushing your face back down like she’s needy for it, muttering, “Shut up, don’t please, you’re perfect, I’m just—”

You lap at her, soft at first, then harder, then you flatten your tongue and drag it in slow, deliberate circles around her clit, just to see what color she turns when she’s about to lose it. Her nails scratch at your hair, then her thighs, then the concrete. She’s so fucking unbelievable, shaded in the moonlight and the light coming from the pool. Her head is thrown back, her mouth wide open, Her tits peaking forwards, eyes squeezed shut towards the stars and her whole being is pink and wet and trembling.

You hum, sending a pulse up through her, and she shudders hard. “Are you—holy fuck, are you humming?” she asks, voice going all high and incredulous.

You pull back just enough to say, “Wouldn’t want to deprive you of the full experience,” then dive back in, tongue working faster, pushing her closer and closer to the brink.

She’s full on babbling now, none of her usual slick responses, her guard fully down. “fucking fuck fuck, that’s—yes, this feels so fucking, fuck, fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare—” She’s stringing words, not making sentences, mewling and desperate.

You only hold on to the edge of the pool with one hand now, pushing two fingers inside her, and she makes a sound so high pitched you worry there’s more she’s yet to experience. Worry she might break.

“Do I feel that good?” you ask, the sound muffled against her skin.

She just nods, gasping, “The fucking best,” and you take it as motivation to draw this whole thing out.

You edge her, just a little, slowing down until she’s whining, then ramp up again, alternating fast and slow until she’s cursing at you, tears leaking out from the corners of her eyes. “You’re such an asshole,” she sobs, “just let me—”

You glance up, a wicked smirk on your lips. “You want to cum?”

“Please,” she whispers, voice gone small and desperate for air. “I’m not trying to become you, I need to—please—”

You look up. “What’s the magic word?”

She opens her eyes, glaring down at you through a curtain of messy hair. “I will actually murder you,” she says, but she’s grinning, and that’s all the permission you need.

You let her have it, then. Fingers, tongue, everything, all at once, relentless and hungry and absolutely shameless in how much you want to taste her finish. She’s not quiet, not even a little. The sound she makes when she finally comes is a full-body event, a yell that echoes off the water and the fence and probably into the neighbor’s bedroom. A small prayer goes out to not having them interrupt you.

She falls backwards, upper body limp as her legs shake so hard you keep them steady just to keep her from sliding into the pool. She lies there for what feels like longer than an orgasm could last, shivering and laughing and gasping, and you think about telling her she needs to be quiet. You could never.

When the air returns to her lungs in full, she pushes herself up by the elbows. Fully upright, and she cups your cheeks in her hands, pulling you up, but it’s more so you pushing yourself up. She kisses you, and you’re mixing her tastes in your mouth.

You keep yourself pushed like that until her pulse slows. Then she buries her face in your neck and whispers, “You have to do that again. Like, right now.”

You’re about to oblige when the neighbors backyard security light clicks on with a loud mechanical whine, flooding the deck with off-beat white-hot illumination. For a split second, you freeze, Lia’s body still limp on the concrete, both of you utterly exposed for every constellation above to take in.

She starts to laugh again, then clamps both hands over her mouth, eyes huge. “Oh my god, oh my god, we’re going to die—”

You grab the nearest towel, wrap it around her, and half-carry, half-drag her behind the pool shed. She’s not helping at all, still giggling uncontrollably, but you manage to get her sheltered, both of you pressed close, hearts pounding in sync.

For a minute, you don’t say anything. Just breathe together, trying to calm down. Then she whispers, “Best night of my life. Even if we get arrested.”

You kiss her on the forehead, no words, just hoping she gets the message to keep quiet. She doesn’t. “But like, let’s try not to?” she says, and you look at her like you’re trying, but she’s making it hard. “You know, cus I technically owe you a blowjob now.”

You’re stunned. It feels only minutes since you didn’t consider Lia a sexual being and now you’re whole beings on fire because of her. “You’re absolutely insane and insatiable,” you say, and her shoulders just rise and fall.

“What can I say? You liberated me. It’s your fault, with that damn mouth of yours.”

You peer out from behind the shed. The light is still on, but nobody’s come outside, so you motion for her to follow you back to the pool deck. You towel off, putting your boxers on backwards in your haste, and she does the same, wrapping her hair up in a makeshift bun.

You wait for the light to disappear, and when it does, she glances at the fence, then at you. “Should we go somewhere we won’t get a permanent record for if we get caught?”

You consider the options, then grin, because you already know where to go.

“Love hotel?” you suggest, the words a joke but also not.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Only if you pay for the good room.”

You salute. “What, you think I don’t want the best room available for when I celebrate my first time finishing with a blowjob?”

You escape, and walk through the sleeping streets. Your hands are entangled, no longer shy about what they want. Your clothes are messy. Who cares, they’ll be on the floor again in no time.

When you finally reach the love hotel, buried under all its glorious neon signs, you can’t help but get a little nervous. It’s easier to do things for Lia, but sitting back and having her take care of you feels dangerous.

She doesn’t seem to think so. She jumps on the bed and flops back, arms and legs spread like she’s trying to take up as much space on the bed as possible and failing at it.

You find enough space to crawl up next to her, and she turns her head to look at you, full of giddy joy. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Always.”

“I think I’ve wanted this for a while now,” she grins, shy and proud swirling into one. “I just didn’t know if I could get here.”

You nudge her with your shoulder, smiling back. “Really? You’ve wanted to fuck your best friend in a love hotel for a really long time?”

She socks your upper arm, hard enough to sting, and you yelp. “Asshole. You know what I meant.”

“Yeah,” you say, rubbing the spot, “but I like hearing you say it anyway.”

She makes a face, then rolls onto her side, hair fanning over the hotel’s surprisingly clean sheets. “Fine,” she says, voice gone soft and hoarse. “I want you.” She looks at your mouth, then your eyes, then back to your mouth. “And not just tonight. I want… all of it. The weird, the stupid, the you.” Her cheeks pink up, but she doesn’t blink. “I want to be yours. And I want to do all the stuff with you that I was too scared to even ask for before.”

You just pull her in and kiss her, soft at first, then harder, until she’s clutching at you like she’ll float away if she doesn’t anchor herself in your skin. When you break apart, she’s smiling, all half-moons with her eyes, the way she used to when you’d stay up too late and make each other laugh until you were delirious.

You nudge her, voice low: “So, what now?”

She grins, a new wickedness there. “Now?” She rolls onto her side, mouth at your ear. “Now, I want you to lie back and let me suck your dick until you cum like you’ve supposedly never done before, and then, when you’re still all shaky and ruined, I want you to use that tongue of yours to fuck my clit up until I’m a groveling mess. Once your cock is ready for another round, and only after you’ve begged for it, I’ll let you fuck me. Dealer’s choice of how.”

You blink.

You can’t help it. The way Lia is talking—direct, filthy, like she’s trying to say every single thing that would make your pulse snap—is so far removed from the Lia you know it’s almost like you’re talking to a different person. Or maybe, just maybe, this is the real Lia, the one who’s been stifled for years by her self-obsession with being the “good one.” The “steady, reliable one.” Blinking turns into staring, and she picks up on it instantly. She turns inwards.

“Too much?” she asks, voice suddenly small, a hiccup of uncertainty behind the wildness in her eyes. Maybe the real Lia is somewhere in between all that, and there’s no point in trying to categorize it. Maybe, you just need to experience it.

You shake your head so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash. “No, I just… wow. I’m impressed. Didn’t know you had it in you to talk like that.”

Her palm splays on your chest, like you just gave her permission to sink in, and in a way, you did. “You also still believe I don’t have it in me to make you cum with my mouth.” She glances up, searching your face for a response, a snarky remark, a stupid joke, but you miss the timing entirely. Too busy recalibrating your entire image of her.

You flop back onto the pillows, getting comfortable, stretching out in full anticipation. “Right. Do I need to beg for that too, or…?‘

She bites her lip with a smirk, shifting so she’s straddling your knees, and begins fully undressing herself. Even without the moonlight, she’s ethereal. “Don’t cum already,” she taunts, but if anyone could make you just from sight, it’s her. Then, she reaches for the edge where skin meets waistband of your underwear with both her hands.

She’s not slow about it at all. She yanks them down in one rough motion, laughing as it flies across the room. You help, taking off your shirt as well, both of you equally nude now. But only one of you is under attack. “God, it’s even bigger up close,” she crows, eyeing your dick up and down, and she’s such a loser about it that you want to bottle it forever.

She gets on her stomach, chin propped on your thigh, and looks up at you, resting her cheek on your hip. “You’re sure you want me to?”

You grab a pillow and stuff it behind your head, a throne for the king you’ve become. “If you don’t, I might actually die.”

“Noted,” she says, and then she wraps her hand around the base of your cock, squeezing lightly, and gives you a look that could set the room on fire. “Ready?”

You nod, speechless.

She starts at the bottom, tongue touching your balls, licking a stripe up the underside, eyes peering past your cock to yours, slow and deliberately showy, flicking her tongue as you realise how badly you underestimated her. She takes your head in her mouth. She won’t let you look away. Her hands are on your thighs, nails biting skin. She starts slow, then slides a little farther, lips tight and glossy around you.

She’s not kidding about the lack of gag reflex; she takes inch after inch until her nose is pressed against your stomach, then pulls back, hollowing her cheeks with a practiced, obscene pop. She repeats it, faster, then slower, then faster again, alternating pace like she’s reading a manual on your pleasure, waiting for you to flinch, to break, to do anything but bite your own knuckle and pray you don’t embarrass yourself.

It’s good—almost too good, actually. She’s not shy about it; there’s no over-the-top porn performance, just pure, unfiltered focus on the task at hand. You glance down, and you can see the pride in her eyes, the spark that says she’s not doing this for you, not really—she’s doing it for herself, to prove something about who she is on the other side of all that old inertia.

But after a minute, you notice she keeps pausing, glancing up, waiting for you to… what? Give her directions? Yell encouragement? It’s not what you expected at all.

She pulls off, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Am I doing it wrong? You can… you can grab my head, if you want,” she says, a little breathless. “You’re allowed. I can handle it.”

You blink again, like she just suggested you recite the national anthem. “Why would I do that?”

She hesitates, uncertain. “Isn’t that what guys like? My ex always did that—like, he’d hold me down, or guide me. I figured you might want—”

You shake your head, reaching down to stroke her hair, gently, more to comfort than control. “Lia, you were going to make cum, weren’t you? I have no intention of using you to get myself to cum.”

She blinks, digesting this for a second, then lets out a tiny, nervous laugh. “Okay. That’s… weirdly nice. Not used to it.”

You smile, then, letting her see how much you mean it. “You’re in control. Seriously.”

She looks down, cheeks flushed, and then squares her shoulders. “Alright. But if you don’t cum, I’ll never forgive you.”

You have to laugh at that one, and try to make sure she does too.. “Balls are in your hands, sweetie.”

She does, and then goes straight back at it. There’s a silent confidence to it. Experimental rhythms, new techniques—twisting her tongue around, letting only her tongue linger until you’re about to lose your mind. She even tries humming, just to see what happens, and when you gasp, she grins around your cock, the vibration sending a pulse up your spine.

She doubles down, working your cock like she’s got something to prove to her universe (right now that would be you alone), and by the time she starts talking, you’re already lightheaded. 

“You’re so fucking hard,” she whispers, pulling off just enough to stroke you with her hand, tongue circling the tip like she’s painting it with precision. “God, I love how you taste. I want you to cum for me. Right in my mouth.” She breaks up the words with slow, deep sucks, gripping your thighs to pin you down when you start to squirm. “Bet you didn’t think you were going to blow your load in my throat tonight, did you?”

She moans, soft at first, then louder, so performative but fucking hot, not even a slightest hint of a gag. You moan too, can’t keep it in when she’s wrangling it out of you. Lia catches the sound, doubles down, then pops off with a wet, obscene slurp, catching her breath before diving back in.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die in a love hotel, and when they find your corpse, it will be smiling.

She alternates between deep, slow bobs that have you seeing stars and quick, greedy flicks of her tongue that make your whole body arch up off the bed. She’s methodical about it, as if there is some secret, sacred geometry to the way she works her hand and mouth in tandem. You watch her, rapt, as she salivates over you, hair falling out of its ponytail and sticking to her cheeks, her eyes darting up to check your expression every few seconds. It’s obvious she’s cataloging your every reaction and making little mental notes. Every time you twitch or gasp or say her name, she smirks just a little and doubles down.

You want to hold out, to prove you have some measure of control, but she’s relentless. You bite your forearm to keep from moaning loud enough for the whole building to hear, but she just laughs around your cock, wicked. You can feel the vibration all the way down your legs.

“Fuck,” you gasp, “I—if you keep doing that—”

She pulls off, making a mess of your lap, then kisses the tip lightly, eyes huge and wet and so fucking hungry. “What? You’re gonna cum?” she whispers. “That’s the whole point.”

Her throat makes you feel like you’re drowning in sweet honey.

She already knows you won. You’re not as unbreakable as you proclaimed. She’s just taking victory laps now. Losing track of the amount of times she brings you to the brink of painting her white and then backing off, her tongue ghosting and taunting you as she lets you calm down before she starts again.

Every tease lowers the time she has to pull back. She finally holds you there, right on the brink, and then—as the throbbing begins to signal the end—she pulls off, eyes never having left yours. Her lips are slick with spit, parted, and her tongue flicks delicately over the tip, collecting the drop of precum that’s already there.

“Do it,” she whispers, and then she takes you all the way in, nose pressed to your skin, hands gripping your thighs so you can’t move. You’re helpless to stop it; you groan, involuntary, loud enough to scare the birds off the roof.

You cum—hard, so hard it’s embarrassing, and the first spurt catches her off-guard, but she laughs and swallows, eyes crinkling into half-moons again, this time with victory. She powers through the second, the third, but by the fourth one she’s not ready, and it spills out over the corner of her mouth, streaming down your cock, pooling on your stomach. She keeps you in her mouth until you soften, then finally pulls off, licking her lips with a devilish little smile.

She pulls off, coughing a little, then wipes her chin with her palm, grinning like a champion. “Holy shit,” she says, “I did not know you could cum that much. Is that, like, normal for you?” Another string of cum ropes onto her wrist as she laughs, and with obscene showmanship, she licks it off, slow and deliberate. “You realize if you actually shot that up me, I’d probably be pregnant with triplets?”

You stare at her, still slightly dazed. “No, that was—fucking insane. You’re a goddess.” You’re still trying to recover, but she’s trying to prevent you from it. She’s busy leaning down, and her tongue tips out, licking your abs clean, not missing a single drop. And if that wasn’t enough, she takes your softened cock back into her mouth, sucking soft pressure on it, like she’s determined to get every hidden drop. When you beg, and you do, she sits up, opens her mouth wide, and vocalizes to show you how empty it is.

You stare, awed. “That was the best blowjob of my life. By, like, a factor of ten. I might have to marry you now.”

Surprisingly, that’s the point she finally breaks eye contact, pink-cheeked, and it's clear how little she expected that, even if she plays it off.

You reach for her, but she stops you with a palm to the chest as she ducks, suddenly bashful. “Wait—hold on.”

You frown. “Why? What’s wrong?”

She covers her mouth and looks at you like you’re an idiot for not getting it. “I’ll probably taste like, you know… you.”

Now it’s your turn to look back at her like she’s an idiot for not getting any of it. “And?”

She looks at you, then away, then back again, sheepish but not ashamed. “I mean, guys think that that’s gross, right?”

You blink. “Gross?”

She stares at her hands, twists the comforter between her fingers. “You know. Kissing after—” Her voice drops. “After giving a blowjob. My ex always said it was a turn-off. He wouldn’t let me kiss him, after.”

You sit up, propped on your elbows, and the look you give her is so incredulous it’s almost cartoonish. “That is, with all due respect which is none, the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. I want to kiss you more than I want to breathe right now, I don’t give a shit if you taste a little like me.”

Her face turns bright red at the admission, and laughs, but a little shaky. Cute, but shaky. “That’s new. My ex used to make me go brush my teeth. Or at least rinse. Otherwise he’d, like, dodge me. Like kissing me after was…” She trails off, eyes shining. “You actually mean it?”

You grin, and pull her in, and she lets you. The kiss is messy, a little salty, a lot desperate, and as you taste yourself on her tongue you can’t help but think she tastes good no matter what. She opens to you, greedy, and you let her climb into your lap, hands in her hair, your own still trembling from the aftershock of her mouth.

She’s not even subtle about what she wants to happen next. In her defense, she did spell it out for you. She’s grinding down on your thigh like she’s asking you to feel how wet she is. Her lips are on yours, desperate, insistent, tongue chasing every last taste of you. She’s moaning into your mouth, open and honest in a way that makes you want to ruin her, or maybe just worship her, or figure out a way to do both. You realize she’s been holding back for hours, maybe years, and now it’s all coming out in the fevered way her hands are clawing at your back.

You break the kiss, just to breathe, and she chases your mouth, gasping, “Please don’t make me beg. Please?” and then devolves into a fit of giggles because even at the edge of a nervous breakdown, Lia is still Lia. Still the girl who’d dare you to eat glue, then do it herself just to one-up you. Only now, she’s out of glue and onto something infinitely more addictive: you.

You slide your hands down her back, over the curve of her ass, and she arches against you, body curving like she’s trying to become a permanent part of you. She’s still laughing, but it’s all breath and need, the sound a little unhinged. “What’s so funny?” you ask, voice low, half teasing.

She pants, “I just can’t believe we’re—” but then you’re kissing her again, and she forgets her sentence halfway through, hips jerking forward in search of more.

She’s so wet, you can feel it through your thigh, hot and slick and spreading, and every time you flex your quad it makes her gasp. “Oh my god,” she says, “I’m such a slut,” but she’s smiling when she says it, proud and wild and alive.

“Jesus,” you murmur, mouth at her ear. “How long have you been this wet?”

She rolls her hips into you, grinding shamelessly. “Since the diner,” she admits, breathless. “You kept talking about making me cum and I—fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

You don’t want to tease this out any more than she does. You flip her, rolling her onto her back so fast the sheets threaten to tangle her up, and she shrieks in delight, hair fanning out behind her on the pillow like a halo. There’s a second where she just looks at you, all reverence and disbelief, and then she grabs your shoulders and pulls you down to her chest, wrapping her legs around your hips, locking you in.

She’s so open, so ready, it makes your head spin. You kiss down her neck, tasting the salt and heat, then down between her breasts, which she arches up for you like an offering. You take your time here, letting your tongue circle one nipple, then the other, and she’s whimpering, writhing, her hands never still as they alternate between your hair and your shoulders and her own mouth, like she can’t decide what she wants more: to pull you closer, or to muffle her own noises.

You work your way lower, kissing down her stomach, nuzzling your nose in the soft flesh just above her hipbone. She’s trembling now, and when you slide down between her legs, she whimpers, puppy-like, knees falling apart on either side of your head. This time, you don’t tease. You dive straight into the main course, finding her previously established weak spot, and making sure she gets all the rounds she needs.

It’s almost impossible how sensitive she still is, every lick causing her thighs to shudder against the sides of your head. But you want her ruined—so fuckign addicted to getting head that nothing else matters to her anymore—so you don’t let up, alternating between the blunt, relentless pressure of your mouth and soft, delicate circles with the very tip of your tongue. This time, too, you add a finger into the mix. She’s boneless the second you curve it.

You’re stealing her tricks like she stole yours. Eyes trying to find hers, but hers are rolled back, her mouth hanging slack. You want them on you, so you click your tongue and insert another finger, curl it inside her. Her eyes shoot open and lock onto yours like you just stole the last piece of pizza and she just can’t believe you got away with it.

She tries saying your name a couple of times, but all that amounts to are wet, choked gasps. She doesn’t let that stop her though. She’s losing control like you’ve never seen before, and she’s dragging you into that rhythm.

She tightens, and it happens faster than at the pool. She cums, hard, her whole body locking again, shaking so hard you’ve got to pin her down, and her back arches off the bed. But only for a moment. You never stopped, not as she squirms from overstimulation, not when she begs you not to.

As her back finishes it’s bow and she goes flaccid, you give her a minute, just to catch her breath. Just to start again. Don’t even let her ask you to, there’s no room for jinxes or invading neighbors now.

At first, she giggles, thinking you’re just returning the favor she performed on your limp cock. But when your tongue circles her still-throbbing clit,her whole body buckles for you. Hyper-sensitive and desperate, but you know what her hands in your hair are telling you.

You keep going. You don’t know how to stop. The taste of her is a current that runs straight to your skull and shorts out the last vestiges of your self-control, the raw, aching want to see her undone all you can think about.

And she continues to impress, sweat glimmering at her hairline, two perfect tears tracking down her cheek. She tries to say something coherent, but it never arrives. Might have been your name. You think a curse could also be an option. Doesn’t matter. Her tongue flattens against her teeth and the sound transforms as the next wave hits her.

You revel in her clenching and spasming, hips smashing into you and arching away, her own body unsure of where to go or what it needs in the most beautiful dance you’ve ever seen.

You don’t let up. Three is not enough. You ease your fingers out of her, making a direct connection between the nerves feeling her every twitch and your brain stem as her body seems to rewire itself with yours. She’s so sensitive now, every touch igniting some kind of fuse.

And you’re greedy to see her burn.

You kiss her clit, just once, and she yelps, a raw, startled noise. “Wait—” she gasps, but you don’t. Can’t. Not yet, anyway. “I’m gonna, I—” she gasps, but then you suck her clit between your lips and play with it with your tongue and she’s too deep, spiraling into another orgasm she didn’t know she could handle.

 This time, she sobs your name. And it doesn’t sound like desperation, not exactly. More like surrender. Like relief.

And that’s your cue. You ease up, mouth and chin slick with her juices, and take it in. There’s not a hard muscle at work there, arms and legs trembling on instinct, spread out wide, chest rising and falling again in frantic, uneven tempo. Her eyes are glassy, staring upwards with hooded lids that could close every second. She’s gone, ascended somewhere, and for a second you think you’ve overplayed it. But she returns with a laugh—just a single one, mind you, scraping breath in deep after it, filled with disbelief, delight and the undertones of a new addiction.

“I eh, I can’t—” she breathes out, voice strained from all the muffling, and she grabs a pillow, hugging it close to her chest, just to have something to bury her face in. “Holy shit,” she curses in full now. “My legs won’t stop fucking shakin, you prick.”

You move up, slide in next to Lia, careful not to cause any more explosions. Her face still glows with the aftershock as she’s clutching the pillow like it’s some kind of stuffed animal you won for her at a carnival. You make a mental note to add that to a bucket list.

You reach over to the nightstand, pour a glass of water from the pitcher provided, and push the glass gently against Lia’s lips. “Drink,” you say, and she does with a big smile, tipping her head back and gulping like her life depended on it. She splutters the last mouthful, wipes her mouth on the pillow, and collapses again.

You stroke her head, slow, patient. “You’re a fucking rockstar, you know that? Not just for being so free tonight, but… man, the way you cum? You’re a miracle.”

She groans into the pillow, mortified. “Shut up. You’re being such a loser right now.”

“Ouch,” you say, cheeky, “And here I was thinking we had something special.”

You lie there, sticky and messy and sweaty, just appreciating the way you fit into each other. A minute drifts by, two. Then she cracks open an eye and grins. "Kind of unfair of you, by the way."

You blink. "What is?"

She reaches over, wraps her hand around your cock who is valiantly refusing to give up the dream, and gives it a languid, teasing pump. "That you’re literally hard as a rock again. I mean, you just ruined me. My legs still don’t work. And you’re just… ready to go."

You can’t deny it’s what you want, but she looks like she might evaporate if you try anything on her. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

She stops that thought before it’s fully formed, squeezing your hilt enough to silence you. “You’re fucking kidding me, right? I’m not doing anything because I have to, it’s because I want to. And that’s thanks to you. You don’t really think I’m going to let you walk out of this place without actually fucking me?”

You open your mouth, but she slides her thumb over your slit, slow, and your brain disconnects from your body for a second. "Lia, you need to recover—"

She cuts you off with a glare. “If you don’t fuck me right now, one of us will die. But—” She holds up a finger, doing her best to get her breathing under control. “Condom. I know you’re a cum fountain, and I am not going to be that cliché.”

She leans over to the nightstand, rummages through the basket of “romantic amenities” and yanks out a foil packet. She tosses it at your chest. “Pick your position,” she says, rolling onto her back and spreading her arms in a gesture of reckless generosity. “Dealer’s choice, remember? But if you do missionary, I swear to god—”

You catch the foil packet with a smirk, weighing it in your palm. The options tumble through your head, a dirty montage: you could go classic, split her open missionary just to see the look on her face and violate her threat; you could get her on her stomach, ass up, push her down and rut her until she’s drooling into the motel comforter; you could even force her into lotus, making her do some of the work and test out her jellied legs some more. All tempting, all hot, but you hesitate. Something about the way she’s looking at you—equal parts challenge and naked trust—makes you want to ask.

“What do you want? I can’t decide,” you say, tearing the foil but waiting.

Lia props herself up on her elbows, squinting like the question is a trick. “What do you mean?”

You shrug. “I mean, if you could pick anything. Any position. What’s your fantasy, Lia?”

She opens her mouth, then shuts it instantly with a glare, very aware that you’re the type to use this against her. She’s not wrong. She considers her options, bites the inside of her cheek, and acts against her better judgement. “Well,” she starts, “You fucked my legs out of commission, so I can’t be riding you.” She pauses briefly. “But, honestly? That thing you did earlier. Piggyback ride. I don’t know why, but it was… really fucking hot. How easy it was for you to hold me. I’m still thinking about it. Like, you, holding me up while you do what you want to me.”

You blink, surprised, but so fucking down. “You’re telling me you want to get fucked without your feet touching the ground?”

She shrugs. If you’re going to use it against her, she might as well mix some defiance into her guilt. “Maybe.”

You slip away from her, standing upright, towering over her with that cock she thinks is so unfair. She doesn’t back down. Her breathing is fast, and she’s waiting to see if you’ll indulge or if you’ll run from the challenge.

Obviously, the only right answer is to hook your hands under her knees, dragging her to the edge of the bed. You move fast, but there’s no roughness. You scoop her up, hands cradling her ass and thighs, hoisting her into your lap like she belongs there. Her arms find your shoulders in an instant, hooking around your neck, legs bracketing around your waist. For a second, you gloat, just holding her, proud of how easy she makes it. Chest to chest, you stare into her eyes, and she blinks, caught off guard by how tender you’re approaching this.

You push her up against the wall, one hand under her ass, the other working together with her hand to tear the condom wrapper. She helps putting it on, fingers trembling as she rolls it down your length.

Her legs clamp tight around your hips, grinding down until she’s got herself just so with the head of your cock pressed in between you. You pull back, line up, then sink in very slowly. You want to savor the way she stretches and molds around you. She’s so fucking tight.

“Holy fuck,” she groans out, eyes pleading, “You’re fucking huge, I don’t know if I— I can’t—”

You keep pushing, not rough but insistent, sliding in and she nearly claws a chunk out of your shoulder for it. “You can,” you whisper back, “you feel so fucking good, Lia, and you’re taking all of me.”

Her hips shift to let you in easier, back arching against the wall, and you take the hint, finally entering fully. She’s panting in your ear for it, but she settles into you.

She twitches every time you throb, the slow and grinding rhythm overtaking her. You’re not rough with her. Maybe next time. Tonight, you want to take her in a way that makes her fall in love with you forever.

“Okay—Okay, it feels good,” she pants, and you believe her, because she’s looking at you like you have light in your eyes. You can’t stop looking at her. “I’m fucking yours,” she somehow manages to push out between her moans. “Don’t fucking stop, it feels so fucking good.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—” is all she can mumble now, and it’s more fucks than you’ve heard from her before this night combined. You grip her ass, holding her steady, and fuck up into her until she shakes, her head dropping onto your shoulder as she cums again, harder than before.

This time, she doesn’t stop. She keeps moving, rocking against you even as you piston in and out, her body greedy for more. She’s a mess—hair wild, mascara running, sweat beading on every inch of her—but she’s never looked better. You kiss her, deep and dirty, and she moans into your mouth.

Even as your hips jackhammer into her, she’s clawing at your back, nails biting in time with your thrusts, leaving raised red gouges like she wants to sign her name in your skin. She’s a machine of noise—every time you bottom out, she yelps, a cracked mewl that might be pain or pleasure or both. You can’t tell the difference anymore.

“Fuck,” she gasps, “fuck, fuck, fuck, you—” Her head thuds against the wall, her hands locked like a vice behind your neck. “I can’t believe you fit,” she cries, “I can’t believe—holy shit, you’re going to break me.”

 Her head lolls, hair fanning over her eyes, but she doesn’t let go. Every time you drive in, she squeezes with her legs, trying to take you even deeper, her cunt milking you so greedily you almost lose it right there. You hold on, wanting to keep this going as long as possible.

“Fuck, Lia—” you grunt, and the way she’s still looking at you, with her lips saying more than her words ever could, make you want to fuck her until she’s sobbing your name and can’t remember hers.

She bites your shoulder, hard, and then whimpers, “I want this every day. I want you to fuck me so stupid I can’t even think. Please, please, stay with me—” She’s babbling, words slurring into each other, punctuated by the wet slap of your bodies colliding. There’s nothing left of the old, careful Lia; she’s a mess, running on pure animal need, and you love her for it.

You slow down, just to tease, and she claws at your back. “Don’t—don’t stop, I need you, please—” Her voice is high and shaking, every syllable a desperate plea. You push her harder into the wall, cock grinding up against her cervix, and she comes again, a high shriek that starts in her chest and ends in your mouth as you kiss her through it. She’s sobbing, laughing, cursing you out, and you’re right there with her, barely holding on.

“Inside—inside, please,” she gasps, “please, I want to feel it pulse, want to made I made you—fuck, fuck, fuck, cum in me—” She’s so far gone she doesn’t even care about her own orgasm anymore. Just begging for yours, spasming around you, aftershock after aftershock.

“God, you’re a mess,” you groan, but you love it, love every ruined, wanton inch of her.

“Yours,” she pants, “I’m your mess, I’m fucking yours, so fill me, please, please—”

Your control snaps. You pin her to the wall, driving in with a force that rattles the whole room, and she shrieks, both hands grabbing your face to keep from floating away. You feel it start low, a static charge building in your spine, then sparking outward, white-hot and blinding.

She kisses you this time, and you’re coming, hard, groaning into her mouth as you burst everything you have and fill the condom inside her.

You somehow stay standing, keeping Lia’s body squished between yours and the wall, a sweaty mess. She bites your bottom limp, then slumps back, limp and boneless. “Oh my god,” she sighs, “I can’t decide if I like the feeling of your cock or your tongue more.”

You stagger back to the bed, collapsing with her still wrapped around you. She clings to you. Even as you lie, she doesn’t let go. You just enjoy the breathing, the returning to life, the existing.

Eventually, she breaks the spell. “So,” she says, “are we dating now, or what?”

You look down at her, and she’s biting her lip, trying not to laugh.

You kiss her, soft and slow. “Yeah,” you say. “We’re dating.” You twist around, finally removing the condom and tossing it in the trash, and collapse back next to her, where she’s waiting for you.

She turns onto her side, snuggling in. “I still have to tell him we broke up,” she says. “He’s probably going to be so pissed.”

“Think he’ll try to win you back?” you ask, rubbing lazy circles into her shoulder.

She groans. “He always does. He’ll probably try to make me feel like I’m the one overreacting, saying he loves me so much, tell me to stop being dramatic and to not throw away what we had.” She pauses, rolls her eyes and continues. “He’s probably blowing up my phone already, like, ‘Where are are, let’s talk about this, it’s not a big deal.’”

You reach for her phone, unlocked and abandoned on the nightstand, and sure enough: seven notifications, all his name, as if he could will her back through volume alone. She silences her phone just as easily, and tosses it on the nightstand.

Almost as if spurred on by an extra need for vengeance, she smiles. “Hey,” she asks, “you got anything left in you?”

You blink, then glance down at your thoroughly spent cock, and laugh, embarrassed. “As much as I want to, I think I’m drained.”

She grins, baring her teeth, and leans down to kiss your chest, then your stomach, then lower, tongue trailing lazy circles. “You sure? Because I could probably get one more out of you if I tried.”

You squirm, half-ticklish, half-hopeful, but after a few minutes of her best efforts, all you manage is a halfhearted salute and a dizzy giggle. “Sorry,” you say, “system rebooting. Please come back when my balls aren’t thoroughly drained.”

You lie there, entwined, for as long as you can get away with. The hotel clock ticks over every excruciating minute, reminding you that you’re on the clock, that this freedom is paid for by the hour and will end as soon as your wallets or bodies run dry. You don’t care. You let the minutes drain from you, marking time by the lengthening pattern of Lia’s fingers tracing the line of your ribs.

Eventually, you both get up, shower off, and put yourselves back together. You’re still trembling a little, a pleasant aftershock, as you walk into the dead of night. The world looks different, like the universe has been rerouted through your joined hands.

She’s got her hair in a messy bun, your hoodie over her shirt, and she’s still not wearing a bra. You follow her down the block, back toward campus, the old world waiting where you left it. You’re halfway there, Lia chattering about nothing, when you hear a voice behind you—loud, sharp, the vocal equivalent of a car alarm.

“Lia! What the fuck?”

You turn. There he is: the ex who doesn’t know it yet, still looking the same as he did when he kissed that girl at that party, like he missed a couple of seasons of Lia.

Lia flinches at the raised volume, some vestiges of his control. You squeeze her hand, once, a silent reminder that you’re here as well. She stands, just a little behind your shoulder, but her chin is up, her spine straight.

He’s got it all loaded: the hurt, the entitlement, the performative anger. “Wow, Lia,” he spits, loud and rattling the air. “This what you do now? Run off with some fucking loser? Real mature. Real classy.”

You brace for impact, for the flinch and the apology and the slow-motion collapse, but Lia just shrugs, all slow confidence. “You don’t get to be mad,” she says, voice steady as a rifle shot. “Not after you did what you did.”

He tries again, louder. “You’re making a fucking scene. You want this guy to see what a goddamn psycho you are?”

And you’re about to step in, to body-block or at least escalate with some well-timed sarcasm, but Lia beats you to it. Her voice is steel and glitter: “Eat shit, asshole.”

She turns to you, and just as he draws a breath to retort, Lia kisses you with a force that feels like it could break your teeth. It’s not gentle, not even a little; her hands are in your hair, her mouth insistent, hungry, and you can feel her ex’s ego shriveling up and dying at the sight.

He stands there, a monument to every mediocre boyfriend in history, jaw working, hands twitching. You almost feel bad for him, but then Lia pulls back, breathless, and you see the look in her eyes and you know the only person in this story worth rooting for is her.

Lia wraps herself around your arm, tucking in like it’s her natural place, and for once you see the boyfriend—ex, you realize now, it’s official—deflate. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then shakes his head, half-laughing and half about to lose it. “You’re a fucking joke, Lia,” he says, voice cracking, “I hope you’re happy together.”

She doesn’t even look at him. She just leans into you, hand spread wide over your stomach, and says, “I am, actually.” She glances back, a parting shot gleaming in her eye, and adds, “He knows how to make me cum. You could learn a thing or two.”

His face goes blotchy-red, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and for a second you think he might take a swing at you. But then he just shakes his head, mutters the word “sluts,” and shoves his way past, storming off down the block.

You and Lia stand there, your laughter coming out in hiccups, barely able to breathe.

“Holy shit, did you see his face?” She clutches your shirt. “I thought he was going to try and hit you.”

You both laugh at how ridiculous it was, how she revels in her victory. She scrunches up her nose, looks at you with all the love she can give, and there’s no grief.

When you finally reach her dorm building, she hesitates at the door. She turns to you and asks, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning then? Promise?”

You nod. “I’ll be here.”

She grins, then pokes your chest, hard. “And not just because I’m the only one that knows how to suck your dick?”

You salute, dead serious. “It helps, but the fact that you’re my favorite person was established before I found your hidden talents.”

Her lips form a tight line, she staggers a bit as she ducks inside and waves over her shoulder, and then the door closes. It takes a minute for you to start walking away.

You eventually make it back to your place, and the clock reads past 4 a.m. as you let yourself into your room, flop face-first onto the bed, and become dead asleep in seconds.

You wake up to a dozen of texts from Lia, all time stamped between 8 a.m. and the current 9 a.m., each more unhinged than the last:

“my thighs are bruised and whose fault is that? yours. youre officially an abuser…”

“jk they’re good bruises”

“remember when i said i wanted u i was serious don’t be a dick about it”

“fuck i can’t stop thinking about your mouth”

“are you awake. please be awake. i want to see you right now. but i also want to sleep for 1000 years. what do i do”

“hey my legs are working again”

“nvm im on the floor SEND HELP”

“my roommates are gone till 5 btw just saying”

“so have you got any juice back in those balls of yours?”

“i havent washed my face yet and i desperately need you here to give me a reason to”

Then there’s a picture. Lia’s on her dorm floor, hair everywhere, face grinning up at the camera, eyes soft with sleep but lit with mischief. Her shirt is one of those oversized, thin things that’s only oversized if you’ve never actually tried to contain anything with it—her nipples show through, and the neckline is so wide it’s sliding off one shoulder, hinting at the curve of her collarbone and the warm, pliant skin below. You can’t tell if she’s wearing anything under it, but that’s probably the point.

“im trying so hard to look good for you so youll finally get the hint and come over to fuck me (multiple holes ready for use btw)“

“just imagine how much better id look if you were here with your cock in my mouth… like??“

You text back: “just woke up. im there in 10. youll look even hotter after i rip those clothes off of you.”

The little typing bubble appears, and three seconds later: “run. i needed you inside me like an hour ago already.”

[fuctacles]

[start here]

“What do you mean you forgot?!”

Eddie flails his hands wildly.

“I just did!” he yells back.

“What the fuck, Eddie?!”

“Language!” Claudia Henderson pipes up from somewhere in the house. Turns out, she could be just as loud as her son when she wanted, but that’s a given when you have to rise him by yourself.

“Sorry!” Dustin yells back. And then, after a thoughtful frown in his friend’s direction, yells again, not breaking eye contact: “Can Eddie stay the night?!”

“What?!” Eddie hisses through his teeth.

“Sure!” His mom’s answer is immediate. “As long as his uncle knows!”

Ms. Claudia knew he was living with his uncle? How much has their sons shared about him? Has he spilled unknowingly?

“Of course!”

Eddie was for now the only person maintaining a reasonable volume. He turned his whisper-hiss on Dustin again.

“I can’t just impose on your house like that, Henderson!”

“You’re not imposing, mom said it's okay.”

Eddie throws his hands in the air. As always, Dustin was right in the most infuriating way.

“You’ll stay over until you finish the paper.”

“I don’t need babysitting to do my work!”

“You kind of do,” his friend points out, right yet again. “And here you won’t get distracted with your guitar or campaign.”

“Do you think it’s all I do?” Eddie bristles, at which Dustin waves his hand dismissively. 

“Or a book, or a nap, or whatever gross shit you ‘almost adults’ get up to.” He makes a face, as apparently talking about jerking off is below him.

“A nap sounds great, to be honest…” he hums thoughtfully, his mind zeroing in on its pick. Dustin huffs. 

“Well, write an outline and we can discuss a nap.”

Eddie did not expect being held hostage in Henderson’s house to write a paper, on a weekday night no less, but here he was. He’s been in worse predicaments, that’s for sure, considering this cell had a radio, a soft couch, and snacks. And as much hot tea as he can stomach, though Claudia Henderson might be underestimating his love for a good earl gray blend.

The afternoon goes more or less as usual, he and Dustin do their homework in the boy’s bedroom, and then Eddie gets dragged into a family dinner. But instead of finishing up or going home, he’s being approached by Mrs. Henderson holding a huge bundle of spare bedding.

“Is the couch okay? Steve got the guest bedroom, but if you ask nicely, he’d probably switch with you.”

Eddie is shaking his head before she finishes talking, but Dustin is first actually to speak up.

“Can’t he sleep here?”

His mom frowns.

“This isn’t a sleepover. Your curfew still applies.”

“But!--!”

“No buts! Eddie, sweetie.” She turns to the older boy again. “I’ll leave the bedding on the couch, you can sleep there or talk it out with Steve when he comes back.”

“Thank you.” He smiles at her, knowing he won’t be talking with the guy.

Dustin keeps trying to argue, so she adds:

“Dusty’s curfew is at 10 and don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

“I’ll tuck him in myself, madam.”

“Traitors! Both of you!”

When the outline is done, his belly full of toast and the outside properly dark, Eddie finds himself alone in the living room. Claudia advised him to help himself to the kitchen if he got hungry and not to stay up too late. She also told him Steve had a closing shift that day and always drives his friend home, but should be back soon as well.

Eddie manages to write the beginning of his stupid essay before he hears the keys jingle at the front door. He’s itching to look up and seek out Steve, but only does so when he hears him stop by the doorway. He’s surprised to see him but quickly schools his expression into an easy smile.

“Eddie! Hi!”

“Hi.” Eddie gives him a small wave.

“Staying over?” Steve walks in, eyeing the bedding next to him.

“Yeah.” He nods and points at the notebook in front of him. “Gotta finish an essay for tomorrow.”

“Uh, good luck.” Steve winces. “Want something to eat? Drink?” He points towards the kitchen, where he’s headed. Eddie shakes his head.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He’s written three sentences by the time Steve leaves the kitchen and walks towards the bathroom. The sound of a running shower is incredibly distracting. He can picture a small waterfall, deep in the forest and glistening in the golden green sunbeams. Close by is a clearing, created by countless adventurers stopping by to refresh before continuing their journey. They’d strip naked, men and women alike, fighters and mages, dipping in the chilly water to clean off the dirt of the road, the sweat from fighting off petty criminals. The water would be just deep enough to tease at the curve of his ass, lapping against the skin and mocking any bystanders for their solid form, making them wish they could liquify too and slip over the rippling muscles, trace the dips and—

Bad Eddie!

He blinks so rapidly that he gets dizzy, but the paper in front of him becomes visible again. The shower is still running and he reminds himself he’s not into jocks. He’s not into his friends’ siblings, not into whatever Steve Henderson is, no matter how objectively attractive.

He writes another two sentences by the time the bathroom door opens and he makes a point of not looking up. The smell of coconut walks by and he focuses on the tip of his pen. He hears the fridge door open and the steps reach his spot by the couch again.

“Beer?”

The water still clings to the weary adventurer, dripping from his hair. He has no shame, no place for it in the life he leads, not with a body like that. There’s a towel strewn around his shoulders and he was nice enough to put on underwear. He’s holding two cans of chilled beer, and all Eddie can say is:

“Please.”

He’s not expecting him to sit down next to him, smelling of coconut and damp skin, reddened from hot water and scrubbing it with a towel.

“Cherish it, we’re drinking half of my weekly allowance.”

“You have a beer allowance?” Eddie gapes at him and Steve just nods, like it’s normal.

“I’m not 21 yet but Claudia knows I’ve been drinking already anyway. So as long as I’m doing it safely and out of Dustin’s eyesight, she’s okay with it. We share wine sometimes.”

"That's nice." Eddie smiles, cracking his can open. "Wayne doesn't monitor my alcohol intake, but it's not like I'm partying much. I just drink with him or with my band sometimes." He shrugs and takes a sip. It's a more expensive brand than he's used to but all beer tastes the same to him anyway.  

"Wayne is your uncle, right?" Steve asks, lowering his own can.

Eddie suddenly realizes it's nice to be remembered as something more than a freak or a Satanist. He gulps down the bitter liquid.

"Uh, yeah. I live with him. Been since I started middle school."

Steve nods thoughtfully, staring at the wall. For reasons he doesn't dare to name, Eddie wishes his eyes were on him instead. 

"Your band is uh, something Coffin? Sorry, I don't remember." He turns towards him and smiles sheepishly and Eddie is taking it all back, take these dark brown eyes away from his face immediately. Steve knows half of his band's name? Be still his traitorous heart!

"Corroded Coffin," he chokes out. 

Steve snaps his fingers.

"That's it! You guys were at the talent show a couple of years back, right?"

Be still, be still, be still. 

"Yeah," he manages. "I'm surprised you remember."

Steve chuckles, but it's not a pleasant one. Eddie prepares himself to be ripped into shreds. Again. He should be used to that by this point, shouldn't he? But his ego is as easily bruised as it is big. 

"How could I not? The biggest disaster Hawkins middle has seen in years."

Eddie winces. It was expected and it still hurt. At least his not-crush could finally go further into the 'not; category. 

Bust Steve had to open his stupid mouth again. 

"It was stupid, in my opinion. You guys are clearly talented, and the music you play shouldn't matter. Most people don't like metal--hell, I don't like metal." He slaps his hand onto his bare chest, making Eddie nod, because yes, he's listening, he's paying attention, and he is looking at his hairy pecs, thank you. "But it was a talent show, judges should be more objective." He slumps into the back of the couch. "You were great on the guitar, I've never heard anyone play like that. I was surprised you could sing too," he says, rolling his head to the side to look at Eddie, who chuckles nervously.

"Why, do I not look like I have an angelic voice?" he asks, tilting his head. 

Steve shakes his head, making a lazy motion against the couch cushion. The closing shift and the beer seem to be getting to him. 

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to be so..." He tilts his head to the side and rolls it back, considering his thoughts and how to voice them out. "Multifaceted?" he offers hesitantly like it's not a word he uses often. Eddie can relate. "I had heard the music teacher talk about your ear, how you can pick up any song insanely fast. I know your English essays get praised, and I know you're unafraid to be yourself, against all odds. It's something I couldn't do..." he trails off, suddenly looking sadder than Eddie knew how to deal with. But to his relief, Steve shakes his head to get back on track. "I just wasn't expecting you to have a nice voice like that. In Hellfire, too. It's like you're taking on a completely new persona. It sounds..." He hesitates before his next words." Freeing." He decides, nodding minutely to himself. "Like you can just tap into another dimension, a nice one," he presses for some reason. "And just live it out. Like for a moment, you're becoming a different person."

Eddie considers him. The thoughtful look on his face that he's still not qualified to deal with. 

"What's wrong with you?" he asks and he hopes against all hope that it doesn't come off condescending. He's genuinely curious, hell, genuinely worried. What makes someone like Steve--America's poster boy, attractive and athletic--think this way?

Steve rolls his head towards him again and his smile is everything but joyful.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "The adult life is more than I've bargained for, I guess." He shrugs, but Eddie knows it's the easy, dismissive answer. And he feels like he needs to get to the bottom of this, his essay be damned. Happily.

"You live with Ms. Henderson, though. You don't have to be an adult-adult," he points out and waits, hoping he's not prying too much.

"Yeah, but..." Steve seems to be collapsing in on himself. "A lot has happened," he says as much as Eddie knows at this point. "And I've been feeling so small against the world, against the universe..."

Eddie's surprised at the mention of the whole universe, but it's not like he hasn't been thinking about it too, so he nods encouragingly. 

"And I'm so grateful that Claudia took me in, I'm so relieved..." He hesitates for a millisecond before his face hardens. "That I don't have to deal with my parents anymore," he finishes with conviction. "But at this point, I don't know who I am. High school doesn't matter, the sports teams don't matter. I didn't get to college, I'm working a shitty job, and not even full-time!" He throws a hand in the air. "Actual high schoolers are taking up all the hours."  

Eddie winces. 

"You're talking to a super super senior here, I don't think I'm doing much better," he points out.

"But you have the band," Steve counters. "It's fun, you have friends for it and if you do it right, it's a great career path."

"If we do it right."

Steve turns abruptly towards him, eyes wide, before he settles back down with a sigh. 

"I believe you can. With your insane guitar skills and all," he offers. 

Eddie chuckles. 

"Thanks, man. But I'm pretty sure you can figure something out, too. I don't believe your 'sports don't matter' thing, there's a lot of money put into it," he points out, not hiding his disdain but Steve only snorts at his tone. "And you probably could land a role in a hair commercial if you tried. Hell, with your looks you could easily become an actor," he reassures his reluctant night companion.

"So you think all there is to me is my good looks?" Steve asks, rolling his head towards him again, this time pouting. 

It kind of is what he said, isn't it?

"Well, no." He straightens up, ready to fix his mistake. Well, maybe not ready, but hoping. "Henderson, uh, Dustin, sings you praises all the time and none of them are about your great hair."

"Good to know a high schooler values me," Steve scoffs, his pout deepening. 

"So!" Eddie ignores him. "If you're a good person and a pretty face, that's a whole world opening up for you. Because as sad as it is, people are simple and need pretty things to ogle. It's what sells and you could totally use it."

He looks at Steve again and when the pout doesn't disappear, he realizes he just dug himself a deeper hole, doubling down on relying on looks being Steve's only option. He stares at his bottom lip as if it could somehow pull him out. It moves and he's hoping for some guidance, but all he gets is...

"Should I just become a stripper, then?"

The flash of images is like a bullet to his head. Steve in fishnets and ridiculously high heels, bending on a pole, chest hair sticking to his pecs with sweat and shining with glitter. His lips tinted with lip gloss--

"I mean, um..." Why is Steve's hairy chest right there for him to see? "Who am I to stop you, right?" he offers with a nervous smile. "If it makes you money, it's a job." 

"I guess." He shrugs, eyes still on Eddie, but the pout is finally gone, so he can breathe easier. It's been replaced with a thoughtful expression. Steve presses the back of his hand to his arm. "Would you come to watch me?"

"Huh?" Eddie frowns at him, at the hand touching him, a single finger running against the sleeve of his shirt.

"If I was a stripper," Steve clarifies.

Would he?

It's never been something he considered, the environment more fit for sleazy older guys who can't get a girl, or businessmen too busy to bother with one. Or bachelor parties. Would he go to a strip club then, if he was invited? Probably. But would he go for someone specifically? That sounds stalkery. Would he go if it was Gareth?

Gareth would look stupid in fishnets. 

But if he asked Eddie, for moral support, would he? Probably. He tries to be a good friend. So he half-nods, half-shrugs.

"If you wanted me to."

"But would you want to?" Steve presses.

"I've never been to a strip club, I don't know." Eddie raises his shoulder in a defensive shrug, kind of lost in the weird turn their conversation has taken. 

Even more lost when Steve's hand drops lower, the back of his fingers reaching the hem of his sleeve and touching skin. The light scrape of his fingernails sends a shiver across his bones. He goes lower and lower, tantalizingly slow into the ticklish spot on Eddie's elbow.

"I'd give you a preview before the show, you could judge if it's good enough," he offers instead, hand sliding down to his thigh, resting just above the knee. Squeezing gently.

Eddie doesn't see Steve anymore. Just his big hand wrapped around his leg. There's a tiny mole on his wrist and a light dusting of hair all the way to his fingers. 

"Would you want me to strip for you?" Steve presses, snapping his attention back to himself. 

His brain is uncharacteristically empty, and It takes him a long while to register, process and understand the heavy gaze Steve's giving him, the fingers digging into the meat of his thigh, the boy next to him leaning in, his eyes dropping to Eddie's lips. 

Eddie jumps up.

"What?!"

Steve is up as well, hands out like he's placating a wild animal. Understandably, because Eddie feels like one. He wants to run like a startled gazelle, or drop dead like an opossum. But he's there frozen like a deer caught in car's headlights. Are the doors locked? How much time would he lose looking for the key if it's not in the lock? Maybe he should try the window instead?

"Shhh, please," Steve's hissing in desperation, but Eddie doesn't want to look at him. "I'll leave, I'm sorry. Please forget about it, I'm sorry."

He sounds even worse than Eddie feels, so he risks a glance towards him. His face is pale in the dim-lit living room, eyes widened in panic. 

Maybe Eddie has been the car all along. 

He knows Steve would flee if he reached out, so he doesn't dare to, slowly shows his open palms again, empty of weapons or judgement. 

"Hey, no, it's okay. I don't care about that. You just surprised me." Understatement of the century. Henderson's brother coming onto him? Impossible, abstract, a fever dream. Maybe he did have too much of Ms. Claudia's delicious earl grey. Something must have been in the tea, the school has been trying to tell him not to trust the Brits all along. 

"You don't care?" Steve repeats, not looking like he's going to puke at the very least. 

Eddie considers his words.

"Not in a 'I'm gonna punch you' way," he offers the best he's got for now. Which even he has to admit, is fucking shit. 

Steve finally relaxes, or rather deflates, half turning towards the dark corridor. 

"Thanks. Goodnight."

As the stairs creak under his steps, Eddie is still processing. He slumps back down onto the couch and for once is happy to find a distraction from his thoughts in the form of an unfinished essay. The thing gets done in no time but he barely sleeps that night. 

tags: @i-have-three-feelings @mblogs @awkwardgravity1 @imacowboy3 @just-a-tiny-void @clumsiluni @shotgunhallelujah @halfadoginatank @carlprocastinator1000 @irregular-child @dreamercec @mightbeasleep @nerdyglassescheeseychick @ellietheasexylibrarian @wheneverfeasible @wormapothacary @estrellami-1 @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @blasvemous

[psformybss]

hiii, sweetie <3

i have a request 🤸🏽‍♀️

could you write something based on the tik tok trend "Telling my husband I Signed him up for '100 men vs gorilla'" , please? like you make this joke to rafe/drew, how do you think he will react? ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

example:

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSkmUUpfr/

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSkmUmsSo/

So I Signed You Up for Something…

rafe cameron x reader

a/n: hi, im so sorry this took me so long to write 😭 i loved the request tho and it was so funny to think of all the possible reactions rafe could have had to it

The phone is perfectly hidden, angled behind a candle on the dresser like it’s just part of the aesthetic. You check it twice, make sure the red recording light is tucked safely out of view. Then you inhale, smooth out your expression, and walk into the living room like nothing’s going on.

Rafe’s sprawled across the couch in his usual position. Hood up. Legs draped over the cushions like he fell there and decided to live forever. He’s snacking on something crunchy, completely oblivious.

You lift your phone to your ear like you’re in the middle of a Very Serious Call. Calm. Focused. Methodical.

“Yeah,” you say, loud enough for him to hear. “He’s confirmed. I already sent in the paperwork this morning. Should be all good to go.”

There’s a pause. He shifts slightly but doesn’t look up. Yet.

You pace a little, just to sell it. “Uh-huh. Six two, athletic, decent pain tolerance. Pretty competitive. Bit of a short fuse, but I think that’ll help in this situation.”

That gets him.

Rafe’s head tilts. He doesn’t speak, just stares at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re talking about him—or about someone you’re cheating with. Both seem equally concerning at this point.

“Wait,” he says, mouth full of pretzels, “who’s got a short fuse? And what situation?”

You give him a dismissive little wave and keep going, completely in character. “No, I haven’t told him yet. I figured I’d wait until the waiver comes through. He’ll be fine, though. He doesn’t scare easy.”

That’s when he puts the pretzels down.

“Okay, seriously,” he says, sitting up like his whole body just remembered how to move, “what’s going on? Who doesn’t scare easy? What waiver? Why are we using words like waiver in this house?”

You end the fake call with a casual “Alright, cool—talk soon,” and slide your phone into your back pocket. Then you look at Rafe like this is the most normal Tuesday of your life.

He’s already staring at you like you’re a stranger who broke into his house. “What was that?”

You settle on the edge of the couch beside him. “So, I signed you up for something.”

His face does not say “Oh, fun.” His face says, “I knew it. This is how I die.”

“What kind of something?” he asks, eyes narrowing, voice cautious.

You hesitate just long enough to build suspense. Then:

“It’s called 100 Men vs One Gorilla.”

He blinks once. Twice. “…The hell did you just say to me?”

“It’s like a controlled test,” you explain, perfectly calm. “You and ninety-nine other guys in a stadium. One adult male silverback gorilla. You don’t get weapons. Just teamwork. And adrenaline.”

Rafe’s mouth falls open like his soul just left his body.

“Excuse me?” he chokes out. “Did you just say no weapons?! Against a gorilla?!”

You nod solemnly. “You’d be surprised how far human coordination can go in a—”

“STOP.” He throws his hands up. “Do you know what a gorilla is? Do you?! That’s not a raccoon. That’s not a confused bear. That’s muscle and rage in a fur coat! You put me in a ring with a gorilla, you might as well start digging the hole now!”

You bite your lip. “I thought it’d be a fun challenge?”

“A fun ch—are you insane?!” He stands up like the very idea offended his bloodline. “This is how you surprise me? Not a weekend trip. Not a PS5. You hand me a death sentence with a smile?”

He’s pacing now. Talking with his hands. Completely gone. “I got shin splints walking through the mall yesterday. And you think I’m gonna square up with something that can bench press a car?”

You’re wheezing now. Laughing so hard your face hurts.

He pauses mid-rant, staring. “Why are you laughing?”

You try to breathe. Try to talk. Fail.

“No, seriously. Why—why are you laughing like that?” His voice cracks. “What kind of joke is this?”

Finally, between gasps, you manage: “Because… it is a joke.”

He blinks. “What?”

You gesture toward the dresser, tears in your eyes. “I was recording a TikTok. It’s a prank.”

He stares at you. Looks toward the dresser. Doesn’t spot anything. Turns back to you with the most betrayed expression of all time.

“You’re kidding.”

You shake your head, still laughing.

“You made me think I was gonna get murdered by a gorilla, for a TikTok?!”

You fall back onto the couch, gasping.

Rafe runs a hand down his face, grinning now despite himself. “I was already accepting my fate. I saw my life flash before my eyes. I resigned to death. I was about to Google if gorillas respect eye contact.”

You sit up, wiping your tears. “So… you’re not mad?”

“Oh no,” he says darkly, collapsing next to you. “But I am plotting. Enjoy peace while it lasts, baby girl.”

You smirk. “Worth it.”

He glares at you with a smile twitching on his lips. “You are unwell.”

taglist: @kieeslove, @wuluhwuhmaster

[thepartyresponsible]

prompt fill! someone requested dick grayson and the prompt "i don't trust anyone else." my brain is all vampires apparently, so i wrote a sequel to this short vampire au with dick grayson, bucky barnes, and tony stark.

warnings for general vampirism and some enthusiastic blood drinking. this one might end up cross-posted to ao3, since it's longer than what i usually post here.

---

Dick Grayson leaves the Tower at four in the morning, lively and warm, a healthy flush glowing along his cheekbones, and Bucky figures they’ve done good work, but they’ll never see him again.

“Dick Grayson, huh?” Tony mumbles, drooping a little against Bucky’s side. He gave more than he should have, but he always does. “Wow. Let’s go to Gotham more.”

“Rein it in, Stark,” Bucky advises.

Beside him, Tony scoffs. “I’m not the one still staring at his ass.” He pauses, hums thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not the only one.”

And Bucky doesn’t plan to stop either, but that’s not the point. “I didn’t have his teeth in my throat for fifteen minutes,” he volleys back. “And then the cuddling.”

“He was cold,” Tony says, unapologetically, “and then I was cold. And he smells really good, Bucky. What the hell is that? Can we bottle it?”

If you could get Dick Grayson in a bottle, no one would ever leave their homes again. The population would collapse. End times.

Might be worth it, though. It’s not like the current times are going so well that he’d miss them.

“Okay,” Bucky says, because Dick’s gone, turned a corner, left their lives. “Let’s get you some iron supplements and a cold shower.”

---

But Bucky’s wrong. Dick does come back. Four months later, looking even more ragged than the first time. He waits politely in the lobby of the Tower, tucks himself toward the doors, keeps his hands visible at his sides, smiles at the guards like they’re doing him a favor. When Bucky steps out of the elevator, Dick looks his direction but doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Hey,” Bucky says, slowing to a standstill a solid six feet out. “You’re in bad shape, huh?”

“Thanks,” he says. He does that smile again, the sad one that almost hides his teeth. He’s handsome enough that any smile makes an impact, but, having faced the absolute devastation of Dick Grayson smiling like he means it, this one rings hollow. “I just—look, sorry, I just wanted to ask a favor.”

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Whatever you need.”

Dick’s eyebrows pull together. “You don’t even know what it is.”

Out of sheer grace and goodwill, Bucky does not roll his eyes. “Yeah, I know your type. You’re not gonna ask for anything we wouldn’t want to give. You probably wouldn’t ask for a glass of water if you were on fire.”

Dick laughs, a little unevenly. “Blood,” he says, like he thinks he’s proving Bucky wrong. “I’m here to ask for blood.”

“Great,” Bucky says. “Whose, mine? Tony’s? The bagged blood upstairs?”

Dick blinks and then wavers, seems thrown for a loop.

“What, you bored of the regular stuff?” Bucky shrugs. “Steve’s is kinda zippy. Wouldn’t recommend it. Kinda burns. And Banner’s always a gamble, because sometimes the other guy shows up midway through. Barton’s actually really good, but Nat gets jealous, so you’ve gotta pretend you hate it the whole time or she’ll---”

“Tony’s,” Dick says, probably just to get him to stop talking. “And I want you there.”

These people, Bucky thinks, despairingly. These nice, good people. They always think they’re going to horrify him with what they need.

But the horror isn’t that Dick needs to feed. It’s that someone, somewhere, taught him he deserved to starve.

“Sure,” he says. “Come on up.”

---

Tony’s caught in a tricky bit of welding or something equally ridiculous, so Bucky escorts Dick Grayson up to Tony’s suite and is thrilled to find him utterly unimpressed. “Well,” he says, and then gestures in a way that almost hides the miserable twist of his mouth, “Bruce Wayne, you know? I used to live like this.”

Bucky wonders how Bruce Wayne is doing, and how his adopted son ended up haunting the streets of New York, desiccating by the day. Sometimes, people need their mistakes explained to them. One expeditious method Bucky’s discovered is defenestration. Maybe it’s all the time he spent in Russia, but he's found that nothing says You fucked up like getting thrown through a window.

“You want to live like this again?” Tony asks, breezily, as he saunters out of the elevator, already working on the buttons of his shirt. “Please, do me the favor.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says, just so he can get out ahead of this, so he can point back to this exact moment later and say: I tried to get you to have a single ounce of decorum, you wayward libertine.

“I’m cultivating the world’s most evocative private collection of raven-haired vampires with impeccable abs,” Tony says. “Nat won’t dye her hair yet, but we’ve agreed to the occasional wig at public events.”

“Wow,” Dick says. “Evocative?” Which is far more encouragement than Tony’s ever needed.

“You wouldn’t describe yourself as evocative?” Tony shrugs out of his shirt, leaving himself in an undershirt at least one size too tight for decency. “Would you prefer 'exquisite?”

“Maybe ‘exsanguinated,’” Bucky interrupts, before this gets truly out of hand. “Tony, give him a break. He can’t think right now.”

Bucky can barely think right now. These days, he’s the best fed he’s ever been, but Tony, standing there with his throat and arms bare, practically begging to bleed, is making his jaw flex involuntarily, desperate to bite.

“Just how I like ‘em,” Tony says. He tips his chin to the side, raises his hands, makes a little come and get it gesture with his fingers. “C’mon, Grayson, this is my favorite part.”

“Fuck,” Dick says, so soft it’s barely a word, eyes pinned, pupils blown, damn near vibrating in place. “Fuck,” he says, again, like a prayer.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky says. “I’ve got him. It’s okay.”

Dick shudders across the room so fast that he’s a blur even in Bucky’s eyes, but he’s still impossibly careful when he bites, neat and sweet, an arm around Tony’s waist, hand caught up in that too-tight tank like it’s already so good he needs the anchor just to stay afloat.

---

Afterwards, after Dick swoops Tony up and carries him across the room, after he spills Tony across couch but doesn’t spill a single drop of blood, after he crawls half on top of him, murmuring things Bucky should probably have the grace to pretend not to hear, after he drinks right up to the edge of reasonable, Dick pushes himself away and grabs for Bucky instead.

“Barnes,” he says, stretched out, breathless, eyes twin black pits of need and want, “it’s—I can’t stop.”

“You did stop,” Bucky tells him.

Dick runs his tongue along his lip, leaves a smear of blood behind, and there’s no time at all between Bucky, staring at that red, and Dick tipping his chin up in offer, and Bucky leaning in to lick it away.

“Shit,” someone says, and that must be Tony, because Bucky’s lips are on Dick’s, tongue in his mouth, chasing the taste.

He’s heard a few rumors about Grayson, all those exes he has. Seems like half the masks on the East Coast have spent time with him, but that must’ve been before, because no one’s taught him how to kiss with his new teeth yet.

He’s eager, and desperate, and he catches Bucky’s tongue with one of his fangs with just enough pressure to break the skin. And then it’s Bucky’s blood in his mouth, and Dick Grayson moans like he wasn’t drinking a better, purer vintage sixty seconds ago.

Bucky moves to pull back, and Dick moves to follow, and Bucky’s flattered enough that he lets him get another mouthful before he puts his hands on Dick’s shoulders and pushes him away.

Dick’s strong, but Bucky’s stronger, and Dick seems delighted by that fact, grins wide, shows Bucky his own blood on his teeth.

“You’ve been holding out,” Dick says. And then, a second later, with the kind of sidelong hopeful look that must get him damn near anything he wants. “You did offer, right? Earlier?”

“That was a joke,” Bucky says. He heals fast these days, but there’s still enough blood in his mouth that he has to wipe some away with the back of his hand. “I didn’t think you’d like it.”

“I like it,” Dick says, transfixed by the blood on Bucky’s hand. “You taste good.”

On the other side of the couch, Tony makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Oh, no, don’t mind me,” he says, waving them off. “Keep making out in front of me and talking about how much you like tasting each other. That’s a very kind thing to do to me when I don’t have enough blood left to participate. That’s great. Appreciate it.”

Bucky, just to be an asshole, plants his knee between Dick’s sprawled legs and leans over him, pinning his shoulders to the couch, mouth hovering a spare couple of inches over Dick’s. “You know, Stark,” he says, “you can leave at any time.”

“Fuck you,” Stark says, watching as Dick playacts at biting, snaps his teeth up at Bucky. “My objections are entirely timeline-based. The content is great.”

Dick laughs and looks between them, can’t seem to decide which view he likes better. That blush is coming back, Bucky notices. He’s warm underneath him, relaxed, looks drunk on Tony’s blood.

“Feeling better?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Dick says, a little breathless, squirming in his own skin like he forgot what he could feel like. Or never knew, maybe. “You feel like this all the time?”

“Well, the high’s not quite as high,” Bucky says, “because I don’t let the lows get so low. You drink any fresh blood since we saw you last?”

Dick hesitates, and some of that easy glow dims out of him. “I don’t trust anyone else.”

It’s a terrible, shitty thing. Dick Grayson, who led the Titans, saved the world, scared to the point of starving himself, scared of what he never asked to be made into.

Bucky used to be scared too. But if you don’t learn to live with your monsters, you can never learn to control them.

“You stopped without me,” Bucky reminds him.

Dick shrugs, shrinks inward, drops his eyes away. “But I didn’t want to.” There’s shame on his face, and fear, and guilt, and all the endless demons that took their bites out of Bucky too. “I wanted more. I wanted--- Barnes,” he says, voice dropped to a whisper, “I wanted all of it.”

Bucky hooks his thumb under Dick’s chin and lifts his head until he’s staring directly into his eyes. Nobody tells them, all these good people. Nobody told Bucky, either, and he tore himself to pieces until he finally figured it out.

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” he says. “It only matters what you do.”

[neiptune]

assessment gone wrong

cw: 2.5k wc, female reader, miscommunication trope, very self indulgent, quite sappy by the end, yikes yikes yikes, oliver comes up with a not so brilliant idea to test out how much you actually like him and it blows up in his pretty face

“I think we should have a threesome”.

You damn nearly choke on the piece of whipped ricotta toast you’re eating, eyes darting to where Oliver is sitting across from you at the breakfast table he so kindly set.

“What?”, you swallow, trying really hard to hide your astonishment. He just smiles.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that for a while. What do you say?”.

You clear your throat, gaze low while you keep your fingers occupied by tapping them on the mug filled to the brim with freshly brewed tea.

Oliver relishes in that agitation and, as he brings a spoonful of spinach tofu scramble to his mouth, he secretly congratulates himself on the brilliant idea his brain came up with while on his morning run.

The thing is, you two have been dating for a while now and he truly likes you. That’s precisely why he would like to confirm that you like him too. No, more than that: he wants to understand just how much you like him. So of course the mature and adult thing to do would be to test whatever feelings you might or might not have for him through a silly trial. An assessment, if you will. All you have to do is say no, confirm that you don’t want to go through with something like that because you want him and no one else. You don’t need anyone else. He’ll take any confession, really, from the sweetly embarrassed one to the heartwarming, touched, emotional one.

It’ll be his cue to tell you, too. Tell you that he doesn’t want anyone else either.

It’s the perfect plan: you’re nervous, surely debating how it’d be best to tell him that it’s not a good idea. Victory already tastes so sweet on his tongue, like a ripe mango or a drizzle of honey…

“Okay”.

Oliver blinks.

“Sorry?”.

You offer a smile.

“Fine. Let’s do it”.

Suddenly, the taste in his mouth is sour. He clears his throat.

“You sure?”.

“Yep”, you pop the ‘p’, “how about Itoshi?”.

Oliver calmly swallows another bite of his breakfast and washes it down with a generous sip of coffee. He didn’t expect you to accept, let alone to have a preference. What the actual fuck.

“Which one?”.

“Either”, you grin, “Sae, if I had to choose”.

Why do you want to choose in the first place? He can’t wrap his head around the unexpected result of his experiment. He wasn’t prepared to face this specific scenario.

“Will you ask him?”, your tone is so sweet, as it always is when you want him to do something, “or were you thinking of someone else? Sendo is cute but I thought it’d be weird since you two are practically brothers and, like, he’s the straightest guy I know. How about Isagi or Karasu? Oh, I know! Shid-”

“I will ask him”, Oliver sternly interrupts the little philippic of possible men you’re apparently dying to sleep with. He only has one remaining wild card to play.

“How about a woman? I was thinking Anri, she’s really hot”.

Oliver almost smirks when his question is met with the hesitation he was looking forward to at last. It only lasts a second, then you offer the biggest smile as you shrug.

“Yeah, she’s beautiful. Why not?”.

The wild card burns to ashes right in front of his eyes. Fuck.

“Okay, then”, he chirps, ever the charming liar.

“Okay, then”, you say back and if Oliver wasn’t so focused on contemplating how every single one of his certainties was disrupted like a house of cards left in a rainstorm, maybe he would’ve noticed the tense corners of your smile.

A few days go by without the stupid agreement being mentioned and part of you hopes that practice and games and silly family drama will be enough to take his mind off of it. But you also know that once Oliver sets his mind to something, it’s nearly impossible for him to reconsider it.

Honestly, you were completely blindsided by the threesome idea. Not letting it get to you, not falling into the trap of thinking you may not be enough for him, has been hard. The past few days have been hard. You’ve been replying to his texts normally and it’s still quite early for him to notice that your smiles are all forced, your enthusiasm fictitious.

It’s just that it kinda felt like the dating stage was finally about to transform into something different, something more. Perhaps you’ve been too naive but the thought was there: you couldn’t help but believe he likes you as much as you like him, enough to not feel the need to see other people anymore. Clearly, not only he still wants other people, he’s also been wondering whether you’d want them too. Which is fair. Unexpected but understandable. He’s not your boyfriend, is he?

It’s your fault for having been dumb enough to say yes to something you don’t actually want to do. But the thing is, you panicked and feared that refusing would have automatically led to him breaking things off.

It’s embarrassing how badly you’re falling for Oliver Aiku, enough to blindly accept a goddamn threesome apparently. Enough to be scared of not living up to his standards as a partner. But if this is what he wants, if this is what he needs, clearly you’re not the right person for him and prolonging what’s not meant to be will only result in heartache.

Still... are you ready to just let him go? Couldn’t you maybe at least try, for his sake? Isn't this how you get to prove that you like him enough to do something like this in the first place?

These thoughts have been tormenting you day and night, you’re too embarrassed to mention the issue to any of your friends so you’re just letting the endless pondering eat away at your sanity.

Oliver casually swings by your place after practice, takes your face in his hands to kiss you when you open the door for him.

“Can I shower here? I have a change of clothes”, he murmurs against your mouth and you kiss him again, tell him he already knows where the clean towels are.

Your apartment is considerably smaller than his, so it’s easy to chat while he’s in the bathroom and you’re putting together dinner for two in the kitchen. The familiarity you have so easily fallen into feels comfortable and warm in your belly, the tune he hums in the shower making the perfect soundtrack for your quiche to bake in the oven.

Oliver smells of your shampoo and body wash when he wraps his arms around you by the kitchen counter, hair still damp tickling your collarbone when he kisses your shoulder.

“How was practice?”, you ask with a smile.

“Pretty good. Guess the best part”.

“Mmm. Sendo finally scored with a corner kick”.

He chuckles.

“He was in great shape today but no. The best part is how close practice is to your place”.

Your heart fumbles in your chest at his words and when you turn in his arms he instantly presses you against the counter to give you a proper kiss. It’s slow, sweet, his hands squeeze your hips and you angle your head to kiss him deeper, your lungs unfairly claiming their fill of oxygen too soon. You’d give up something as trivial as breathing instantly, if it meant you got to kiss Oliver forever.

“Stay here tonight?”, you ask sheepishly, thumb stroking his skin where your hand rests on his cheek. He smiles.

“If you want me”.

He’s so beautiful. And so stupid. Occasionally makes you want to hit his pretty head with a baseball bat.

“I may”, you grin, “if you wash the dishes”.

Oliver rolls his eyes with fondness.

“We have a deal”.

He pecks your lips again, then offers a sly smile.

“By the way, I just saw that Anri is currently abroad. Guess she’s off the list for now”.

You blink, then blink once more, something sour suddenly simmering in your stomach.

“Yeah, saw that too”, you lie easily, “we can wait. Or ask someone else”, clearing your throat, you slip away from his embrace and shuffle to your living room, where you let yourself fall on the couch. He soon follows, eyes wary in a way you can’t quite make sense of.

“I asked Sae”, he says quietly, “he said yes”.

You look at him, surprised.

“He said yes?”.

Oliver nods, feeling nauseous.

He is at his wits’ end and the amazement (relief? Excitement?) in your gaze isn’t helping at all.

That’s it, he decides. He’s just going to tell you it was all a giant bluff, the very reason why he stopped by in the first place. To be brave, to finally come clean and admit that his plan wasn’t so brilliant after all. And that maybe, just maybe, if this is what you really want perhaps you’d be better off with Itoshi Sae. Or Isagi. Or Karasu. Or fucking Shido-

“Oliver, I don’t want to do it”.

He looks up from his lap, lips parted.

“What?”.

You look mortified, which makes him feel like a monster.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but I really don’t want to”.

“But”, he pauses, “you said-”

“I know what I said”, you sigh, exasperated, “I lied. I wanted to make you happy but I can’t watch you kiss, let alone fuck anyone else”.

“I wanted it to be all about you, I don’t have to-”

“Oliver”, you interrupt his stupid nonsense, too distracted to notice the joyful glint in his eyes, “I don’t care. I don’t want to bring anyone else into this, even if this is just dating casually. It’s fine if you want to, uh, end it here though. I’d get it. I wouldn’t want to hold you back or anything”.

He’s too engrossed in the way your voice trembles, in the sadness reflected in your eyes, to focus on the actual relief flooding over his chest. He just feels like a dick.

“I came here to tell you I never really intended to go through with it”, Oliver takes one of your hands in his, brings it to his mouth to kiss your wrist, “I’m sorry. It was stupid”.

“What?”, you furrow your brows, “are you joking?”.

He offers an embarrassed smile.

“I only now realize that it might’ve been a bad idea. But the way you responded… I thought you actually wanted to! You had a list ready-” 

“You’re an idiot”, you release your hand from his grasp and punch his shoulder, “are you stupid or something? And fucking insisting even after I said no because it’d be all about me! God, I’m gonna go fuck Itoshi Sae out of spite right this second”, you are snatched backwards as soon as you get up from the couch, pulled by the arm and then caged in a strong embrace you wouldn’t be able to free yourself from if you tried.

“I don’t want it to be casual”, he murmurs into your shoulder. You freeze into his hold.

“What?”.

“Not only I don’t need to bring anyone else into this, I don’t need anyone. I don’t want anyone”, Oliver rests his chin on the juncture between your neck and shouder. You can feel his breath hot on your skin when he speaks next. “Be my girlfriend”.

When you look at him, your heart squeezes at the sheer vulnerability in his hopeful gaze.  

“Like… in a relationship?”, the question makes him chuckle.

“Yeah, like in a relationship”.

“An exclusive one”.

“That’s what I had in mind, yes”.

“In a way that would make you my boyfriend”.

Oliver laughs again, the sound lighter this time.

“I believe that’s how relationships usually work”.

Your irritation dissipates, which annoys you to an extent but there’s no time to focus on that because Oliver Aiku just asked you to be his girlfriend. You never even got to dream about this scenario, that's how out of reach it felt.

When you gently take his face in your hands, something melts in your chest at the way he leans into your touch.

“I’d like that”, you murmur and Oliver smiles so big before kissing you, arms wrapping tighter around your frame.

“You have goosebumps”, he whispers, the pads of his fingers gently tracing your arm.

“Shut up”, you mutter, burying your face in his neck. He adjusts you better against his chest, kisses the crown of your head.

“S’that because I’m your boyfriend now?”, Oliver’s teasing doesn’t actually feel exasperating for once, not when it sounds so sweet. You just hum against him, an affirmative sound that makes him smile. He decides against admitting it out loud but he feels it somewhere in his chest, loud, clear, eager. He’s falling in love with you.

“Can I ask you something?”, you speak quietly after a moment of comfortable silence.

Oliver knows exactly what the question is going to be because he knows you.

“Shoot”.

“Would you have wanted it? If it was a woman or if… you know. It was all about you instead”.

He hums, pensive. This is not your way of invalidating his attraction to both men and women, it’s an insecurity he’s somehow responsible for. You’re asking because you’re still wondering if there is something else he may need from someone who is not you. You’re asking to make sure he’s sure. You’re asking because his dumb plan backfired and now there are still too many uncertain thoughts in that pretty little head of yours, the most urgent one leading you to ponder whether jealousy is the one thing holding him back. If it would’ve been different, with a swap of the right variables.

“I don’t need a man the same way I don’t need a woman”, he simply says, “I just wanted to know if I’m enough for you. The way you are enough for me”.

“You could’ve just asked, you know”.

“Where’s the fun in that?”.

He groans when you punch his shoulder again, with less strength this time.

“You’re such an idiot. I’m still mad at you”, you click your tongue.

“I’ll make it up to my girlfriend”, Oliver smiles, half apologetic, half cocky. The term conjures a storm of butterflies in your stomach, their little wings fluttering restlessly along with the pathetic muscle in your rib cage.

You choose to taste the word on his mouth, feel the texture of it with every brush of tongue against his. The way you kiss him may feel like you’ve already forgiven him but Oliver knows better. He just shuts up and counts his blessings as his hand slides up to cradle your neck and jaw to angle your head the way he needs to kiss you deeper, until you make that sweet little sound that is usually his cue to flip you on your back and devour you whole.

But then you suddenly pull away, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?”, he asks, gaze hazy, lips swollen. You’re distracted by how beautiful he looks for just a moment.

“What are we going to tell Sae?”.

Oliver blinks once, then throws his head back in laughter.

“First, I think I’m done hearing that man’s name coming out of your mouth”, he grins and you roll your eyes, “second, I never really asked him”.

You stare at him for a moment, incredulous. Then scoff.

“You’re the fucking worst”.

“Maybe”, Oliver shrugs with a smirk, “but I’m still your boyfriend”.

[soft4changbin]

Subtle sparks

Hongjoong x shy!reader

Summary: Hongjoong stays late at the studio to talk to a shy girl, trying to break through her quiet nature with gentle teasing and charm.

Word count: 602

The dance studio was quiet for once.

Only the soft hum of the speakers and the occasional squeak of Hongjoong’s sneakers broke the silence. Most of the others had gone for a late dinner, but Hongjoong stayed behind—said he wanted to work on a few ideas. In truth, he had a different reason.

You were seated against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. One of the backup staff for ATEEZ, you mostly stayed behind the scenes—timid but reliable. Hongjoong had noticed you for a while now, always quiet, always kind, always slipping away before anyone could pull you into a conversation.

And he wasn’t usually shy, not like this. But something about the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, or offered a small, polite smile when spoken to, made him hesitate. He didn’t want to scare you off.

So tonight, he made sure you’d both be here. Alone.

“Hey,” he said, jogging over and dropping beside you, cross-legged. “You’re still here?”

You blinked, startled, then gave a tiny nod. “Yeah. Just waiting for the others to finish so we can walk back.”

“You didn’t want to grab food with them?”

“I wasn’t really hungry.” You looked down. “And… crowded places kind of stress me out.”

Hongjoong tilted his head. “Fair. I like quiet sometimes, too.”

You nodded again, and silence settled over the room. He tapped his fingers on his knees, trying to act casual. “You know, I’ve been working on a song.”

“Oh?” You looked up slightly, curiosity peeking out.

“Yeah. It’s kind of… soft. Different vibe.” He glanced at you, smiling. “I think you’d like it.”

“I’d like to hear it sometime.”

“Only if you promise not to laugh at my singing,” he teased.

You cracked a smile, eyes shy but sincere. “I don’t think I could ever laugh at you.”

God, he was so screwed.

“Okay,” he said, heart thudding. “Be honest. Have you ever been on a date with someone who writes music about you?”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Me?”

He laughed softly. “Hypothetically. But yeah, maybe you.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away. “No. I haven’t.”

“Well,” he said, shifting closer just enough for you to notice. “I’m trying to decide if I should ask this girl I know. She’s quiet, super sweet, probably smarter than me. Always kind. Kind of hard to read, though.”

You glanced at him through your lashes, lips parting slightly. “Maybe she’s just nervous.”

“Maybe,” he said softly. “Do you think she’d say yes if I asked her out?”

Your breath caught. “I… I think she might.”

He leaned in, voice warm now, but still gentle. “Would you say yes?”

Your eyes met his, wide and uncertain. But you nodded. Barely.

“I’d say yes.”

Hongjoong grinned, relief and something brighter flooding his chest. “Cool. No pressure. We’ll keep it simple. Just you and me. Somewhere quiet. I promise not to bring the guys or perform any dramatic love songs.”

You giggled, a small sound that made him feel like the sun had just peeked through.

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that.”

He stood up and held out his hand. “Come on, then. I’ll walk you back.”

You took it.

And for the first time that night, he saw you smile with no hesitation.

[lohotine]

Can we get NSFW Two Time and reader headcanons? He's so freaky, I like him 🙏

Two Time x Reader

An: i know you asked for NSFW headcanons, but uh, I felt generous so I included my general headcanons list- both SFW and NSFW. Enjoy ○>○

SFW and NSFW Two Time Headcanons:

(It's kind of a character rant lowk...)

Cw: Angst, mature themes, (eventual) NSFW content, NOT PROOF READ..

SFW (ish):

So, first things first, dating Two Time is extremely chaotic, and if I'm being perfectly honest, probably not the healthiest.

Two Time has very dangerous tendencies, directed at both you and themself, because they're, y'know, kind of insane

I'm VERY aware that there is more to Two Time's character than just insane twink or whatever, trust me, it's very complicated stuff with multiple layers, and I really don't want to get into allat right now, but my point still stands

A relationship with Two Time WILL come with problems!!!

You're going to have to be in charge of making sure they take care of themself. This includes their: hygiene, mental state, and overall health

I also believe that they're not fully over Azure yet, and might never be, so if you're dating them, you're gonna have to deal with that

(Has probably called you Azure at least once before. 50/50 chance that it was at least somewhat intentional.)

Uh... into some lighter stuff...

Two Time definitely runs cold. I say this with like 99% accuracy

They're probably also deficient in some sort of vitamin

(It's probably iron or smt, please make sure they take their gummy vitamins every day 😓)

Oh, and they also don't know how to cook. I'm pretty sure it's canon that, and I quote:

The voices start talking to them when they pick up the knife.

Or something along those lines.

If they do know how to cook, you should not trust them to.

Oh, and Two Time probably hasn't tried that many foods.

I say this because of that one interaction with Elliot, where they mention not really eating Pizza much.

I know it's not a direct confirmation, but like, it's a bit implied, right?

So yes, take them out to dinner and let them try new foods. They will appreciate it. Wine and dine them.

I am a firm believer that Two Time retained a good amount of the random flora trivia that Azure yapped about back when they were dating, and you now bear the burden of listening to Two Time yap about it in the present day

Sometimes will ramble about these facts while holding you close to them and getting ready to go to bed

Two Time doesn't really have a preference for being the big or little spoon, so long as you're touching them in some way.

But if they end up being the little spoon, please run your fingers through their hair. They can't get enough of it <3

Do they get jealous? Probably. At least every once in a while.

They know you know better than to go off and leave them, and most of the time, when they're jealous, it's mainly them getting irritated at the other party

I mean, they aren't exactly secretive about dating you, and they will not hesitate to drop hints towards the other party or just straight up tell them that you are very much taken.

It doesn't really come from a place of insecurity, I think. Probably more or less just because they are possesive

Uh, random headcanon, but I think Two Time listens to Jack Stauber, Penelope Scott, and maybe even ICP.

Do these bands exist in the forsaken universe? Idk, but if they did, Two Time would fw them

(Source: trust me bro)

NSFW:

They definitely have at least some experience.

Two Time and Azure 100% have, at the very least, dabbled in sexual activities before. (Freaks)

Oh yeah and I HC them as AMAB, BTW.

Eight times out of ten, Two Time is the one with the dominant position

I can't exactly explain why, but I know it has something to do with how little control they had over everything back when they were in the cult

Also because they, as I've already stated, are a FREAK.

Gets up to some of the most diabolical, down-bad, goon-worthy shit. (I'm so sorry.)

On the rare occasion that they are the sub, they are the most whiney, desperate, pathetic sub out there.

They need you to touch them, to fuck them until they can't think straight (or maybe even pass out.)

Like it's BAD bro

They probably cry a little, im not gonna lie

Oh yeah and they WILL mention the Spawn while fucking you

(Yes, the [SPAWN] stays on during sex.)

Two Time probably never shuts up during sex :/

Whether that be them saying random things to turn you on or just them moaning into your ear

If you want them to stop talking, you have to shove your fingers into their mouth or fuck them until their overstimulated.

(Overstimulation only works 40% of the time. The other 60% of the time, they just blabber more, only now it's borderline incoherent or nonsensical.)

I feel like Two Time would probably leave some sort of mark on you

It might be an unintentional scratch mark or a hickey, but you're probably not getting out of that unmarked

If you asked them not to, they'd listen, or at least leave the mark somewhere easy to cover up, like on your chest or inner thigh

Also this guy is HORNY. If you don't fuck them enough, they will probably jerk off to you in the bathroom or closet.

They have probably jerked off to the scent of your clothing, too.

Two Time is up for whatever kinks you are

I think some of their biggest kinks are:

Praise/Degradation

Orgasm Denial

Okay. So

I think Two Time definitely enjoys degrading you and being degraded

Its kind of natural for them

Will not hesitate to call you desperate or a slut while pounding into you

BUT

They absolutely love being praised by you

If you ever praise them, telling them how good they're making you feel or how good they're being

Uhg, they will just melt on the spot

Eats that UP

Oh yeah and they like denying your orgasm because of course they do

They like how needy you get

I feel like if they were to ever partake in exhibitionism, it would only be partial

Like somewhere Semi-public. (Ex, open windows, closets, you know the drill.)

I honestly can't see them fully going for it in public.

[untoldstar]

yandere! merman x reader part 3

Might not write another part for a while so asks for Caspian are welcome!

For the small percentage that voted for no smut, I got you🙏 I’ve marked the nsfw part you can stop reading at that point as it’s at the end of the post.

Taglist at the end of the post because it’s kinda long.

part 1 part 2

male yandere, female yandere

You nod and try keep your attention on the couple in front of you but you squirm under Caspian’s hold. He doesn’t seem to care that you’re not alone as he continues to cling and hold on to you like you’ll disappear if he lets go for one second.

After waking up slightly uncomfortable from your body still not being used to the water Caspian took you to a few other spots that were worth seeing before heading to his friends home. Darya, a mermaid, and her human mate Keith. Both pleasant and clearly hold a special place in Caspian’s life “He persisted. I was so worried about him leaving everything behind but he wouldn’t budge.” Darya looks at her mate with a smile, dark eyes twinkling at the memory. They light up with a new memory when she turns to look at you again “He tried to go after me but ended up almost drowning I had no choice but to take him here.” Keith rolls his eyes “She’s exaggerating I wouldve totally made it I’m a great swimmer.”

You laugh as they banter. They’re truly beautiful together and you can see the love they share even as an outsider to their relationship. You can feel your love growing for Caspian but can what he feels even be called love or is it an infatuation?

You’ve noticed his interest in humans. How he collects items and how he tries to replicate how human talk and act. You can’t help but wonder if you’re just the perfect piece that fit into his fantasy. That perhaps you’re his escape, the only way he can turn his wishes into something tangible.

You blink when Keith looks at you “You should join us.” You glance at Darya then back at Keith “Every year we do a celebration ritual. A rebirth ritual of sorts. Since merpeople live a long time rituals like this kind of remind them to still enjoy life and not be prisoners to routine and boredom.” Keith sends a playful look to Caspian “Caspian here would tag along as a third wheel but this year he can finally come with a mate.” You glance at Caspian and softly smile when you see his flushed face “I would love that.” Keith grimaces “You two are so in love it’s starting to gross me out.” Darya nudges his shoulder “Don’t start. We were the same way.” He rolls his eyes “Yeah whatever..”He snickers and looks at you while getting up “Hey wanna help me get all this out of the way?”

Darya pulls a reluctant Caspian who keeps looking over his shoulder like a hurt puppy out of the room leaving you and Keith alone.

Caspian and Darya’s muffled voices seep into the room as you work to clean up, the noise blending with the clinking of utensils.

Caspian glances at you “So..how are you adjusting? I can’t tell if you’re already used to living here or you’re going insane you’re not giving me much here.” You chuckle and shake your head “I don’t mind it I think it’s beautiful here, really.” He throws you a wary glance. Your words are to comfort him but you can help but feel like you’re telling yourself that more than him “It’s just..I feel homesick.” You sighs softly “Hey I get that. I do. A lot of humans love it here but it’s not in our nature. We need some balance. What does Caspian think about this?” You purse your lips and shake your head “Caspian is a bit..protective? I think he’s scared of me not coming back if I go back there.” Keith moves closer to you, voice low “Look Caspian never..found his match. From both worlds. He’s my friend and he was Daryas for much longer. I’m sure he’s scared you know?” You nod. You could understand that but you need to know this isn’t permanent. Your thoughts spiral and you feel your chest tighten “Hey..” Keith rubs your back, the soothing motion only lessens a fraction of your worries “I trust him. It might take him a minute but talk to him. And hey, you always have a friend here.” He smiles warmly and you have to admit you’re happy you agreed to meet his friends. It feels less lonely with another human here who can truly understand the concerns you have “Thank you Keith.” You smile up at him.

Just when you feels a weight pressed to your back Keith glances behind you biting back a smile as he moves away from you “I’m happily mated Cas. Not gonna steal her away.” He says in a sinsong voice as he makes his way out of the room, sending you a wink before disappearing.

You turn to Caspian to see a pout on his face “You were here too long. What were you talking about?” He pulls you into his arms cradling your head into his chest. You speak quietly into his chest as you wrap your arms around him “Nothing important. Were you worried?” He nods “Missed you..” You chuckles softly and move away “Come on. Let’s go back.”

You knew Caspian loved humans. You knew he was intrigued at the very simple things that made them what they are. How they talk, walk, laugh.

All the shiny little things they make that are meaningless in the grand scheme of things but somehow mean the whole world to them. Caspian studies humans without even realizing it. Peeking out the water and quietly analyzing every scene in front of him. Replaying words he learned in his head before he sleeps. You loved that about him. You thought his curiosity to learn more was endearing. Though, sometimes you can’t help but wonder if his curiosity had turned into obsession when you came along. If in that moment you called out to him in the water something had clicked and what started as an innocent interest turned into something more sinister. Possessive. You think about that late at night when his hands wrap around you so tight you could barely breathe. When his claws and teeth dig into your flesh when he takes you and swears that he won’t ever let you go. You know it without needing him to say it out loud; he wants to create his own world to hide the both of you away. Where only you two exist. Nothing else would matter. You know it but you can’t let it get to that point. That’s how you’ve found yourself in this position. Laying with Caspian and placing soft kisses all over his face slowly coaxing him to let you go back tot he surface “I can’t stay here forever..I’ll spend the day there and I’ll come back at night. Or maybe a week here and a week there?” You speak softly as you trail kisses down his neck. Caspian gently grips your jaw so you can look up at him. The familiar pout on his face “What is so important there that you’re willing to leave your mate for the whole day?” He frowns and you smiles and shake your head “I have friends and I have a job..One I still need to take care of. I can’t just disappear.” He looks away, lips twisted in displeasure. You sigh and cup his cheek “Please..” His eyes flicked between yours contemplating before he gives up, letting out a sharp breath and grumbling a “Fine..” You beam and wrap your arms around him “Thank you..I promise you won’t even notice it.” He sighs and pulls you flush against him “Of course I will, but I’ll do it for you. I love you, I want you to come to me not run from me.” You both lay tangled up with each other. He leaves a trail of kisses down the column of your neck, hands rubbing your hips affectionately.

!nsfw!

He gently nips your skins as his hands drift lower “Caspian..” he hums “Yes my love?” he flips you on your back as he continues to kiss down your body “Aren’t you- ah tired?” He laughs and looks up to you as he kisses down your stomach with a glint in his eyes “I’m never tired when it comes to pleasing my mate.” You sigh softly when he gently parts your thighs, your legs resting on his shoulders “You’re so pretty.” He groans before burying his face between your thighs. His long tongue licking your folds before probing at your hold. You moan softly and squirm as his tongue stretches you out “So good- You taste so good..” He stutters as he whimpers “I don’t want anything else. Ever. I just want to make you feel good.” His leaking cock slips out of his slit “Please- hah please can I make you feel good?” You whimper and nod, head clouded as you feel yourself getting closer.

You grind against him chasing your relief when he pulls away. Your body shudders and you whine at the loss. Caspian swallows up your protests, kissing you like he wants to swallow you whole. Letting out shuddered breaths as he rubs his heavy leaking cock up and down your folds “I need you. Please..” He growls and slowly rubs his tip against your hole before pushing it in. You both moan at the stretch. He’s so big and with the sensitivity of your interrupted release you feel yourself getting close again. Your walls tighten around him and you shudder as you finally cum before he’s even bottomed out. Caspian stays still letting you ride it out while you push down on his length mewling and whining. He lets out a low moan as your face contorts in pleasure “My beautiful mate. So beautiful. All mine, you’re all mine.” He snaps his hips and you gasp as his entire length fills you “I can’t hold back- I need you.” He growls and buries his face in your neck as he starts to pound you. Your body moving up and down at the force “Cas- wait I’m sensitive.” His claws dig into your hips as he growls “Again- I wants you to do it again. Together.” Your legs tighten around his waist but he roughly pries them open again, pinning them down as he leans back and watches his cock go in and out of you “Look at us. We fit so perfectly together..” He sucks in a breath “My mates taking me so well. So good for me.” A clawed hand slides up from your thigh to you hips then your stomach and pressing down. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and he hums in satisfaction “I can feel myself here. Does it feel good?” You sob and sputter “It feels so good- Please don’t stop.” He chuckles softly and leans down to gently kiss you.

His thrusts turn sloppy and your hand shoot up to claw at his back “Cas I-“ He kisses you and nods “I know. Let go for me. My mate. Mine, mine, mine..” He growls and buries his head in your neck sinking his teeth into the flesh sending another wave crashing through you. Seconds after you feel his cock twitch and sputter inside you. He doesn’t stop fucking you as his cum fills you up.

You feel some of it slowly dribble out as Caspian slows down. A white ring coating the base of his cock. He slowly moves the both of you to lay on your sides without pulling out. He sighs contentedly as he hugs you close “You did so good for me.” He rubs your back soothingly and kisses the new aching mark on your neck “I love you so much. So so much.” You feel the words threatening to leave your lips for the sole purpose of not leaving his words hanging but bury your face in his chest instead. You let yourself get lost to the sound of his heartbeat as all your thoughts and worries drift away into a sea of nothing.

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[theotherrookie]

Erica's ears perked up. She was glad Travis appreciated her choice of nicknames. That meant they could both have fun with it.

"Yep! And then you could do all sorts of things like standing ominously behind someone, or breaking things in two for no reason—" she tilted her head, "Do you think you could break a phone book in half? We could also find other stuff that is more readily available than one of those old things."

Indeed, the elven shenanigans couldn't be so easily stopped once they were encouraged.

"Nah. Willow has to do her thing on that fancy dashboard screen over there." Erica paused to slide in once the windows were rolled down, "And I get more leg space back here!"

It wasn't safe to ride with her legs resting on the seats, but she too could have some fun while the kids weren't around.

"Or my creator's office." Willow added, "Some smokers do their very best to discourage others from getting addicted. They fail to realize that effort should be better spent towards dropping it themselves."

"But that gets some of them out of the way faster." Erica said, leaning back, "You know, Rook's mum goes back to the afterlife sometimes. I bet she's been looking for Cassandra..."

"With nefarious intent, of course."

Rook's attitude had to come from somewhere. They could only imagine the kind of commotion Veronica caused whenever she had to retire beyond the veil for a few days.

"Yeah. I don't think I'd be able to sit back here if we had to keep the windows up." Erica said, before grinning, "Hell yeah. Hit it, Willow!"

Willow placed a hand on the dashboard and quickly disabled the GPS, before tapping into the radio. She decided to start with a song that should fit everybody's taste, as well as the general atmosphere.

"I'm taking requests." she stated casually as she leaned back.

The pocket dimension used to be a secret so jealously kept it was at one point something of a mystery with the Order itself. Had he known about it, Five would have thrown a fit over how it looked like Rook might just start organizing guided visits at this point.

Lucien felt the need to keep an eye on Russell as they proceeded. He was in a pretty ragged state the last he had been there. Lucien figured it could bring back some bad memories.

"Well, I guess you guys now know where the mean monsters go when they get in the orb." Rook said, "This is actually more effective than standing around waiting to be smacked off your feet while in the middle of sucking someone off."

She had no idea why Five didn't use the orbs, but she had the feeling he either didn't know about them or simply refused to use them for some reason. He probably wouldn't have been such a sadistic freak if he for once did things like everybody else.

"Thank you, Leofric. I'll be happy to show you around." Veronica replied, before she stuffed a few more vials in her bag.

Rook did her best to help store all the equipment, calling up an extra chest for Leofric's armor. She appreciated the logic of leaving the bulk of their equipment behind. Not everybody's outfits fit like a glove the way her armor did.

So she considered her options, then decided to call up her necklace and hide her wings. "Well, that's one weight off my back."

Lucien rolled his eyes, "That certainly makes a difference."

"Hey. When I change out of this, it'll be into my pajamas." Rook snapped back, "Well, you could have Antonio take a thirty minute dive, or you could be stuck on the infinite stairs from Mario 64."

Both were equally unfortunate situations. But with Rook around, there was no risk of them getting lost.

"All because the Brotherhood guys are a bunch of idiots."

"Excuse me, they're my easily manipulated bunch of idiots." Lucien pointed.

"Yes, well, we can get going when you guys are ready."

"I will hope you do." Willow replied, "And perhaps that day I will show you my Citadel."

It was a bit extreme for a first outing, but it's the thought that counts.

"I'm the mightiest birb." Rook said, "And I will dominate the skies as well as the skatepark!"

And if all else failed, her improved healing factor would peace her back together quickly.

"That's the Big Bro." Erica said, pointing to Antonio, "And you're Bigger Bro. It's easy!"

And more accurate, considering both were also 'cat brothers' to her. Besides, it sounded more menacing if she threatened to call up an older brother.

"It'll be something fun to play with while we fix the pool." Erica added. Rook predictably didn't look as enthusiastic at the idea.

A swimming pool still would have been more interesting than Five's car. Erica shifted on her feet for a bit, then hopped on the roof, leaning over to look inside while Travis worked.

"Well, it looks like it can go fast." Then again, that was mostly because it was red. "Willow rides shotgun. It's the rules."

"Aside from the rather crude image, I believe we should keep the windows down even after fumigating the entire car." Willow suggested.

She doubted Veronica's potion could do much against the stench of cigarette smoke.

"Well, it is a pocket dimension." Rook chimed in, "It was put together and fit between the realities and we can come and go through the little holes that form when we come in."

"Of course, we ensure such breaches are sealed." Veronica reassured, "This way we don't get each other's clutter mixed."

Speaking of, she would replenish her supplies while they were there. Veronica turned as several old wooden shelves, each filled with potions and ingredients, descended to their right.

"Feel free to have a look, Leofric." she offered, "And take whatever you may need. This is my smaller stash."

"This isn't the best time to run a clearance sale, mum." Rook pointed, "Gather everything and just put it here–"

Rook snapped her fingers to summon a large crate. Lucien was the first to dump his gloves and mask, taking a moment to adjust his cuffs, before returning to his place by Russell's side, ready to take his hand and not let go for the duration of their stay in that void.

"Well, we could do that, but there's just a small issue." Rook summoned a long rolled up carpet and gave it a good kick before watching it roll forward, then up, down and spiraling back above their heads in every direction. "We had a little accident a while ago and I'm still not done sorting out the physics in here. It gets trippy if you mark it like that."

[spenceragnewfics]

I need to see some sort of fic were Spencer and Y/N get high and listen to random music

It feels good to be back, baby!

High on Life | Spencer Agnew x F!Reader

Warnings: Implied sexual content (18+), nudity, marijuana use, soft aftercare, emotional intimacy, light humor, friends with benefits dynamic.

Summary: Life in LA can be chaotic, especially when you're part of one of YouTube's biggest comedy channels. But amidst the long filming days and industry stress, you and Spencer have found comfort in each other. What started as casual hangouts has slowly become something softer, deeper, and harder to define. After another night of unwinding together, the walls between friendship and something more start to crumble—one shared joint, a perfectly timed playlist, and quiet confessions under the covers.

Word Count: 607

Living in the mean streets of LA can be difficult, and with a job at one of the most respected and highly thought of YouTube channels, it can make life even more stressful. Thankfully, you have Spencer.

He’s always been someone you can rely on since you started at Smosh, and even more now as you both have climbed the ladder at the company. So it wasn’t so shocking that you two set a time aside after each filming cycle to just kick back and relax.

It always starts normally, one of you coming over to the other’s apartment; this time, he came over to yours. You have dinner, watch movies, then sometimes one thing may lead to another, and you end up where you are now. Lying next to him naked, enjoying the relief that only comes after rustling around in the sheets.

Spencer caresses your face gently, his face adorned with a soft smile as you two look at each other sleepily. “How was that?” He asks, his voice somewhat hoarse.

“Amazing, as always.” You say, a playful smile on your lips, enjoying the view of your best friend’s beautiful brown eyes.

“Oh, I got something the other day. It’s been a while, so I thought you might want some.” He says suddenly, sitting up, exposing his hairy bare chest. Your eyes follow as he moves over to grab something out of his side drawer.

The familiar shape of a joint comes into view as he lies back down beside you, a lighter in hand. “Are you trying to get me to smoke the devil’s lettuce?” You say with a fake gasp, “How could you?” You joke, making him smile as he lights up the joint.

He lets out a soft chuckle, exhaling the first puff toward the ceiling. “Come on, don’t act like this is your first time. You’ve been more scandalous,” he teases, handing it over to you.

You roll your eyes playfully, taking it from him and taking a slow hit. The smoke curls in the dim light, dancing above the two of you as the warmth between the sheets starts to melt into something even softer, even more comfortable.

You pass it back and nudge his shoulder. “Put some music on. You always have the better playlists.”

Spencer grins like you just dared him to prove it. He leans over to grab his phone from the nightstand, fingers tapping through his Spotify library before he settles on a classic for your hangouts, Creed.

The mellow chords fill the room, wrapping around you both like a second blanket. Spencer sinks back down next to you, resting his head on your breasts this time, his arm sliding around your waist.

“This is nice,” he murmurs, tracing absent-minded shapes on your stomach. “We should do this more often.”

You hum in agreement, fingers in his hair. “We kind of already do.”

“Yeah, but I mean… intentionally. Not just after-work stress relief.”

You glance down at him. “Are you saying we should schedule our... naked bonding time?”

He snorts. “No, I’m saying maybe we stop pretending like this is some casual thing and admit it’s the best part of both our weeks.”

You don’t say anything at first, just keep playing with his hair, thinking. But then you lean down and kiss the top of his head. “Yeah… it is.”

He smiles into your skin, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the music playing softly in the background, the smoke drifting lazily through the air. No rush. No pressure. Just you and Spencer, tangled together, exactly where you’re supposed to be.

[lipstickreptile]

Happy birthday Haymitch!

A little one-shot made inspired by one of my incorrect quotes.

Thank you to @hayffieee for making the art for this! It's far better than the story I wrote for it. Perhaps I will do some fixes later but I wanted to publish it today! So here it is

"Does Haymitch even like cake?".

Peeta is walking slowly behind her, holding the cake as steady as he can. The distance between their house and Haymitch's is not that long. It does however feel much further when you're holding a 6 hour project in your hands. "Come on, Katniss. Everybody likes cake."

"Do you think he has ever had a proper birthday?".

"I can't imagine he has. I wouldn't either if I had to be a mentor every year".

Katniss hopes this doesn't trigger something for him. Even before he was in the games his birthday must have been a bitter day. Katniss and Peeta used to have a classmate who's birthday on July 6th. That was bad enough. Frankly the whole week afterwards used to be a sad affair.

Peeta stops in his tracks. "What's going on Katniss?".

"I'm just worried for him. The line between relapse and sober is very thin".

"Oh fuck. I was not supposed to put whiskey in the frosting?".

Katniss chuckles, unwillingly so. She is genuinely worried boredom will force Haymitch back into alcohol.

“We should have invited Effie out”. Peeta says casually. He doesn’t look away from the cake for one second. Slowly following behind Katniss that is leading the way.

“It would have been weird if we did”.

“What do you mean by that?”. Peeta has always been Effie’s boy. He spent a few more months in the Capitol post-rebellion and spent months with her there before he was cleared to go back to 12. They must have gotten even closer during that time.

“Their relationship is kinda….”.

“Non-platonic”. Peeta adds, a smirk on his face.

“You think so? They were always fighting and bickering. At times I thought Effie would kill him in his sleep”. They did kiss goodbye though which Katniss found a bit out of character for them. But she won’t tell Peeta that. It would only back up his argument which he would be rather smug about it.

“So do people who have been married for a long time”.

Katniss doesn’t have a comeback for that. He does have a point, but the image of Haymitch and Effie together seems too bizarre for her. “We can invite her next year. Maybe your birthday. You were always her favorite after all”.

Peeta doesn’t deny it. “And you were always Haymitch’s favorite”.

Katniss knocks on Haymitch’s door. They never wait for him to open, it’s only to announce their presence. Back in the day they would usually find him drunk on the floor and it wouldn’t matter much if they knocked or not. Now that he is sober privacy might be something he wants.

It’s rather quiet once they enter which worries her. Haymitch’s doctor told her that relapse is very common within the first year. “Should we come back?”. Peeta doesn’t seem to like his own idea. He desperately wants to put the cake down even if it results in it being spoiled in the hot house.

“Let me check his cupboard first”.

“A bit rude to snoop in his stuff on his birthday?”.

“Yeah ok, but what if he is drinking again?”. Peeta places the cake on a little table standing by the door. He has had enough of carrying it around. “Today would be the day he would relapse”. He agrees.

“Thank you!”.

Haymitch’s house is very much alike theirs, but the floor plan is mirrored. Where the kitchen is in their house lies the living room in Haymitch’s. Therefore they quickly waltz into the wrong room where they find their old mentor on the couch, no shirt and a woman naked on top of him.

Katniss is so stunned that her mouth goes wide open.

Only the naked back of the woman is visible. Her blond hair is swaying back and forth. They only get to stare for a few moments, but it is enough to start wondering. Who in town has gotten a liking to Haymitch? No way Haymitch would pay someone for their "services".

"Ready for your birthday present, darling.” The Capitol accent is impossible not to recognize

“And what would that be, Miss Trinket?”.

Katniss looks at Peeta, she is stunned and clearly wants to turn in the door to leave. But Peeta on the other hand smirks at the scene in front of him. He seems to have been a few steps ahead of Katniss. His suspicion has turned out to be correct.

“Whatever you would like to do to me…”. Effie whispers sensually into his lips and with that Peeta has had enough. “Do you want us to come back later?”. Katniss swears she could kill him. They could have just walked out.

Haymitch and Effie turn to look at them. She jumps in his lap, awkwardly trying to hide her nudity from the kids. Haymitch is quick in his movements and throws his T-shirt over her head. Seems like this is not the first time someone has walked in on them.

Peeta throws out his hands. “Happy Birthday, old man! Didn’t know you had it in you!“.

“Ever heard of knocking!” Haymitch barks and lifts Effie off his lap, gently placing her in the leather couch.

“We did….”. Katniss mutters, her eyes are on the ceiling at the moment. The less she sees the better.

“I knew your house is not up to date like ours, but if you need a bigger bed, Haymitch…”.

“I’m going to kill….”. Effie gently kick Haymitch in his legs, making him cool down a bit. He takes a deep breath and tries again: “Why are you here?”.

“Celebrating your birthday! It’s the first non-reaping day! We even brought cake!”.

Katniss is so embarrassed she wishes that she could disappear into the floor. “Although I think I preferred being reaped to this”.

“Of course. That was very thoughtful”. He is suddenly very polite, like he has just graduated from Effie’s school of good manners. “If you could give us a few hours…”. He looks over his shoulder at Effie. Katniss swears she could barf from the look they share. She is soon enough halfway out the door, shouting loudly. “YOU CAN COME AND GET US THIS TIME. I am not taking any risks! Be careful with him Effie! He is an old man”.

_

It takes them several hours for them to complete Haymitch’s birthday present, just as Haymitch predicted. They need a shower too before they go and get the kids, but it can wait another 30 minutes. Post-sex-bliss is almost better than the act itself. “This is all a man needs. Good sex on his birthday”

“And you always get it, don’t you?”. Effie pampers his jawline with kisses, the sweet salt of his sweat lingering on her lips.

Haymitch chuckles. “I do. This year with no risk of getting caught….at least that is what I thought”.

´´We will be more careful next year``.

Haymitch cups her chin and whispers sensually to her: “I certainly hope I don’t have to wait until next year”.

Effie sits back up, grinding against him slowly. “Not anymore.” She runs her nails down his chest, stoping right underneath his belly button. “Though I do have to be careful with an old man”.

“If they only knew the truth!”.

“Don’t you dare tell them!´´. Haymitch throws them around in a quick movement, already eager to take her again. They giggle and laugh as they make love again on the couch.

Whiskey only crosses Haymitch’s mind once or twice that day. The first time is when they open his cake later that evening, how well whiskey would taste with it. The second time is when he thinks about how grateful he is to the Capitol, ironically enough.

They made him an addict to alcohol that almost killed him. But they also gave him a far more dangerous addiction. One he could never be sober from.

His family.

[devbox]

Hi again!

Here is another chapter in the continuation of my ABO AU stobotnik fic

Chapter 2: Crumbling house of cards

The flight went over well with no problems. Stone made shure of it as always.. Robotnik worked in comfortable silence on the way. Trying to let go of the incident between him and Stone by pretending nothing had happened. Stone did the same. The only difference was that he kept his distance a bit more than usual. Just a step more behind. Eyes more averted. He looked almost shamefull if Robotnik cared to to notice.. And he shure didnt..

"Would you like a latte sir? Or anything else?"

Robotnik only grunted in answer while not looking up from his tablet. 

Stone went to fetch and he was left to himself. 

He felt a bit nauseous. Probably just after affects of the surge of feelings welling up before.. He berated himself fore not maintaining control. Dangerous... Stupid Stone...

"Here you go doctor. I took the liberty of getting you a sandwich also. You should eat some-"

Stone halted, remembering himself..

Robotnik didnt have it in him to scold him at the moment and just ignored it. "No need.. Im not hungry.."

Stone lingered like he wanted to object. But then took the plate back obidiently. 

"Yes sir.. We will land in 40 minutes".

"Yeah yeah yeah, now leave me to work". Robotnik waved him off without looking up fore one second. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

So many people.. Robotnik thought as they went trough the conference corridors, trying to stifle his need to hide. His hand went on instinct to protect his neck fore a moment. There are Alphas everywhere... Are they looking at me? Do they-

His anxiety was disturbed by Stone calm voice.

"Doctor. Walters and Benson will meet us in 1 hour. Would you like to retire in your room till then?"

His throat was dry but he managed to answer in faux confidence. "Yes. Il take a shower while you prepare everything in the meantime to get us ready". 

"Allright sir. Whatever you need let me know". Stone slipped in. Wanting to get in his good graces again no doubt..

Robotnik gave him a curt nod and nearly sprinted to get away from the sea of people surrounding them. 

--------------------------------------------------------------

The shower was pleasant. Helping him pry away toughts that was not beneficial. You got this.. Your Ivo Robotnik fore gods sake. You have surpassed any omega who has ever lived. So what if Benson will be there? He's a nobody compared to me.. My threats got to him. Walters would protect me if push come to shove. They need me..

He suddenly felt Benson hands on his waist. 

"Come on now Ivo.. I know what you are.. I can smell it." 

He shrugged to get the memory away... Dizziness hitting him by the action. His cue to get out of his to hot shower. 

When he dried of and looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror he became alarmed. Shit! He was pale! He looked sick.. what was happening-

Then he remebered... His pills! Oh no- this was- i cant-

A loud knock came and Robotnik startled.

"15 minutes doctor". Stone said from outside the door.

When he didnt answer back Stone knocked again.

"Everything alright doctor?"

"I- yes. He spluttered out as dread washed over him.

Everything was not alright. This might be the most serious blunder of his life.

"Doctor?" Stone said with concern in his voice. 

"Il be out in minute". He said in a to high pitced voice by the stress.

"What is wrong? I can help-"

"Its nothing!" He almost screamed. Did Stone detect- Could he smell-

Calm! He shrieked internally. Get it together! Your not in heat yet.. It hasnt hit you fully... You probably still got a few hours. Plan!

Dose yourself in beta cologne. End the meeting early and take a few days locked in this room. Say you want to go sightseeing or some other bullshit so no one will get suspicious. Let Stone have a few days off. 

It will do.. It has to..

"Sir! Please let me in- I just know something is off! Ivo?!" Stone said desperate.

His name startled him back to reality. Like a warning that his house of cards was crumbling. Do something! Now!

"Stand down agent Stone.. All is well.. And dont adress me so casually. Have some respect.. Or did you forget our discussion already?"

Some seconds of silence proceeded in response before Stone answered in a more solemn voice

"No sir..I just thought- And i smell-"

Fuck! He always suspected betas could notice if the smell was strong enough. His paranoia was right as usual. He would have to-

He had to let go of Stone now..

The revelation hit him like a ton of bricks. Sudden pain in his chest spreading.. It left a hollow feeling in its wake.

No... He is nothing- We are nothing-

Stone was just one of many needing to be silenced so not to hinder his path to greatness. He would do what he usually did. Find the dirty on him and threaten to destroy his life if he so much voiced his suspicions to anyone before relocating him. It always worked.. Everyone had something they wanted to hide. Ruining Robotnik wasnt worth it.

"You dont smell anything! Got it soldier!" He said with his old military voice that was reserved fore times like these. "We leave in 10 minutes. Make shure you are ready by then".

"But doctor-"

"Thats an order agent! Object me again and i will make you regret it...."

Robotnick was holding his breath at the silence who followed.. 

"Yes sir.."

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

max of 📸 and 🪷 please!! your writing is so good

500 for 📸

---

Eddie expects it’s simply something gooey and romantic about it being the new year. About starting 2026 together. Something Eddie might think and struggle to articulate, and then blurt out half-formed when he sees Buck next. With that in mind, he waits to listen to it until he’s back at the station. 

But when he lifts his phone to his ear at 12:41am, a soft smile on his face, it’s not exactly what he’s expecting. 

“Hey, Eddie. Uh… Don’t freak out. I’m on my way to get Chris. He called me. Knew you were working and that New Years Eve is a pretty busy night. I guess something happened at his friend’s and he’s pretty upset. He asked me… Anyway, don’t worry. I’m getting him, I’ll make sure he’s okay, he can crash at my place. Just wanted to keep you updated. Okay. Love you, bye. Oh, and uh, happy New Year’s.” 

Eddie definitely freaks out. He calls Buck back immediately. He knew something would happen at that party. He knew it! Is Chris drunk? Is Chris high? Was he peer pressured? 

“Hey,” Buck answers, whispering. 

“Buck, what happened?” Eddie demands. “Is he okay? Is he intoxicated?”

“Whoa, hey. No. Stone cold sober. He’s fine. He’s good. Just got into an argument and it sounds like two friends sort of ganged up on him. Got kind of heated.” 

“A fight?” Eddie asks.

“No, a verbal disagreement. I swear, he’s fine. He just got worked up and didn’t want to stay. We talked it through. He’s mad at them, but okay.”

Eddie exhales heavily.

“Okay, uh… Well, thank you. Fuck. Thank you for going to get him.”

“Yeah, of course.” 

“What did you do with Penny?” Eddie asks.

“Ah, she slept in the back seat. Hardly knew what was happening.” 

“Thank you,” Eddie says again.

“Seriously, don’t mention it. I’m glad he trusted me, you know?” 

“Of course he does,” Eddie says. But he’s glad Chris thought to call Buck, too. It makes him glad. Of course, Eddie would have figured something out, but it’s nice knowing there was another option - not Eddie’s parents - who Chris could rely on.

“He went right to bed,” Buck says. “I’ll get him to call you in the morning though?”

“Please,” Eddie says. “You’re good with him until then?”

“Totally. I’ll make a big breakfast. Save you some.”

Eddie smiles. “You’re the best.”

He hears Buck hum happily.

“I gotta go to bed, but… Work’s okay?” 

“More vomit than usual, but fine,” Eddie replies.

“Cute.” 

“Go to bed,” Eddie says. “Thanks for rescuing my kid. Love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

---

500 for🪷

---

“Would you like one?” Chris asks stiffly.

“S-sure,” Shannon says. “Thank you.”

She takes the apple fritter gratefully. She’s getting very hungry. Also, something sweet is never bad when you’re freaking the fuck out. 

“Who is the third one for?” She asks after taking a bite.

“My roommate,” Christopher replies.

Shannon looks around the donut shop, as if someone else is going to walk through the door. No one does.

“Your roommate?” She echoes. 

“I��m going to text him to come,” Christopher says. “He should be awake. Uh… Then I’ll call Dad. Maybe.”

“M-maybe call your dad?” Shannon asks. 

She would like him to do that. She would really like to see Eddie. It’s been sixteen years and he probably moved on pretty easily after what she did, asking him to commit then dumping him when he did, but… But she needs something grounding. Something she understands. 

“I need to be sure first,” Christopher says. “I won’t… I won’t make him think… Not if I’m not sure.”

There’s a surprising amount of vitriol in his eyes. Shannon shrinks back in her seat. She’s missing something. 

“What-what do you mean?” Shannon asks. “I mean, if I was, like, a hallucination, Raelynn couldn’t have seen me. I couldn’t eat this fritter.”

“I don’t think you’re a hallucination,” Chris says.

“What, then?” She asks.

“What’s my middle name?” He demands. “What’s my birthday?”

“Adrian,” she says. “September 26th. Do you think I’m… I’m not me?” 

“Anyone could know that,” Chris whispers. 

Well, okay. Sure. But only she was the one doing the birth. 

Shannon frowns. “Okay, could anyone know it was 9:12 in the morning, or that you were exactly nine pounds? Which is rude, for a first baby, by the way. Or could anyone know we chose the middle name Adrian because your aunt was a literal child at the time and cried when she found out we were having a boy because she wanted a niece so bad and we wanted to make her feel better? Could anyone know your army medic father was terrified of cutting your umbilical cord?”

Chris blinks. “That’s a bit more specific, yeah.”

“I’m not lying to you, Christopher,” Shannon promises. “I woke up on the street here. I have nothing. It’s sixteen years in the future and my son who was a little boy a second ago is an adult man. I’m not lying about that.”

“It’s impossible,” he whispers. His mouth pinches at the corners. 

She shrugs. “Clearly not.”

Christopher swallows heavily. He looks down at this phone.

“I’m going to tell him to come get us,” he says, voice cracking over emotion.

“Your dad?” Shannon asks hopefully.

“No, my roommate.”

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

2025 General Election: “Special Story”

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies. Spoilers ahead.

When I woke up that morning, the first thing I saw was Ranmaru's beautiful sleeping face.

My heart skipped a beat as I felt his arm wrapped around my back.

(Oh, right.)

(Last night, I ended up staying in Ranmaru's room.)

Even though we live in the same castle, we usually sleep in separate rooms.

That's exactly why mornings like this feel even more special.

(Still, I'm so nervous.)

(Just watching him sleep like this is enough to make my heart flutter.)

Even though Ranmaru and I were lovers now, our relationship was still fairly new.

Ranmaru: "Mmm. Lady Mai?"

Mai: "G-Good morning!"

Ranmaru: "You're already up? You can sleep in a little longer, you know?"

Ranmaru: "You were working late last night. Come on, close your eyes."

(Waah...)

He gently patted my back with practiced affection.

(Wait—what did he just say?)

(I wasn't working late last night. Is he still half-asleep?)

Confused, I looked up at him from within his arms—and our eyes met.

Then, suddenly, his eyes widened in surprise.

Ranmaru: "Am I dreaming? You look different somehow. Like you're not the you I know."

Ranmaru (Future): "I see. So you're the you from ten years ago."

As we talked and tried to make sense of it all, the shocking truth came out.

Though his appearance was exactly the same, it turned out he was Ranmaru from ten years in the future.

(Now that I think about it, yeah, he does feel a little different than usual.)

(And I kind of need to believe that, or my heart might explode.)

Like it was the most natural thing in the world, he sat me down in front of the vanity and began brushing my hair.

(He didn't even give me a chance to protest—he moved so naturally, like he's done this a thousand times before.)

(This must be something we do all the time in the future.)

His gentle, careful touch warmed me inside, though I couldn't help but blush at how intimate it felt.

Ranmaru (Future): "What's wrong? You look nervous."

Mai: "Um, what do I usually do? Do I just sit here quietly?"

Ranmaru (Future): "Hmm. You're mostly dozing off."

Ranmaru (Future): "You tend to sway sleepily, so it actually takes a bit of skill to get your hair right."

(Wait—am I really like that in the future!?)

Mai: "I'm definitely relying on you too much."

Mai: "I should probably start working on that so I can keep it together in the future."

I said it to him through the mirror, and Ranmaru chuckled softly.

Ranmaru (Future): "Hmm? You don't need to, you know."

Ranmaru (Future): "It just means you feel safest by my side now."

Ranmaru (Future): "So I want you to stay just the way you are."

(Ah…)

He gently ran his fingers through my hair, smiling sweetly.

Mai: "I must be really happy."

Ranmaru (Future): "Hm?"

Mai: "I just thought—my future self must be incredibly happy."

Mai: "To be treated so kindly and loved so openly by someone I love is amazing."

Mai: "Thank you, Ranmaru."

I thanked him on behalf of the drowsy version of me from the future—but for some reason, he sighed.

(Huh? Why did he sigh?)

Ranmaru (Future): "Geez. You're just as cute as you were ten years ago."

Mai: "----!"

Ranmaru (Future): "But the me in this timeline has only just started dating you."

Ranmaru (Future): "Even if it's still me, I probably can't go through with the usual 'finishing touches' just yet."

(Finishing touches? It's just my hair. What would he even need to hold back for?)

Confused, I turned around to look at him, and he gave me a playful wink.

Ranmaru (Future): "Curious about what the finishing touches are?"

Ranmaru (Future): "Well, let's just call that a little something to look forward to in the future."

Ranmaru (Future): "I think the 'me' from this time is about to wake up, so I'll leave the rest to him, okay?"

Mai: "Huh?"

The moment he said that, Ranmaru quietly closed his eyes.

When he opened them again—slowly this time—he puffed out his cheeks in slight annoyance.

Mai: "R-Ranmaru?"

Ranmaru: "That's right. I'm the version of myself who's dating you in the present."

Ranmaru: "And also the me who saw everything that happened between you and future me."

Mai: "Wait, seriously!?"

Before I could process it, Ranmaru wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me into a tight embrace.

Ranmaru: "I was supposed to be the one sharing a sweet morning with you—not him."

Ranmaru: "But since he left the final touches to me, I guess I'll let it slide just this once."

Mai: "You knew what he was going to do?"

Ranmaru: "Of course. I mean, he is me."

Ranmaru: "And when it comes to doing something for you—I know exactly what I'd do."

(Ah…)

He turned me around and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

The warmth of it faded quickly, replaced by a tender gaze that made my heart race.

Ranmaru: "I love you with all my heart."

Ranmaru: "I hope today gives you plenty of reasons to smile!"

(Ranmaru…)

Mai: "You know, I was wrong about what I said to future you."

Mai: "It's not just future me who's lucky—present me is just as happy, too."

Ranmaru: "Heh, of course you are. I wouldn't accept anything less."

Still laughing, he gave me another kiss—this one playful and affectionate.

The way he touched me, so much like the future Ranmaru, made me realize just how deep and lasting his love truly was.