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wildernessuntothemselves · 5 months

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Jealousy, Jealousy... | Final Part

A/N: this is the main ending. there is an alternative ending available for the other boy on patreon. the link for which is found at the end of this chapter.

Word count: 13k

Genre: Smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: fem!reader, mostly dom!reader, face-sitting, PIV sex, dirty talk, creampie, handjob, heartbreak.

“Hey, baby.” You greet Yeonjun, giving him a kiss on the lips. “Ready to go?”

You were picking him up to go home after a long day of work for the both of you. You had in mind a night of drinking wine and complaining about your day until you passed out in his arms and you can’t wait to get home already.

“Just a little longer, doll.” He tells you and you immediately start whining. “Junnie… those two bottles of wine I bought aren’t gonna drink themselves. We gotta get cracking.”

He chuckles tiredly. “While I appreciate your efforts to get me drunk, Beomgyu has composed a new song and I need to stay back to hear it.”

“Oh.” It’s still so weird to you how you now have to hear news about what your best friend is up to from other people. You used to know these things first. If this was a few months ago, you’d have already heard the song before anyone else did. But now you’re lucky if you even get to hear it at all.

But that’s for the best. You’re doing good with Yeonjun. You’re doing good without Beomgyu. You’re breathing. You’re eating. Your heart is beating… maybe even for someone else for a change. It may have been excruciatingly painful at first–forcing yourself to step away from him, not seeking him out to try to make things better after your most recent fallout, not jumping at the chance when he reached out himself, pretending like you’re too busy to see him, making up excuses so you won’t be alone with him, building up your walls so maybe one day you can stand in a room with him and not have to hold back every cell of your body from throwing yourself at his feet and begging him to love you, but you’ve gotten a lot better at it.

“Do you wanna listen to it?” Yeonjun asks when he sees your curiosity, but you hesitate. Should you? Maybe you should just wait in the car…

But when you see Beomgyu come out with his acoustic guitar and set it on his lap, you find yourself nodding and grabbing a seat next to Yeonjun. You miss hearing him sing. You miss being privy to his passions and whims. Maybe it's selfish of you to allow yourself the opportunity to witness more of him than you’re willing to give him but you never claimed to not be selfish.

As if Beomgyu shares your thoughts, he glances at you, hesitating for a second and you can see the thoughts flitting behind his pretty eyes–you know him too well. Is he thinking about kicking you out? Does he not want you to hear the song because you’ve been keeping your distance from him?

Eventually though he looks down at his guitar and starts to play, and as soon as the first words leave his lips, your heart drops.

Oh, I’m falling in love

As time goes by

As my feelings grow

I’m becoming more anxious

How deep is your love?

I want to ask

Couldn’t it be the same if not deeper?

Your heart lurches in your chest at the lyrics. Falling in love? Is Beomgyu falling in love with Haeun? You know you have no right to feel hurt by this but you do. Why couldn’t he have loved you? What does he see in her that you couldn’t have given him? Is she prettier than you? Smarter? Kinder? Funnier? What was it that made you fall short of deserving his love?

Seeing you change little by little

I’m afraid I’ll lose you

Not mine

My one minute, one second

Take them all

All my time is yours

Why?

Why have you changed?

Why are you so far away from me?

Now we are at different paths.

It hurts even more that it seems she’s not reciprocating his feelings. She has everything you want and she doesn’t even want it. He’s willing to give her everything but it seems it’s not enough for her. Oh how cruelly ironic.

She seemed to be very into him before, at least after the band got more popular, and with every increase in their popularity, she attached herself to him more and more, but something must’ve gone wrong along the line. You have known for some time that Beomgyu and Haeun have been having relationship troubles but you don’t know exactly what because Beomgyu hasn’t told anyone but you guess it’s really bad if this song is about them.

Is she in love with someone else? Has she lost interest? How could she do it so easily when it’s taking everything in you to do the same. Can she tell you her secret so you can stop suffering and give your heart completely to the man who actually wants it?

How can I go back

To our beginning

When we were looking at the same place

The when we had the same heart

I hope you don’t know it

This feeling

Even though I love you

I still feel alone

He’s hiding it from her, afraid to reveal his feelings–maybe because he thinks she doesn’t feel the same way, that if he reveals them she’ll reject him. You know that feeling all too well. You wish you could protect him from it even if he was the cause of your own similar pain.

As the chorus repeats, you become even more sure that the song is about him. You can hear the anguish so clearly in his voice. Beomgyu has always been so talented, always able to give his all to the song and live it as if it’s his own, but you know him too well. You know this is real pain.

I’m drowning in you

Don’t leave me like this

As the bridge reaches its climax, your body shakes, wanting to lunge forward and take him into your arms, to save him from himself even if it would tear you to pieces. But you can’t. You don’t have the right to anymore. All you can do is sit there and wait for him to finish his song, wait for the boys to discuss it as if it’s not his heart being laid out in the open to be dissected.

“What do you think?” He asks once the song is over, biting the skin of his finger, a nervous habit you’ve always quietly found adorable. You would always grab his hand and kiss the poor finger better, scolding him for hurting himself, but secretly you loved it. You loved having his hand in yours. You loved having an excuse to press your lips against him. And you loved the smile he would always give you in response.

“It’s really good." Kai says, impressed. "Didn’t know that someone as emotionally stunted as you could come up with such a moving song."

"Fuck off." Beomgyu mutters, not in the mood for jokes, obviously nervous to see what the others think.

“Yeah, I like it too. You said you’re thinking of having violins in the opening?” Taehyun asks, picking up a music sheet.

Beomgyu nods. “Yeah. I know we’ve never done that before but I feel like it would really add to the atmosphere of the song.”

"I think it could be fun." Taehyun hums, turning to Soobin. “What do you think?”

"I agree. It's good to experiment a bit while still maintaining our sound which I think this song does really well. It could expose us to more people while still not alienating our existing fanbase.” He praises and Beomgyu smiles, relieved at his song being so well-received by the other members. “I especially like the bridge part. I think once Yeonjun sings it, it would really elevate the song.”

Beomgyu's face falls at that but he quickly covers it up. You furrow your eyebrows. That can't feel good, being compared negatively with Yeonjun, even if Soobin didn't mean it like that.

You look at Yeonjun, who hadn't said a word so far. He was staring at Beomgyu weirdly. Did he not like the song?

You nudge him, giving him a questioning look and he just shakes his head, smiling at you before saying, "I like it. Good job, man."

Beomgyu gives him a tense smile in response, and the group falls into an awkward silence for a few seconds–a weird tension hanging in the air, before Soobin clears his throat and begins discussing how they'll play the song, what parts could be improved and who will get which part. You don’t really listen anymore, just looking between Yeonjun and Beomgyu.

Your boyfriend seems to have gotten over his weird reaction, now focused on the technicalities. Beomgyu is focused too but he doesn’t look as enthusiastic as you expected him to be–as you'd seen him get when talking about his songs before–and it's more proof to you that this is a very personal song to him.

As the boys finally break up after a while, most of them going their separate ways to pack up their stuff and get ready to leave, your boyfriend stays behind with Soobin, still discussing something with him. That’s when you spot Beomgyu alone, putting his guitar in its case, and you take the opportunity to go talk to him, unable to hold yourself back this time.

“Hey, Beomgyu, that song was really good.” You start by saying, wanting to congratulate him on a really good song but also needing an opener. But Beomgyu doesn’t say anything in response, simply giving you a blank look–which fucking hurt but you guess you deserve it–so you continue lamely, trying to get him to respond. “You’re really talented. I don’t think you’re gonna need to moonlight as a stripper anymore.” You try to joke but again he doesn’t really say anything, turning his attention back to his guitar bag which he zips up.

“Umm… Beomgyu, that song… is it about you?” You bite the bullet, and he finally gives you some sort of response, albeit nonverbal. He looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. “Is it about you and Haeun?”

“What?” He frowns and you explain yourself nervously, hoping you weren’t overstepping boundaries that have sprung up in your absence. “Well, the song is about a guy who loves someone who doesn’t feel the same about him and how she’s changing and being distant… is that what’s happening with Haeun?”

He sighs. “Maybe. So what?”

You wince at his callousness, like he doesn’t have time for you. You suppose you brought it on yourself with the way you've been avoiding him. Still you ignore it, determined to tell him what you think anyway. “Well, if it is, you should tell her. Tell her how you feel, she might feel the same way and you don’t even know. You might both be pulling away when all you want is to be with each other.” Yes, you know how hypocritical it is of you to say that but you can’t imagine a world in which anyone would reject Beomgyu’s love. “If you love her then you should tell her, right?”

He snorts. “What do you even know about how I feel? Do you have any idea about the amount of hurt and self-loathing it would cause me if she doesn’t feel the same way? How it would ruin our relationship if she’s not where I am?”

“I know.” You grit down on that same pain. “I know.”

He pauses, his anger burning out as soon as it ignites. Then he asks quietly, “Yeonjun?”

You press down on your lips. You know if you say no then he might figure it out. He might finally discover your wretched secret, so you smile and nod, fully knowing how hypocritical you are being right now. You’re such a fucking coward, you disgust even yourself.

“Right.” He is quiet for a minute, and the atmosphere is charged with weird, unreadable emotions that buzz in your ear and form sparks over your skin. You almost excuse yourself–not really wanting to leave despite how uncomfortable it is but knowing you should. You’ve said what you wanted to say. There is no good reason for you to linger around any longer.

But then Beomgyu speaks again. "Are you happy?"

You pause, frowning in suspicion at the unexpected question, which Beomgyu notices right away and clarifies, "We haven't talked in a while. I wanna make sure you're doing alright." He says, tone genuine… and a bit sad.

"I am." You allow, not being untruthful. You are alright, no matter how bad you feel doing it without him. "We're doing well. Yeonjun is as wonderful as ever. He is sweet and funny and he shows me something new everyday. Which is a bit scary for me–you know how I am afraid of change, but he makes it exciting.”

“I’m glad. I want you to be happy.” He smiles at you. It doesn’t reach his eyes but you know he means it. “And I wish I could be there to see it for myself. Do you think you can let me?”

That’s what you were afraid of. This is why you shouldn’t have talked to him. You knew he might use it to try to get back into your life, and you know how hard it would be for you to say no. But you do it anyway. You have to do it for yourself and for Yeonjun.

“I can’t. Not now.” Each meager letter leaving your mouth feels like a blow to the heart. It lays battered in your chest, asking you why the hell you would refuse it its salvation, but you just push it down again, silencing it.

“But I miss you.” His words come out choppy and weak, and you know he’s holding back tears. You hate him for it because it makes you want to cry too. “Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course, I miss you!” You whisper as if you don’t want the universe to hear it. "I'll always miss you. But I can't keep doing this with you anymore. I'm tired of the whiplash."

"No more whiplash.” He shakes his head harshly, getting closer to you but you step back, causing pain to bloom across his teary face. “I get it now. I've worked through my stuff and I'm ready to be a real friend again."

"Well, I haven't worked through mine.” You stand strong. Or as strongly as you can be under such duress. “I still need time and I will not have you rush me."

He moves back, shoulders hunched down. "I'm sorry."

"I know." You say tiredly before walking away, your bruised heart bleeding out at the bottom of your chest.

____________

Beomgyu’s song has become some kind of a local sensation. It is being listened to by a lot of the young people in your city–resonating with many youths who have gone through similar heartbreaks. From small unrequited crushes to the person you love falling out of love with you–who hasn’t loved more than they have been loved before?

The painfully relatable song has gained the boys a considerable amount of fame online too. They were being asked to do more gigs than ever. They’ve even gotten an interview, which you’re currently preparing them for, dressing them up to look their best on camera.

Like always, you’ve left Beomgyu for last, dreading being close to him still. And he gives you every reason to, staring at you the whole time you fix his clothes.

"What?" You finally ask, and he gives you a dumb look. "What?"

"You're staring." You tell him, and he averts his gaze. You can see from the ear poking out of his long hair that he’s blushing. "Oh. Didn't realize."

Oh, how many times you’ve teased him over the way his ears turn red when he’s embarrassed. It was such an endearing quality in him, just one of the many small reasons that made up the whole of you loving him.

You got back to styling him, pretending it doesn’t tug at your heartstrings anymore, and he goes back to staring at you.

After a long beat of silence, he asks awkwardly, "So what are you up to? What's new with you?"

"Well, I'm the creative director for this up and coming band's new song." You joke, trying to ease off the tension. Or maybe his cute involuntary reaction softened up your defenses a little bit.

"Oh, are they good?" He grins, falling gladly into your familiar banter.

"They are, but I think their bass guitarist only got the job because of his looks."

He gives an affronted gasp. "What the hell? Hater! What, you think just because he's so pretty he can't possibly be talented too? Us pretty people are always misjudged."

"Oh, you poor pretty boy." You reach out to pinch his chin, before you realize what you’re doing and quickly take your hand away, clearing your throat and stepping back. “All done.”

You give him a tense smile and turn to leave but his hand shoots out to grab your wrist.

"Wait." He shouts, and you look down at his hand wrapped around your wrist. He notices your discomfort and immediately lets you go. "Do you want to get together for some food or a movie or something?"

Why does he have to make this so hard? Why does he do this every time?

"Not yet." You repeat what you must’ve told him a dozen times before. You can't slip back into it. Because your skin still buzzes whenever you touch him and your heart clenches painfully around the hole he left in it whenever you see him. You need time apart to fully let the love you have for him go.

"When?” He asks, frustrated. “When will it end? What can I do to help? What do you need me to do so you can be my friend again?"

"I need you to give me space." You say firmly, standing your ground.

“But–”

“No buts, Beomgyu. You’re the one who made it this way. If you had been my friend when I needed you to, we wouldn’t have gotten into this situation. You need to deal with the consequences of your own actions.”

He stares at the ground, not answering you. You sigh, turning around to leave with no restrictions this time.

Though what you said to him about his previous behavior causing a rift between you wasn’t false, it wasn’t entirely the truth either. The other reason you felt you couldn’t be his friend again yet is that you’re still not over him, and you’ve made a promise to yourself and to Yeonjun that you will only be devoting yourself to him from now on, and Beomgyu being there is just going to hinder your progress.

But as you watch the boys do their interview, you can’t help but feel guilty for what you’d said to Beomgyu. You know it was the right thing to do, but seeing him look so glum, his light dimmed and his spirits down, you wish you had held it off at least for later.

He is acting nothing like his normal loud, talkative self. He looks down and doesn’t speak unless directly asked a question. It hurts your heart because you know the people watching this won’t get to see how funny and bright and passionate he is. They’ll see him as the quiet guy staring at his own feet. He might still get some fans who would be into the quiet, sad look but that’s not who Beomgyu is. That’s not what he wants to be known as.

But the rest of the boys are covering for him well, especially Yeonjun. He is so charming, you know he’s gonna be stealing hearts left and right when this airs. He certainly has managed to put a smile on your face despite all the conflicting feelings you’re feeling, and you make sure he sees it whenever he glances in your direction.

_______________

The boys are doing better than ever, more interviews and gigs coming in and filling their schedule up so rapidly they’ll barely have any free time soon. They’re already in talks with a record company looking to sign them. Which is why you’re actively savoring moments like this when you get to just hangout with Yeonjun at the mall, eating a snack as you take a break from shopping–one of your favorite activities to do as a couple.

“Just think, soon enough we won’t even be able to do this. We’d be getting mobbed by crowds wanting your autograph and pushing me out of the way to take pictures of you.” You say to Yeonjun, half-joking. It might really happen one day with how quickly they’re gaining popularity. They might have small fame now but who knows what tomorrow will bring, and you believe in the boys. They’re talented enough to do it, and that both worries you and excites you.

“Well, I’ll only ever have eyes for you.” He winks at you, and you give him a small smile.

In moments like this you should feel happy. You are happy. But your happiness is incomplete. It is shadowed by worry and doubt. Yeonjun is so wonderful. He is so sweet and he can be very caring, but sometimes you can’t help but question how much he really feels for you. It keeps you from letting yourself completely go with him. He tells you words that are supposed to be charming, but they don’t sound personal. They don’t feel deep. You know he likes you, but is he ever going to love you?

Maybe you’re overthinking it. This is what a budding relationship is like–the novelty comes with uncertainty. The first times come with doubt. The young fire sometimes burns. You shouldn’t let yourself ruin it for you.

Yes, your love for him isn’t as old and deep-rooted as your love for Beomgyu but maybe that’s a good thing. It will take time to grow and flourish and become something just as beautiful or even more so. In time, you can learn to let go of your all-consuming love for your best friend, cover that gaping hole that Beomgyu has left in your heart, forget about the way every time you see Beomgyu with her you feel like screaming out so loud the gods themselves will weep–

“Beomgyu.” You gasp, seeing him in front of you. Fuck, he’s like bloody marry. Call his name three times and he appears.

You try to hide, putting your head down and attempting to cover your face with your hair but there is no mistaking Yeonjun’s bright orange head and Beomgyu quickly spots you and makes his way over to you with Haeun of all people.

“Curse your stupid hair.” You hiss at Yeonjun just before Beomgyu and Haeun arrive at the table.

"Hey, guys, are you on a date?" Beomgyu asks as if there was any doubt about it.

"Yes, actually." Yeonjun tells him in a tone that clearly conveys that you don’t want to be disturbed, But Beomgyu doesn’t care, grabbing a chair and pulling it out.

"Oh sweet." He sits down. "How have you guys been?"

“What are you doing, Beommie? We have a lot of shopping to do.” Haeun complains, and every time you hear her call him that you want to claw her tongue out.

"In a minute, baby. Let's rest our legs for a bit." He motions for Haeun to sit down, but she puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to rest.”

“Well then you go on and I’ll catch up with you.” He suggests and she huffs, deciding to sit down after all. Oh, joy.

“But I can’t leave you alone, Beommie.” She whines, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his neck, making you almost hurl.

Thankfully, Yeonjun takes your attention away from them. “So, what new crazy thing is your boss asking from you?”

You turn fully to him, trying your best to ignore the disgusting intruders. “Ugh, don’t even get me started. This morning, she–”

“Boss? What boss?” Beomgyu interrupts, and you clench your teeth, preparing yourself before turning your head to look towards him.

“The editor of Elements magazine. She saw the Frost shoot and wanted me to do a pictorial for them.”

“Oh my god, that is amazing.” He shouts, startling Haeun who was so close to his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

An awkward moment passes after his mindless question. Because we don’t talk? Because we’re not friends anymore?

Eventually, you decide to just shrug. “I guess it must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Right.” He clears his throat, going along. “Well, show me what you’ve done so far.”

You hesitate, glancing at Yeonjun who sighs and gestures for you to go ahead. So you pull up your phone, showing him some of the pictures you’ve already taken.

"Wow this is real artistic shit." Beomgyu awes and you laugh. Trust in Beomgyu to give such an un-nuanced but still somehow very flattering opinion.

“I don’t get it. It’s just a guy in a bathtub.” Haeun speaks up, obviously intending to antagonize you. “My friend Jiwon takes better pictures than this and he didn’t even go to college. If that’s what they teach you at school then you’ve wasted your money.”

Oh fuck no. You may be spineless but you won’t allow Haeun of all people to make fun of your work. You prepare to launch into a screaming match with her condescending ass, but before you could even open your mouth to speak, Beomgyu beats you to it. “Your friend Jiwon takes back camera pictures of weird strangers on the street and makes up an exaggerated or completely false backstory about them to try to make the obviously amateur pictures appear more interesting. How fucking original.”

Beomgyu’s quick defense of you makes your heart swell. Some things never change.

“Yeah? Like this is original!” She sputters indignantly.

“I know it’s nothing groundbreaking.” You interrupt their quarrel, “Like a guy in a tub staring longingly at the camera isn’t something that hasn’t exactly been done before but… umm, it’s actually inspired by your song. The colored water is supposed to represent love, you know the “I’m drowning in you” part? It’s killing him but he can’t get himself to get out. He wants to drown in it… I don’t know it may be stupid but I hope you don’t mind.”

"Oh. No, I'm… flattered." He trails off, staring at you wide-eyed. “I didn’t think I would be able to inspire you again…”

“Yeah, well...” You mumble bashfully, a charged moment passes over you as you stare silently at each other.

"Are you done?" Haeun complains, and for once you’re thankful to her for cutting the strange moment. "I'm bored. Let's go."

“We haven’t even eaten anything yet. Take a look at the menus and order something for us, won’t you?” He asks her, but doesn’t even wait for her response before turning back to you. "You know what would be hilarious. If you get the editor to let you do a shoot with the plastic watermelon dress you made."

“It’s not plastic.” You roll your eyes at him, knowing exactly which dress he’s referring to. “It’s coral organza.”

“Looked like plastic to me.” He shrugs with a mischievous grin on his face.

“That’s because you're fashion illiterate.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m very fashion forward and hip.” He proclaims, sounding decidedly NOT neither fashion forward nor hip.

“Yes, because a punk guitarist wearing ratty shirts and ripped jeans is so revolutionary.” You drawl teasingly and he pouts, pulling at his shirt. “Hey! You were there when I picked these out. You said I looked cool.”

“Yeah, she’ll say you look cool wearing a garbage bag.” Yeonjun scoffs and you blush, realizing that you’ve completely neglected Yeonjun as soon as Beomgyu got here. You move back from your huddled forward stance to lean against your boyfriend.

“What?” Beomgyu asks and you quickly brush Yeonjun’s comment off. “Nothing. Now Yeonjun is very stylish. He knows all the trends and he knows how to make them work for him.”

Beomgyu snorts, glancing at your hand that is caressing Yeonjun’s chest. “I don’t follow trends. I make trends.”

“That’s right, baby. You’re a trendsetter.” Haeun coos, getting her hands on him too, touching him much more inappropriately than you were touching Yeonjun.

But Beomgyu ignores her once again, asking you, "How did you even reach the editor of Elements?"

"Oh, Yeonjun knew her." Your hand falls down to wrap around Yeonjun’s, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Of course, Yeonjun knows the editor." For some reason that piece of information really seemed to annoy Beomgyu. But you ignore his unnecessarily snarky tone and turn to smile at Yeonjun, hoping he’d forgive you for your earlier mishap. “Yeah, he’s amazing, isn’t he?”

"Yes, he’s great.” Beomgyu mutters, standing up. “I think me and Haeun have stuff to do. Let’s go, baby."

"Yes!" She claps happily, standing up too.

"Oh, okay. Bye, I guess." You mumble, watching them abruptly scurry off as you try to process the weird interaction. "What's wrong with him?"

“Maybe he’s just being his usual weird self.” Yeonjun shrugs, removing his hand from yours, making you frown. "Or maybe he feels inadequate because I was able to get you the job and he couldn't."

"That's ridiculous." Why would Beomgyu feel inadequate about that? He doesn’t have any obligation to get you work.

"Is it? If I was in love with a girl and another guy gave her what I couldn't. I would be pretty bummed out too."

"What?" The world suddenly screeches to a halt, as does Yeonjun. He looks at you, slowly contemplating something as if he doesn’t know that the world has stopped and is waiting on him.

Finally, he sighs. "I tried to ignore it. Partly because the idiot is trying to hide it and partly because I like you, but ever since we got together, it's been pretty damn hard to ignore. Beomgyu is clearly in love with you.”

"No. You’re getting it wrong.” You shake your head, hoping to get rid of the cotton that has replaced your brain, your thoughts feeling fuzzy and slow as they travel through it. “He's just upset because he thinks us dating will drive me and him apart… which I guess has been true."

"No, he's upset because he wants to be with you and it's killing him to see us together.” Yeonjun clarifies, irritated at having to explain to you how some other guy is in love with you.

"How can you be so sure? Did he tell you that?"

"He doesn't have to tell me. I have eyes…" He looks you up and down. "And well, I'm not stupid like you two."

"That's ridiculous." You denounce once more.

"You said that already."

"Well, it is! Beomgyu doesn’t love me. I mean as a friend, sure but not… like that."

"Oh my god, I'm dealing with two idiots. I don’t even know why the fuck I’m explaining this to you but here goes,” Yeonjun exclaims in frustration, obviously not enjoying this conversation any more than you are. “Think about it, no guy gets this worked up over just a fuck. His first explanation of his anger being just because he’s afraid our relationship is going to ruin the band was total bullshit. It was just to throw you off his scent and have a way to get you to stay away from me without revealing anything. And his second explanation is even more bullshit. Why the fuck would us being in a relationship make you lose him as a friend if he didn’t hold anything but platonic love for you? Why does he get mad every time you and I take a step forward in our relationship? Because he’s fucking in love with you. He literally wrote a whole song about how he’s secretly in love with you and it’s killing him that you’re not his!"

“That song was about me?” You ask and he gives you a look as if to say he can’t believe a single human being can be this dumb. “No, it’s obviously about the girl he’s been ignoring the entire time he was sat with us just so he could talk to you.”

Your mouth opens slowly, tongue dry as it forms the words. "Let’s say he does love me. Why wouldn't he just tell me?"

"Why wouldn't you just tell him?"

You sputter uselessly for a while, not really saying anything. Until you give up and just stop, submerging the both of you in a suffocating silence. You’d think that your thoughts would be racing a million miles an hour right now, trying to process all this information, but nothing is going through your head except one question.

Beomgyu loves me? Beomgyu loves me? Beomgyu loves me?

You’re only taken out of your looping thought when Yeonjun sighs again. "Well, this was fun while it lasted."

"What?" Your mouth hangs open, your frozen brain somehow still having enough power to be shocked.

"You're obviously still completely in love with him. When he's there it's like you don't even see me. You don't see anyone else." Yeonjun says defeatedly.

"No, I–" You try to deny, but he gives you a pointed look, daring you to lie to him.

“Okay, I love him but I’m with you.”

“Only to get over him.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. My feelings for you are real. Don’t you dare deny that.”

“Maybe, but they’re not as strong as your feelings for him.”

“But they can be.” You insist–trying to convince yourself or him, you don’t know. Maybe if you give me the chance to–”

“To what? Wait and see if you’ll finally look for me first when you walk into a room instead of him? Pretend that I don’t know that time and distance haven’t dulled your love for him one bit? I can’t go on in a relationship where I know my partner will always be thinking ‘what if’. I won’t let myself be hurt like that by you. Not anymore.”

You tear up. You were hurting him? You didn't even think he cared all that much. You must be a terrible judge of character to be getting both boys so wrong. “I’m sorry, Yeonjun. I never meant to hurt you. I really, really tried.”

You really did. You didn’t do this just to get over Beomgyu. Yes, it was part of it, but you liked him too. You really thought this could work, and you really think it would have if Beomgyu wasn’t in the picture, and so you did everything in your power to take him out of it. You moved out from your apartment. You cut Beomgyu off. You dedicated yourself to Yeonjun.

But how can you stop your heart from beating for Beomgyu? It’s entirely out of your control.

"But you did anyway.” He says and you wince, one tear escaping your lashes and falling down the left side of your face. “Do you hate me?”

“I could never hate you.” He sighs, and your lips tremble as you confess, “I wish you would. It might make me feel better.”

“Maybe you don’t deserve to feel better.” His words pierce your heart, and you know you deserve every ounce of pain it inflicts.

“That’s fair.”

You’re both silent for a long while–you trying to keep your tears under control, not wishing for him to see it as any intention to garner sympathy or guilt from him, and him sitting there quietly, his thoughts entirely hidden from you, but you know there is pain and anger in him. You can feel it radiating off of him.

But eventually your tears dry out, and you gather enough courage to ask one last thing of him. “I know I have no right to ask this but can you not tell Beomgyu about us breaking up? I don’t want him to know yet. But don’t worry, I’ll gather my things and move out. You won’t have to live with me.”

"You're not done playing games?" He frowns and you shake your head. "I'm not. It’s just because you guys are working out that record deal and if anything goes wrong, I don’t want to risk ruining things for you.”

“Fine.” Yeonjun graciously accepts. “And you can stay. I’m not gonna kick you out into the street. I’m not that kinda guy.”

____________________

Despite your love for Beomgyu, your break-up with Yeonjun wasn’t easy. You really liked him and had grown attached to him. And even though you still lived together, you hardly talked when it was just the two of you alone. You realize with time just how hurt he is by everything even though he tries his best to hide it from the others–not just because they think you’re still together, but because he has always refused to burden his younger members with his troubles, ever the selfless older brother. It’s one of the qualities you both admired and despised about him simultaneously. You wanted him to share his fears and worries, to lighten the load on his shoulders, and for a short while you were able to do that for him, but now that you’ve broken up, he’s left to carry all of it by himself again and with heartbreak to boot.

You feel incredibly guilty about it, and you mourn for the love that could’ve blossomed between you had you not been so hung up about your best friend. The best friend you still haven’t talked to by the way.

Yeonjun's words have not left your mind since the day he revealed everything to you. No moment passes by when you don't think about them. But you haven’t confronted Beomgyu about it yet because the record deal was still underway, and because you weren’t sure if Yeonjun is even right about it all. What if he’s wrong?

Yeah, what? You'll ruin your friendship with Beomgyu? It's already in shambles anyway. Still, the rejection will be brutal. You've lived in the shadows for years. You're used to ignoring your feelings, that kind of pain is familiar to you now, but if you reveal them to Beomgyu and he shoots you down, you might not bear it.

You'll tell him soon enough though, after the party tonight. The boys have finally reached an agreement with the record company and the contract has come through. They're officially signed to a label now and tonight’s party is a small celebration of that.

You’ll do it after the party tonight. You’ll ask to talk to him after everyone leaves and you’ll confess everything. You're ready to come clean and end it all. Well, as ready as you can be.

But as the party drags on, you get restless, and when you spot Beomgyu alone, refilling his drink, you can’t help but steal a little moment with him.

“Congratulations, Beommie. I hear your song sealed the deal.” You smile widely, your lips buzzing with the desire to tell him what you really want to say–that you love him, that you’re proud of him, and that if his song is really about you then he needs to know that you’ve always been his.

“Yeah. I’m not so useless after all.” Beomgyu’s reply is short and bitter.

“What?”

Yeonjun’s words ring in your ears. If I was in love with a girl and another guy gave her what I couldn't. I would be pretty bummed out too. Is this Beomgyu being insecure like Yeonjun said?

But before you can get him to clarify what he means, Haeun comes running over, incapable of leaving him alone for more than a minute. Can you really blame her? If you had him, you would never let him go either.

“Baby, there you are! My star boy.” She throws her arms around him, pulling him into an open mouthed kiss that makes you want to vomit.

You quickly retreat, not having missed the soft-core porn you used to witness while living with Beomgyu. Fucking Yeonjun, is this what he calls Beomgyu being in love with you? You don’t see him pushing her away or anything. He seems pretty happy with the kiss if his tongue in her mouth is any indication.

"Foul." You mutter, swigging your cider, almost choking on it when a voice speaks up next to you. "That can't be good for the heart, huh?"

You look at Yeonjun sheepishly, not sure if you can talk to him about this. After all, you did break up because of your love for the man currently getting his face sucked off by Haeun. So you just settle on mumbling out a weak yeah.

"Well, you know you could always fix it by confronting him about his undying love for you." He tells you and you can’t help but snort, annoyance overcoming your trepidation. "Yeah, right. He's so heartbroken, he's going to drown his sorrows in her pussy."

“He’s just doing this because he thinks we’re still together. If he knows you’re free, I can guarantee you he’ll be dropping her so fast she won’t hit the ground before he’s on his knees for you.”

“How can you be so confident?” You ask and he shrugs. “Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.”

He walks away, leaving you to think over his words. Funny, that’s how you feel about the sight still playing out in front of you, the disgusting view getting burned into your retinas.

Deciding you needed a break, you slip away from the living room, heading towards the bathroom to wash your face off. But on the way there, you pass by your old room, stopping when you see the door slightly cracked open.

Your feet take you inside without you realizing it, compelled by curiosity to see what he’s done with the room in your absence. Has he turned it into a gaming room? Is he using it for storage? Is he letting her use it as her own? Oh, god, you really hope not. Anything but that.

But you’re surprised when you step inside and find it mostly empty except for your old mattress and a few items you must’ve forgotten during your move. A T-shirt here, a sleeping mask there–they were all strewn around on your bed with the odd piece of clothing from Beomgyu himself in the mix.

You step closer, examining the items when something in particular catches your eyes. A flash of pink under a pillow that makes you reach forward to pull it out, realizing just what it was once it’s in your hands–a pair of pink panties. Your pink panties that you’d been missing for a while. Why does Beomgyu have this? You thought he just used this because he was so pent up he needed any form of release but now Haeun is never off his dick so why does he still do this?

Could Yeonjun have been right all along?

As you continue to hold it in your hands, puzzling over it, you hear the door open and close behind you and Beomgyu’s panicky voice calling out your name.

"What are you doing in here?" He squeaks as if this wasn’t your room. Well, your old room but still. It’s not like he made any changes to it yet.

You turn to face him with the panties in your hands, silent, and his eyes grow wide as he stammers, trying to explain himself. “These are old.”

“They’re wet.” You say plainly, which means he has just used them, and he knows it too.

He scoffs, attempting to appear unaffected. As if this is just a completely reasonable situation that you’ve blown way out of proportion. “Well–it’s just–they were on hand.” He gives you what may possibly be the flimsiest excuse in history.

Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

"Did you leave these out for me to see?" You question, and he rushes to deny. "No! I just forgot to put them away."

His eyes widen again at what he just said, basically admitting that he took them from you on purpose to do with them exactly what you had in mind. God, he's such a stupid loser.

You walk towards him until you’re standing right in front of him, leaving him no room to breathe. “Make everyone leave.”

“It’s our celebratory party, I can’t just–”

You grab his hand and put it under your skirt, pressing his fingers against your warm pussy. “And I want to give you your reward. Make them leave.”

He looks at you, shocked, and suddenly you realize what you're asking of him. You're coming onto him after weeks of ignoring him. You're asking him to have sex with you when he has a girlfriend–when he thinks you have a boyfriend. Oh god.

But then he gulps and says. "Okay."

You watch from behind the door as he stops the music and kicks everyone out, telling them that he doesn’t feel good and needs to rest, and when Kai complains loudly, he asks him if he’d like to stay back and hold his hair while he vomits. That quickly convinces everyone to take the party elsewhere, even his girlfriend. But one person knows better, and you see him peeking around Beomgyu to catch your hidden eyes. You share a look before he turns around and leaves the apartment. This is it. You’re going to do this.

As soon as Beomgyu comes back, you pull him into a kiss, releasing your overflowing nerves with each frustrated and needy moan you let out against his lips. Fuck, you missed kissing him so much. His lips may not be as soft as Yeonjun’s–he may not be as good of a kisser–but god does he still make your heart sing.

“Strip.” You order when you finally tear yourself away from him, though Beomgyu doesn’t make it easy, resisting you the first couple of times you try and pulling you right back into the hungry kiss. But you finally do, and Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate to follow your cue then.

After he’s all stripped down, he looks at you, gaze speaking of his own need to devour you. “Will you strip too?”

“Do you want it?” You ask, putting on an alluring voice but deep down you were just nervous about letting him see you fully for the first time. Even though your experience with Yeonjun has made you gain confidence, you’re still insecure, especially when it comes to Beomgyu. You want to impress him. You want him to think you’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. You want him to forget about her. You want him to only think of you.

Naturally, that is a lot to live up too.

Beomgyu nods enthusiastically, somehow managing to come across as adorable in this situation. “Yes, please. Take it all off.”

He tries to reach out to do it himself but you shake your head, pushing him onto the bed.

“No. We do this my way.” You tell him, and he nods again, keeping himself in check.

You reach for the zipper on your dress, hesitantly letting it fall to the floor. You aren’t wearing any bra so now you are almost nude except for your panties as you stand in front of him.

“Fuck. You’re so hot.” He takes his cock into his hand, pumping it as he leers at you. You should feel dirty having him openly masturbate to the sight of you but it makes you feel so fucking good about yourself. It’s just what you needed–for him to show you how much he wants you. “Please, take off your panties too. Wanna see your pussy.”

Despite his lewd display–or more accurately because of it–you’re given the courage to finally fully undress yourself in front of him, overcoming years of insecurities of what he’ll think of your body and any unfavorable comparisons he might make.

“Oh fuck–” He licks his lips, squeezing his cock as he stares at your pussy. “You’re perfect.”

“You think so?” You ask demurely, trying to hide your shock. Is he really telling the truth? It feels like it but you still need confirmation after years of doubting yourself.

“God, yes. Your tits are divine. I wanna suck on them and play with them all night. Your little pussy is so pretty, I wanna be buried in it forever. Come here, please, ride me, sit on my face, anything…”

Is this what you were worried about all these years? He looks pretty fucking happy with what he’s seeing. Why were you so scared? You’re so mad at yourself for wasting all this time with self-doubt when you could’ve had him long ago.

“You really need that?” You throw your panties at him, feeling more confident than ever after his proclamations. “Isn't this usually enough for you?”

“No, please, you said you’d give me a reward." He whines, distraught at the thought of you being so close but not attainable yet again. "I’ve been good.”

“Have you?” You scoff, straddling him, pressing your pussy against his cock and his body goes limp, letting you do what you want. “You’ve been nothing but a horndog, getting your rocks off wherever you can, whether it’s backstage getting sucked off by her or stealing my panties and fisting your cock with them. You’ve been such a bad boy.”

“I’m sorry.” He slurs, mouth hanging open.

"Are you? You seem to be enjoying this."

"I'm sorry." He repeats again, staring at your pussy as it moves forwards and backwards over his cock, covering it in your slick.

"You're fucking hopeless, Beomgyu. You'd do anything to get a piece of me, huh?"

"Yes." He nods eagerly, "Can you sit on my face?"

You laugh, climbing up his body until you’re hovering over his face and digging your fingers in his hair to keep his head down so he wouldn’t make any unwanted moves before you’re ready. "Is my pussy the only thing on your empty brain?"

"Uh-huh." He says dumbly, almost going cross eyes with the way he's staring at your pussy. You fucking love it. This is what you needed–to be needed. And Beomgyu gives it all to you without you even asking for it.

"Good boy." You tell him and he shoots you a searing look at that–at you finally calling him that again–before you sit down on his face.

You try not to put too much weight on him, not wanting to hurt him but Beomgyu has other ideas. He grabs your ass and pulls you down on his ready mouth, tongue flicking out to give eager licks to your already wet pussy.

"Bad–bad boy–" You hiss, pulling at his hair but he won't let go, too intent on eating you out, nuzzling his whole lower face into your pussy, his tongue and lips alternating between long messy licks and needy sucking motions, his nose brushing against your clit every now and then in his fervor.

"Fuck, Beomgyu slow down."

But that word isn't in Beomgyu's dictionary, not when he's wanted this for so long. His fingers dig into your ass, making sure you can’t escape as his tongue presses inside your hole, flicking around as much as he can while your pussy flutters around it.

"So good–tastes so good." He slurs, drool and your juices covering his lower face but he doesn’t even care. In fact if anything it turns him on if his hard, leaking cock that you see when you throw a glance backwards is anything to go by.

"You fucking the air, Beommie?" You pant, not faring much better than him but needing to tease him anyway. "Need my pussy this bad?"

But Beomgyu can't be teased. Not when he's so shameless.

"Yes. Will you sit on my cock?"

"How bad do you need it?" You sit up, pulling away from him and cutting off strings of your combined need.

"So bad. Feels like I might die without it."

"You sound like a horny fuckboy, Beommie. You know I only like good boys." You chastise, and Beomgyu shoots back, "Is that why you’re dating a whore?"

You growl, sinking back on his face, this time not caring so much about your weight over him. "Don't talk about Yeonjun like that."

He turns his face to the side to nip at your thigh in protest so you just straighten his head again and sit down on him fully, not allowing him any space to move. "You know the only whore here is you. So stick your tongue out like a good whore and let me ride it or I'll leave your dirty cock all red and weeping."

He whines in fear, sticking his tongue out for you, not daring to risk it. You move yourself over him, grinding your pussy over his tongue as he stares up at you pleadingly.

“You like it, baby? You like me using you to get off?”

He moans out in response, not having any other way to communicate his agreement and not willing to pull away from you. But you hear a wet noise coming from behind you and you look back to see him fisting his cock, clearly excited by it all. He wants this as much as you do. He has been begging for it for so long, and so you’re not so cruel as to make him take his hand away, but you need to make sure your excitement doesn’t end too soon.

“Fuck, you really wanted this, huh? Can’t help yourself whenever you get a taste of this pussy?” You tease, and he whines again, his cock thrusting into his own fist pitifully. “But don’t get too excited. You want to feel this pussy around you, don’t you?”

The needy noises he keeps letting out vibrate against your pussy, driving you even wilder as you pull on his hair harshly and desperately grind yourself on his tongue, your high so close you could taste it.

“Good boy, gonna make me cum… you want it? Want me to cum all of that pretty face?” You growl, and his hands leave his cock to grab your ass, pressing you so tightly against him, you worry that he won’t be able to breathe.

But Beomgyu clearly loves it. He wants you to do it. He moves your hips so you’re fucking his face harder, faster, all while those slutty eyes of his never leave your face.

“I’m cumming–fuck, Beommie… good boy–” You scream, shuddering as you cum over him. But as you stop moving, paralyzed by the intense orgasm, he starts moving his tongue, lapping up every drop you let out, giving your pussy open mouthed filthy kisses as he wraps his lips around you and eagerly sticks his tongue into your hole to get even more.

You have to pull away from him when it becomes too much, and Beomgyu chases after you, not having had his fill yet somehow. He's still so needy that he ends up pushing you down and laying over you, his lips incessant against yours as his cock lays heavy on your pussy.

You tug on his hair, finally detaching his lips from yours. "That's enough, Beomgyu."

“I made you cum.” He says in a daze, a stupid smile on his face.

“Yes, you did.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb before sticking it in his mouth, letting him suck on it. It’s useless of course. The entire bottom half of his face was glistening with your cum. Not that you were actually trying to clean him up. You liked seeing him covered in you too much. “Ready for your reward, baby?”

“Fuck, yes, please.” He groans, his hips bucking up against you, gliding his cock against your wet pussy. "Wanna fuck you so bad. Can I put it in now?"

"Are you gonna keep being a good boy for me? Gonna listen to my instructions and not let your cock take over your dumb brain and make you hump me like a dog?"

He shakes his head even though he was literally humping you right now. "I'll listen. I'll be so good."

"Okay, Beommie. You can put it in–slowly!"

He rushes to push his cock inside your pussy, only stopping when it's all the way inside you. "Oh god–I'm finally inside you. Wanted it for so long."

This is exactly what you had been missing. This is what you needed that Yeonjun wasn't able to give to you. Beomgyu isn't shy when expressing how much he wants you. He'll beg and plead until you give it to him.

"Can I move, baby?" He asks, voice strained with the effort of holding back.

You nod. "Go ahead. But slowly."

He makes a valiant effort, pulling his hips back and thrusting in slowly, shuddering every time his cock is fully enveloped by your pussy.

“Good?" You ask as if his mouth wasn't hung open, as if his eyes weren't all hazy, as if he wasn't holding onto you for dear life.

"So good. Can't believe I'm fucking you."

Neither can you. You had really begun to lose hope but here you are, laid on your back with Beomgyu fucking you, following your instruction as best he could–the strain of it obvious on his face. It's everything you wanted and you finally have it.

"Can I touch your tits?" He pleads, giving you his classic puppy eyes and you smile. "Go ahead, honey."

He groans, reaching out and cupping them in his hands. "Oh god. Missed them." He leans down and attaches his lips to them, biting and kissing all over them as his hips pick up speed.

"Beomgyu…" You warn, pulling on his hair. He fights against you, looking up but not detaching from your tits. "Don't get ahead of yourself now. You want me to feel good too, don't you?"

He nods, his face still firmly buried in your lips but finally letting go of your nipple to moan out, "Yes, wanna make you feel better than anyone else."

His own words rile him up and he bites down on the skin next to your areola, making sure not to hurt you but still expressing his frustration.

"You're such a bratty baby." You scold him, but in reality you love it. You love how possessive and needy he is acting. It doesn't allow a single negative or insecure thought to enter your mind. How could it when he's so obvious about his need for you? "You can go faster now, baby."

"Oh, thank you." He groans, hips picking up speed.

"Better, honey?" You pant, brushing his wet hair out of his face so you can fully see how lost he is in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him.

"So much better. Never wanna stop." He leans down, kissing you harshly, lips opening and closing around yours, his tongue pressing into your mouth hungrily. His hands grab at your thighs, pushing them against your body as he goes even faster, a constant stream of whines and whimpers released into your mouth.

You force yourself to sober up despite the smoldering fire breaking out in your body from the way he's fucking you so good. You want him to keep going. You want him to keep fucking you until your mind has turned to mush and your limbs have turned to jelly. But you can’t let him have it this easily. You can't let him get away with the amount of pain and suffering he has caused you. He needs to feel it too, even if just a fraction of it. He needs to feel the longing and despair he has made you feel for so long.

"Slow down." You order, pulling his head away from you, doing it extra mean just the way he likes it.

"No, no, please." He cries, not slowing down. "Please… I thought this was a reward. You’re driving me crazy."

"Do you want me to push you down and tie your hand to the headboard to make sure you behave?" You threaten, trying to keep your voice under control against the incessant thrusts of his cock into your poor pussy. "It's only gonna be worse for you."

"No. No. Wanna keep touching you." He blabbers, hands groping at every inch of you he could reach, worried you'd make good on your threats.

"Then be good." You suck in a sharp breath as he pulls on your nipples before kneading the soft flesh.

"I will. I'm your good boy, right?" He slurs, his hips slowing down.

Damn, he's really addicted to hearing you say that, huh?

"Yes, you are. You’re my best boy." You coo, stroking his soft hair and he nuzzles into your hand like a puppy, seeking any form of contact with you.

"Thank you." He groans, fingers digging into your skin as he tries to hold himself back, his poor cock screaming at him to just take you like he wants. "So pretty. Look so pretty getting fucked."

"Yeah? Is it how you imagined it when you'd fuck my panties?" You ask but once again Beomgyu has no shame, his hips faltering at the reminder of his debauched actions.

"Better. So pretty. So tight. Could stay in your cunt forever." He almost drools at the thought, and you really believe he'd love to do just that.

"Dirty boy. Dirty little boy going all dumb for me." You stroke his face lovingly and he peers at you with pleading eyes. "Baby, please, hurts… can I go faster?"

"Aw, poor pup, do you need to hammer your cock into my pussy that bad?" You scold, giving his face light slaps.

"Uh-huh… will make you feel good. I promise." He babbles, his hips already going faster as if he's sure you'll give him permission.

"No." This may or may not be the one and only time you get to fuck him. You need to savor it. "Slow down."

Your hands go to his hips, clawing at his skin to slow down his thrusts and he relents, albeit begrudgingly. "You're so mean."

"But you love it." You laugh at his tearful pout. "God, you love it so much you can't stop shaking your hips like a whore. It's like you've never been fucked before.”

"I haven't. You’re my first.” He admits, knocking any remaining breath out of your lungs.

This is his first time. He and Haeun never did it? What the fuck?

"Did you let him fuck you?" He asks, and you stay silent. He knows you’ve fucked Yeonjun. There is no way he thinks you live with Yeonjun and aren’t fucking him. But then again, he hasn’t fucked Haeun, and you were so sure that he did.

"Did you?" He asks again, an edge to his voice and you nod minutely. "I didn't know. I thought you and Haeun–"

Beomgyu's whole face changes. "God, you're such a slut. Fucking two men at the same time."

You immediately get defensive. Yeonjun was your boyfriend. You had dated for months. You’re not a whore for fucking him. It would be more understandable if he’s referring to the fact (or what he thinks is a fact) of you fucking him when you have a boyfriend, but you’re almost certain that’s not what he’s upset about. He’s just jealous you’ve fucked Yeonjun at all. "Just because she won't let you put it in, doesn't make me a slut."

That just angers him more, and he practically bends you in half as his dick pumps in and out of you at a brutal pace, his anger at what you’ve done making him lose it, not caring about your instructions anymore. "I hate you."

You laugh, fighting hard to hide the pain his statement elicits in your gut as well as to keep your voice steady as he practically plows his cock into you. God, he makes you so mad but he’s fucking you so good.

"But you sure love my pussy."

"My pussy." He growls, catching you off guard once again. He bends his head down to kiss your neck harshly, and can already feel the marks blooming there under his teeth. "Mine. Not his. All mine."

"What?” You sputter. Is this it? Is this how he confesses to you? “Beomgyu, what–”

"Shut up." He smacks your ass, not willing to hear your protests right now. "You've played with me long enough. Now be good and take it."

Played with him? What the hell is he talking about? You’ve never played with him. But any attempt to get a sane answer out of him right now is useless as the sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room and Beomgyu latches his mouth onto yours, trying to dominate you in a way he has never attempted to do before–as if he’s trying to prove that you really are his.

And you are. He may not know it but you’ve always been his.

But his strong facade is paper-thin and you can see right through it to the insecure boy below when he pulls back to look at you. “Fuck, why did you have to be so pretty?”

“Make me cum, Beommie.” You murmur, moving a hand between your bodies to rest over your pussy, your middle and index fingers on either side of his cock as it fucks into you. “Do you feel how wet I am for you? I’m soaking the bed, baby.”

“Fuck…” He pulls your hand away, taking a look at how wet it has become already before he grunts and pushes one of your thighs against the bed to allow space for his own hand between your bodies, quickly finding your pussy to rub your clit.

“Oh… oh, fuck… baby…” You gasp, back arching as you’re quickly hurled towards your orgasm. “That’s it, honey. Make me cum on your big cock.”

He groans, his hips stuttering as your pussy begins to clench around him. “Don’t talk like that. Gonna make me lose it.”

“It riles you up when I talk dirty to you? Tell you how good you're fucking me?”

He nods.

“Dirty boy.” You moan out for him, “Do it. Empty that cock inside me. Want my pussy dripping with you.”

“Holy s-shit,” Beomgyu cries, and you feel his cum shooting inside of you, his hips not stopping for a second. And though his thrusts become erratic, his thumb keeps up its assault on your clit until your pussy is clamping down on his cock and milking the last drops of cum from him. “Good girl. My good girl.”

He fucks you through your orgasm, babbling on about how pretty you are and how well you took it. He looks so fucking pathetic with his shiny eyes and needy whimpers that before you even know it, he’s ripping another orgasm out of your already fucked out body.

“Goddammit, Beomgyu…” You squeal, toes curling at the very intense second orgasm, your body shuddering with the unexpected sharp waves of pleasure racking through it. And through it all, Beomgyu continues fucking you. You can feel his cock begin to harden once again inside you, and as the brutal second orgasm leaves your body, you wince at the overstimulation, putting your hands against his sweaty chest and starting to push him away.

“That’s enough, Beomgyu. I can’t take any more.”

But he resists you, shaking his head. “One more. Please, one more.”

“No.” You tell him firmly, “Don’t be bad. Pull out.”

He searches your face for any hint of leniency, his big pretty eyes trying to convince you to change your mind but you can’t. He’s fucked you so hard, your poor pussy requires a much needed rest.

You both watch as he slowly pulls out, his once again hard cock glistening with your cum and his, his seed dripping down your ass now that he wasn’t plugging your pussy up.

“Oh, baby, does that hurt?” You coo, grabbing his cock. He lets out a sigh of relief as you begin stroking it. “Yeah. So bad.”

The little shit is milking this, but you play along. “Poor baby. Let me make it go away.” You grin, suddenly speeding up, the slide of your hand so easy when his cock is well-lubricated. You make sure to maintain your position, with him hovering over your splayed open body so he can rake his eyes over it, and you clearly seeing him struggling to choose where to look between your tits that jiggle as you jerk him off quickly, the cum leaking out of your puffy pussy, and your swollen lips as you swipe your tongue over them.

It doesn’t take long for you to have him spilling his seed again, landing on your tummy as he doubles over and buries his head in your neck.

“That’s it, good boy.” You praise him, using your free hand to stroke his long hair that you love so much.

You let him lay there for a whole, catching his breath that is so irregular and stuttered that you almost don’t notice when he starts crying if it wasn’t for the hot tears falling on your skin.

“Beomgyu?” You call out, and a heart-breaking sob breaks out of his chest.

"Please, come back to me." He croaks against your neck.

"What?" You sit up, making him sit up with you and pulling his face away from your shoulder so you can look at him, your heart sinking at the tears streaming down his face. "I can't fucking bear seeing you with him any longer. It hurts so much."

Oh fuck.

"Beomgyu… Yeonjun isn't–" You try to explain that you and Yeonjun had broken up but he cuts you off.

"It's not him, it's you!" He shouts, "I love you and I can't bear it any longer. And I know it's selfish and that you don't love me back, at least not in that way, but then you keep messing with me."

He loves you? He really loves you?

"But I thought you loved Haeun?" You need to know what exactly is happening with him and Haeun first.

"I thought I did too but whenever I'm with her, I find myself thinking of you. You’re always in my head, it ruins every moment I have with her. She hates you too, you know? She can't stand how much I love you. The reason we haven't fucked is not because she won't put out. It's because I only want you. I didn't want to lose it to anyone else but you."

"Beomgyu–"

"But you don’t fucking care. You just see me as your disgusting best friend who you can play with and push away when you're done with him and I can't even bring myself to hate you for it. That's how much I love you. So just please… please give me a break."

“You think I was playing with you?” The idea seems absurd to you. How can he possibly think that? You've done everything in your power to not show how much you love him but never in your wildest dreams would you think that would mean he would see it as you playing with him.

“Weren’t you? I mean the way you spoke to me… you always pushed me away. I had to beg each time for you to even kiss me.” He peers at you, pain and vulnerability shining in his eyes as he recalls the way you treated him.

Fuck, you've been so obsessed with not letting your love for him show that you've done the same thing to him you thought he was doing to you. Knowing that pain all too well, you can’t bear the thought of being the cause of it.

You grab his face in your hands and kiss him, intending to pour out your own feelings the same way he did, hoping to staunch the flood of heartbreak you’re witnessing and calm him down enough for him to realize you feel the same way.

But his reaction wasn't what you expected. He breaks down crying. "You're so cruel."

"No, no! I love you too!" Your hands are in a flurry around his face, wiping his tears, stroking his hair, caressing his cheeks, anything to calm him down.

"What? This is not funny." He sobs, looking like a wounded animal. Your heart aches at the sight.

"No, fuck, I've loved you for years! The whole friends with benefits thing I started was just an excuse to have a way to be with you."

He stares at you in utter shock, the confusion the only thing stopping his tears from drowning you. "But you never even hinted that you liked me. You called me all kinds of names, freak, disgusting, pervert…"

"I thought you liked these..." You trail off sheepishly.

"I did but it still makes a guy think.” He mumbles, his fingers playing with yours nervously. “You wouldn’t let me touch you or kiss you."

"I was afraid if I let you kiss me, I wouldn't want you to stop. And I didn’t want you to touch me because I was afraid you wouldn’t like what you saw." It sounds so silly now that you're saying it out loud–now that you know he loves you and has wanted you just as badly.

"That's stupid. I had already seen it all." He tells you casually and you frown. "When?"

"You don't always shut the door when you're changing." He shrugs.

"Pervert!" You gasp, hitting him with no real power behind it. "What about you? You never hinted at anything either. You only ever talked about my body."

"Well, it did start just physical but I quickly realized that I'm in love with you. Then I kept only mentioning your body because you'd freak out on me whenever I hinted at anything else."

"Fair." You pout, realizing you’ve done as much to hurt yourself as he did.

"I didn't want to let it show that I loved you because I was so afraid you'd pull away like you did a couple of times. And then you were with Yeonjun and it fucking killed me so I had to pretend it was just sexual."

"Oh god, that's exactly what I've been doing.” You cover your face with your hands, mortified at your stupidity. We're fucking dumbasses."

“Yes, we are.” He replies fondly, taking your hands away from your face so you can look at him, refusing to let you hide anymore. "So you'll break up with him and be with me?"

"We broke up a while back.” You admit sheepishly. “He said he can't be with me when you and I are clearly in love with each other."

“So let me get this straight, Yeonjun could tell we love each other but somehow we, the two people involved, didn’t have a clue?” He raises an eyebrow at you and you nod. “I think it’s safe to say we won’t be winning any genius awards anytime soon.”

“We could win the biggest dumbasses award though.” He cracks a smile, pulling you close to him and resting his forehead against yours.

“No one could even compete.” You grin, kissing him. He immediately deepens the kiss, frantic and hungry still.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Beommie. We have all the time in the world.” You tease as if you weren’t just as needy, making him whine. “I can’t help it. You made me yearn for so long.”

“Yearn? Oh, that’s bad. I made you use the word yearn.”

He yanks your legs up, sending the rest of your body flying backwards and hitting the mattress, your loud giggles quickly covered by his mouth as he kisses you harshly, his teeth biting down on your lips in annoyance when you still don’t stop laughing.

“Stop it.” He whines in defeat as he pulls back, and you try to keep your giggles under control, his pout is entirely too devastating to look at.

"Are you gonna break up with her?" You ask and he doesn't hesitate to say, "Of course."

That makes you smile, happy with how easily he chose you, but then a thought pops into your mind and you frown. "You know, I hated her but I still feel kinda bad for fucking you behind her back." You really do. You've never condoned cheating, even if it was on someone as vile as Haeun.

"Oh you mean the same way she fucked the whole football team?" He counters and you gape at him, "God damn. Why did you even stay with her for that long?"

He shrugs. "Needed a distraction. And to not come across as a loser in front of you. I mean you were with Yeonjun. I couldn't just be alone."

"Oh, honey…" You coo, but anything you planned to say is suddenly forgotten as you feel his cock pressing against your entrance.

"Beommie!" You squeak. “What are you doing?”

"You thought we were done? You spread your legs for my bandmate. I'm gonna have to look at him every day knowing he had you first. I gotta make sure you and everyone else knows who exactly you belong to."

It may not be the most healthy coping mechanism, but you’ll let him have it for now. You’re sure you wouldn't be very happy if you were in his position either. Besides, getting to fuck Beomgyu isn’t exactly what you would consider a punishment.

_________

A/N: Click here for the Yeonjun ending on Patreon.

Also for my patreons, you could suggest a scene from gyu's pov and I'll choose one. There will also most likely be some drabbles about oc and gyu's life after the ending (mostly smut featuring our favorite desperate boy lol) and some will be released on tumblr and others will be exclusive to patreon.

Patreons may also suggest a continuation of a previous fic/drabble. I will do my best to release at least something monthly on there.

Taglist: @blxxsss@sanasour@tinkw1nks@lol6sposts@zuzuhasablog@beomsl@seolis-world@stantxtorurmissingout@wonwooz1@yaorzu-blog@allylikesdabee@rkivezzs@malieno@leviathanlee26@yomomas-stuff@kurisaiyunobara@girlwholovekpop@zuzuhasablog@viaaasdiary@ho3forkpop@skzvcr@th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @izzyexe @boomfrogg @kpop-cakepops-recs @chronicallygyu @girlwholovekpop

#txt smut #dom!reader #sub!idol #tomorrow x together smut

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intheorangebedroom · 3 months

Text

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 2

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.

Two months have passed since your first time at the motel with Frankie. What has changed, what hasn't. Who are you now?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 PLEASE, see series masterlist for extensive trigger warnings.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 How are you all? Gentle reminder that our Reader is an OFC. In this chapter, we get to know her better, and there are indirect physical descriptions of her. Sincerest apologies to anyone who knows Tampa. I did a lot of research, but I'm afraid my ignorance will still show… I swear I did my best. Raul is real, though. He's a friend of a very dear friend and he lives in Paris.

@frannyzooey my love, as always, I am in your debt. Thank you for your help. I love you more than words 🧡

I hope you enjoy this one, Orange besties, it made me sweat blood, @dreamymyrrh and @pedrit0-pascalit0 had to listen to my constant whining to put me on life support. Ily 🧡

Word count: 8.6k

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Chapter 2: Closer

The traffic is dense, but you spot Ava’s red Toyota as soon as it turns into E 7th avenue.

On any given Saturday, the upbeat neighborhood is bustling with cheerful crowds of leisured weekenders and hip thirty-something. On this particular Saturday, the first after Thanksgiving, the streets are a vision from hell.

There’s a constant ballet of cars pulling in and out along the curbs. On each side of the avenue, the sidewalks are swarming with jittery shoppers, frenetically prospecting for good deals on potential Christmas gifts. You’re willing to bet that most of them will stretch their budget thin on useless, meaningless knickknacks. Generic trinkets without soul nor purpose but that will, for the first half hour of ownership at least, fill the void in their consumers’ existence.

The traditional Christmas tree of unholy proportions is up and sparkling. Wrapped around the iron porch columns, electrical garlands blink in rapid sequences like luminescent spasmodic snakes. Storefronts are decorated with more or less taste. The temperature has dropped twice below 70. It’s that time of the year.

The merry season usually finds you adding a generous helping of anxiolytics to your daily cocktail of little helpers. This year, however, you haven’t popped a pill in days, and everything feels… more. Louder, too vivid, more oppressive. Sensations magnified and emotions amplified. Which is, after all, what you were aiming at when you unilaterally decided to taper off your intake.

Ava miraculously secures a free spot on the other side of the avenue, about a hundred yards in front of yours. You watch her parallel park, the maneuver surprisingly sloppy, given the parking assist technology the brand-new hybrid car is equipped with, and you wonder if you really needed to spend that much money on it.

In front of your own parked car, pedestrians agglutinate at the crosswalk. When the light turns green, they move as one, like flocks of extras on a movie set, coming to life on cue when the director yells “action!”

They’re not extras, however, each one of them is the main character in the movie of their life. Together they form a constellation of individual and interconnected stories, while you stand at the margin, forever exhausted, willfully forlorn. At best, a supporting part in Ava’s fantastic tale of eccentric adventures, but more likely a backdrop in your father’s gripping success story.

Although, your narrative has changed drastically over the past two months. You now got a part in your own right, unfolding in between takes.

You wait until Ava gets out of her vehicle before you exit yours, reluctant to leave the hushed safety of your old sedan’s cab, even for the few minutes it’ll take you to meet with her and step into the coffee place.

You wave at her from across the busy street until she sees you, but when she proceeds to jaywalk over to you, reckless and entirely indifferent to your pleading expression, you have to avert your eyes. There’s a crosswalk right in front of you, god dammit.

She levels up with you and pecks a kiss on your cheek, hitting your cheekbone with force, more headbutt than demonstration of affection.

“Hey,” she says, barely stopping in her tracks before she pushes open the glass door to the coffee shop.

“Hello, pup,” you answer fondly, your words lost to the street’s bustle.

Inside, the artificial air instantly pulls at your skin. The atmosphere is cool but dry, saturated with the smell of freshly grounded coffee beans and greasy-sweet pastries. The high-ceiling, cement floor, wide open-space is packed. The brick walls reverberate the ambient noises, and the late morning sun beams brightly through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, evenly spaced along the lateral walls. People sit in small parties around the white designer tables, sipping iced coffees from tall red paper cups with white snowflakes, large shopping bags at their feet.

Trying your best not to shrink and shrivel from the multiple overwhelming stimuli, you focus on Ava’s back, walking behind her as she leads the way to a free table at the rear of the coffee shop, between the counter and one of the windows. There’s a regal quality to her gait and the way she carries herself, not unlike your father, the resemblance enhanced by her preference for masculine clothing, and you have to love the irony, given how much she hates the man. She has your mother’s beauty, though. The same luxurious dark hair, fair, flawless skin, and wide green eyes, her frame tall, her figure athletic. She’s the masterpiece. Next to her, you look like a clumsy first draft, with blurry edges and hesitant features.

She throws her jean jacket on the back of her chair and collapses on her seat with a theatrical sigh.

Across from her, you sit down gingerly on the edge of the hard wooden chair, balancing your weight around the sore and delicious ghost sensation of Frankie between your hips.

“You look good,” you start.

“Yeah, you too!” she exclaims, like it’s unexpected, “tired but like, good. Are you getting any sleep?”

You smile, waving your hand dismissively.

“Don’t we have to go to the counter to order?”

“No, it’s fine,” she answers, “they serve at the table. I’m having an oat milk matte, what do you want?”

“An espresso, I think.”

Right on cue, a young woman dressed in a black cropped top and black skinny jeans presents herself at your table and proceeds to tap in your order on a rectangular electronic device. Her long acrylic nails hit the screen with a rapid succession of click-click-click. The sound brings you back to your parents' dining-room, the large table standing like an angular island on the shiny square of reflective tiles, in the middle of a shag carpet ocean. Your mother’s nails, painted in Revlon Desirable #150, rattling impatiently over the lacquered surface of the dining table near her untouched plate and a glass of G&T sweating with condensation. She never ate her food. She drank even when she was pregnant.

Your fingers find the back of your knee and pinch the thin skin there, so hard you flinch.

The waitress waltzes off, and Ava returns her full attention to you.

“I’m happy to see you,” she offers, and you smile softly at her uncustomary expression of affection. Your chest expends. “It’s been a while.”

There’s no reproach in her tone, but you are usually the one expressing ill-concealed concern over her long silences, and the reversal in your dynamic throws you off. Guilts gnaws at you. You choose defense.

“You were away.”

“Yeah, but like, I came back three weeks ago.”

Three weeks. Your smile fades and you slump in your chair, running a quick mental calculation.

Time has never been an easy concept for you to grasp, but until recently, you’ve managed to remain afloat and functioning, on a practical level at least, amidst a society that revolves around schedules and timetables. The watch on your wrist, yearly organizers, recently and reluctantly replaced by the iCal app on your phone, sticky notes, tin boxes filled with tickets stubs… All clutches to your failing memory, anything to keep you tethered against an overpowering and primal instinct to escape, let go, drift away. And perhaps, most of your exhaustion stems from this endless swimming-race against the current.

Lately, your inability to remember appointments, to navigate time and hold an effective grasp on reality has reached a new high. For the past two months, your life has revolved around Friday nights and the sound of a red pickup truck pulling in and out of a decrepit motel’s parking, tires screeching on the gravel. Inside this timeframe, your entire life is contained. Around it, the days stretch, spiral, and blend. And you’ve lost all motivation and interest in any counter-current swimming.

You frown slightly, scanning her face, but she doesn’t let on anything out of the ordinary. After all, if she genuinely worried, if she so badly needed to see you, she could have given you a call. You were the one to reach out and ask to see her this morning.

Something’s different about her, in the way she holds herself straighter on her seat, with her legs crossed and her head tilted to the side, exposing the undercut she got before the summer. You’re still not entirely sure if this was the bold fashion statement she claimed it to be, rather than a dramatic reaction to her girlfriend moving back to New York. With Ava, it could be both. She’s not wearing any makeup today, her face looks disarmingly young, and the concern she’s expressed, however subtle, churns your insides with guilt and affection.

You plaster a polite smile on your face.

“Well, I’m here now. It’s good to see you, too. Tell me, how was New York? How’s Polly?”

The waitress returns with the pastries and beverages you ordered, and Ava begins to narrate her two-week trip to the big city. She speaks fast, punctuating her words with large gestures to describe the cultural buoyancy, the hip neighborhoods and her thrifts finds, the street food and the refined, cutting-edge restaurants, how everything is bigger there, faster and better, how she fell safe walking hand in hand with Polly, the clubs, the galleries, the weather, crisp air and chilly winds from the north, a refreshing, comforting seasonality to pace the existence.

“I was fucking crying when I boarded the plane back, you have no idea.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” you sigh, shaking your head. “You don’t miss her too much?”

She doesn’t answer, and something in the way she avoids your gaze makes you frown again.

Polly and you have always gotten along well. You genuinely appreciate her solar personality and her worldly conversation. Their encounter four years ago had been the silver-lining in an otherwise horrendous year. The happy, coincidental consequence of a chain of events that had been years in the making.

When Ava dropped out of college halfway through her freshman year, it provided your father with the excuse he had been waiting for to kick his own child out of his house. You had seen it coming. In fact, you had spent your entire adult life shielding Ava from the paternal discontent, investing all your strength into becoming the son and successor he had wished for, and that neither of you could ever be.

Ava, however, had never put in the effort. She didn’t fit into the family portrait. She never had. You didn’t want her to, and she simply couldn’t. Too rebellious, decidedly unconventional, and, well, queer, to boot. Your father had spent years formatting you and there she was, standing proud, strengthened by your unconditional support, a glaring highlight of your diverging values, a breathing reminder of his failure with you both.

In the aftermath of the fall-out, Adrian had refused to take her in, and she had spent days out of your sight, sleeping god knows where. Eventually, you’d dug your heels in, as you only ever did when Ava was concerned and her wellbeing on the line, and obtained that she move in with you. The cohabitation hadn’t gone smoothly in the least. As usual, Adrian was more concerned about potentially upsetting your father than making you happy. You were once again caught between crossed fires.

The strained situation with your fiancé notwithstanding, Ava couldn't spend her time sitting idly at home. You had pleaded with her for weeks before she agreed to resume her studies. Only this time, it had to be with your funding. The realization that you didn’t have any consequential money of your own had been brutal, even though it shouldn’t have been a surprise: you lived in Adrian’s apartment, and were employed by your father, who refused point-blank to let you sell some of your company shares, knowing the money would go to his estranged daughter.

All you could afford was Hillsborough Community College, but things had eventually taken a turn for the better when Ava and Polly had met. Polly was teaching psychology, waiting for a tenure that she would never be granted. Because of the 20-year age gap between them, she insisted Ava graduate with her BA before they started properly dating. And when they did, the improvement in your sister’s mental state and overall balance was immediately noticeable.

Calm and collected, affectionate and thoughtful, Polly grounds your young sibling. She eases her anger and channels her energy into creative and fruitful endeavors, without snuffing her rebellious temper.

And now, despite Ava being almost fully independent, with a job and a place of her own, you don’t know what you’d do if they were to break up. If one of them were to decide that a long-distance relationship is not what she wants.

You lean forward, your hand coming to rest over hers, warm and smooth. “Hey pup, what’s up? Is everything ok between you two?”

“Oh yes,” she quickly assures you, withdrawing her hand, “and by the way, she sends you her best.”

Understanding downs on you like a bucket of ice. You suddenly feel stupid, pathetically naive, forever one step behind. Leaning back in your chair, you let out a short, soundless huff. What you’re facing is not a breakup, but the likely possibility that Ava will soon move out of town to follow Polly to New York.

Ava is talking again, about New York you’re guessing, but you can’t focus on her words. Behind your impassive eyes and your attentive smile, your mind reels and wrestles with a downpour of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Pride flares in your chest at the prospect of your baby sister setting roots in a city as intimidating as New York, but it tugs at something else, something you’re too scared to consider, and an ugly feeling you’re reluctant to acknowledge.

Would she hesitate before leaving you behind, after you’ve prioritized her freedom over yours? After you stayed so she could fly away? And wouldn’t it be the point?

Your eyes travel up along the trail of small tattoos adorning her forearms. Dominos, tea cups, a white rabbit with round glasses, a flamingo, several thin arrows, a broken heart in flames.

What’s your purpose, if she’s not here anymore? If someone else is looking after her? If your sacrifice is no longer necessary nor justified?

“How was Thanksgiving dinner? Did you have fun talking about politics with Richard?”

You wince involuntarily at your father’s name. She never refers to them as “mom” and “dad.” She hasn’t for a long while. But today the sarcasm doesn’t fool you, no more than her feigned indifference.

She’s not truly asking if you had to bite your tongue and smile through conversations that make you nauseous. She knows well enough you’ve got just enough political convictions to carry you to the voting poll, but hardly a step further. Listening to him is painful, but you get by, and your shameful silence buys you necessary peace.

No, what she wants to know is if your family inquired about her. And you don’t have it in you to answer that no, no one has, not last Thursday, not for the past four years, not ever. Not your indifferent father, nor your inebriated mother. Not your bigot grandparents, not your egotistic aunt and her gold-digging husband, not even the housekeeping staff.

You shrug noncommittally.

“Who were the guests of honor, this year?”

The question makes you groan and briefly close your eyes at the memory.

“Adrian’s parents.”

“No?! Fuck! They really want this marriage to happen, don’t they? Looks like you’re not gonna be able to dodge much longer.”

She smacks her hand over her thigh, letting out a short staccato of a chuckle, as if the subject of your confinement through marriage was a laughing matter. You glare at her, crossing your legs and folding your arms over your chest, but the shifting in your demeanor goes unnoticed.

Suddenly, her levity riles you up. She got away. You didn’t. And the only thing that carried you through this year’s Thanksgiving dinner is the perspective of being fucked senseless by a stranger on a dirty motel floor the following night.

For a brief moment, you’re tempted to bite, and retort that, contrary to her, you didn't spend the holiday on your own. But the truth is that you envy her the privilege, and she knows it.

Taking a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to calm your growing nerves, you stir the conversation towards another topic, finding neutral ground with her job. You’re stalling, and you’re not even good at it. You sit restless on that damn hard chair, squirming uncomfortably, sweat prickling under your armpits in the chill artificial air, eyes flicking down to your watch every other second.

“Do you have to be somewhere, or something?”

Your head shoots up. Again, you have no idea what she’s talking about, or how long she’s been rambling for. This is ridiculous. You are being ridiculous.

“Listen, Ava, I have to ask you something. A favor. I have to ask you a favor.”

Her eyes widen at your sudden change of tone but she nods. “Hit me.”

“I need you to… I need to be able to tell Adrian that I spend… that I spend Friday nights at your place. Actually, I’ve already been doing it for a while. He thinks we see each other on Friday evenings. I just… I need more time. I need the night.” You grip your shin with both hands and dig your nails in. “It really doesn’t matter anyway, he’s not home on Fridays, he plays poker and he never comes back until like, 3 or 4am, and I just need— I need to be able to come home after him. Not, like, every week. Or yes, maybe every week. Just in case. If ever. You know?”

She remains completely still and silent as you wrestle your words out of your throat. Her face hardens, her wide, green eyes strained on you. She gauges you in silence for another moment, while you rub your clammy palms on your jeans under the table. Above the table, you do your very best to maintain a casual air.

“And what exactly is it that you do, on Friday nights?”

You anticipated the question, of course you did. You swallow around the sharp stone stuck in your throat. Your eyes dart down to your espresso cup. It’s empty.

“I’m just taking a bit of time off for myself.”

More time, to commit his body and his face to your long-term memory after he’s left you, depriving you of his heat. The tiny bits of him that add up to form the formidable sum of the man he is. The locks that curl around his ears. The dip in his collarbone. The little target tattooed on his hand. You’re never sure which hand it’s on, you need more time, that’s all. And you won’t lie to her, not exactly. You set your mind on that early on. But you will not tell her the whole story.

A large shit-eating grin slowly parts her plump lips.

“Are you telling me that Richard’s favorite daughter is getting some side dick on a weekly fucking basis?”

“Jesus, Ava, why do you always have to be so crude?”

“But you are? Right? You are getting dicked down, every fucking Friday night? Right? Are you on Tinder, or something?”

“I’m not—” you start, but her excitement is louder than your exasperation. She uncrosses her legs to lean toward you, propping her elbows on the table and threading her fingers together, talking over you.

“Why didn’t you tell me? For once that something cool–”

“Because there’s nothing to tell,” you retort through clenched teeth, raising your voice. Her mouth hangs open in shock. You don’t give her time to recover. “And look, if you don’t want to do that for me, it’s fine, it’s not like anyone is going to call you to ask if I’m with you.”

She takes the blow, leaning back in her chair. “Wow. You really thought this through, didn’t you?”

You don’t answer, shame and anger burning your cheeks.

“Why you’re telling me now, then?”

“Like I said. In case.”

“I case what? In case I find myself on a Friday evening in the same place Adrian takes his cuntsluts?”

You steel yourself and stare at her.

“Something like that, yes.”

—

Two months.

Two months of lies and deception, shoving your bright secret deep down inside you, shrouded under a veil of routine and normalcy.

Nine weeks, split into six days of stretched out hours, swirling languid and excruciating, like smoke from a cigarette stub in a room without air, and one day of counting. The minutes, your steps, your breaths, your heartbeats.

Saturdays, worn-out, appeased, pleasantly aching. Sundays rising slow like a lurking threat. Mondays-Tuesdays-Wednesdays merging, dragging and useless. People talking to you, expecting words, when your mind is filled with two glistening bodies entwined in golden hues. A tremor on Thursdays, the nearing promise, and by Friday morning you’re all frayed nerves and aching want, tapping into your pent-up emptiness for focus and patience.

Friday evenings sliced up into a ritualized sequence of actions.

At 6pm, you leave your office and head toward the employees' underground parking. There are 37 steps from your desk to the two silver-doors elevators on the landing. Seventeen stories down, including 2 underground levels, and 58 steps from the elevators to your designated parking place. It is crucial that you don’t allow the pace of your steps to catch up with the racing thumps of your heart.

From downtown Tampa, it’s an hour and thirty-six minutes drive north on the 589, before you reach the motel. An hour and fifty minutes, two hours top, if the traffic’s bad. There might be faster alternative routes, but you don’t use the GPS, so you don’t know about them.

Once you’re there, you park in front of room number 7, the one with the missing brass number. You stuff your phone into your purse, which you slide under your seat.

You exit your car and walk towards the reception in short, hurried strides, cursing the tight skirt that hinders your steps and gives your posture a subdued aspect, which is probably why your father imposes the garment on his female employees.

The reception is a square room with an old humming AC unit, dark-brown fabric wallpaper, yellowing popcorn ceiling and a counter behind which sits Raul, the night clerk. Raul is a short man in his mid-60s. His dark eyes are reshaped into tiny concentric boot buttons by the thick lenses of his small, round glasses. His light brown, straight hair is styled in a bowl cut. He only wears beige Henley’s with rolled-up sleeves and indigo painter overalls. You’ve never seen his shoes.

Every week, Raul hands you the key to room number 2 without lifting his boot-button eyes from the charcoal drawing he busies himself over behind the counter, and tells you in a thick accent that “everything has already been taken care of.”

Every week, you thank Raul, grab the key from his stretched out left hand, and chance a glance over the counter to see what he’s drawing. Mountains, infallibly, week after week, the scenery only varying in shape and shades of anthracite.

And every week, as you exit the reception, you feel Raul’s boot-button eyes strained on your back through his round glasses.

When you step inside room number 2, you flick up the two toggle switches by the door, turning on the lights and the overhead fan, and you go to the bathroom to wash your hands and check your reflection in the antique black-edged mirror.

Then, you return to the room and you sit on the bed. That’s where you wait for him.

You don’t undress, you don’t lie down, you don’t undo the bed.

You know what he’ll do to your clothes. Anticipation trickles down along your spine all the way to the ripe heat between your thighs, and it travels right back up to tug up at the corners of your lips, but you press them together, lips and thighs, as you wait.

He comes in after dark, preceded by the sound of tires on gravel and that of his boots stomping on the porch and he’s here, Frankie’s here, the rush of night air from outside when he storms into the room wafting over your face.

He greets you with a hoarse voice, like he hasn’t used it all week, and he takes a couple of long strides towards the desk, where he sets down his cap. You peer at his reflection in the framed mirror when he combs his fingers through his dark curls, tense jaw, creased brow. You study his broad shoulders, the rippling muscles of his strong back, when he takes off his jacket and drapes it on the back of the chair, swift, precise gestures. It’s his own ceremonial, you let him have it, his transition into this world that you share. The confine of this room. Brown carpet, yellow curtains.

When he turns to face you, at last, it’s always with a heavy, grating sigh, a sound so rough and primitive to express his relief, his hunger, the limit of his patience. You stand up slowly, unfurling in slow motion from your sitting position on the edge of the bed, eyes on him, forever and always. His want radiates from him in colorful angry waves, like a tangible, virulent aura, black eyes boring into your skin and you welcome it as it pours out of him and creeps up to you like thick fumes.

You stand tall in the charged stillness of the motel room, offered, but not quite yet within reach, waiting for him to come and seize you.

“Take off your clothes,” he says as he comes closer, tilting up his chin. The command rumbles low and guttural from his throat, and those words are your cue. You clamber out of your statuesque stillness, twisting your ankles out of your pumps while he tugs at your blouse, as he crashes his lips onto yours.

His first kiss is voracious, unescapable, your face trapped between his cupped hands, and you’re engulfed in the taste of him, drowning in the scent of him, leather and soap and musk. And something metallic you have no name for. It’s intoxicating, you’re floating, losing both bearings and balance, like when you were thirteen, and you’d sneak to the downstairs pantry to drink your mother’s gin before dinner.

On some Friday nights, you’ve already made it back to your glass prison when you notice a tear in the seam of your shirt, or a missing button. “Take off those fucking clothes, I wanna feel your skin.”

“Yes,” you answer with parted lips, parted heart, parted life, jaunty fingers working your skirt open.

Beyond that point, neither of you talks much.

It’s his name –Frankie– falling from your lips, a long but quiet whimper when you come, a whine of pleasure-plain when he inches into you, a moan when you plead for more, a whisper when you promise you can take it all.

It’s his clipped orders, sharp and short.

Open up

Push back into it

Let me hear you

I want you to come on it

And two words, always the same since that first time in the parking lot.

Stop me.

Stop me when he pins your hands above your head or folds your arms in the small of your back, his fingers like shackles around your wrists, and he lines himself up. Stop me before his saliva drips down his tongue in fat drops between your breasts, and he straddles your chest. Stop me, when he closes a fist in your hair and slides you down along his hard length, your chest caving in under your gag reflex, beads of tears like precious shiny diamonds clinging to your lashes. Stop me when he angles your spine backwards with a sudden tug on your hair, when he bands an arm across your belly and ragdolls you to the floor to fuck you harder and deeper. Stop me when he ties your wrists to your ankles with the black zip ties that bite into your flesh.

Stop me with the flat of his hand pressing down between your shoulder blades, Stop me with his thumb teasing your tight ring, Stop me with your legs around his neck.

Those two words, a beacon guiding you through the week that precedes.

Sometimes, when you’re alone, you repeat them to yourself.

“Stop me,” you say, low and quiet, facing the mirror when you're applying makeup, staring straight into your eyes, so intently it twists your reflection.

“Stop me.” A whisper, and a slow-spreading, carnivorous smile that splits your face in two because someone, at last, wants you beyond reason.

Stop me. You will never stop him.

He fucks you twice, three times a night, before he leaves you covered in him, sated and sprawled on the rumpled bed around 2am, with a nod and a husked, “I’ll see you next Friday.” He sounds calm at last. Drained.

Once he’s gone, in the rumbling of the pickup’s engine and the screeching of the tires, your mental countdown to the next Friday is reset. You crouch into the narrow bathtub of dubious cleanliness, and ruefully wash him away in the trickle of hot water. You try to hold on to the thought of him, even more so than to the feeling of his touch. That’s what the soreness is for. It will stay with you until Monday at least.

But in your memory, his face is blurred. Only his sad angry eyes stand out, dreamlike, entrancing.

There's a conflicting distance beyond his hunger. An underlying restraint beyond his roughness. Withheld intimacy. A reluctance to give into your softest touches, when his forehead briefly rests on the plane of your chest, and you circle his neck, or carefully run your fingers through his sweat-soaked curls.

It doesn’t take a PhD in psychology to understand that if he wasn’t in here with you, he’d be somewhere else, doing something worse.

Some weeks, you go through strings of sleepless nights and restless days of anguish, your mind spiraling to the agonizing thought that you are nothing more to him than an empty and interchangeable vessel into which he can fuck his rage.

With masochistic thoroughness, you pull taut a red woolen thread to connect the clues of your insignificance.

He doesn’t name you. There are no sweet names, no terms of endearment, and he certainly never calls you Marion. The sounds he produces when he’s inside you, that’s your reward. Deep guttural grunts, and if you’re lucky enough, they resonate through your whole body when he holds you tight and close.

He never comes inside you. Where do you want it? he pants, when his hips start to fall out of pace. “Mouth,” you quickly answer, always, a greedy match for his gritty ways. And most times, he obliges. Flips you around or scoot over you and shoves his pulsating cock into your warm, wanton mouth.

But sometimes, he doesn’t. The thick pearly white ropes of his spend spurt over your back, your belly, your chest. That’s when he’s got a mind to rub it into your skin. That’s when you want to believe he might have chosen you to be here with him.

In those scarce instances, you are tempted to rely on your instinctual understanding of your relationship. Far from the toxic codependency that, according to Ava, you feed into with Adrian, what you share with Frankie is elsewhere entirely. Week after week, he presents himself before you, visibly wounded, willing to offer exactly as much as he needs to receive. The balance is perfect. No travesty, complete equality. The purest form of interaction. The most honest transaction you’ve ever taken part in.

And thus, no matter how remote he may seem on some nights, no matter how dark his eyes, how clouded his gaze, or how brutal his hold, you can’t help but feel safe.

The feeling thrums underneath your skin and finds an echo in his bloodstream. You hear it in your shared silence, when you lie side by side on the bed and stare emptily at the ceiling, chests heaving, bodies cooling off. When a shiver rakes through you, he gets up and turns off the overhead fan. Walks over to the bathroom to bring you a glass of water.

He’s given you everything you wanted and didn’t know how to ask for.

And when he looks you in the eyes, he doesn’t blink.

Stop me, he says, and what you hear is, Trust me.

He’s been quick to learn your body, and he’s greedy with your highs. He keeps you pinned down onto the threadbare linen with his mouth fastened around your cunt until your legs tremble and your throat is hoarse with your repeated high-pitched moans, the stubble on his cheeks scraping the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Bestowing pleasure, drinking it right back.

Your body expands into new sensations, after years of a dormant existence, curled up within your outer shell into the tightest ball, the smallest possible shape. You’re spreading, stretching into your limbs, filling them in. Growing nerve endings that shoot farther along your extremities with each fiery kiss, each starving touch, each orgasm, like trees rooting in beautiful, intricate ramifications.

The wild creature nestled between your lungs has a mind of its own. You’re developing emotions unknown to you until now.

The tranquil contentment he leaves you with when he steps back into the night and closes the door behind him rapidly fades over the following days. By Sunday evening, there’s nothing left of it, and you find yourself shivering, deprived of his heat, unsettled, agitated.

Your mind wanders to her. The faceless, nameless woman he drives back to after you’ve fucked each other free of your pain.

Envy, tinged with hatred, pours ugly inside your chest, pressing against your rib cage, hindering your breathing, its heavy particles tainting your oxygen.

Does he handle her with reverence? Does he use sweet names to beckon her into his embrace? Does he spit in her mouth, does she beg him to? Does he rub his spend into her skin, or does he stuff her pussy full of his seed?

Whenever you loosen the grip on your thoughts, you’re brought back to a large reception room on the last floor of another glass prison, stilettos wounding your feet, strangers with empty smiles and cruel eyes drinking from crystal champagne glasses. The excruciating misery of having to interact with Adrian’s colleagues, laughing at golf jokes you did not understand, desperate to fit in. Fighting your survival instinct, to tether yourself and not present a blank stare to those people you were supposed to impress. As Adrian’s fiancée. As your father’s daughter.

The effort seemed worth it, then. You were in love. Or so you thought. In hindsight, you’re not certain anymore. Reinterpreting your past is a temptation you try not to succumb to. In more then one way, you still love him.

There was a hushed tremor in the faceless assembly of tuxedos and cocktail dresses, and you saw her entering the room, parting the crowd. Slender, swaying, lush honey blonde locks and incandescent hazel eyes. Junior partner at Adrian’s firm, quickly climbing the ranks, flawless makeup and oozing self-confidence, she smoked Vogue cigarettes and when your gaze returned to Adrian, everything fell into place. You knew with a chilling certainty that this formidable young woman was fucking your boyfriend.

Adrian had had a couple of flings in the past, but this one was different. He fell for her hard, a grown man in a teenage-like trance. Your blood left your face when you realized everyone else in the penthouse, and most likely in the firm, could see what you were seeing.

You decided then and there that you were never going to marry him, regardless of what he or your father would threaten you with.

But even then, what you had experienced wasn’t jealousy. You’d felt trapped, and yes, betrayed. Wounded, in what little self-esteem you possessed. Thoroughly defeated. But you did not feel jealous.

You understand it now, and every time you think of Frankie’s touch grazing the faceless woman. Every time you torture yourself into considering the nature of their bond and the depth of their attachment.

Would Frankie look at you the way Adrian looked at her? With blunt desire, unabashed, irrepressible thirst? With belonging? Would people around you know? Would they identify you as lovers?

After all, a single glance had been enough for him to take you from a bar, to a parking lot, to a motel. To make you desperate to mean something to him.

Does he miss you outside your shared time? Does he think of you? Does his mind wander to your skin in the blue morning hours, does he try to name your scent?

Deep down, you are no fool. If there’s one thing you’ve always known in this life, it’s your place.

But some Friday nights are more dangerous. They give you too much hope. Prompting you to call your sister, for instance, and risk your little secret so you can spend more time in the small room with the yellow curtains. Wrap yourself in the dirty sheets that bear his musky scent, instead of jumping into the shower. Linger into that breach of your life’s continuum. Extend the delusion.

Last Friday, he buried his face into your core and drew violent waves of release that he kissed back into you, swirling his tongue into your mouth to coat it with your taste.

His face was shiny with your slick and his body glistening with sweat in the soft yellow hues from the bedside lamps, when he got up to the desk and slid his belt out of the loops of his pants.

Your eyes grew wide, but not with fear.

He placed you face down on the bed, with your arms along your chest, and he trapped your body with the belt. You accompanied his movements, docile, curious, without apprehension. The metal buckle was cool on your feverish skin, and the leather smelled like him.

Stop me. He was hard and thick, and he fucked into you in long, thorough strokes, dragging the round tip of his cock along your clenching walls, slamming his hips into the swell of your ass. With his thumb pushing into your asshole and his hand around the belt to keep you where he needed you to lie still.

You came in seismic tides that quaked along your body in concentric ripples, from your wrung out core to the extremities of your fingers and toes. The sound that came out of your throat was unrecognizable, and perhaps it was his. Your mind tipped over into unconsciousness. When you resurfaced, his cock was rubbing in the cleft of your cheeks, his come leaking down the curve of your back, mixing in with your combined sweat, his chest pressing down onto your shoulder blades.

You felt his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, hot breath searing his choked up words into your soul.

“You’re a good girl. Say it. Say you’re a good girl.”

“I’m— I’m—“

“That’s it, say it for me.”

He was lying heavy on top of you, sinking you into the mattress, his belt buckle digging into your side. This was going to leave a mark.

“I’m a good girl.”

“You’re my good girl.”

You will never stop him.

—

Sitting on the edge of the bed, with your back straight and your ankles crossed, you wait. Eyes on the yellow curtains, darting beyond the dusty fabric into the warm December night. It’s yours. All of it. Yours until morning.

There’s the faintest hint of a bad taste sitting on the back of your tongue. Coppery, bloodlike. It comes in waves every time you remember how you twisted your baby sister’s arm into covering for you. But the night is yours. You swallow hard, force a smile. You want to be guiltless, for once.

“Polly says you’re overly secretive. That you like to live ‘hidden between the folds of life’, as she puts it. Something about culpability being a coping mechanism…”

The words, delivered flatly after you’d stubbornly diverted and defused all her questions, had cut through the most tender parts of your flesh.

“Is that her professional opinion?” you had retorted, your chin tilted up as if you were not bleeding inside.

You swallow hard again. If you close your eyes, if you concentrate, you can almost hear it. The pickup’s engine, bolting down the asphalt, bringing him into your needy arms. You can feel the heat radiating from his solid chest and seeping into your body through your palms, resting empty and upwards on your lap. Your tongue tingles with his tangy taste, a trail of goosebumps breaks across your skin, anticipating his caress.

Frankie.

The daydream that carries you through the week, carries you through that very last stretch.

Until the man himself storms into the room like bad weather. Dark, electric, a standing threat.

One look at his face and you know. It’s going to be one of these nights that make you doubt everything.

At first, the change in the script is barely perceptible. There is no gentle acclimatization, no ceremonial, no tacitly shared ritual. He doesn’t face away to let you observe his reflection in the mirror. But he looks like he hasn’t slept since last Friday. The crease in his brow is forbidding, his eyes are too bright, too clouded, circled in black and you’re dizzy with the distance you find there. Tension rolls out from his taut muscles underneath his clothes and you stand up, alert, if not entirely ready.

“Get naked,” he growls, tugging his gray t-shirt over his head, his trucker hat falling to the floor and tonight, you miss your cue.

Instead, you come closer, extending your hands towards him. You call him in a murmur, Frankie, but the wild thumping of his heart under your trembling palms cuts you short.

The light flickers in his eyes, so you hang in brave, hang onto the thread of your touch, sliding your hands up his burning chest. He stills. His gaze focuses on you for the first time since he came in. Your fingertips brush lightly along his collarbone, to the dip at the base of his neck, where they linger, underlining the hollow shape of it, skating around his neck to his nape. His brow shifts, his jaw ticks, and you draw him in for a kiss.

He jolts when your lips meet his. His hands grip your hips, rough and desperate. This is the part where you melt into him, surrender to his touch, but tonight the balance is tipped off. He licks into your mouth with a pained, muffled whimper, and your eyes remain open.

You’re powerless, powerless to get to him and bring him back to you from wherever the hell he may be. And his distance settles between your two bodies, an invisible partition. It stands erect and opaque, projecting its shadow over you when he lies you down on the synthetic quilt and dives between your hips. His ministrations are detached, performative, mechanical. There’s no contained urgency in his handling of you. Empty touches, empty silence, and you orgasm weakly, the sensation floating on the surface of you.

You can sense him, trapped behind his black eyes and this damn crease that splits his face above them, only you can’t reach him. He won’t let you. For every one of your attempts at a caress, at tenderness, is rejected by a shrug, a push of his hand, a shake of his head.

Sweat breaks on his forehead and dampens his curls as he becomes restless, showing none of the familiar signs of the relief he finds in your release, when he hums softly into you, lapping at your entrance to capture what you offer him, what he drew from you. Impatience and desperation roughen his grip on you. He shoves you to the head of the bed and you scramble, sliding on the slippery quilt, curled on your side, until you’re caged between his rigid body and the headboard.

There’s no warning, no Stop me, when he lines himself up with a stifled groan. You bury your face into the pillow and bite down on it to muffle the pain when he splits you open. He starts rutting into you with unrestrained strength, forcing through the vice grip of your tight cunt around his hard length. You try to relax into it. That’s all you ever want, for him to fill you up, to be inside you and around you, but that’s the thing: he’s not touching you. Not really.

Instead of gripping the curve of your hips, or kneading your breast, or lying between your shoulder blades, his hands are clenched on the headboard, white knuckled. His bent knee doesn’t quite touch your folded legs, his hips don’t even slap against the swell of your cheeks.

“Frankie,” you try, but your voice comes out thin as a ripping thread. It’s immediately drowned under the sounds filling the room, the creaking of the bed, his strained breathing.

“Frankie,” you call again, louder this time, reaching to the side to grab his thigh.

He jerks at the contact, sliding out of you with a hiss like you just burned him with a red-hot iron. You grab the side of the headboard to haul yourself up. Behind you, you feel him falling back on his knees. For a few seconds, you can’t bring yourself to move. You remain hunched over, fingers wrapped so tightly on the hardboard, your nails digging into the cheap, tender wood.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, and you turn around to face him.

Your heart sinks and chatters at the sight of him, of his glassy, pleading eyes that won’t meet yours. His chest heaves with exertion, and the weight of something else. He grazes a palm over his face, tilting his head down.

“I hurt you. I fucking hurt you, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tonight, this is it. These words are your cue.

“No,” you start, scooting closer to him as he shakes his head, exhausted, isolated. The gesture no longer carries the warning it did as he was about to succumb. It’s a measure of his failure, of the depth of his defeat, and it chills you to the bones.

“No,” you repeat, stronger, and you offer him the only lifeline you know.

Closing the physical distance, you straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. When his body stiffens, you harden your hold.

“Frankie… Frankie…” you coo, again and again, like his name holds the solution, and all of your devotion. You say it as you press your forehead to his, as you rub your cheek against his stubble, as you nuzzle the sharp edge of his nose, and trace his plush lips with yours.

Until his shoulders sag under your embrace, until you feel the choked up breath that quakes his chest, you keep repeating his name. A few minutes, or an infinity of seconds, time doesn’t matter anymore. The night is yours, your skins are glued together in the soft yellow light.

His arms circle your waist, hesitant at first, but you encourage him, raking your fingers through his hair, twining them into his soft curls. He lets you, he gives in, tucking his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales you there, raising the soft hair on your nape. His voice is broken when he speaks.

“I’m not–”

“Frankie don’t, please don’t,” you cut in.

You know the words that are piling bitter and desperate on his tongue, know them on an instinctual level. You feel them swirling, black and hopeless inside his head, you’ve known them from the very beginning, recognized them in the sadness of his angry stare. And you won’t let him pronounce them inside this room you share, you won’t let him give them any kind of substantiality. Not between your arms, not against your skin.

“I’m not hurt,” you begin, pulling back to see his face, to look into his eyes and sink your words of hope and faith into him, past the barrier of remorse and regret, “I want everything you–” but his brow furrows deeper as he clenches his eyes shut, and you trail off.

Panic briefly floods your brain. You’re acutely aware of your shortcomings and limitations, of all the things you’ve never been taught growing up. How to translate feelings into words, how to express compassion, how to care for others. How to be heard.

You take a deep, shaky breath, your breasts pushing into his chest.

“Look at me, Frankie baby. Look at me. Let me–”

Let me in. Let me be yours. Let me mean something.

Your plea dies on your tongue when his eyes shoot open. They shine with unshed tears, pierced by a ray of light from the bedside table, and for the first time, you see that they’re not black. They were never black. His eyes are brown, a deep, rich, precious mahogany brown. The color paints your vision, it flows into your bloodstream and courses along your veins. It spreads into your heart, gets tangled in your soul. Around you, the whole world disappears, along with everyone in it. There is only him, his mahogany eyes brimming with tears, and the feeling of his hot, damp skin against yours.

His arms wrap tighter around your back, his warmth seeps into your bones. His hands find purchase on your curves, drawing you closer.

“I want you so badly to be real,” he whispers, quiet and pained, like he can’t ask you this much, but you know that, for him, you’re willing to be.

“I’m so sorry,” he says again.

Swallowing down the tremor in your throat, you give him a tender smile, tinted with gratitude, colored with praise. You cup his face, fingernails scratching at the heart-shaped patch on his jawline. His eyes flicker down to your lips, and you give him what he needs, leaning in to press them to his.

Underneath you, his length throbs with unreleased hunger, and you sway your hips over it. He moans against your lips, the vibration trails down to your core like hot, liquid amber. His tongue peaks out, and you open up for him, like you always have, like you always will. A grating sound comes out of his throat, an echo of your gratitude, a mirror of your pain, a reflection of your loneliness.

He breaks the kiss to lift you up gently, helping you find friction with his cock sliding between your folds, where it pulsates hard and thick against your clit. Your limbs turn to molasses, toffee soft and sticky, but your hips lock into a slow, languid rhythm, slick pooling down on him as you stroke him between your two bodies. His right hand skates up flat along your spine, to settle on your nape.

He draws you in closer, closer than you’ve ever been. His heart beats inside your chest, enveloping the purring wild creature you still can’t name or tame.

“Make us come, baby.”

A dry sob undulates up to your throat. Your eyes fill with hot tears, they spill against his temple. Mahogany explodes inside your brain. The night is yours.

“Yes, Frankie.”

“Make us come together.”

****

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deerlottie · 2 months

Text

🐶🦝— drama

summary: shauna and nat find themselves falling in love with you at the same. warnings: 18+ MDNI, transmasc!nat, threesomes, fighting, fem!reader

you'd be lying if you said things weren't awkward between you and your best friends.

recently, you've noticed just how close shauna and nat have gotten to you over the past few months you all have been trapped in this forest. maybe it's because they needed someone to talk to and you were always willing to listen, you think. but you don't think that's true.

at least not anymore.

not when they've both attempted to kiss you.

not to say that you rejected them - trust me, it's lonely as hell in this huge forest, of course you get needy sometimes. needy like how nat gets when it's just you two hunting for some game and you both end up hooking up near the plane crash site. or needy like shauna in the middle of the night, her hands caressing you under the sheets.

they're both unaware of the others advances though - something you've praised yourself for hiding this long. it's hard sometimes with them always trying to tug you away to hook up, but you've gotten use to making excuses.

that was until shauna noticed a huge hickey that nat left.

shit.

"it's nothing." you hide your neck with your sweater, pulling it over your head, "probably just a bug bite."

"what bug could make that big of a mark?" shauna sneers, trying to pull your hoodie down to get another look. you smack her hand away, getting up from the cold attic floor and standing.

"seriously, shauna. it's nothing!" you grip your hoodie to keep her from fucking with it. she glowers at you from the floor, mumbling something before pulling out her journal, no doubt about to write about you.

to make matters worse, you hear someone fumbling with the door of the attic, cursing at how it's always jammed. you mentally face palm when it's revealed to be none other than natalie.

he eyes you and shauna, face turning sour as he wonders why you're with her. you see him glance at her before smirking, walking up to you and toying with the strings of your hoodie.

"why're you covering up my marks? too shy to show them off?" nat's voice is deep and teasing as he pulls your hoodie down, grabbing your cheeks to move your head to the side while appreciating his hickeys.

"natty," you whine lowly, shrinking into yourself as his eyes darken. he runs a thumb over your lips and leans into kiss you but is interrupted by shauna. "enough! i'm sick of you trying to steal her from me." she growls, throwing her journal to the ground and yanking you back to her by your sleeve.

you gasp out quietly, shauna holding you tightly by her side as if she'd never let you go. nat's lip curls in a scowl, clenching his fist at shauna's sudden display of control.

"she's yours? who is she marked by then?" nat mocks with a tilt of his head. shauna's grip on you tightens uncomfortably, her nails digging into you skin before she pushes you away and lunges for nat.

you watch in shock as they shove each other, yelling out profanities. nat gets a good punch to shauna's mid-section, laughing as she falls to the ground and clutches her stomach. shauna looks up with a death glare before getting up and successfully punching nat and making him fly to the ground.

she gets on top of him, pounding into his chest for a few seconds before you snap out of your shock, rushing over to them. "shauna, what the fuck? get off of him!" you try and peel her back but she's stronger, pushing you away and causing you to land on your ass.

in a sudden movement, shauna's hands are around nat's throat and the air goes still as he lets out a deafening moan. you don't know if it's his embarrassment or the fight that causes him to blush so hard, but your eyes widen either way.

"i always knew you wanted both of us." shauna whispers, her hand gripping tighter. nat's eyes roll to the back of his head and he squirms underneath her. "i bet the only reason why you marked her so obviously was so that i would see and beat the shit of you. pervert."

nat lets out a pathetic whine at the word and lifts his hips up against shauna's.

"is that true?" you ask breathlessly, mouth agape by shauna's accusation. they both turn towards you at the sound of your voice, eyes hungry and dark like you're nothing more than their prey.

"y-yes." nat confesses, and shauna lets go of his throat, allowing both of them to sit up. they crawl closer to you and you try to scoot back, but you hit a wall with nowhere to go. "but it wasn't all for her." he starts kissing over his old hickeys, littering your neck with new ones. "i meant it when i said you're mine."

"ours." shauna growls, getting on your other side and tugging your shirt down, nipping at your collarbone. their hands slip under your shirt, groping your tits and you arch into the touch. you lean your head against the cabin wall, letting their hands wander wherever they want.

"fine. ours, whatever." nat mumbles, still wanting you all to himself. but he can share his meal with shauna, especially one as delicious as you.

you moan softly as you feel them both reach under your pants, fingers expertly rubbing circles around your hole. you grip onto shauna's hand as they both enter inside of you, letting out silent whines.

"you better get used to this, baby," nat murmurs in your mouth, gripping your jaw open so he can suck on your tongue. "'s gonna happen a lot more."

for @ultrone

#.myworks #yellowjackets x reader #shauna shipman x reader #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x reader

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sp1rit-realm · 9 months

Text

༻¨*:· 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 ·:*¨༺

༻¨*:· summary ·:*¨༺ you hate remus lupin, and he hates you. what happens when you get stuck in a lift together?

༻¨*:· notes ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 hour two!!!!! 𖦹 enemies to ?? 𖦹 forced proximity 𖦹 fem!reader 𖦹 i did not proofread this bc i'm lazy ⎝(ˊᗜˋ)⎠

༻¨*:· word count ·:*¨༺ 𖦹 746

prologue / hour 1 << pt 3. -- hour 2 >> hour 3

༻¨*:· 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝟐 ·:*¨༺

You and Remus haven't spoken in thirty-seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds—not that you're counting.

"Who cares if I was whining?"

It startles you, "I do! If you're going to say I'm acting like a child, at least take accountability and say you're acting like one too."

"So you admit you were acting childish." He crosses his arms.

You scoff, "Oh, you are such a—" You stop yourself, biting your tongue.

"I'm such a what?" He taunts with a smirk like he knows he's won this battle.

But you're not ready to admit defeat, "You are such a petty asshole!"

"I'm petty? Me?" He puts his finger to his chest so hard it hurts him.

"Yes! Yes, you are! You didn't show up to my birthday, Remus! At least I got you a present for yours!"

Remus throws his head back and lets out a groan from deep within himself, "Really?! You're going to bring up your stupid birthday again?! Bringing it up is petty. You know that, right?"

"No, it's not!" You argue, "It's bringing up something that hurt me! And something you never apologized for, by the way." You cross your arms, close to stomping your foot like a child.

Remus rolls his eyes, "I had plans! You want me to apologize for having plans?!"

"You never even got me a gift! Not even a card!"

"Listen very closely," He speaks slowly, boring holes into your eyes—scorching your retinas, "You and I are not friends. We do not like one another. I threw your gift away. Okay?"

It hurts you, "You threw it away?"

"I don't like you! Why would I want something that reminds me of you?"

You look at the floor, willing tears to stay in your eyes. You will not let him see how much it hurts you, "See? Petty asshole." You say through gritted teeth.

"Fine. Believe what you want."

"Hello?" The same voice crackles through the speaker.

"Hello," You greet.

"Um," They pause, "Maintenance crew should be there in about five hours."

You're going to pry the doors open and kill yourself, you think.

"Okay. Thank you." You squeeze out before letting go of the button and screaming.

Remus's eyes go wide, and he flinches, "Upset?"

"What do you think, dick?"

He puts his hands up in surrender.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Minutes pass before either of you speak. Remus is the one to break the silence.

"So... we're gonna be here for at least five hours."

Your eye twitches, "Wow, we've got a detective over here!" You turn to him, "Maybe they weren't lying when they said you were smart." Saccharine sarcasm drips from your tongue.

"Oh, shut up!" He lashes back, "Get off your high fucking horse!"

"You're irrelevant to me," You say, staring straight.

"You're so damn childish!"

"Shut up! Shut! Up!" You stomp your foot on the ground like a little kid who's not allowed any ice cream.

"This is gonna be fun," He mutters—it doesn't go unheard.

"Sorry, did you say something?"

"I did," He crosses his arms, "I said: 'This is going to be fun.' In case you're too dense to tell, I was being sarcastic," He says the word slowly, talking down to you. It only fuels the fire more.

"I swear to every god you believe in, I will shriek so loud it pierces your eardrums, and you go deaf!"

"Go ahead! If I go deaf, I'll never have to hear your stupid voice again, and I will cheer, and I will celebrate, and I will throw a party!" His face is red at the end of his rant, and you swear there's steam coming out of his ears.

Your smile is taunting, "That was quite amusing."

"Shut up!" He's growing restless, and it's only egging you on further.

"Oh, you want me to shut up?"

"I would love for you to shut up."

"Fine," You cross your arms, "Let's play the silent game. Whoever wins gets to slap the other person in the face."

"I'm not going to slap you."

You light up, "I guess you'll just have to let me win."

"Fine. But no slapping hard."

You light up and clench your fists in anticipation.

"Okay, no punches either," Remus says, glimpsing at your hands with a worried smile.

"Sorry!" You flex your hands out, "I'm just so excited!" You're smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

'What a cute smile,' Remus thinks right before he gets slapped in the face—metaphorically and literally.

me when i like what i write🤯🤯

lmk if u wanna b tagged!

@queerpumpkinnn @ay0nha @knaveism @whennyxfallsinlove @freezing-my-brain @starlit-epiphany @inkluvs @t3rritorial-piss1ngs @starsval @little-snow

#༻¨*:· 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓 ·:*¨༺#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x f!reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin enemies to lovers

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grandlinedreams · 6 months

Note

hi hi before your requests close, i was wondering if you’d write something super angsty- maybe with a happy ending? i don’t have a prompt, just love angst and hurt/comfort

Hiya papaya! Thinking about the modern au, so have some EMT!Ace

[Heads up!: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of passing out, CT scans fucking suck]

When he hears the radio clipped to his belt crackle to life, Ace doesn't think much of it as he stirs from the light, sleepy daze he'd been drifting into in the back of the ambulance.

"Gonna have to repeat that," he answers when Sabo's voice is garbled, smacking the radio against his palm. Damn thing has to be at least ten years old ㅡ and no sign of them getting new ones, either. He holds it to his ear, rubbing at his eyes, though he stills as he hears the address.

It's familiar, as is the description of the patient ㅡ and he suddenly feels sick, staring at the radio in his hand. Surely Sabo'd said a digit of the address wrong, or gotten a description eerily similar ㅡ because Ace has a horrible, sinking feeling that the patient they're going to collect is you.

"Ace? You good?" Marco is talking, trying to get his attention, and he shakes his head to snap out of it.

"Yeah, yeah, Iㅡ" He swallows, fishing for his phone. "Sorry, but that call out just now...that's [Name]'s apartment." His fingers are shaking a little as he finds your contact, typing a text to send.

[Is everything okay? Call me when you get this.]

"I'm sure it's nothing," Marco tries to soothe as Ace all but slams the bay doors shut as the garage opens, siren already light and flashing as Marco pulls out and heads down the road.

Ace stares at his phone, willing you to answer. That this isn't for you, it's for a neighbor. A friend. Hell, he'll take a stranger over something happening to you.

He's out of the ambulance before Marco even pulls to a complete stop, heart hammering in his chest as he listens to the cop who's waiting for them at the entrance to the apartment complex.

"Neighbor found them unconscious on the floor, said they were conscious now but didn't want to move them."

"Thanks, man. We'll take it from here." Ace feels like he's underwater as he moves towards the open door, wishing that this apartment wete anything but as familiar to him as it is. He'd been here this morning, tangled up with you and lamenting the fact that he had to leave.

Ace has seen a lot of things in his time as an EMT ㅡ bones jutting out where they shouldn't, exposed viscera, and even an enchanting conversation with a man who seemed wholly unaware of his unintentional diy tracheotomy. None of it makes him feel as untethered and scared as seeing you on the floor does.

You're paler than you should be, and he hurries to stop you when your head turns towards him. "Ace?"

"Hey, sweetheart." He kneels, takes the neckbrace from Marco, sliding it beneath you and into place. "Can't have you moving your head like that until we know what happened. Can you tell me what today is?" He waits to get your answer, then continues. "What year is it?"

You frown. "I'm fine," you protest, "let me get up."

Ace shakes his head. "You passed out, sweetheart. We're taking you to the hospital." He watches as Marco grabs your wrist, eyes flicking to the watch on his wrist. "I'll get the backboard."

He needs something to do, to dispell the nervous jitter as he runs through all the things that could be wrong, running from mildly inconvenient to terminal diagnoses. By the time he makes it back and they load you onto the board, Ace is trying to stay positive for your sake.

"This is unnecessary," you whine as you're loaded into the bay, pouting at Ace. "Really? I passed outㅡ"

"And hit your head," he protests. "You need to be looked at." He shifts to professional mode as he picks up his radio, rattling off your vitals and brief description of what the situation had been.

"Ace?" He turns, finds you watching him.

"I'm sorry," you say and his chest aches as he brushes hair out of your face.

"Don't be," he murmurs, "you'll be fine, okay? We'll get you checked out, figure out what happened, then get you home."

"For cuddles?" You sound hopeful, and Ace grins.

"Of course."

Ace doesn't get to see you much further than your admission, and by the time he finishes his shift, you're already in a room that he's pointed to by the night shift nurse at the desk.

You're sitting up when he enters, cup of jello in hand, though you light up as you see him. "There's my baby," he coos, grinning as you roll your eyes. "What'd they say?"

"They ran a CT to make sure I didn't have anything abnormal going on," you report, "and it came back clear. My blood sugar was just really low, so I guess I passed out because of it. They're sending me home with a modified diet."

"Good," Ace says, tucking himself into the bed beside you despite your protest. "You scared me, babe."

"I'm sorry," you say as you let him tug you down, arms wrapped around you. "They'll be mad if they come in and you're asleep in this bed with me."

Ace presses his face to your chest. "Let them," he mumbles. "Don't care, I'm gonna nap with you."

"Brat," you tease, and he sighs.

"I'm your brat."

You hum, kissing the top of his head. "That you are."

#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #ace x reader #portgas d. ace x reader

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silversweetpea · 1 year

Text

London Eye

pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (Gender Neutral)

summary: Waiting wasn’t so bad as long as you were waiting with him.

warnings: Lovesickness, pda

author’s note: this is me going on record to say that I think Marc has the potential to be so fucking lovesick and I don’t see nearly enough fics for that. Yes he’s a bit of a smart ass sometimes but he has depth. He has range. Let him be so sickeningly in love with someone and let that someone be me please.

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿

There should be nothing worth smiling about in an hours long line. There should be grumbling and sighing and hushed whispers where you talk about your plans for when you get out of the endless wait and maybe even a friend giving you a very pointed look every now and again.

“Come on, It’ll be fun!” and yet, there you were, cheeks aching from smiling.

“For you,” Marc’s voice would have any listener convinced you had forced him against his will to be there. But you weren’t just any listener and although his voice was playfully flat, there was no denying the special shine in his eyes or the curve of his lips.

You had been in the line for at least an hour now and yet not once had you been bored. There was part of you that was convinced anything done in the company of your boyfriend would be entertaining somehow.

“Marc,” his name comes out as an exaggerated whine as you lean in to pull on his arm. There’s a split second where you think that just maybe you’re going to get him to break and laugh. If only he weren’t so committed to the bit the two of you were playing.

The idea that you were missing out on one of life’s greatest sounds was enough to spur you on further though, determined to weasel it out of him.

“It’s the eye, we’ll be able to see all of London from up there!” You squeezed his arm, “I’ve always wanted to watch the snow from up top.”

The line shuffles forwards and you take tentative steps backwards without looking, knowing that Marc would sooner eat his fist then purposefully let you fall. The both of you ignore the obvious that he wouldn’t have joined the line with you at all if he wasn’t willing to go up in it.

“I’m not stopping you,” his hands in his pockets and eyes on you, it nearly made you dizzy to look at him.

“So you’re okay with me going thousands of feet up in the air with a complete stranger?” HIs hands snake their way around your waist and you instantly let go of his arm to give him an easier hold. It isn’t until you catch the way that his hair is moving that you realize he’s tucked you against him to avoid the wind you didn’t even realize was happening.

“As long as they keep their distance. And they’re blind.” When the line moves forward, the two of you move as a unit, arms never coming away from your waist. Despite the way his breath clouded in the air just in front of his lips, Marc’s hands were warm through your shirt. A thousand different come backs came to mind but all you could think about was the way Marc leaned in, so close but so far.

“Please? Just this once?”

And the fight, as pretend as it was, is over. You can see it in the way Marc’s shoulders drop and his features soften into something close to love but ever so slightly more indescribable. When his hands pull you closer, when you lean your had against him, love feels too weak a word.

“That’s your fifth ‘just this once’ this week, you know,” he isn’t saying no though. Just as he didn’t say no when you asked him to stay in bed an extra ten minutes, legs tangled up in each other, thoughts blurry with sleep. Marc isn’t saying no just as he couldn’t bring himself to when you asked to watch your favorite childhood movie yet again later that night or when you insisted that you weren’t going to steal his hoodie forever you just wanted to borrow it for a nap.

“I love you,” is what comes out, soft and delicate as it hovers between you two and suddenly Marc didn’t seem all that bothered by the glass bubble idea.

#marc spector x you #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector fluff #moon knight x reader #moon knight #moon knight x you

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kangshxrtie · 3 months

Text

12 ➳ "actually official"

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

yujin was very rudely awoken by your phone ringing. yujin tried to curl up against you but made a displeased noise when she feels you trying to move away from her to get to your phone.

"noo" yujin whines, "ignore it. i want you with me"

"yujin, i'm not leaving" you chuckle as you reassured her still trying to get out of her hold so you can get your phone. "i just need to answer this call right quick"

yujin hesitantly lets go so you can move and get your phone off the nightstand, you immediately move back into yujin though as you answer the phone.

"of course it's wonnie" you mumbled as you answered the phone putting it up to your ear.

"morning... why are you calling?"

"good morning y/n. i just wanted to know why my two best friends didn't tell me they were dating. how dare you not tell me and just let me find out through twitter!" wonyoung exclaimed.

"why are you yelling?" you asked.

"because you told twitter before you told me anything!"

"to be fair i didn't tell anybody. imagine having to text all my friends, since you know i'm popular and it would be so stressful to try and tell everybody i know" you said.

"i'm literally the reason you two are dating though" wonyoung deadpanned.

"and we're very grateful for that"

"i should know about these events before anybody else. at least give me that privilege!"

"to be fair i posted the tweet when i was tired and just wanted to brag"

"i'm a part of this relationship too. you would've stayed hating each other if it wasn't for me" wonyoung continues on.

"and that's why you'll be the maid of honor for both of us. how would that work?"

"we'll make it work" wonyoung finally let's it go.

"alright now for the talks. listen i love both of y'all and y'all are both my best friends. i have more faith in you then i do in yujin to not break your heart, but just in case i swear if you break her heart i will hunt you down. not that harsh because i love you but i will. hopefully, we'll never have to go down to that though, so you two better live happy lives and stay together forever" wonyoung starts in a threatening voice but immediately changes to happy for the second part, "i'm rooting for you two"

"alright now pass the phone to yujin"

you pass the phone to yujin who was still half sleep, "wonnie wants to talk"

"yujin we're best friends but so me and y/n. you better not hurt my best friend again and i mean that shit. she's happy now and if you do anything to change that i'll come for you. also if you choose anybody else to be your maid of honor at the wedding we'll actually fight, i don't care if i have to be both of yours, we'll make it work"

"but i'm so happy for y'all. so happy you finally stopped being an asshole and finally told y/n your feelings. don't know how much longer i could've dealt with it"

yujin nodded her head sleepily, half listening to what wonyoung was saying. she definitely cared about what wonyoung was saying and would be willing to listen whole-heartedly to what wonyoung was saying when she was fully awake. but for right now, all she wanted to do was sleep with you in her arms.

once wonyoung finally finished her speech, promising to give you two more at a better time, yujin returned the phone back to you before laying back down in a comfortable position.

you said your goodbyes to wonyoung before hanging up the phone and set your phone back on down on the night stand. once you got back to your previous spot yujin took her prior position of holding onto you.

"alright now let's go back to sleep" yujin pulls you back closer.

"you're clingy in the morning" you commented fully embracing it.

"mhmm. only my girlfriend gets to experience it" yujin states.

you blush at her words, "i see. i think i can get used to these girlfriend privileges" you say as you hug yujin back.

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

➳ main

➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳ ➳

ITS FINALLY OVER… felt right to end it on valentine’s day! i might do a couple more bonus chapters though..

#yujin x reader #ive #kpop #yujin smau #gxg #kpopidol #ive x reader #jang wonyoung #wonyoung

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firstkanaphans · 8 months

Note

a prompt, if you're in the mood...

(obviously please please ignore if not!)

Ray figures out that Sand has been 'taking care' of him in the bedroom this whole time. he decides to even things out a little.

(peace and good vibes, happy almost-only-friends-day to you) 🖤

I had so much fun with this, you have no idea 💕 Thank you for the request!

Read on AO3

“I am not a pillow princess!” Cheum cried. She was adorably drunk, her cheeks rosy, and she was leaning on her girlfriend’s shoulder, staring up at her like she hung the moon.

“I love you, babe,” April said with a snort. “But you are.”

“I am not!” Cheum whined. Then she stopped to think about it and dissolved into giggles. “Okay, maybe I am. But just a little bit!” She held her fingers up only a millimeter apart to demonstrate how little of a pillow princess she actually was and April plucked her hand out of the air.

“Do you see these?” April said, brandishing Cheum’s inch-long nails towards Ray as proof. They were filed to sharp points. “Would you want these talons inside of you?”

Ray winced at the mental image. He was unsure how he had gotten involved in this conversation in the first place. It was apparently his punishment for going to a gay bar alone with two lesbians since they were the only ones willing to drink with him.

“No?” he tried. It seemed like the correct answer.

“Thank you!” April crowed, vindicated, and then returned Cheum’s hand to her.

“My mouth works just fine, thank you very much,” Cheum said, cradling her manicured hand to her chest. “And you like my nails!”

“I do like your nails,” April agreed with a grin. Cheum scrunched her nose in delight and then pulled April in for a hug. Ray was still trying to figure out what the hell they were talking about.

“So, a pillow princess is a…?” he said, struggling with the context clues while three beers deep.

“She’s a bottom,” April said, putting it into terms he might understand. “She likes to just lay there and let me do all the work.”

Cheum smacked per playfully. “Don’t listen to her, Ray. She’s lying!”

Ray thought back to the night before when Sand had dropped down to his knees in the bathroom of P’Yo’s bar to suck Ray’s dick. Or a few days before that when he had spread Ray out on his bed and fucked him to three separate orgasms before coming himself. He thought about how even despite their economic differences, Sand was always the one taking care of him, offering him food and music and time. He was starting to worry it might be a pattern.

It wasn’t that Ray never returned the favor. He could suck dick with the best of them and he was a very interactive bottom, thank you very much. But sometimes, yes, he liked to just lay there and let himself be worshiped. What was so wrong with that? Horror washed over him.

“Oh my god. I think I’m a pillow princess.”

Cheum tilted her head and examined him carefully. “I can see that.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” April insisted even though she had just spent the past ten minutes teasing her girlfriend for it. “I like being the one that gets to take care of her.”

That made Ray feel better for all of ten seconds before Cheum butted in. “But you can’t just lay there all the time,” she snapped, clearly aware that moderation was not a concept Ray had ever had a firm grasp of. “You have to give some too. You’re giving some too—right, Ray?”

Ray downed the rest of his beer and stood up from the table. He was in desperate need of another.

Unfortunately, Ray couldn’t stop thinking about it. He’d had a lot of sex in his life—a lot of good sex. Or at least he had thought. But after one conversation with Cheum, suddenly he was questioning everything.

Was Sand happy with him—like, sexually? Because sex, alcoholism, and the occasional car ride home were pretty much the only things he was bringing to the table. If Sand left…Ray shuttered to even think about it. Sand was the one bright spot in his life right now; he couldn’t lose him. It would kill him. So, the next time Sand found his way into Ray’s bedroom, Ray was determined to prove his worth.

They crashed through the door kissing wildly, a trail of discarded clothes in their wake, and as soon as they reached the bed, Ray pushed Sand down onto the mattress. Hard.

Sand sat, bouncing with the impact, and laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Ray lied. “I just want to take care of you.”

And then he dropped to his knees.

It occurred to him belatedly that he had never given a blow job quite like this before. Usually he was horizontal on a bed with a comfortable mattress beneath his knees, but now, staring up at Sand, who was staring down at him, he felt small. He swallowed hard.

“By all means,” Sand said, spreading his legs wide. "Go right ahead."

Ray let out the breath he had been holding and then reached for Sand’s belt. Sand lifted his hips to allow Ray to remove his pants, but otherwise, he didn’t offer to help. Instead, he watched Ray work with the fascination of a predator hunting prey. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe Ray was actually doing this. Until he took Sand into his mouth.

Sand moaned at the first brush of Ray’s tongue against him, but he didn’t lose himself to the pleasure the way Ray always did. Whenever Sand sucked him off, Ray’s eyes would roll back in his head, he would collapse down onto the sheets, and he would, well, just lay there. Exactly like Cheum had accused him of. But Sand didn’t do that. Instead, he watched Ray with an intensity that made his whole body feel like it had been set on fire. Ray reveled in the warmth. In the attention. He always did.

He swallowed Sand down as deep as he could, allowing himself to gag a bit because the one time he’d done that by accident, Sand had come almost immediately. Sand was on to him this time, though. His eyes darkened at the sound, but then he reached out, tangled his fingers gently in Ray’s hair, and began moving his head slower. Ray found that he liked being told what to do.

He worked up a rhythm, sucking Sand exactly how he was instructed—slow and messy, using his hand to stroke what he couldn’t comfortably fit in his mouth—and the whole time he watched Sand from beneath his eyelashes, hoping that he looked the spitting image of the selfless partner he was trying to be. But the unnerving thing was that Sand was watching him right back. And he looked hungry.

It was a look Ray usually only saw when Sand was inside of him and it broke his resolve. It made him want. He pulled off of Sand’s dick with an audible pop, pushed him down on the bed, and then crawled on top of him, kissing him deeply as if that might help expel some of the tension building inside of him. Sand kissed him back, but despite the fact that he was the one who had just gotten his dick sucked—quite well, Ray might add—he wasn’t yet as far gone as Ray was. He was still in control. He began stripping Ray of his clothes as Ray stripped Sand of his and soon, they were both naked, pressed skin against skin.

Sand reached for Ray’s lube—they had done this enough times now for him to know where it was kept—but before he could uncap it, Ray plucked the bottle from his hand.

“I told you already,” he said, pushing Sand back against the mattress and pinning his wrists to the bed. “Tonight, I’m taking care of you.”

To his surprise, Sand actually stayed where he put him. His cheeks were flushed at the novelty of being told what to do and it made Ray preen. Maybe he was actually doing this right. Once satisfied that he had no plans to move, Ray slicked up his own fingers with lube and reached around to open himself up. Sand’s fists were clenched tight in the sheets as if it pained him not to touch.

“You’re torturing me,” Sand corrected.

Ray shushed him and then kissed his lips and that seemed to calm Sand a bit.

It didn’t take long for Ray to stretch himself open. When Sand did it, he liked to take his time, liked to make Ray squirm, liked to make sure Ray wouldn’t feel even an ounce of pain. But Ray didn’t mind pain. He liked when he could feel it. So he grabbed a condom, rolled it onto Sand’s dick, already wet with saliva and precome, and then straddled him.

“Wait,” Sand said, stopping him. Ray stopped with a pout that Sand sat up and kissed from his lips.

“You’re supposed to be relaxing!” Ray argued, but Sand paid him no mind. Instead, he reached behind Ray and slipped two fingers inside of him. Ray moaned, pressing back against his hand and pushing the fingers further inside.

“What are you doing?” Ray whined. “Do you not trust me?”

“You’re not acting like yourself,” Sand said sheepishly. “I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“I am too acting like myself!” Ray said, pushing Sand back down onto the mattress a little harder than was strictly necessary.

“That’s the Ray, I know,” Sand said, laughing, but he was looking up at Ray with eyes so fond, Ray wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. So instead of trying to figure it out, he leaned forward and kissed him, reaching down at the same time to push Sand inside of him.

Ray moaned against Sand’s lips as he entered him and then sat back up, forcing him in deeper. And, just like always, Ray was taken aback at just how perfectly they fit together. Ray had had sex with a lot of men—more men, quite frankly, than he probably even remembered—but Sand was the first person who had ever been able to fill him so completely. It was as if their bodies had been made for each other.

Ray closed his eyes and rolled his hips just slightly, getting a feel for Sand inside of him, and he heard Sand’s sharp intake of breath as if the movement had surprised him. He had ridden Sand before, but even then, Sand had been doing most of the work. To be on top of him, in complete control of both of their pleasure…it was intoxicating.

He placed a hand over Sand’s heart to anchor himself and then slowly, he began to ride. He lifted up on his knees and then pushed back down and when he opened his eyes to look at Sand, he was biting his lip so hard he looked liable to draw blood.

“Too slow?” Ray teased, giving another half-hearted roll of his hips.

Sand growled and snapped his hips up, sending a shockwave of electricity through Ray. He shivered at how good it felt and he hated to stop him, but he had to. That’s not the game they were playing tonight. He pulled off of Sand completely.

“I told you,” he said as Sand whined. “I’m taking care of you tonight.”

Sand rolled his eyes. “Then you need to go faster.”

“Fine,” Ray said, once again pinning Sand’s hand back to the mattress next to his head. “But you have to behave.” The look Sand gave him then made it clear that behaving was the last thing on his mind, but when Ray let him go, he dutifully kept his arms pinned. “Good boy.”

He situated Sand at his entrance and then bore down, taking in just the tip at first—a small punishment for Sand’s insolence—before sitting all the way down. Sand moaned, but his gaze never wavered. He stared at Ray the whole time, his eyes dark and hungry. And for his obedience, Ray rewarded him, moving just the way he knew Sand liked: hard and fast with his body on full display.

Sand reached for him again without otherwise moving and this time, Ray let him. He let Sand touch his body, let him scratch gently across his nipples, but when he reached for Ray’s dick, Ray stopped him. Today wasn’t about him. Sand grumbled at the correction, but he knew better than to argue after what it had gotten him last time, so he settled for just laying there with his hands on Ray’s hips, watching.

Ray made sure he was a sight to behold. He rolled his hips sensually, letting his dick bounce up and down with each thrust, and every so often, he would whisper Sand’s name because everytime he did, he could feel Sand’s dick twitch inside of him.

Soon, Sand’s fingernails were digging scars into Ray’s hips and Ray could tell he was getting close. He leaned forward, changing the angle, and kissed Sand on the lips. Sand immediately wrapped his arms around him tight, holding him in place, and kissed him harder. But Ray could tell it wasn’t enough. He could tell that Sand wanted more. And since today was all about pleasing Sand, he was inclined to give him what he wanted.

“Do you want to fuck me?” Ray asked against his lips.

Sand whined. “Yes. Please.”

“How badly do you want to fuck me?”

“Ray,” Sand scolded.

Ray smirked and then paused, making Sand wait for the answer. “Then go ahead.”

Immediately, Sand flipped them and began thrusting into Ray hard. Ray couldn’t help it—he cried out at how good it felt. At how well Sand knew his body. At how well he could walk that line between pleasure and pain.

“Faster,” Ray begged and Sand did as he was commanded. Ray just lay there and took it like the pillow princess that he was, but Sand didn’t seem to mind. He kept fucking him, his mouth latched onto Ray’s neck, and he was panting with exertion, but there was a softness to his touch. Ray could tell that he wasn’t ready for it to end. But when Sand reached for Ray’s dick, Ray stopped him.

“You first,” he said. It was the least he could do. If Sand came first, maybe then his mission wouldn’t be a complete failure. Maybe then he could still hold his head high knowing he had been the cause of his pleasure at least once.

Sand grumbled, displeased with the idea, but he wasn’t the type to play games—in bed or otherwise—so he gave Ray what he wanted. He thrust into him one last time and then came with a grunt. And because Ray was right there on the edge of orgasm himself—too impatient to wait for Sand to recover, too starved to waste the opportunity to come while Sand was still inside of him—he reached between them and began stroking himself. Within seconds, he came as well, his body clenching around Sand’s.

They lay there tangled together, still connected, for several minutes before Sand finally pulled out of him. Once he did, Ray took it upon himself to get up and grab rags to clean them with. Sand seemed surprised by the gesture. He watched Ray all the way to the bathroom. Surely Ray had done this for him before, right? Surely.

He made Sand lay still as he ran the warm rag over his body, cleaning him meticulously. Sand watched him the whole time. Only once Ray had disposed of the rag and crawled back into bed with him, tucking his smaller body beneath Sand’s arm, did he speak.

“What are you pouting about?” Sand teased. “That was some of my best work.”

“I’m not pouting,” Ray argued. After an orgasm that good, pouting would be impossible. But he was a bit dejected. “I just wanted to make you feel as good as you always make me feel.”

Sand laughed, but then broke off when he realized Ray wasn’t joking. “You’re serious? Ray, are you really going to make me say it?”

“Say what?” Ray asked, legitimately confused.

Sand sighed and propped himself up on his elbow so that he was hovering over Ray. “You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had,” he said, pushing Ray playfully. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Ray preened. “Really?”

Sand rolled his eyes. “I’m not saying it again,” he said, plopping back down onto the mattress. “Now, speak. What’s gotten into you?”

Although the truth was embarrassing, it seemed rude to hide it when it was causing Sand to worry. “It was brought to my attention that I might have been a bit selfish in bed.”

“Brought to your attention by who?” Sand snorted. “Your other lovers?”

“By Cheum.”

Sand shook his head, looking on the verge of laughter. “Ray, I like that you’re a spoiled brat in bed.”

Ray blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“We’ve been fucking almost every day for months. Did you really think I wasn’t enjoying it?”

Before Sand, Ray had had a lot of sex he didn’t particularly enjoy just to feel close to someone. He didn’t bother mentioning that to Sand. He found it touching that Sand enjoyed him, spoiled brat and all.

“So I’m not a pillow princess?”

“Oh, you’re a pillow princess, alright,” Sand said. Ray smacked him with a pillow and Sand laughed, emerging from the other side with his hair mussed, his cheeks pink, his eyes shining with mirth. “But you’re my pillow princess,” he added, pulling Ray down into a kiss.

Ray tried to feign anger, but it was impossible while staring at Sand’s megawatt smile. Instead, he broke down in a fit of giggles and collapsed into Sand’s side. Although the evening hadn’t gone quite as planned, he fell asleep that night with that knowledge that he was enough, just as he was, and he felt no shame for it. There were benefits to being royalty, after all.

#only friends the series #only friends fic #sandray #sandray fic #asks #sarah writes things

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clatoera · 2 months

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Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 5: I once believed love would be black and white...but it's golden (like daylight).

Besties. I have said it many many times but I have once again achieved it when I say that this is the longest chapter I've ever written in my entire life clocking in at 10.5k+ words. And also... I know I've also said this before but this is my favorite chapter. Ever. I have been holding back the content of this chapter for about a year now. I knew it was going to happen. I've known about this chapter as long as i've known about the fic itself. It has been a long time coming.

The title itself is like..really fun to me. I think you will understand why it's called that once you read it, if not I spell it out on AO3 but don't want to do that here in case of spoilers. I chose the name literally a year ago, I have been workshopping it ever since, but that name has never changed. The title was not why I chose it..it just serendipitously worked that way. Title is of course Taylor Swift, being from the song Daylight.

AO3

Masterpost

I need to acknowledge all my friends of course, but @kentwells actually specifically is the one who gave me the idea on the timeline and some of the drama and ultimately this chapter is for you my friend. Also of course @bodyelectric77 absolutely came through with the Gloss/Enobaria/Cashmere help, and theres a line in here she created and So I'm crediting her with it (It's specifically when Gloss and Cashmere are arguing about who gets to see her first, so that "Gloss can be her favorite since he knew her longer." Especially the last few days you've been listening to me whine, and also, you have been helping me develop this for months at this point. This is for you, too. @ohhowwehavefallen my clato queen, I know this is not your cup of tea but alas. You've known just as long as I have (almost) about the girls so.

Also: Happy Late Valentines Day

I’ve been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night… but now I see daylight

The week of February fourteenth is consistently one of the worst weeks of the year for victors, or at least it was before the war. The weeks comprising the Games were most certainly the worst, but after six months would pass everyone started to get that itch for their favorites. To make things worse, the Capitol held on to some odd tradition of the past–Valentine’s day they called it– a day dedicated to, ironically, love. Part of the display of…love…involved many themed parties. Most of which involved their favorite victors barely clothed (or in lingerie) and being bought and sold as the ideal gift to their twisted loved ones.

Needless to say, it’s not a day that the victors think of particularly fondly, at this point. With less than two years having passed since the war that ultimately ended their abuse, most of them were just starting to redefine the moments and periods of time that hurt them so deeply.

Thus, why Cashmere woke up later than average that particular day. Well, that was not the reason she had woken up late, but rather the woman involved in such activities. Enobaria was always up before the sun, usually having gotten in an entire workout before Cashmere willed herself out of bed. Today was absolutely no exception, and as Cash extends her arms over her head and feels the slinky feeling of silk sheets against her skin she is reminded that they are in her home this time– Enobaria, oh she loved her more than anything, but the woman refused to update her own bed beyond a high thread count cotton, and even that had been a win in Cashmere’s book.

She reaches out, and as her hands brush an empty space rather than soft skin, she knows that as usual Enobaria has already started her day. The blonde gives a pleasant little hum, stretching the length of her body through the tips of her toes, before she slides her bare skin out from under the pale pink sheets and into the cool February air of her bedroom. She starts her day fresh, never daring to rewear something off the floor that had been discarded the night prior, and chooses a properly folded silk pajama set from the bedside table. She dresses in the shorts and cute little button up top, pausing to admire the little red hearts on the baby pink satin. Yes, maybe it’s the dead of a District One winter (which are somehow miraculously warmer than those of Enoabria’s home district), but she can still be festive.

Her routine every single morning is the same– pick something to get dressed in, check the status of her hair (still almost perfectly curled from the night before, thank you very much, save for the couple of knots where fingers had spent time twisting languidly in the afterglow of...activities), and then start the extensive skincare regimen she had been following for fifteen years.

Some habits die hard, and some will never die, such as proper moisturizing.

Cashmere is sitting in front of the lighted mirror, coating her face with a deep blue clay mask, when she hears the bedroom door creak open.A small smile spreads across her face as she awaits the return of her girl.

“Hiii baby,” She calls out to Enobaria before she even sees her, twisting in her seat to greet her face to face. When she notices the little smirk on her face as she holds something out in her hand, Cashmere’s smile falters just slightly, “what’s wrong?”

Enobaria holds out Cashmere’s phone to her, a bemused smile coming to her face. “You must be very popular. I could hear it in your coat pocket all morning…got someone else looking for you for Valentine’s day?” It’s so clearly teasing in her voice, both due to the sensitive nature of their past experiences, but also to ensure that she is merely teasing. It’s not even particularly uncommon– Gloss sometimes goes on those kicks, where he calls her twenty some times just to clarify some detail when he’s mid debate with Brutus or Finnick.

“Gloss probably didn’t sleep or something,” Cash reaches out her hand, but as soon as she sees the notifications on her home screen (overlying a picture of her and Enobaria at her sister’s wedding, notably) her heart sinks.

Seventeen missed calls. Forty-two texts. All of which being from her sister or Marvel, sent to her and Gloss both.

“Something wrong?” Enobaria’s voice calls, and when Cashmere feels the hand on top of hers she realizes she was holding her breath, her skin a sickly pale underneath the exfoliating mask. “Cash? Babe? Breathe.”

“I…” She can’t find words, as all the blood rushes from her face to the pit of her stomach. Cashmere can’t look away from the open phone in her hands, staring at the picture attached to the final text. There wasn’t an identifiable face, but that scarred arm, those pink pearlescent nails Cashmere had helped her sister choose the color of yesterday morning– that was most certainly Glimmer’s hand. It wasn’t even the hand or the arm that had her stomach sinking, no, it was the fact there was most definitely a little tiny head in that hand, there was absolutely a little hand wrapped around her sister’s perfectly manicured thumb. And though she could not see a face, and though there was no caption, there was absolutely no doubt what Glimmer was trying to tell her.

Sent 1:11 a.m. February Fourteenth.

“Oh my god..” Comes first as a whisper, and then a frantic, panicked “OH MY GOD,” She flips her phone towards Enobaria before she can ask, and immediately starts wiping the still setting mask off of her face. “I..my..she…glimmer.” Cash actually cries, fanning at her face to stop tears from falling from her eyes. “Enobaria look!”

Enobaria squints at the screen, tilting her head to try to discern exactly what angle she’s looking at. “Oh is that–”

“She had a baby! Without me!” Cashmere explains, and immediately picks up a makeup brush. “I need to go over there immediately.”

“It looks like she tried to tell you, Cash.” Enobaria hands her back her phone, a bemused smile as she watches her girlfriend continue about her typical morning routine. “Is her name Sunshine or Luxury?”

“She didn’t say her name, and it was between Sunshine and Golden– why are you giving me that look?” Cashmere continues to polish foundation across her clean face, albeit a bit faster than usual, an indignant pout peeking out from behind the makeup.

“Your little sister had a baby, you said you wanted to go immediately..then you went right back to putting on makeup. I promise, she won’t remember what you look like, she probably barely opens her eyes to see anyway–”

Cashmere gasps, lips falling open in shock. “First impressions are everything, Enobaria! She may not remember but I will! Besides…what if I want a picture with my niece. Oh my god. I have a niece. My sister had a baby. My sister had a baby.”

Enobaria sits herself on the edge of the bed with a soft smile, watching Cashmere silently speed through her makeup routine, every once in a while pausing to stare straight down so the tears can fall out of her eyes and onto the floor rather than down her face. Cashmere loves deeply, and Enobaria never can get past the fact she gets to experience being part of that.

Cashmere is shuffling through the closet, holding up various options for Enobaria to judge, when her phone lights up again.

“Look at that, looks like Gloss just woke up too. I’d pay to be a fly on the wall next door right now, I’m shocked we didn’t hear him scream through the walls.” Enobaria nods towards the lit-up screen, where Cashmere’s brother was already responding.

On my way right now.

Cashmere throws both outfits she holds in her hands down, and is frantically sliding her slippers on to run down stairs.

“Cash? Where are you-”

“Gloss cannot beat me to that baby.” She calls back up, before she opens the front door to that chilling February air in her seasonally inappropriate pajamas. “Bye Enobaria! Love you!”

Enobaria can barely slip out an “I love you too,” before the door slams behind Cashmere.

Cashmere full on runs across the street in her slippers and pajamas, careful not to slip on the icy street, nearly making it all the way to Glimmer’s front door when something absolutely collides into her from the side.

“What do you think you’re doing-” Gloss taunts, wrapping his arms around his sister’s waist to pull her back, and push her gently a few feet behind him. “I’m meeting her first,”

“Like hell you are-” Cashmere kicks her legs helplessly against his knees, and as soon as he puts her down she slides right between him and the door. “You aren’t claiming to know her longer, Gloss, I’m not stupid, you’ve done that with Glimmer for twenty four years.”

“Well I am her favorite, I did meet her first.” Gloss slides his arm right in front of Cash, wedging himself flush against Glimmer’s front double doors.

“Yeah by ten seconds!” Cashmere tries to slip in front of his legs, fully intending to trip him when the door opens to give herself a couple seconds of a head start. It does not feel like they are in their thirties, but rather the little six year olds excitedly sitting on the bottom of their staircase waiting for their mother to let them see their new little sister.

“Ten seconds is still ten seconds more than you’ve known her-”

Gloss is interrupted when the doors swing open, and Cashmere does succeed in tripping him– directly on top of her.

“Good morning!” Marvel greets as he swings open the door, and instinctively steps out of the way just in time for Gloss to come down on top of his sister to avoid being brought into the pile himself. “Lots of patience this morning I see..”

“You landed on my nose, Gloss.” Cashmere whines, pushing the body of her brother off of her, before rolling out from under him. “My knees are going to bruise– Marvel! Where is my sister!”

“Nice to see you too, Cash.” He jokes lightheartedly, a tired but teasing smile unable to be wiped from his face. Any real malice between them had been wiped away when he married their sister late last summer, as soon as they could possibly do so while having the wedding Glimmer wanted. Now, it was just the teasing air of near siblings between him and the twins, a welcome energy for the now orphaned boy who grew up with no siblings of his own anyway. “She’s right in there–”

He does not get to finish his directions before Cashmere gracefully jumps over her brother’s body and nearly runs into the living room just beyond the entrance way.

Cashmere feels like her legs are going to give out from under her when she sees her little sister.

Glimmer is curled up in the middle of the couch, legs crossed under her, looking not too different from Cashmere. From what Cash can see from under the fuzzy blanket on her lap, she’s even got on the same pajamas–not surprising considering who they were. When she flashes her older sister a tired smile she somehow looks both more exhausted and yet happier than Cashmere has ever seen her.

The most notable difference, of course, is the little tiny baby in Glimmer’s left arm.

“Hi, Cashy.” Glimmer whispers softly, looking up at her older sister before down at the baby in her arm..at her baby in her arms. “Come over here,”

“Hi Glimmy…” Cashmere whispers just as softly, a full 180 from the loud, aggressive way she pushed past her brother literal moments prior. “You had the baby!” Awe fills her voice as she approaches her sister, lowering herself to the space directly next to her sister so close that their legs pressed together.

“I had a baby.” Glimmer agrees, leaning her head on her sister’s shoulder and letting out a heavy sigh, clearly exhausted more than she wanted to let on. “I had a baby.”

Glimmer props the baby in the bend of her elbow up into her hand so Cashmere can get a good look at her. She was little, absolutely swimming in the little red outfit Glimmer had her dressed in. Looking closer Cashmere realized what she thought were pink polka dots were individually embroidered hearts all over her, without a doubt the work of her sister. In the exact same shade of pink as the hearts was a little bow on her head, that somehow looked massive compared to the impossibly little size of this baby. Despite even the bow Cashmere could see this baby had a lot of blonde hair on her itty bitty head.

“She’s so tiny!” Cashmere reaches her hand out to run her finger over the little round cheek of her niece– god she had a niece, her sister had a real, live baby– and her fingertips grazed the tips of blonde hair. “When I saw you yesterday I didn’t think you were going to have a baby.”

“She definitely did not feel tiny at the end there, but yeah..she is. She’s not even five entire pounds, she’s so much smaller than I thought she would be!” Glimmer smiles as her new baby scrunches her nose at the sound of a new voice, but doesn’t quite feel drawn to open her eyes to take in the faces associated with it yet. “I…had a feeling she was coming today. But you were talking about your plans with Enobaria and you were so excited! I figured they wouldn’t get here until tonight and I could call you this afternoon..she had her own plans I guess. She’s just dramatic.”

“Glimmer! You could have told me you were having a baby, Enobaria would have understood.” Cashmere tsks in disbelief, but doesn’t look away from the baby for even a minute.

“Well you’re here now. And she’s only like…ten hours old. So you didn’t miss much. And she is soooo much cuter now, she was all squished when she came out I was worried she wasn’t going to be cute–” Glimmer stops herself, instead grounding herself in the way her sister so reverently touched her daughter. “...do you want to hold her, Cash?”

“Do I?! Of course–” Cashmere doesn’t even get the chance to finish before Glimmer is oh so gently transferring the baby to her awaiting arms. “Oh..” It feels like her heart is in her throat as she feels the weight of this tiny little girl in her arms, and she feels those tears rushing to her eyes faster than she can stop them. “I’m going to cry my makeup right off onto her!”

“She’ll still think you’re beautiful, I promise.” Glimmer muses, a content smile a permanent fixture on her face as she rests her chin on Cashmere’s shoulder. “I’m obsessed with her.”

“She looks just like you.” The older blonde admits with nothing short of reverence for the little person her sister made. “You looked just like this.”

“Hey. This isn’t fair!” Comes the teasing voice of Gloss at the same time he sits himself firmly on the other side of Glimmer. “How come she got to hold her first?”

“You held Glimmer first, it’s only fair.” Cash teases, but doesn’t even look over at her brother, not daring to look away from the little baby who somehow slept so peacefully despite all the noise.

“What’s her name?” Gloss reaches across his sisters to touch his niece’s little onesie covered foot, causing her to retract it up towards her chest.

“Well… we spent a lot of time thinking about it.” Glimmer begins, glancing up and giving an almost imperceivable nod to Marvel that is missed by her siblings who were too enamored with her daughter to notice. “Obviously she doesn’t have our last name but..everyone knows how good Belcourt gold is.” Neither of her siblings look at her, both absolutely wonderstruck by the person she created. “We wanted something that was pretty but not too District One. I’ve been called Glitter and Shimmer more times than I can count and Marvel..he’s called Marble half the time.”

Glimmer glances up when she sees Marvel in the corner of the room, and gives a sly smile neither of her siblings see as she watches him lean down to scoop something pink into his arms.

“Her name’s Aurelia. It means Golden. Gold. Something like that. We thought it was pretty. It meant what we wanted.” Glimmer reaches out and puts her hand on top of her sister’s. “Aurelia Cashmere. Because we couldn’t entirely abandon a District One name.”

Cashmere’s head shoots up, and she can barely see her sister through the tears that are completely obscuring her vision. “Really? You…really?”

“I would not have survived without you. I wouldn’t be here.” Glimmer admits with her own tears brimming at her eyes, and with the hand not co-holding her daughter she wipes them away.

Marvel goes mostly unnoticed by Cashmere and Gloss, until he is standing directly in front of them and his voice breaks through the Belcourt siling reverie. “...and this is her sister.”

Glimmer is glad she has a hold on her baby when both of her siblings’ whip their heads up to face her husband, and she can’t help the genuine laugh that escapes her at the gasp they let out in unison.

“What- huh- where- what!” Gloss whips his head between Marvel and Glimmer, his mouth actually hanging agape. “Where did you get that one?”

“From me.” Glimmer feels a smirk coming to her face as she sits up straight between them, feeling confident in Cashmere’s grasp on Aurelia before she faces her brother. “We didn’t steal a second one.”

“Fun fact. The type of twin that the girls are is completely unrelated to the type of twin you two are. We thought that was what happened but…nope! I’m just lucky! Buy one get one free babies!” Marvel sits on the wooden coffee table in front of them, his other daughter sleeping peacefully in his right arm. Much like Glimmer he has a seemingly permanent smile etched on to his face, which somehow gets even wider when he looks down at the slightly bigger baby in his arms. She’s dressed opposite of her sister, in a little pink onesie with the same hand embroidered hearts (only in red) and the corresponding red bow.

“Do you want to hold her?” Glimmer addresses her brother, nodding towards the baby Marvel holds. “There’s one for each of you.”

“Absolutely I do, what kind of question is that?” Gloss takes his other niece from his brother-in-law, and somehow despite being the bigger baby she looks even smaller in his massive arms. “Where the hell were you hiding a second one in there Glimmer, you were tiny.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. She’s the bigger one, though. She’s just over five pounds, but even together, that's less than ten pounds of baby.” Glimmer reaches out to adjust the red bow on the other baby’s tiny blonde head. “They’re identical, and they’re kinda early so…that probably helped.” She leans back on the couch, letting her twin siblings hold her twin daughters, and sighs in contentment that they finally knew the secret she’s held for nearly nine months.

“...you knew they’d come today because you knew they’d be early because there were two.” Cashmere mumbles in understanding, leaning over to look at her other niece, absolutely identical to the one she holds in her arms. “Why didn’t you tell us! I have to go home and order another one of everything I’ve bought for her…them…whichever! I need to go order double now!”

“Well…” Glimmer lifts her eyes to meet Marvel’s, and gives him a tired, but delighted grin. “After…everything…when I found out I was pregnant-”

“And everyone we know knew before me-” Marvel interrupts playfully, getting a teasing kick on the ankle from Glimmer.

“....and everyone but Marvel knew… We just wanted to keep it a secret. Just for us.” Glimmer admits, leaning back forward to appreciate the awestruck look of her siblings as they looked back and forth between her daughters.

“...I told you, Cash.” Gloss teases, looking between their nieces. “I had that feeling there were two.”

“...why did you think that?” Glimmer raises a suspicious eyebrow, trying to understand the hidden communication between her siblings. In that moment she realizes she will have to try to understand this twin telepathy between her own daughters one day as well, before she is brought back to the question at hand.

“He didn’t think it! He made a joke one time that it would be your luck. Don’t believe him..” Cashmere narrows her blue eyes, before choosing to focus instead on Aurelia in her arms.

Cashmere gives Gloss a look, and gestures her head down to the baby in her arms. For a second Glimmer thinks they’re going to trade, but when Gloss hands over the baby he held Cashmere maintains her grip on them both. If she were sobbing before she is completely inconsolable now as she holds both of her sister’s little girls in her arms.

Gloss takes the moment to wrap an arm around Glimmer’s shoulders and kiss the crown of her head. “We’re proud of you. Even if you are our favorite little unwed mother with her bastard children–”

“Hey! We got married as soon as we could!” Marvel defends, but doesn’t press on the issue when he realizes that Glimmer is narrowing her eyes playfully before rolling them at her brother’s antics.

“But I will always be able to do the math of which came first. And I know which came first. Don’t forget that.” He warns Marvel, and there is an edge to his voice that just might not be entirely joking. “Give me the other baby, Cash.”

He gives her no time to argue and simply slips his arms underneath Aurelia, pulling the tiniest girl right into his arms. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say her name is unfortunately, not girl glossy, as I seem to remember you liking when you were little.”

Glimmer lets the baby Cash remains holding wrap her little hand around her finger, and gives Gloss an appreciative, yet sleepy, smile. “Unfortunately, no. We did say that if one had been a boy, his middle name would have been Gloss and if I have a boy in the future, that will be his middle name. But they’re both my girls…and we’ve known they were both girls for a while now.”

“I seem to remember a little four year old girl who insisted girl Glossy and Cashy were the only acceptable names for her dolls, because the only names twins could have were Cashmere and Gloss.” Gloss taunts, but flashes her a reassuring smile to assure her there’s no real offense taken. The longer he looks at her the more he can see the four year old little girl she once was, with those two little blonde baby dolls she carried everywhere with her, that somehow became a twenty four year old girl with another set of two blonde little babies.

Glimmer leans back against the back of the couch, and tucks herself more firmly under the plush white blanket. She looks from her siblings holding her children, to the man who can’t take his eyes off of her. As she twists her wedding rings around her finger, Glimmer feels the happiest she has ever been in her entire life.

“Yeah, well, fortunately for my daughters, that little girl grew up.” She teases, before revealing the name of their other daughter.

—————————————————————————————————

“Alright, Cato. Final guess. Baby or trying to guilt us into doing something for them?” Clove crosses her arms over her chest as they continue to wait on the front porch of Glimmer and Marvel’s house.

“It’s got to be they want us to do something. Marvel would have sent some grossly sappy text if she had the baby. They’re definitely going to guilt you into making them dinner again. Or Marvel has something else he needs help building.” Cato leans against the frame of the porch, crossing his ankle over the opposite one impatiently. “I hope it isn’t a baby. Isn’t she supposed to come in March or something?”

“I dunno, they called us twenty-two times. That feels bigger than shrimp scampi.” Clove slides her fingers under the hem of Cato’s shirt, warming her freezing hands against the heat of his skin. “Marvel’s still got splinters from the swing-set, anyway.”

“At least his wrist healed and he can hold the baby if that's what it is. He’s the only person I know who could win an entire Hunger Games but somehow break his wrist by building a kid’s toy.” Cato wraps both arms around her shoulders, pulling her close enough that the heat that rolled off of him could directly warm her in the brisk winter weather. “I just really hope her name isn’t actually sunlight or whatever, I don’t think I can seriously call a child that without laughing at her every single time. Enobaria’s bet is on the other one.. Gold or something else ridiculous.”

“You know we are right on the other side of the door, right?” Marvel swings the front door open, glaring at his two friends. “And it wasn’t Sunlight. It was Sunshine.”

Clove buries her face in Cato’s chest to stifle a laugh, before letting herself into the house right past Marvel without the invitation to do so. They had spent plenty of time together to be beyond formalities at this point. “At least it isn’t Astonishment or Amazing, right Marvelous?” Clove taunts, kicking off her shoes as soon as she’s in the door. “Let me guess… you want me to teach you how to make tomato soup to go with that grilled cheese now, right?”

Marvel doesn’t even get a chance to answer as Cato and Clove simply let themselves into the house, heading right to the living room as if they live there (and to be fair, they once did).

“What the Fuck.” Slips oh so eloquently out of Clove’s mouth the moment she sees Glimmer on the recliner, curled up with something very very very clearly laying in her arms.

Once the twins had left a couple of hours ago, Glimmer found that the recliner was significantly more comfortable to hold and feed both girls at the same time in, and as such had taken a permanent place in for the time being.

“Nice to see you too, Clove.” Glimmer teases, rubbing tiny circles on her baby’s back, the tiny girl feeling even smaller as she swims in the too-big pink onesie. “What a great first thing to say to my baby!” Unlike when Cashmere and Gloss had come hours ago, the baby was far more awake now, little green eyes looking around hazily at the world around her but never seeing much beyond her mother who held her.

“She better get used to it eventually,” Clove says, though there is a softness in her voice that is so beyond anything Glimmer has ever heard from her, as she quickly closes the space between them. Clove sits on the arm of the chair, looking down at the little girl in Glimmer’s arm. “Oh my god you two are wearing matching clothes. Of course you are.”

Unlike Cashmere, Clove does not dare to touch her. She knows there are tiny little feet hidden in the bottom of that heart covered onesie, but all she can picture is the way her skin crawled when Glimmer tried to get her to feel those same feet through her skin only a week or two ago.

“How old is she?” Cato comes to the other side of Glimmer, also glancing down at the little baby she cradled so close to her. Unlike his wife he does not have any fear of the baby, and reaches down to touch her tiny hand that is smaller than his fingertip. “She’s tiny.”

“She was born just after midnight.” Marvel answers, this time joining the three of them. He didn’t need to give Glimmer a moment alone like he had with her siblings– it was different, with the four of them. “She’s just over five pounds.”

“...you had a baby fifteen hours ago?” Clove raises her head after she calculates quickly. “And you’re home? Just..hanging out?”

“I have a lot of bad memories in like..medical settings. I wanted out as soon as I could. And they said we were all okay so..we got to come home this morning.” Glimmer smiles down at her daughter, glancing up at Clove. “And she’s gotten much cuter in the last fifteen hours! When she came out she was all squishy and I was crying…only slightly because I thought she was going to be ugly. I didn’t know how we made an ugly baby I mean look at us but–”

“She was not ugly Glim,” Marvel lectures gently, but rubs a tired hand down the side of his face. “She was just..she wasn’t ugly. She was never going to ever possibly be ugly, look at you.”

“Anyway! She’s gotten much cuter!” Glimmer explains with a warm, truly joyful smile as she brings the baby down to rest on her propped up knees, fitting perfectly in the crease between her thighs where both Cato and Clove could look at her more completely.

“You look so so happy.” Clove admits, slightly in awe. Despite the fact that her braids were a little frizzy and she did look somewhat tired…Glimmer was nothing short of truly glowing. She had never seen her so genuinely happy in all the time she had known her.

“I have never been happier in my entire life, Clove. I’m tired, and I’m not feeling great physically but, god Clove. I have never been happier.” Glimmer looks down at her daughter, who’s already fallen back completely asleep with her face on the silk of her mother’s pajamas. “Clove..do you want to hold her?”

“Huh? Um..you know what, I don’t think that’s a great idea, I haven’t practiced and she’s really important and I don’t know if I want to risk it-” Clove almost rambles, and takes just a slight step back away from Glimmer and the baby in her arms.

“She was scared of my sister, too, back when she was a baby.” Cato teases, an amused smirk on his face as he watches the way his tough, scary wife seems almost afraid of this little baby.

“I’m not scared of her, I don’t want to hurt her, she’s little and I've never done it and–” Clove insists, taking half a step back before Glimmer reaches out and gently grabs her at her wrist.

“Clove. Ask me her name.” Glimmer directs, gently pulling her friend’s hand and giving Clove no choice but to touch her little foot hat she was so scared of weeks ago. “Ask me what I named my daughter.”

Clove stares with wide, fear filled green eyes as Glimmer gives her no choice but to touch the tiny features of this child. She feels a tightness in her throat as Glimmer brings her hand just high enough that the baby can wrap the entirety of her hand around just one of Clove’s lithe fingers. “....what’s her name?’”

“Her name is Stella.” Glimmer begins, pulling her hand up to rest on top of Clove’s, so she can not shrink away from the baby’s grasp suddenly.

“Oh thank god it isn’t actually sunshine,” Cato audibly sighs in relief, and Marvel has to physically pull him away before Glimmer would get a chance to get any injury on him.

“Stella means sunlight, actually. Sunshine..sunlight..sun..something. It means what we wanted it to. She’s our little sunshine.” Marvel explains, gently running the back of his hand over Glimmer’s knee absently.

“In District One there’s sort of traditions when it comes to names. I know you think we have ridiculous names, and maybe we do. But when it comes to middle names, it’s sort of a tradition to name them after someone you would trust with them. Or that you want them to be like. Or who means a lot to you. We kind of did all of the above.” Glimmer starts, glancing up at Clove to see if she could understand where she was heading with her explanation, but the way she is frozen with her eyes on the baby tells Glimmer that no, she’s not quite grasping it yet. “My middle name comes from my mom’s best friend. So does hers..”

Cato must catch on, because he lets out a soft “oh,” before his hand comes up to squeeze Glimmer’s shoulder gently in recognition and appreciation.

“....her name is Stella Clove.” Glimmer spells out, squeezing Clove’s hand where she is holding it to the baby.

The news is enough to pull Cato and Clove’s attention both enough to Glimmer that Marvel is able to slip to the other side of the room again, just as he had done when Glimmer’s siblings came to meet their children.

Clove is able to direct her eyes first to Cato, then finally is able to meet Glimmer’s eyes as she holds her hand even tighter. “You..thats-that's my name.”

“Because we love you, Clove. We have gone through hell together, all of us, Clove.” Marvel chimes in from across the room, but none of them look over at him. Clove is locked in on Glimmer and the baby, and Cato is watching Clove.

“You were quite literally tortured with Marvel. Cato and I only survived in Thirteen with the thought of you two. And then you single handedly helped me get better. You fed me, and made me feel safe, and gave me something to do in planning your wedding…you taught Marvel to cook, you fed me for the last two years. I got better enough to have her because of you. And besides, Clove. You’re my best friend. I trust you with her.”

“...and we’d trust you with her sister, too.” Marvel calls out from directly in front of Cato and Clove, little miss Aurelia now sleeping in his arms, and once again he gets the reaction that he waited nine entire months for.

Clove gasps in newfound fear, “Oh my god..what the-did you know there were going to be two or was that a surprise, please tell me you knew there was going to be two–”

“Holy shit you had a whole litter Glimmer!” Cato’s jaw drops in disbelief, but instead of the genuine fear in Clove’s eyes at the thought of a second surprise child Glimmer didn’t know of, he’s beyond thrilled at this grand reveal. “Oh this is so cool! Is there a third somewhere too?”

“Excuse me, I did not have a litter, Cato. There were two. That’s a normal amount of babies.” Glimmer sits forward indignantly, holding out her empty arm to take her second daughter into her arms. “And yes, Clove, I knew there were two. Don’t worry, you aren’t going to have a surprise twins one day, I promise.”

“How long have you known there were two?” Cato grins even wider somehow, looking at the two girls in their coordinating outfits snuggled into Glimmer’s arms.

“We’ve known…hmm at least a month or so before the wedding, right?” Glimmer confirms with Marvel, glancing down at both her babies, who fit so perfectly in her arms it’s as if they were made to be there (and they were). “And we’ve known they were both girls for about that long, too.”

“We didn’t tell anyone since everyone knew about them before me.” Marvel reminds them with a playful little smile, reaching over to let Stella hold his finger, now. “I’ve been waiting nine months to see people’s reaction and no one has disappointed yet.”

Cato cocks his head to the side, looking at the size of the two babies as if he is imagining them smushed together in a small space. “I can’t figure out how two fit.”

Clove has settled herself on the floor next to the rest of them, leaning forward to rest her head in her hands so she can settle her breathing and calm her mind from the way it spins a million miles a minute. “...I’ve been calculating how much you need to eat based on one baby, have we been starving the other?! Is that why they’re so small?”

“Trust me, Clove, I ate plenty. They’re very healthy girls. They’re just small because there were two of them sharing me.” Glimmer assured her, before drawing her attention back to her identical girls in her arms.

“How can you tell them apart? Are you going to color code them?” Cato lowers himself next to Clove, bringing his hand up to rub circles on her back, trying to comfort her as she tries her best to ground herself back in reality. “What's the other one’s name?”

“No, we aren’t going to color code them, Cato. We’ll figure it out. We��re their parents.” Marvel shakes his head with a silly smile, before taking the same twin from earlier from his wife. “Stella is in the pink. The one in the red, this is Aurelia.”

“Those are such normal names! Good job.” Cato leans over to get a good look at the other baby, and sure enough, she was absolutely identical to the first. “What’s that one mean?”

“Aurelia means Gold, and my family was in gold distribution before the war.” Glimmer explains, before she brings the baby up to her shoulder where she curls up almost immediately against her mother’s chest. She absently kisses the top of her little blonde hair, closing her eyes for just a moment to soak in the fresh, new baby smell of her.

“....you mean you really did name them golden and sunshine? I thought that was a joke when Finnick told me you liked Sunshine and Enobaria mentioned Golden. I thought this was all fake.” Cato raises a blonde eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. “That’s unbelievable.”

“I thought it was funny to tell people different names, when they were technically the right names. It’s been fun to watch the infighting. Gloss was so convinced he was given the right name he started having things embroidered with her initials.” Marvel explains, bringing Aurelia’s little fist up to his mouth so he can kiss her hand gently. “Fortunately we told him sunshine so fortunately Stella has the same initials.”

“You had twins fifteen hours ago and are already home?” Clove reiterates her awe from earlier, finally looking up at her friend in absolute utter disbelief. “Where did you hide the second one? You’re so tiny. I can’t believe this. These babies were literally inside of you like..yesterday.”

“They were both in there, I promise, Clove.” Glimmer assures her yet again, nothing but amusement on her pretty face, resting her cheek on top of her girl’s soft little head. “We didn’t steal one.”

“...which one is the runt of the litter?” Cato pipes up, looking between Glimmer and Marvel both, sizing up the babies they respectively held. He points at the one Marvel holds, judging that to be the littler one. “That one. Can I hold her? I want to be her favorite.”

“For fucks sake they aren’t a litter, they’re twins, and yes Aurelia is smaller. Yes, you can hold her, if you stop calling her the runt.” Glimmer warns playfully as Marvel shifts the smaller of the babies to Cato’s arms.

As Marvel oh so gently places Aurelia in his arms, Cato glances up at his friend. “What’s it like?”

“The best thing that I've ever experienced in my entire life.” Marvel admits with the most genuine, happy smile Cato had ever actually seen from him. After all those days he had watched him yearn after Glimmer… he’d most certainly earned it.

If she looked small before, she looks absolutely unreal compared to the sheer size of Cato’s arms.

“That baby is the size of your hand.” Clove murmurs in literal awe, moving closer to Cato so she can get a better look at the way his arm wraps around such a small human. She reaches out and grabs the hand that is not holding the baby, and holds it directly next to her entire body. “Literally, Cato. She is the size of your hand.”

“She’s actually smaller than my hand when she’s all curled up like this.” Cato points out, but he can’t help but absolutely light up as the baby squirms to get comfortable in his arms.“Is she smaller because you made us tighten your dress so much at your wedding?”

“Make it tighter.” Glimmer leans forward, hands bracing on the wall in front of her to push her shoulders closer together to give them more room to tighten the corset back of her dress. It was the one and only tight part of the entire dress, the bodice of which she had painstakingly hand beaded for weeks, before the dress ballooned out over her hips into a full ivory silk skirt. This was the one and only part she needed tightened, and by god she was going to have it done.

“Glimmer, we have it as tight as we can…” Cashmere assures, tugging the very top of the dress tighter so Clove could get any extra tension on the silky laces, which fails. “It looks great-”

“It can get tighter. Listen to me, I absolutely refuse to look pregnant in these pictures, you are going to get this tight enough.” Glimmer snaps over her shoulder, linking eyes with her sister-in-law of sorts from across the room. “Enobaria get over here and fix it.”

“Glimmer, you are pregnant though, and literally every one of us here knows that.” Enobaria tries, but the desperate look in Cashmere’s big eyes staring at her has her coming over to help anyway. She gently pushes Clove to the side, and twists the laces in her hands before giving a firm tug that does not budge the dress even an inch. “This isn’t coming any tighter.”

“Like hell it isn’t. I made this dress, I know how tight it can go.” Glimmer warns, ignoring the fact she had made it five pounds ago. She grabs Clove by the upper arm before directing her, “go get Finnick, Cato, and Gloss.”

“Glimmer you’re not even that pregnant, you don’t look it at all. What are you like..three months? You look great!” Cashmere tries, but the look of rage in Glimmer’s eyes is not one to be messed with, and she quickly agrees with a frantic nod “...yeah Clove, go get Cato, Gloss, and Finnick.”

“All three?” Clove raises an eyebrow in disbelief, resting her hands on her hips hesitantly. “I feel like that's extreme. Who’s going to keep Marvel from having too many mimosas, you know that man loves a mimosa, if no one's there to babysit-”

“Get them. Now.”

Clove’s hands come up in defeat as she slips out the bedroom door to track down the boys, and she says a silent prayer that at least one of them is coherent enough to actually help.

She returned a few moments later, with all three of the requested men in her presence, and fortunately mostly coherent.

“Don’t you look cute in your little pink dress.” Cato teases his wife on the walk by, leaning in to kiss the shoulder the one is not covered by the mauve pink satin, pinching where the fabric gathers at her waist on his walk by. “Is the glitter supposed to be there or is that from Glimmer?”

“Aww, Glimmy you look so pretty in your shotgun wedding dress.” Gloss grins, nudging Cashmere out of the way to take her place holding the top of the dress shut. “You can’t even tell you’re pregnant, you did a good job on this!”

“Oh shut up.” Glimmer scowls at her brother, getting beyond annoyed at the sound of all of them even breathing at this point until her dress was fixed. “Cato. You’re the one who will be least afraid to hurt me, You need to make this tighter.”

“Tighter where? I could literally wrap both my hands around your waist, Glimmer.” Finnick teases, coming around to stand in front of Glimmer so he can force the fabric shut from another angle. It is clear from the way he so effortlessly slides into position that he already knows how to do this from many days and nights together in the Capitol as teenagers.

“I don’t want to crush your kid. What if it comes out all fucked up? You’ll blame me.” Cato hesitates, unwilling to take the strings from Enobaria’s waiting hands. Clove stifles a laugh behind his broad shoulders, where Glimmer could not see, and gently nudges him forward.

“Will you just fucking do what I ask? For once you can stop running your mouth and just do it?” Glimmer hisses at him, bracing her arms on Finnck’s shoulders.

“Well if you’re going to be bitchy.” Cato grabs the lacing from Enobaria’s hand and twists it firmly around his two middle fingers. “Hold it tight.” He directs Finnick and Gloss both, before he gives a firm tug with his hands, somehow managing to pull the dress at least an inch tighter by sheer force, before he transfers the taut strings to Clove’s dexterous hands for her to tie it off far more prettily than he would have. “Don’t bitch at me when you can’t breathe.”

And when, after the pictures are over, and Glimmer needs to literally be cut out of the corset by Clove so that she can take a deep breath, she does not dare complain.

At least her pictures look good.

“..no, Cato, you did not make my baby small by tightening my wedding dress. You did not crush her.”

Glimmer once again gathers Clove’s attention, gently tapping her knee with her foot. “You will not hurt her, Clove. It would mean a lot to me if you would hold her. I trust you. You won’t hurt her. Please?”

Clove braces herself, and gives such a small nod of assent. Cato makes it look so easy, and there is something about the boyish smile on his face that makes her wonder if there is some magic to be unlocked in holding one of them. Besides, she can’t hurt Glimmer’s feelings, not over something as important as this.

Glimmer gives a relieved smile and oh so gently places her daughter in the arms of her best friend. Despite the fact Clove feels paralyzed by fear of hurting her or dropping her or somehow harming her she can’t help but smile at the tiny girl in her arms. She feels like she’s warming up a little, when the little girl settles contently against her. “Oh...she’s so little Glimmer…and she looks like you!”

“Thank god for that.” Cato mumbles in agreement, as Marvel feigns offense in the background, but does voice his own agreement that yes, thank god these little girls look like their mother.

Glimmer relaxes against Marvel’s arms as he wraps them around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head as he does so. They watch as Cato and Clove sit side by side on the living room floor, each with a different variation of their best friends’ daughters in their arms.

Clove finds her eyes lingering a little too long, not on the little girl she holds, but on the size of Cato’s arms compared to the baby in his. She trails her eyes from his arms to his face, and there’s something in the way he looks at the little girl that she cannot exactly name, but the twisted feeling it creates in her stomach makes her think maybe she wants to see that look again. She doesn’t quite understand what that feeling she gets watching him with the baby is, but has a feeling that she may want to understand it. It feels like something has grabbed her heart and is pulling it directly through her throat when she catches the way he just smiles at the tiny little baby in his arms. At some point, the frozen look of fear melts into a smile of her own.

There’s a wriggling in her arms that redirects her attention to the baby she herself holds, and when that same baby wraps the entirety of her hand around Clove’s little finger, and beyond any reason she understands, she want to hold her closer. Maybe it is because this is first baby she’s every held, or maybe it’s because she is the baby of her best friend.

Cato looks up just in time to miss Clove looking at him, and maybe it’s a blessing, because he gets to spend just a few seconds watching her smile at the little blonde baby in her arms.

——————————————————————————————————

“That was the best shower I have ever taken in my entire life.” Glimmer announces proudly from the adjoining bathroom that connects to the bedroom where she knows Marvel waits. She tightens the soft pink bathrobe at her waist, before leaning forward and letting the towel in her hair fall to the floor. “I could see my feet again.” She muses, grabbing a brush and starting to brush out the tangles of wet waves that soak her shoulders. “And make the water as hot as I wanted….and be in my own body alone.”

(Not that she minded sharing of course.)

Glimmer sets down the brush as she looks around absently for her own pajamas that she had set out- something she could finally wear again now that she had (what she felt, at least) significantly decreased in size in the past twenty four hours. She settled on something both comfortable and convenient for the fact she had two needy little babies, and as comfortable as she had grown in Marvel’s sweaters, that would certainly come back to bite her in the middle of the night.

She’s looking at herself in the mirror, doing her absolute best not to poke at her face or spend too long looking at body. It had given her not one but two little girls; two little girls she had dreamed of her entire life. How could she betray her body by hating it now?

“Babe?” Glimmer calls out again, when she realizes he has yet to get a response from her husband. She goes to peak out into the bedroom, which at least has the lights still on, when she asks again, “Are you sleeping?”

She feels her heart flutter when she actually sees him, most certainly awake, but leaning against the headboard with a baby in each of his arms. He isn’t looking up at her, instead absolutely absorbing every little detail of the babies who were less than an entire day old still.

He half whispers, still not looking away from their newborn daughters he holds in his arms, “I don’t want to wake them up.”

“I love you.” Rolls off of her tongue so easily she couldn’t stop it if she tried– and god she doesn’t want to.

As Glimmer slowly closes the gap, crawling into bed beside him and laying her head on his shoulder so she can look at their daughters with him. She can’t help but feel a little guilty. There was a time when she was so willing to rob them all of this. Not only herself and Marvel, but even robbing her daughters of a father who looked at them like that.

Glimmer pulls herself out of her own mind and her hand reaches up to find his face, turning his chin to face her so she can kiss him with as much love and adoration as her exhausted body can muster. The events of the last 24 hours are starting to catch up with her, but she is not letting this moment and this memory slip away from her. She pulls away and rest her forehead against his, their noses just grazing across each others. “I love you so so much.”

“I love you too.” He promises, and the smile on his face assures her that he absolutely means it. “I don’t have a free hand to hold you right now. But I would if I could.”

“I see that.” Glimmer giggles, pulling her head back down to rest on his shoulder, stifling a yawn into his skin. “We have two babies.”

“One for each arm!” Marvel jokes lightly, looking at the two absolutely identical girls in each of his arms. Now in their little matching pink pajamas they were actually identical..they’d be so easy to mix up.

Not to their parents of course, who insisted they could feel a difference in their weight. Marvel insisted one had eyes just slightly a different shade than Glimmer’s, and Glimmer insisted she could just tell because she knew which one was on which side and she just knew their personalities.

They had swore they weren’t just going to name them based on birth order, and they absolutely weren’t telling anyone which one was older. She listened to enough arguments of Gloss holding being the older twin over Cashmere that she would lose her mind hearing the same in her own home.

Glimmer insisted she’d know which one should be which, and sure enough she insisted Stella was Stella and Aurelia was Aurelia. Who was Marvel to argue?

“Really one for each of us,” Glimmer teases, reaching down to scoop miss Stella into her arms. She tucks her directly on her skin under the buttons of her shirt, letting the baby snuggle her face right under her collarbones.

“This is the coolest thing i’ve ever done. Literally the best day of my entire life. And I didn’t even do anything!” Marvel insists, shifting Aurelia forward so her body was held in his hands rather than his arm.

“Well. Technically you did something just..nine months ago. But! You handled the blood so well.” Glimmer assures him, rubnning her fingers over Stella’s head full of hair. “They have your curly hair, did you notice that?” She points out with a soft smile, looking over at the hint of curls on her other baby’s head too.

“I did my best.” He laughs softly, before brushing his fingers over his twin’s head. “Thank god they really do look like you though. Just like you.” He brings one hand up to hold her face as he kisses her cheek, before he motions to get out of bed. “ Take her, too. I have to go get something.”

“Mmkay.” Glimmer slips Aurelia onto her skin just like her sister, melting at the way they seemed to gravitate towards each other naturally. Of course they did– they never knew life apart from each other or from Glimmer, for that matter.

“Hello my little loves.” She whispers to them both, and though they both are fully asleep, she continues to talk to them anyway. “I know you don’t know me yet, but i’m your mama.” She feels her voice crack before she hears it. It’s words she never thought she’d say, something she relinquished nine years ago out of love.

Looking at them now, she knows it was the right decision. She’d never survive knowing her daughters would share the same fate as her. She wouldn’t survive their victory nor their deaths. No matter the outcome, the devastation would have killed her. They can probably feel the way her heart pounds in her chest at even the thought, which is somehow infinitely more horrific now that those little girls she dreamed of have faces and names. “I’m your mother.”

She thought there would be nothing better in the world than holding her daughters. She had dreamed of it for twenty years, and even once she had long given up on the blonde, green eyed little girls in her dreams she never stopped imagining how it would feel. Somehow, someway, it is the best thing she has ever felt.

It feels even better knowing that unlike her, unlike their father, unlike Cashmere, unlike Gloss, Finnick, Johanna, unlike even Cato and Clove they would be safe. They’re safe.

“Are you okay?” Startles her back into reality, and though she can’t wipe away the tears that now freely flow down her face, Marvel reaches down and does. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re safe.” Glimmer explains, leaning her head back against the headboard so that the tears she cries do not land on her babies but rather run down her face. “We have two little girls and they’re going to be safe. We’re parents.”

“We’re parents.” He reiterates, and the awe in his voice is not any less than in her own. It’s just as unbelievable to him as it is to her, if not somehow more. “You made them, Glimmer. You. You made them and they’re going to be just fine.”

Glimmer nods, and looks down at his hands, a sentimental smile coming to her face as she sees the ivory cake in his hands. “You really did it.”

Glimmer let out a sigh of something between relief, contentment, and exhaustion as she threaded her arms around Marvel’s shoulders. When her hands joined around his neck, she found herself fiddling with the new band of diamonds that now accompanied the other ring on her finger. His arms threaded around her waist, and pulled her as flush against him as the second dress would allow. Much like the first, it was largely sparkling tulle, except instead of beading at the top it was composed of draping of the same white tulle as the bottom with off the shoulder sleeves that rested on the middle of her upper arm. Naturally she couldn’t settle on one dress.

Still, despite the incredible density of the tulle, with her this close against him he was sure he could feel the absolute slightest bit of roundness at the very bottom of her torso. She insisted it wasn’t there– he knew better.

“I can’t believe I actually got you to marry me. Everyone knows you’re soooo out of my league.” He teases, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, careful not to disturb the elaborate pins and twists.

“Who knew all it would take was an accidental baby.” Glimmer taunts in response, resting her head against his chest to stifle a little yawn, and takes a moment to watch their friends from their place against the wall. “Clove said she’s going to take half the cake and go have sex in a closet as payback. Cato’s absolutely drunk enough to actually do it.”

“To be fair it was two accidental babies. I am an overachiever like that.” Marvel ran his hands over the bare skin of her upper back, squeezing absently as he joined her in observing their friends. “Cato would do that stone cold sober. Besides if thats their payback? Fine. I think our girls could use a friend close in age, right?”

Glimmer hummed, giggling just slightly as she honed in on Clove and Cato, Clove fully in his lap, both of them long past hammered. “I can promise they did not mean that part. Looks like they might actually just do it in front of everyone. They’re worse than animals.” She slides her arms from around his neck down so she can wrap them both around his torso, pulling herself closer to him. “Our girls sounds so nice.”

As truly frightening that moment had been, to see not one but two little bean sized babies were inside of her, and all the fear that came along with that, it was worth it the second she saw the wide smile plastered across his face and the look in his eyes. It had been even more worth it, when a few days later, she found out they were both girls. Her girls.

“I can’t wait to have them.” She admitted, resting her chin on his chest as she looked up at him. “I also can’t wait for a piece of that cake.”

“Well we did try every bakery in District One before settling on that specific white cake with vanilla icing. As opposed to all the others. It’s an exciting moment.” Marvel agrees, squeezing her upper gently. “I think i’m going to save a piece of it for when the girls get here. It’ll be like their birthday cake.”

“As if you would leave it alone in the freezer that long.”

“Of course I did it. I keep my promises.” Marvel held up the single fork he brought up with him. “If you notice, it is also fully in tact as well. I didn’t even take a sample. We only have a few more hours to eat it, it’s still technically their birthday.”

He hands out a bite of it towards Glimmer, who leans forward as much as she can to get a taste of it. A little crumb falls on Aurelia’s little head, which has Glimmer stifling back a laugh that has her nearly waking the girls with the motion of her chest.

“They’ll get used to it.” Marvel waves off, before he takes some for himself. A few moments pass, as they savor the last piece of cake from their wedding some six months ago.

Once finished, Marvel carefully pulls Stella out of her mother’s arms and into his own arms. “I feel like we need to keep switching them. So they don’t feel like we have a favorite.”

“How long do you suggest we keep doing that?” She teases, before kissing his shoulder, and resting her head on it. There is a peace beyond anything she has ever experienced in her entire life, and she is not sure she will ever come close to the happiness she feels in this moment ever again.

“The rest of their lives, actually.” Marvel brushes off, bringing little Stella to his left arm so that she was still close to both her mother and her sister.

Glimmer notices the way his eyes are hovering over her and Aurelia, as well as Stella who he holds in the arm closest to her. She raises an eyebrow, a suspicious smile coming to her face. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“I’m just looking at my girls.”

I once believed love would be black and white…but it’s Golden. Like daylight.

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lexi-the-demon-69 · 2 years

Text

More small ideas that I came up for Dark Choco and Dark Cacao while watching MLP

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙——————————————·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

☾☁ 【like before, this also goes into my AU】☁☽

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙——————————————·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

❆ When Dark Choco was growing up, he wasn’t the best behaved. When he was around 2-4 years old, he would sometimes whine and stomp his feet whenever he didn’t get his way. Only times when he wasn’t able to play with his dad when he promised he would, Dark Choco would throw a HUGE rage-filled tantrum. Mostly filled with crying, screaming, and kicking stuff. When this is happening, Dark Cacao would try to be the voice of reason and give him a stuffed toy to calm him down.

❆ The stuffed toy was a creamwolf, one of the enemies in episodes 13 and 14. Dark Choco loved that toy so very much and he took very good care of it. When he left, Dark Cacao secretly kept that stuffed creamwolf in his room, hoping that his son would return one day.

❆ The stuffed creamwolf’s name was “Commander Dulcie” btw.

❆ When Dark Choco is angry with his father, other than having a tantrum, he would just pout in his room until Dark Cacao comes to find him in the corner of his room, arms crossed and with a cute angry expression on his face. Dark Cacao couldn’t help but snicker when he saw his own son putting himself in time-out. He would approach his son and put his hand on his little shoulder and ask; “Are you still angry?” Dark Choco would nod. “Have you made a vow to never speak to me again?” Dark Choco would nod again. “Are you willing to break that vow if I got you some cocoa?” Dark Choco would hesitantly nod. Then Dark Cacao would pat his son on the back and go fulfill his son’s demands.

❆ Other than having a bad temper, Dark Choco was actually a very sweet child. Who would make friends wherever he went. He was most fond of the watchers and he would have them play with him if they had free time. The watcher that would play with him the most was, of course, Caramel Arrow cookie. She would try her best to keep the young prince out of trouble by keeping him occupied with games they would play.

❆ Dark Choco had a big fascination with shiny things. More specifically, his father’s sword. He would always try to get his little hands on the blade and keep it for himself. At least, until his dad finds him with it and inevitably takes it away, while giving him a long conversation about why he shouldn’t touch it. Sometimes, some treasures can be found in Dark Choco’s room. More specifically, under his bed. Now, in the present, some treasures still remain under the prince’s bed.

❆ Dark Choco is actually ticklish. His golden spots are his neck, sides and tum. Whenever he’s sad, Dark Cacao, Caramel Arrow or one of the watchers would tickle him without any mercy. Now, thanks to the strawberry jam sword, he’s not that ticklish as he once was. He doesn’t wanna admit it, but he still is. After he lets go of the sword, he slowly regains that part of him back and he hates it. The only cookies that he’ll let them touch him that way is Parfait and Dark Cacao.

❆ Despite him looking very intimidating, Dark Choco is actually a pretty shy and gentle cookie. As somewhat hinted in the game’s lore, Dark Choco is pretty good with kids and is a great babysitter. He’ll sit down and listen to the young cookie’s woes, like a cat of sorts. He doesn’t seem like he cares about any of the cookies, but he definately does.

·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙——————————————·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙

Tell me if you guys wanna see more of these.

#dark choco cookie #dark cacao cookie #caramel arrow cookie #parfait cookie #cookie run kingdom #cookie run

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soulwillower · 3 years

Text

cleaning the room • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader smut)

requested: heyyy i love your work!! can i maybe request a Richie smut where their like in the middle of doing “it” but then someone calls the reader (maybe bev or eddie or sumn) and instead of stopping richie keeps going and so she has to continue the call and pretend like shes not in the middle of such unholy acts haha sorry if its too specific,, thank you!!!

warnings: swearing, smut, spitting, v light cum play, light light slapping (reader smacks richie bc theyre frustrated he was teasing them), unprotected sex, risky sex, talking on the phone w someone, use of the words whore/slut, degradation, this has literally no plot its all smut LOL

heyyy finally bback w a fic, i have awful writers block so this was all i could do. hope u guys like it

[ 18+ ]

1.8k words

♡

"richie," you purr, sighing with lust as your boyfriend's hands pull your hips harder towards his own, arching your back as his hand rises to gently push you down against the mattress. he hums, leaning down to kiss your lips hard, thrusting into you as your back rubs the sheets under you.

richie leans back and his mouth opens to murmur something to you, but a ringing noise makes you jolt. both of you turn to look at your phone, which has lit up with the call from someone. richie sighs and you groan, arm reaching out to grope around for the phone as your other hand threads into richie's hair, tugging him as he slowly eases on his thrusts.

"oh, god," you say, half moaning as richie's strokes slow, changing angles as he looks down at you with mischevious eyes. "it's eddie." you add, tossing your phone to the edge of the bed.

richie hums, pulling out of you and grabbing the phone. you whine, looking at him, "no, please keep going, i can call him back later." you beg, desperate to feel richie again. richie raises his brows, "you know he'll just keep calling."

you lean back, sighing because you know richie's right. "fuck you richie. fine." and then you snatch the phone, pressing the answer button. "hey, wh-what's up?" you ask, breathing slightly heavily.

"hey, i was wondering what your plans are later. we need to get some supplies for the party." eddie says cheerfully, and you swallow. god, couldn't he have called any other time? at least this will be quick.

you jolt but keep quiet as you feel richie's fingers gently run through your slick folds, thumb teasing your clit. you let out a short whine and gulp, "oh, uh, yeah i can-can hang out later, just not now-" you swallow. your face feels on fire, excited by the idea of possibly being caught.

"you okay, y/n?" eddie asks genuinely, sounding concerned. you bite your lip so hard you think it may draw blood as you gasp, "yeah, just...not feeling good." you say, sharply inhaling as richie quietly chuckles. you send him a glare.

"richie and i are c-cleaning his room and there's... it's hard work." you mutter breathlessly as you go up on one elbow, eyeing richie as he smirks, his hand trailing down to stroke his cock. you barely resist a moan as you watch him, biting your lip as you wish you could have him in your mouth.

"okay..." eddie says absently, immediately dismissing your excuse as he launches into a conversation with you asking about what you're bringing to mike's surprise party on saturday. you're biting your lip as you fall back onto the mattress, heart racing as you think back to twenty seconds ago when richie's cock was inside you. "-and, you know, i think richie's bringing weed and some handles, but maybe if you still have your fake you could try and get us some-"

but you accidentally cut eddie's sentence off with a sharp gasp tailed with a moan, because as you were listening to eddie, richie lined himself back up to your entrance and pushed straight into you.

your eyes are wide as you stare at richie, watching as he winks at you, finger going to his lips in a shush motion. you hate how immediate your shivers of lust flow through you, as richie starts to slowly thrust into you again. you roll your eyes but your face heats up as eddie's voice breaks the silence over the phone, "y/n, wh... -are you sure you're doing fine?"

you pull your hand off your mouth, "yes! yes, i just-" you cough to cover up a moan as richie spits down onto your dripping cunt and starts to thrust harder, "i stubbed my fucking toe." richie's smirking darkly at your words, looking down at you as his large hand creeps up your body, splaying across your breasts and then to your neck, ghosting a squeeze before slipping a finger into your open, panting mouth.

his other hand finds purchase on the skin of your thighs and he winks at you, moving his hips and hitting the perfect spot inside you. the pleasure you feel has your eyes falling back, toes curling.

"oh. well make sure if it's bad that you ice it, because one time my ma stubbed her toe and she had to stay in bed for a week," and then eddie launches into a quick story and you hum along to make it seem like you're listening even though all you can think about is richie and how his hand is tweaking your nipples, splaying across your sternum, as you suck on his fingers.

then he pulls his fingers out of your mouth and presses them to your clit, rubbing in a pattern that has you seeing stars.

"-wait, you said you're with richie?" eddie asks and you cough, throat caught after having richie's hand on it, "yes, he's- he’s right here." you say breathlessly.

"can you let me ask him something?"

your eyes widen and you gasp a bit, making eye contact with richie. "s-sure, here he is." richie's giddy face as he grabs the phone from you makes you nervous, but you bite your lip as he mutters, "hey, eds."

it's quiet for a bit as eddie's voice drawls along on the other line and suddenly richie's pushing your legs up towards your shoulders and speeding up his thrusts, the deep angle almost making you scream in pleasure. his hand falls over your mouth, keeping you quiet as he leans over you, pumping into you and making tears of pleasure form in the corner of your eyes.

richie mutters, “mhm? yeah, yeah.” to eddie, but the sultry way he’s staring at you and the way your nails are raking down his back make you wonder if the words are also for you.

"yeah, she's helping me out, she's always so good like that." richie says, voice shockingly even for the way that he's fucking you into your mattress. and yeah, that definitely is for you.

the desperation and pleasure creep up on you alarmingly quick and you can't help the whimpers that quietly escape you - you thank god for the loud fan in your room to cover your noises.

richie hums to eddie a few more times, then he slaps your thigh gently as you try to close your legs from the pleasure, knowing when you cum you won't be able to keep quiet. it makes you feel even closer, though. "yeah, eds, i can do that. now listen, i got something important to finish off here so i'm going to give you back to my girl."

you bite your lip, feeling warm as you squirm under richie's touch, hands shakily taking the phone back from him and then richie’s kneeling above you, fucking you down into the mattress and filling you up fully. "eddie," you gasp, "i also have to go, i'll - i'll call you later?" you say, trying your hardest to hold off your orgasm as richie spits on your chest, licking and biting and leaving a love bite in the same spot as he thrusts hard into you.

"sure, bye y/n!" eddie chirps.

and then the second your finger presses the off button you're a begging mess, eyes screwing shut as you reach up to grip richie's neck. his hands push your knees up towards your head, hitting a spot that has you clenching around him, legs shaking as your chest stutters.

"please, richie, god, i'm going to kill you for that." you hiss, causing him to grin, "i fucking hate you, i hate you." you mutter, smacking his cheek lightly. the grin after you leave the smack makes you even closer to the edge, and his hands grip your tits as he leans towards your ear.

his strokes are hitting you deep and hotly as he chuckles, "you liked it. i saw it in your face. pathetic desperation. i can feel it." he whispers against your clammy skin, his fingers brushing against your slick heat as he mutters. your cheeks are hot in embarrassment, and you whimper in need.

you bite your lip hard, resisting a moan as a sharp cry falls from your lips, shaking as you beg, "richie, just - please, let me cum. please."

"you're so pretty when you beg, look at you. perfect little whore, talkin' on the phone to my best friend while i fuck you." he mutters, hand caressing your burning cheek as you whimper. "all mine, so eager and willing to do whatever i want."

you nod, "yes, i'm yours, just - please, please." you whimper. "please say i can cum."

he smiles as he kisses your nose, "would you do whatever i want?”

you stutter an exhale, “yes! fuck, richie, yes, yes i would. i’m yours.”

he smiles, “cum, then." you do after the next three thrusts, shaking and gasping and calling richie's name. the euphoria rushes through your body and makes your eyes roll back, chest rising and falling as richie rides you through your high.

only a minute later, richie pulls out of you, hand moving to pump himself. "my perfect slut." he mutters as you sit up slightly on shaky elbows, tongue out and mouth open as you pant, richie's hand moving in quick movements as he chases his own high. then he's grabbing your neck and pulling you toward him, moans leaving his lips as he cums in spurts onto your open tongue and down your chin, a bit dripping onto your chest. his thumb caresses you, opening your mouth wider and smearing his cum on your lips, wiping it from your tits and slapping them lightly, pinching your nipples and making you grin up at him.

and his chest is heaving as he smiles down at you, shaking his head as you swallow his cum, "christ, you're perfect doll." you tug his arms so that he falls down onto you and you're both chuckling as you become a tangled mess of limbs and beating hearts and blushy cheeks, sticky bodies cuddling close.

"he's going to find out." you say after a few seconds. richie hums, "what makes you say that, sugar? it's not like you were all 'richie, fuck me harder, please, yes!' while you were on the phone. that was only after." he teases, and you smack his chest lightly, "shut the fuck up, richie. i hate you." you say through a laugh. he's laughing too as he pulls you even closer, kissing your hairline, "i love you so much, y/n." he says, smiling giddily.

you pull his chin to you, kissing him sweetly. "i love you too, richie. but eddie's going to your place later, he's going to see that we didn't clean the room."

richie laughs, shrugging as he runs a hand through his messy curls, "let 'em guess. it's funnier that way." and then he's kissing you, rolling on top of you and tickling your sides as you scream and squeal.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @sft-core @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @chl0bee @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @groovybimbo @deepestofwaters @unfortu-nate-ly @sassy-uris @loverloserrr @hauntingkaspbrak @soph-ec @hockslutter @babytortie @decafcoffeew @etaerealboy

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #losers club x reader #losers club smut #eddie kaspbrak x reader #not rly at all tbh but he's there

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 years

Text

━"A Dangerous Game"

━Simpbur

━Notes: This was a special celebratory 250 followers chapter. Thanks for getting me so far you guys! And as a reward I wrote some Simpbur stuff. I have brainrot what can I say {*shrugs with an evil smile*]

━Song: "Romance Is Boring" By Los Campionsheiuekjjfv-I-forgot-their-last-name

"Come on Quin, I am not downloading that game!"

A whine emerged from (Y/n)'s computer speakers, making them wince and turn the volume down. The young adult's friend of five years on the other side of the world continued to complain to (Y/n) loudly at their offer being unceremoniously turned down.

Currently (Y/n) was resting in their grey-ish blue gamer chair (or "gay"mer chair as they liked to call it) while in a call with one of their high-school buddies from forever ago. They both had been on call for so long, neither of them even knew how they had gotten there in the first place. The topic would change so frequently it was hard to keep up with.

"But come on (Y/n)! I know you love the SMP! Plus, I already played it and it seemed fine." Quin pleaded, dragging out the e in his sentence as if that would make it more appealing; his loud words causing his discord profile picture to light up with a ring of green light.

(Y/n) could practically see his face making that little pout that he does when convincing people to do something. Or at least trying to.

They pinched the bridge of their nose, leaning back in their desk chair to sigh and rub their temples. From all around them, the contents of their messy apartment seemed to stare holes in the back of their head as if daring them to clean up. Stray articles of clothing, dirtied paper plates, stained tea mugs and so much more sat untouched in various nooks and crannies. That's part of the reason (Y/n) had not turned on the cam when Quin called. They didn't want him to see how much of a mess their life had gotten these past few months.

"Yes, I do like the SMP." (Y/n) grit their teeth, leaning closer to their mic so Quin would hear them. "But that game has gotten some pretty scary reviews man. I don't know if I'm willing to sacrifice my entire computer to a website that's probably crawling with hackers and viruses."

From the other end of the line, their best friend sputtered like a fish out of water.

"Are you really going to believe those reviews over me? Your absolute favorite person?" Quin put on a sugary voice that made (Y/n) want to laugh. But instead they cleared their throat and kept on a glare (although the effort was a bit more forced now.)

"I already told you dude, this is a game about real people and streamers. They already get sexualized enough, so do I really even need to explain why playing a love simulator with them in it isn't my preferred activity?" (Y/n) sighed, bringing up a good point.

"But you see my dear friend-" Quin paused his sentence to frantically type something on his computer. (Y/n) heard his mouse click a couple times before he continued. "-it's not about the content creators. On the contrary, it's about the server. A sort of player insert if you will." He said carefully. (Y/n) could practically hear his sly smile through the words.

They leaned forward a bit, subconsciously propping their elbow up on their desk top.

"Okay. I'm listening."

Quin did a silent fist pump to himself before clearing his throat and continuing.

"When I played the game, it basically dropped you into a minecraft world. But more enhanced yet pixel-y at the same time. Does that make sense?"

"I think so."

"Okay good. And then basically, well I don't want to spoil it too much, but you end up meeting a few people before making decisions and blah blah blah. Basic love simulator stuff, but with the Dream SMP!"

(Y/n) squinted at Quins profile picture (which just so happened to be a meme of Quackity beating his chair. What else of course).

"And you're absolutely sure that this does not include the content creators?" They prodded again in a more serious tone. Quin sucked at his teeth for a second while nodding and then remembering that they couldn't see him.

"Positive. I played the whole thing beginning to end. That fucker took me five hours to complete too." He mumbled the last part, closing his eyes in embarrassment.

"Fucking simp!" (Y/n) laughed, eyes being blown wide and a smile practically splitting their face in half. "You played it for Dream didn't you?!"

"Hey! Its not my fault I'm a raging homosexual!" He yelled at them, the bare hint of a smile forming in the corners of his mouth. (Y/n) slapped a hand to their mouth trying to contain their laughter.

"Whatever you say Quin." They snorted, falling into a desperate fit of laughter. He rolled his eyes with a scoff, but smiled at his goofy friends' antics all the same.

"Shut up (Y/n). I'm not the one who reads self insert fanfiction about Revivebur.'' He chided, ignoring the distant 'hey!' that followed his words. More clicking sounds came from his mic before a discord notif and its iconic little bell popped up out of nowhere on (Y/n)'s screen.

"There. I sent you the link to the game. I couldn't find the webpage I played it on, so it's a different link than the original. But I checked out the first five minutes and it's the exact same thing." Quin explained in a more casual tone. (Y/n) could picture him leaning back in his desk chair with his hands behind his head.

They sighed and glanced at the clock in the far corner of their computer screen while not answering. Dull white numbers projected the time "2:11 am" back at them.

"Hey Q, I think I'm going to try and get some sleep. I know it's the afternoon for you and all over there, but I need to try and rest before my weekend runs out." They sighed, disappointed that they'd have to end the call so suddenly.

"Its okay (Y/n). You have a good rest and think about that game, okay?" Quin reassured them with a soft smile. (Y/n) exhaled out of their mouth tiredly.

"Okay. G'Night Quin. I'll text you when I get up." They said sincerely, hand moving closer to the mouse. A small goodbye was tossed out from the man as a repercussion to their own.

And with that (Y/n) ended the call. Their discord icon disappeared from their computer screen with an echoing click that vibrated through their head like a sad mantra.

They ran a hand down their face slowly, letting out a groan as they flopped back in their seat.

Different thoughts ran rampant in their head as they debated on what to do next. As the enticing feeling of drowsiness sank farther and farther into their bones the longer they sat in their messy room, the more appealing the idea of sleeping became.

But after peeking open one eye to look at the link Quin had sent them, (Y/n) relented with a defeated sigh.

"What's the harm?" They grumbled, in disbelief with themself that they were even considering it. "I mean, it can't be worse than some of the smut I've seen..."

Despite their bitter protest and grimacing face, they still ended up sitting poorly in their chair to click the blueish link that Quin had sent them. It immediately switched tabs from discord to a brand-new website, a basic loading circle popping up. The rotating orb reflected in (Y/n)'s tired and blood-shot eyes; as if taunting her for not getting enough sleep.

While the (h/c) adult waited impatiently for the screen to load, they tossed around questions about what the game could be like in their head as if it were a casual game of ball. Would it be well modeled and smooth with movements, or full of clunky dialogue and chunky pixels? But based on the vague description that Quin had given them, (Y/n) could only assume.

Eventually the grey screen loaded up into a small boxed in frame filled with yet another loading symbol. Except for this time instead of multiple rotating dots, it was white mask with an engraved smiley face spinning.

(Y/n) cocked an eyebrow, but otherwise remained expressionless. As far as first impressions went, this wasn't the absolute worst. They were intrigued to see how the rest of it would play out.

Just as (Y/n) had stopped paying attention to the screen however, a screech ripped through her speakers and stabbed at her eardrums. They jumped in fear and shock before looking back at the screen while slamming their hands over the sides of their head.

As soon as they glanced back at the darkly illuminated device, the noise stopped. But that wasn't the only difference.

Instead of Dreams mask (at least, what they assumed used to be Dream mask) portraying the boot up, a lovesick face had taken its place. Only it wasn't moving in a circle motion anymore.

Frowning slightly and slowly removing her hands from their ears, (Y/n) squinted her eyes and leaned forward slightly to get a better view.

The head that had taken the place of Dream had strangely realistic features. Curly brown hair with a perfectly drawn beanie (Look! The game designers had even got the wrinkles in the cloth accurate) and an old band aid resting on his nose struck (Y/n) as vastly advanced. With little pink hearts for pupils and light blue drool spilling from their mouth, it got more realistic as they looked at it. As if she could reach out and touch him...

This isn't anyone from the DSMP. At least, not somebody that (Y/n) could recognize. Yet at the same time, a familiar feeling of knowing them itched at the back of their brain like a scab.

But as soon as it came, the icon disappeared. The game finally emerged ready and raring to go.

Just as Quin had described, the loading screen looked the absolute same as the login to Minecraft. Only if you took the time to stop and look at it would you notice the carefully picked and placed differences.

It wasn't the same old neather or overworld scene playing behind the login and sign up options; as it normally is in the block game. This time an invisible camera was panning across a messy and dark apartment. Monster cans, stray pieces of clothing, dirty dishes, and a trashed guitar were only one of the many immaculate details that (Y/n) could pick out before a pop up blocked their vision.

"Really?" They mumbled annoyed. Going to click the very tiny x up in the corner (and missing it a few hundred times), the irritable ad for an anime game disappeared into nothing more than a forgettable binary code.

And from out behind it popped the same guy as before.

(Y/n) made a confused sound as soon as they had clicked away the ad. From underneath it appeared a brand new addition to the login screen. It was the man with curly hair and a beanie, as stated before. Only this time he wasn't just a head. Now he had the rest of his body attached, which allowed (Y/n) to get a good gauge on how tall he was.

Along with the strangely acute facial details, he had on a black hoodie with long sleeved undershirt that was ridden with black and white stripes. Baggy grey sweatpants clung to his long legs like a life saver. He looked cozy, but broke. Like a college student.

The character was stuck in what seemed like a loop, waving their arms up and down in a gesture that seemed to say "notice me!!!"

(Y/n) once again was blown away by the amount of detail being put into this game. She almost couldn't tell that he was made of pixels, but then again every once in a while a small glitch around his eyes would remind them that this was a simulator.

"Seems different from what Q said..." They mumbled with a small chuckle. Despite their words, the gamer was not at all disappointed. In fact, they were rather exhilarated. No video game had this much dedication poured into it. At least, not that she had seen.

So with a hearty click and drag of their mouse, (Y/n) went to start.

Unbenownce to the adult, the moment that they clicked on the button they had sealed their fate.

---

After inserting their preferred pronouns, customization, and name into the game ( (Y/n) had almost put their gamer tag, but something in the back of their brain told them to put their real name) they jumped right into the simulation.

It slowly opened up into the same setting as the login screen. A dark apartment with messy surroundings, the same items thrown around aimlessly. As if somebody had been playing darts with random objects and losing miserably.

(Y/n) glanced over their shoulder behind them to do a quick sweep of their own room. Yup. Looked about the same.

Breathing out of their nose in a small laugh, she looked back at the screen. With a few taps on the arrows of her keyboard, they made the character stand up from the couch that they were, presumably, sitting on.

At the bottom of her screen, a speech bubble popped up for her player.

"Wow. I sure aṁ̶̡̘̳̫̰̫̻̤̭̜̔͘ ̸̞̥͙͋͗̄̄̽͆̇̋͠t̷̥͍̞͑͒̎̔̑̈́͒͐́i̶̡͖̳̪̐̿͋̊́̑̏̎̾͘r̷̰͓̯̺̹̩͑̃͊̂́͋̚e̸̯̺̰͕͚͊̂̍̀̾͋d̸͕͈̰̯͉̝̝̀̌͐͝"

(Y/n) rubbed at her eyes swiftly before opening again. Yeah, she saw it right the first time. The damn game was glitching again.

With a tired groan, they began mindlessly clicking their mouse over the reload button at the top of the tab. I mean, sure. A game as detailed and visually pleasing as this must come with repercussions, one of them being how glitchy and slow it was. But still! Couldn't the developers do something about this?

The more and more (Y/n) thought about it, the stranger the innocent seeming game began to seem. Didn't Quin say it dropped you in a minecraft world? With pixels? And what was up with this new character she had never seen before. Something just wasn't adding u-

With a ding, her mind was (Y/n) was being pulled back to the game once more. No longer was the dialogue twitching with jagged letters and symbols. In fact, there wasn't any dialogue. Just the POV.

"HELLO THERE!"

The same exact guy as from the beginning ran into the frame. He had a toothy smile on, his heart pupil eyes pulsating in his irises. Gauzed hands fussing over his appearance, smoothing down his staticky hair and clothes, managed to successfully captivate (Y/n) for a moment.

They leaned back a little after taking in the strange character for a third time that day, surprised that the game was speaking and not just spelling out the dialogue before her with conveniently timed closed captioning. She just kept getting surprised every time they turned a corner in this game, it seemed.

"Uhm, hello?" They tentatively spoke out loud after waiting a lengthy period of time for something to happen. When nothing did, that's when they had decided to say something.

"Hi there (Y/n)! I'm Wilbur! Nice for you to finally meet me!" A long and lanky arm waved largely, white pearls still smiling brightly up at her.

Blanching slightly at his name, (Y/n) furrowed their brows. This wasn't Wilbur. He lived in a drug van at a currently being built country (as sad as that sounded); not a cheap looking apartment with a sticky pool of aged soda on their kitchen counter.

"But you can call me Simpbur if you'd like." He added on after a small silence. After his words came the dawning realization of recognition in (Y/n)'s brain. They could practically hear their own gears turning; creaking and snapping into place as the shade of Wilbur's brown eyes resonated something within them.

"Oh!" They switched tabs for a second, going into personal files before pulling up one titled Fanart. Inside it were multiple pictures of different DSMP members, some more than others.

After scrolling with long strides for a second or two, (Y/n) found the picture that they had been looking for. Inside the boxed in digital frame was a piece of fanart that they had found long ago, quickly forgetting about the work of art in their whirlwind of a life.

Digging up more memories, they remembered a period in their life a few months ago where they had read every Simpbur fanfiction that possibly existed (even the, ahem, 18+ things dare I say...); and saving every fanart that had ever been drawn. But the phase hadn't lasted very long, only stretching a week or two at most. I guess it was the lack of Simpbur content that had sucked (Y/n) dry of any passion for the pathetic man.

Flipping back to her original tab where Wilbur was patiently waiting for her with fidgeting fingers, (Y/n) cleared her throat with little effort to speak once more.

"Well, hey to you too Wilbur." The end of their statement seemed to go up in pitch. Almost as if it were a question. They still had no idea how this speech recognition worked. "It's nice to meet you as well."

His smile widened, if that's even possible. It had more of a dreamy quality to it now than the friendly and general one that was plastered over his monster stained lips before. But (Y/n) brushed it off. After all, this was a dating simulator. The characters were probably supposed to act smitten in certain ways.

But they couldn't help but wonder where everyone else was...

"You have no idea how long I've waited to finally talk to you!" Wilbur giggled nervously. He bounced up and down on his heels with hands clasped tightly. (Y/n) looked to the side, breathing out softly as a laugh.

"We certainly haven't known each other long, that's for sure. And I'm positive that later in the game after I meet other people we can talk again." They joked while trying to make small talk with him. But he seemed to freeze in place, eyes wide with a more strained smile.

"Haha, what other people?" Wilbur's eye ticked, and a small growl came from his throat. (Y/n) checked behind her computer, thinking it was a piece of machinery acting up. Again.

"I really need to get this piece of crap fixed." They murmured before turning back to what their new companion had said before.

"What do you mean Wilbur?" (Y/n) asked. "The other people...in your, uh, town."

"Oh it's just us for now!" He said nothing more after that, only taking a step forward to the screen. But she didn't notice, too busy taking in how surreal this whole experience was.

(Y/n) hummed and went to inconspicuously switch tabs. The discord home screen popped up again, her DM's with Quin coming into view.

They typed a quick, "hey dude, this game is hella weird and not at all what you said. hope you didn't spend money. i think it might be an advanced ripoff, as weird as that sounds :/" before going right back to Wilbur once more.

"Sorry about that Wilbur, had to-"

"Why do you keep doing that (Y/n)?" He interrupted, hands no longer interwoven tightly with each other. (Y/n) paused, blinking twice while observing his new potion. Wilbur seemed to be much closer to the screen now. His eyebags that (Y/n) had somehow missed before cast shadows on his face. And a smile had no longer appeared on his lips.

He now was staring- no that isn't the right word. Boreing holes into her face with a stony expression. As if waiting for an explanation. Like an owner trying shaking his head at a puppy for making a mess in the house.

"Doing what." They asked carefully. This time (Y/n) certainly noticed how the corners of his mouth twitched and hand flexed dangerously.

"Switching tabs. Am I not good enough for you?" He asked with a newfound pout, a small crack forming down the shape on the inside of his heart pupils. (Y/n) gaped, mouth opening and closing at random intervals.

"W-w- how did, no of course not!?" She sputtered incredulously. "But how did you know about that!?"

A more severe glitch than ever before spread across the screen. (Y/n) watched helpless and with eyes wide as saucers as the screen changed from the game, to pure white, a mess of binary code, back to the game, white again-

They sat there terrified as in between every switch on the screen, the only constant interval was Wilbur, standing there with glowing pink eyes and drool dripping down his chin from a crazed and dare I say loveing smile.

"Have I ever told you that I LOVE you (Y/n)...?" Wilbur cooed with a staticky voice, walking closer and closer to the screen.

"Have I ever told you that you're mine?" He asked again, still walking towards (Y/n) with a lovesick and wobbly grin. She pushed herself into her gaming chair, telling their mind that this was just a hallucination and that they needed to go to sleep.

"And that you're only mine."

Then nothing

---

Quin bit his finger nails anxiously as he typed yet another message to (Y/n)

It had been almost seven hours since he had gotten her last message. Normally the internet addicted pair would respond within mere minutes of receiving a text from the other. But like I said, it had been seven hours and no sign of Quins other half.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, draping arm over his baggy and bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sure they're okay.." He mumbled, not sounding convinced in the slightest.

"I'm sure of it..."

WOOOOO ITS FINALLY DONE! THIS MF TOOK FOREVER BUT I AM IN LOVE WITH IT <333

Also, I would like to give a shoutout to my avian today. I absolutely love you King and cant wait to give you a big fucking hug. I wouldn't be here without you <3

Thoughts on Quin? I think he's a fucking bad ass bitch in my opinion

3738 words

-WayToSarcastic

#simpbur x reader #dsmp x reader #dsmp #(y/n)#yandere #simpbur #self aware ai #self aware au #fanfics #fanfic #oc #x reader

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kunikuzxshi · 3 years

Note

I just read some of your sub Shig stuff, and I didn’t know how much I would love the concept until I read yours!

I really like the thought of his crush trying to teach him some manners. Like just pinning him somewhere, not giving him ANY relief unless he says please. Maybe even calls them sir/mistress? And they’ll stop immediately if he insults them or gets too impatient. They’ll taunt him like, “All you’ve gotta do is be nice. That’s it! Then you’ll get whatever you want.” And UGH HE HATES IT but at the same time they’re making him feel incredible.

~ 🌹

I swear I'm starting to convert more of you guys. Y'all have to be looking through my screenshots at this point, thats EXACTLY my type of shit. Like don't get me wrong, whining for Shig's cute and all but its so much better to have a guy that could literally kill you in one hit on his knees. I don't have anything against him being both, but like personally I like my serial killers whiny and needy, and considering I only simp for Shig, he's the biggest victim. I'm also the only dominant one in my friend group, and they act like its a crime to be the one on top

Boutta pull out my private drafts for this, hold up

Minors DNI. Just because I let y'all follow for the sfw stuff doesn't mean you can get away with reading smut <3

If anyone's wondering what they described, I believe its this one

Sub Shigaraki x Dom Fem! reader

One of your hands was wrapped around his throat, just barely applying enough pressure to keep him from breathing properly. His pale skin seemed to glow under the dim light while it only made yours stand out that much more.

He's not even sure how it got to this point.

Your free hand moved to cup his chin, forcing him to look at you before brushing your lips against his briefly, just long enough for him to lean forward to catch yours, inexperienced lips trying to force his tongue into you mouth

You pull away, pulling him onto your lap, his legs straddling your thighs, your eyes scanning his chest down to his legs. He just looked so pretty, his cock already so hard just from a few simple touches.

"You're so goddamn pretty like this, y'know that, don't you? C'mon, just tell me what you want, I'll do it for you if you ask nicely," you start, taking a moment to give him a quick, sloppy kiss, "It's that easy Tomu."

His words were barely recognizable, only the word 'please' being loud enough for you to hear correctly, everything else sounded like a mix of whines and blabbering.

"What's wrong? You're so quiet. It's just us, no need to be so quiet with me." You cooed, moving his hair out of his face, your other hand grabbing at his shirt.

Instead, he just buried his face into your neck, murmuring something seemingly along the lines of 'just do it already, you're taking too long', his words still quiet and once again, barely recognizable.

This time though, instead of asking him to speak up again, you just assume you know what he wants, slowly unbuttoning his jeans, just watching the visible parts of his face turn red. Small whimpers escaping his lips every time your fingertips get just a little to close to his boxers, his breath hitching at the thought alone.

The second he feels your skin against his bare cock, he almost looses it immediately. A single loud, drawn out moan escaping his pretty lips. It's so hard for him to stay quiet once you start moving your hand, instead, he opts for biting your neck in order to muffle his sounds.

Once you speed up your movements though, its a whole different story. He detaches his mouth from your neck, throwing his head back, holding onto your shoulders for support. His legs go weak, and he'd probably fall on his back if you weren't holding him. The amount of noise coming from him is strange considering he won't talk unless he's desperate, and even then he's awfully quiet. Maybe its just the same little mix of moans and pants, but he's just so much louder.

"My little toy likes that, don't you? You're doing so good... just sit still, I'll take care of everything from here, ok?" You say, pressing kisses against his cheek, pulling away only to have his lips smashed against yours.

His hips involuntarily start bucking into your touch, desperate for anything he can get from you, his tongue trying to squirm past your lips. His arms wrap around your back, one hand tangling in your hair, pulling you closer to him. His legs start shaking just a little bit, and his already sloppy kiss getting worse.

When he finally pulls away, there's a string of saliva connecting you two. He just looks at you, his eyes glazed over and hazy. His mouth hangs open, drool spilling down his face as his cock start twitching, just before you pull your hand away.

"Hey! I-I wasn't done yet! Please mistress, just a little longer, please? I didn't do anything wrong..." He whines, his hips thrusting into thin air, the tip of his cock red and swollen.

He almost starts crying, his voice cracking every time he even tries to speak. Even then, anything he can get out ends up as a broken plea, a promise that he'll listen.

The familiar warmth of your skin against his almost makes him cry, your thumb rubbing the tip of his cock, but nothing more. A cracked whine slipping past him, his mouth moving to press desperate kisses against your neck. Anything that he can think of, he'll try.

"If you wait just a little bit, I'm sure I can give you something better, got it baby? Just be patient, you'll get what you want."

He starts biting his lip again in a pathetic attempt to stay quiet, anything that might get you to do what he wants. You gently push him off of you, laying him on his back before sitting in front of him.

You start removing your clothes, leaving your bra and your panties on. He almost jumps at you, his hands instantly moving to your back, trying to unclip your bra. Eventually, when he finally gets it off, he starts grabbing at you. One of his hands moves down to your panties, pulling at the waistband, but not removing them. His other hand starts massaging your soft mound, cherishing the weight of it in his hand.

"Can I..? Is it ok for me to, mistress?" He asks, dipping one finger under the waistband, slightly tugging them down.

You nod your head in approval, watching as he struggles with getting your panties off at first. Instead of letting him go further though, you push him back, touching yourself. He tries to grab your hand to replace it with his own, but you just slap his hand away.

"Why don't you just watch for now? You can do that for me, right Tomura? Surely my little toy can at least give me that much." You say, slipping a finger into your entrance.

He just sits there, not quite sure what to do. His eyes move back and forth between your hand, and your face. Every time he gets close, you just push him back, reminding him that he has to be patient if he wants anything else.

When he's had enough of you, he grabs you and pulls you on his lap. His fingers start trailing down your sides, one of his hands holding you in place. Your protests fall on deaf ears, his thumb already pressing against your clit.

He only stops once your hand once again, wraps around his throat. One good squeeze, and he snaps out of it, immediately pulling his hand away. Pathetic sobs emerge from him, looking down to avoid your gaze.

You start kissing his neck, caressing his cheek. "I told you to wait. You couldn't even give me that much, could you? How sad. Maybe I should go find Dabi, I'm sure he would listen better than you could."

His arms wrap around your waist as he buries his face into your shoulder. Tears start spilling down his face, his voice cracking every other word as he begs you to stay, to give him another chance, he can do better.

You pull his hands off of you, pushing him onto his back, giving him a quick peck. He wraps his legs around your hips, grabbing at whatever he can get his hands on, clinging onto you tightly.

You sit up, crawling over to his chest.

"How about this. If you be a good boy, and actually wait this time, I'll let you have your fun. If you don't, I won't let you do anything." You say, your thumb tracing his collarbone. He nods, staying as still as he can.

You crawl on top of his face, and he pulls you down, his tongue going to work almost instantly. His tongue laps up your juice, taking a quick dip inside of you. Your soft moans only encourage him, his hands moving to grab your thighs as his nose gently nudges against your clit. His thumb starts to work on your clit as his tongue delves inside of you, his grip on you thighs becoming almost bruising.

You try to get up just enough to reposition yourself, only to be pulled back down, his hand moving to your waist. The obscene sounds coming from him mix in with your quiet pants. Your soft praises encouraging him further as you hand grips his hair.

He groans against you, each sloppy lick seems to excite him more than it does for you. His fingers start rolling your clit between them, each noise you make only seems to get covered by his.

You bite your lip, muffling the groans spilling past your lips, though once you reach your limit, it doesn't help one bit. You scream, your grip tightening on his hair as you finish. He doesn't let you up just yet, his tongue licking up everything you have to offer before releasing his hold on your thigh.

You move in front of his cock, spitting on it before giving it a few quick strokes, watching his eyes widen and his mouth open.

"How about you beg? I'm sure a little slut like you would be willing to do that much. My pretty boy just wants to sink his cock into his mistress, don't you?" You tease, running a finger along the length of his cock.

He nods quickly, his eyes shutting tight as his hands grip the bedsheets. You watch his eyes fly open just from the feel of your thighs around his cock. He moves his head up enough to watch you, one of your hands grabbing his shirt as you line up his cock with your slit.

You start sinking onto his cock, biting your lip painfully hard as he starts squirming underneath you, one of his hands moving to grab your hip.

Once you're fully seated on his cock, he starts thrusting his hips up, pathetic whines falling from him. His hold on your hip tightens, trying to hint at what he wants. Soft whimpers emerge from him as drool starts slipping past his lips once more.

One of your hands tangle in his shirt as you start moving, the noise he makes immediately increasing in volume, his eyes trained on nothing but your figure on top of him. His back arches, and his hands turn white from his grip on the bedsheets.

You start increasing your pace, picking up your hips only to slam yourself back down on his cock. His hand moves to your chest, taking one of your breasts into your hand, increasing his grip there instead. Quick I love you's fall from him. You stop, moving his hair out of his face, giving him a quick kiss as he tries to deepen it with no success.

"Do you want me to keep going? If you tell me exactly what you want, I'm sure I'll let you do it." You say, running a hand through his hair.

"I wanna- fuck, I wanna cum inside you! Please! I'm so close, don't you want to be filled up too? Please mistress?" He begs, his eyes starting to water. You can feel his cock twitching in you, and his grip on you increasing.

You pick up your pace again, watching his expression quickly change. He starts panting, squirming underneath you as his fingers dip into your hips, and you're almost certain that there will be bruises there in the morning.

His moans increase in frequency, and he starts getting louder. His legs go weak as his grip loosens again, eyes shut tight as he thrusts his hips up to meet yours before spilling his seed into you.

His panting slows, and his breathing slows again. He pulls his hands off of you, letting you rest on his chest. He nuzzles his face into your neck, peppering kisses along the side of your neck.

You could've sworn you heard him mutter a quiet 'I love you', but he wouldn't admit it anyway.

#shigaraki smut #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #sub shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #mha shigaraki #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #bnha shigaraki #shimura tenko x reader #tenko shimura #tenko shimura x reader #shimura tenko

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dreamerball · 3 years

Text

nsfw alphabet - leo valdez

paring: leo valdez x fem!reader

warnings: smut, very smutty, this is the smuttiest thing I have ever written

notes: here are mine and some of @chasingpj's horny thoughts about leo. he is aged up in this scenario. enjoy :)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

honestly, leo needs a minute to compose himself. he's still very much in awe and afterwards, leo gets very cuddly. he pulls you into his arms and holds you until both of you catch your breaths. he cracks a few jokes to lighten the mood and carries you to the kitchen, where he makes both of you something to eat.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

leo adores your legs. he loves being able to grip your thighs and leave kisses and hickeys on them. of course, he loves teasing you with it. he smirks every time you whine, telling him it’s not fair, please touch me. he would place another kiss on your thigh, so close to where you need him, and then pull away completely.

leo likes his own hands. they’re big, warm and skilled and he knows exactly how to please you with them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

listen, leo is a responsible young man and wears a condom every time you have sex. he doesn’t like to get messy with it and frankly, the idea of being a zeus 2.0 scares him. however, that does mean that you guys go through a lot of condoms very fast.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

there was one time where you mindlessly called him baby, not really paying attention to the nickname, but it did things to him he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. his face got burning hot like he caught on fire (he might have) and he stopped breathing for a second. you didn’t notice how turned on he got from it and frankly, he’s too embarrassed to tell you. you often called him nicknames, but baby made his heart skip a beat.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

he’s not at all experienced, but he's very eager to learn. leo is constantly asking if you're feeling well and he’s a quick learner, so it really doesn’t take long before getting very skilful at pleasing you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

this boy loves his missionary. being able to look at you is very important to him and he loves holding your hands. and, if he’s feeling a little more confident, he might pin them above your head.

another one is when you get on top. he’s just so in awe of you and at that moment, there is nothing he wants more than you guiding him and telling him how good he’s making you feel.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

the first few times, it’s kind of awkward. neither of you know very well what you’re doing, but as soon as you’re getting comfortable, he’s cracking jokes. he is very goofy usually and that continues in bed. you love it, honestly. sex shouldn’t always be very serious and his humor makes it very lighthearted. however, he also has moods where he’s more serious than goofy.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he doesn’t pay a lot of attention to it, but he does like to keep the hair short and neat.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

getting so intimate means a lot to him, and he shows that. he tends to get very goofy, but he also loves being romantic. he’ll light some candles and put on some music to get you in the mood. once his hands are on you, he will not stop touching you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

before you became his girlfriend, he masturbated a lot. he has a very high sex drive and it was the only way for him. now that you’re with him, he doesn’t do it nearly as much as he used to, but sometimes he needs it. whenever you’re not feeling like doing it, or when you’re not around, the thought of you never leaves his mind as he brings himself to his high.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

praise kink. listen, this boy is touch starved and constantly feels inferior to others. it’s his biggest weakness. hearing you tell him how good he’s making you feel and how much you love him means incredibly much to him, to the point where it turns him on in the bedroom. his eyes get wide, a flush spreads over his face and neck and his hands grip you even tighter.

“you feel so good, leo…”

“don’t stop, princesa”

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

his favorite place is the bedroom in your shared apartment. it’s safe and familiar and overall just his favorite. however, sometimes the two of you don’t make it to the bedroom and then the couch is just fine.

your first time was actually in bunker 9. it was the only place where the two of you could be alone and though it wasn’t the most convenient place, it’s a fond memory you hold.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

leo strikes me as the type of person who’s always a little horny, so you really don’t have to do much to get him going. wink at him or lean in really close while you kiss his cheek and leo is on.

however, the best way to turn him on is by whispering something in his ear and biting his earlobe. you’ve always had a soft spot for his pointy ears and while he thought that was funny, you definitely made something enjoyable out of it. this boy will start blushing like mad and before you know it, you’re making out on his bed.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

he’s not into anything you’re not into or that hurts you. sex should be pleasurable for both of you, especially since both of you get hurt a lot in battles.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

leo is very focused on your pleasure, which means that he prefers giving to receiving. of course, he loves receiving, who doesn’t? the feeling of your lips wrapped around him is something that hardly ever leaves his mind. however, giving is one of his favorite things in the entire world. he can spend hours between your legs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

that really depends on the situation and how both of you are feeling. he usually sets a faster pace that allows him to get deeper. he has a lot of pent up energy he needs to let out, and that’s his favorite way. sometimes he gets back to your apartment, all worked up and angry because the machine was not working the way he wanted it to and it gets a little rougher that night.

in the mornings, it’s very soft and sensual. neither of you are fully awake and you’re drowning in the warmth of his arms wrapped around you when he slides into you. it’s soft sighs and gentle touches.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

leo prefers to take his time, but he’s not against quickies. sometimes it’s all you have time for or you’re too impatient. as much as he loves teasing and going slowly, a quickie often satisfies both your needs too.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

the longer the two of you are together, the more risks he’s willing to take. at the start, he was very scared that somebody might walk in on the two of you but he got more confident with time. now, he just does not care anymore and will fuck you almost everywhere. the room next to your parent’s? you know it. the bathroom in percy and annabeth’s apartment? absolutely.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

leo has a lot of stamina. he goes multiple rounds because he has a lot of energy and can last a long time. pleasuring you is his priority and so, he focuses on you for the first few rounds. he makes you come at least once before he even starts undressing himself. if it was up to him, he would make you come over and over again before paying attention to his own needs.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

even though he loves to invent new things and loves using tools, i don't think he’s very big on toys. he likes to keep it simple in the bedroom and he’s good with his hands and tongue. there’s no need for toys in his eyes. however, he would be willing to try if you would propose something.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

this boy loves to tease. he takes his time, whispering things in your ears, leaving a hickey on your neck and avoiding the places you need him most. even in public, his hand is gripping your thigh as he’s whispering in your ear how much he wants to take you back to the apartment and have his way with you. it’s a miracle your friends haven’t caught the two of you yet.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

leo is not necessarily loud, but he makes a lot of sounds. he sighs, he moans and whispers all night long and they are the most wonderful sounds you’ve heard. pull his hair, grind on him a little and he’s putty in your hands.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

hickeys are his biggest weakness. he loves receiving them, he loves giving them, but he especially loves it when you show them off. he knows it’s a little possessive, but he can’t help it. leo also has no shame showing the hickeys you gave him off.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

even though leo is a lanky kid who’s not very tall, i feel like he is thick. i would say he's the average length of about 6 inches but he’s thicker than average.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

very high. leo is always at least a little horny and down to fuck you or eat you out. all you have to do is wink at him or give him a kiss and he's ready. he could spend all day in bed with you if he wanted to (and he does).

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

leo likes to stay awake a little longer afterwards. he pulls you into his arms and the two of you end up cuddling and watching a movie while talking about how good you made each other feel. you’re usually the first one to fall asleep but if you don’t, get ready for another round.

#leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez smut #percy jackson #pjo #hoo #annabeth chase

795 notes · View notes

boldlyvoid · 3 years

Text

forever is the sweetest con | Chip Taylor x Reader

18+

Summary: Reader's dad is a carpenter; sometimes he takes on apprentices and sometimes, if they're lucky, they get his daughter's number at the end of their training. Chip Taylor, however, hits the jackpot when her father invites him over for one of her homecooked meals.

Warnings: reader's mom passed away, mentions of parental death, strangers to lovers, random acts of kindness, mutual pining, falling in love, steamy make-outs, oral sex (male and female receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, sub!chip, food mentions, praise, love confessions.

word count: 6.2k

a/n: thank you @samuel-de-champagne-problems for requesting a chip fic!! i am in love with him and also yes this plot is something that happened to my parents, however, my mom is still alive and my dad does give my Instagram out to the men who subcontract for him lmao!

Her father was a carpenter, and he often took on apprentices. You see, he had to learn everything on his own to make his way in life and support his family, he was willing to help other men do the same thing. And so every night he would come home from work and talk about whatever idiot he was teaching this week.

“His name is Chip,” her father emphasized the p with confusion, “what is that even short for?”

“It’s short for Charles,” she couldn’t help but laugh, “is he at least more competent than that Mason kid?”

“Much!” He rolled his eyes, “although I did have to teach him how to put crown moulding in today, he’s a quick learner and you can tell he’s just following what they teach at the schools but I know the hacks.”

“I know, Dad,” she smiled. “Is he cute? Single?”

She’s been on dates with most of the guys he’s worked with, mainly because they went to her high school back in the day, but also because her father was trying to play matchmaker. Ever since her mother died, she’s been taking care of him and he just wanted her to have some fun outside of the house. She needed a life in his eyes.

She was content working at the diner and serving people food all day just to come home and take care of her father. He worked hard to make sure they stayed afloat after her mom, the least she could do is make him dinner and a sandwich for lunch the next day.

“He is actually,” he shrugged, “he’s a yes man, you’d probably really like him.”

“Why’s that?” She asked, waiting for whatever snide comment he was going to make to jokingly piss her off.

“Your aunt Lisa only married your uncle Jason because he was a yes man and she could wear the pants, and you’ve always been just like her,” he explained it nicer than she expected.

“Give him my number next time you work with him?” She asks nicely, taking his plate from the table and moving it to the sink.

“Good luck chip,” she hears him mumble under his breath.

It makes her laugh, she loves her relationship with her father and the friendly environment they were able to keep after everything that’s happened to their family. They always laughed together, he was always cracking jokes and even when they were shouting obscenities at each other it came from a place of love, “fuck-head” was a term of endearment in their home.

—

He brings Chip home with him without telling her, she’s been home all day cleaning the house; her hair is a mess and she’s all sweaty, and he really is cute. She made enough food for an army so it wasn’t a problem in her father’s eyes, saying “doesn’t she always look beautiful? It’s fine Y/N.”

“Yeah,” Chip agreed with a small smile and a blush that roared red down his neck. "You're very beautiful."

She cleans up a bit before dinner, brushing her hair and changing into a nice sundress. She adds some perfume and shakes the anxiety out of her body, he was just one of her dad’s friends from work. And he happened to be incredibly adorable.

Returning to find them talking about how he fixed their frozen pipes in the winter with a hairdryer. It was the most basic shit to her and yet Chip was fascinated like he’s never heard any of these things before. He’s holding a beer in his hands with a leg crossed as he leans on the sofa and he’s so cute…

He’s in his work jeans and his shirt is all sweaty, and his hair is curled on the ends from all the hard work. His hands are dirty and he smells like sawdust and home. She’s not listening to a single thing they’re talking about, she’s just staring at the way his face moves when he talks and how sweet his laugh is.

He loves dinner, he’s beyond thankful and even more so for dessert. She made homemade banana bread with the bananas they had, they were going to go bad if she didn’t. It wasn’t anything special but he acted like she made his whole day.

He helps bring all the dishes into the kitchen, standing beside her as she fills the sink with water, “do you have a towel? I could help dry.”

“I know where everything is, how about you wash and I dry?” She compromises with a smile, and he’s more than happy to oblige.

She learns a little about him, he’s kind and friendly and he seems to crave the feeling of family that being in her home provides. He doesn’t want to stop washing dishes because then he has to go home, and he doesn’t look like he really wants to do that either.

“Do you need a ride home, Chip?” She asks as he lets the sink water out, “I was thinking about going to get some ice cream if you want to join me?”

“I would love to,” he smiles again, “thank you, Y/N.”

—

She understands everything when she drops him off at his tiny, little, run-down apartment; he’s going to be all alone as soon as he leaves her car and she hates that for him. He was so nice it was hard to believe that he didn’t have a nice partner and a house and kids by now.

“I wouldn’t mind if you came over for dinner after all your shifts with my dad? Just text me before so I make enough dinner?” She offers with butterflies swarming in her stomach.

“You’re too kind to me,” he replies, unable to meet her eyes as she turns to him.

“I just want more time to look at you,” she teases, “you’re really handsome.”

He lights up, “you think so?”

She nods with a small laugh, pushing air through her nose as she leans in more, “and you’re nice and funny, and your voice is cute.”

He’s stunned as his eyes flick back and forth from hers to her lips, his lips are parted as he tries to breathe but fails, he looks like no one has ever told him that before.

“Are you working with my dad tomorrow?” She changes the topic so that he can focus once more.

“I should be,” he replies just soft enough for her to hear.

“Would you like a sandwich for lunch? My dad said often the guys don’t bring that much with them to eat, I wouldn’t mind making you a sandwich too?”

She’s not sure why she feels the need to take him in and care for him but she does. She wants to wrap him up in a hug and make his meals and tuck him in at night. He just has this aura that calls for love and she desperately wants to give it to him.

He leans forward and kisses her, she kisses back instinctively and reaches to hold his face. His cheeks are soft as she runs her thumb along the skin, she pulls back only to press a few more pecks to his lips.

“You're something else,” he whispers against her lips before stealing another kiss.

He’s sweet, he tastes like vanilla ice cream and she just wants more. She kisses him again and again, eventually licking at his bottom lip and desperately whining to make out with him. She hasn’t felt this needy since she was a high schooler, but something in Chip made her feel alive.

She is leaning so far into his space she might as well get into his seat too. She moves to kiss his jaw and down his neck and he’s nothing but hands as he feels all over her back.

“Do you want to come inside?” He whispers, scared but just as desperate as she is.

“I shouldn’t,” she says before continuing her trail of kisses down his neck.

She can’t leave any marks because her father will know, but she also doesn’t care. He’d probably just give him a high five and move on with his day. She wanted to be even closer to him, she wanted to sit in his lap and kiss him for hours just because she could.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he tries to persuade her, “it just might be more comfortable for this?”

“Alright.”

He holds her hand on the walk up to his apartment, she likes how much he already feels like hers. He shows her inside and before the door is even closed she’s connecting their lips once again. He moans into her mouth at the feeling of his back colliding with the door and her hands are immediately roaming his shirt.

He’s such a good kisser, he is gentle and soft, he isn’t overly eager and controlling. He lets her explore and slow it down as she presses in closer to him and his hands wander to her hips. She places one of her thighs between his and grinds herself even closer to him.

He’s hard against her hip and the prospect of sleeping with him is so enticing but she knows she can't, at least not yet. It would be too quick, she wants to just appreciate him like this. Her kisses trail from his lips to his ear and he’s still a whining mess, but he’s completely still as she sets the pace of her grinding. He’s not pushing her to do anything or move this along, he’s just letting her explore everywhere… he’s so different.

“I don’t want to have to do laundry tonight,” he whispers with a smirk, moving his hands down to block her from grinding on his erection anymore.

She just undoes his belt and pushes his jeans to the floor before resuming the same position as before, this time she pulls her dress up and rests the clothed tip of his cock in just the right spot under her.

He’s holding her closer again, his arms wrapping almost all the way around her as his big hands grab handfuls of her skin in a desperate attempt to be closer to her. She keeps kissing his neck, they’re more open-mouthed and breathy than she intends but he just feels so good under her.

No one has ever made her feel this desperate before, something about him made her want to devour him whole. His sounds were delicious, his skin even more so, she couldn’t help herself from nipping and sucking at his neck as he made more beautiful noises.

She was so close and she could tell he wasn’t far behind, “let go, Chip,” she whispers in his ear, “cum with me.”

She grinds down hard one final time and he’s a shaking, moaning mess. It’s the feeling of the wet patch in his underwear and the feeling of him shudder that sends her over the edge, panting into his neck as they hold each other close against the door.

He turns them around, taking her by the waist and manhandling her until she’s the one against the door. His lips are on her neck and it’s like his orgasm has only enticed him to go further, “you’re too good to me.”

“You deserve good things Chip,” she whispers as her hand comes up to grip his hair as he continues to kiss her neck.

“Let me say thank you,” he whispers as he drops to his knees and pushes her dress up as she reaches to pull it up for him.

She spreads her legs as he moves her panties to the side and dives in. Spreading her with two fingers he sucks her clit into his mouth first and she tugs on his hair so tight he moans against her. Sending another shockwave through her body as he built another orgasm up.

He’s so good with his mouth, her legs are quaking as she tries to stay standing against the door. She can feel him everywhere but it’s still not enough, she wants him deep inside of her but she knows it’s way too soon to even be doing this. She has never gone this fast with someone before but she couldn’t stop, he felt too amazing.

“Chip,” she chanted his name, tugging on his hair tighter to get him to moan against her and send her over the edge once again.

She ruts against his tongue, fucking his face as she rides it out and he is more than happy to keep going as long as she wants him to and it feels so good she might just stay there. But the twitches get too intense and the whine she makes lets him know she’s done as he kisses back up her body.

Supporting her against the door, he presses his body against her once more. Taller than her, he tilts her chin up so she can look him in the eyes, his chin and nose are glistening with her cum and somehow he’s still cute.

She kisses him on the lips quickly, “when I can feel my legs again, I need to head home.”

When she leaves, she just sits in her car for a few minutes as she settles even more. Then she heads to the grocery store on the way home to get nice things for his sandwich tomorrow, because any man who can make her cum twice in 10 minutes deserves the best sandwich.

—

Waking up at 6 in the morning to make sandwiches is normally a chore, she sometimes makes them the night before so she doesn’t have to worry and can sleep in, this morning she wants to put all the tender loving care into these lunches. Her dad has noticed, he’s eyeing her down from the living room as he has his morning cereal and she knows he wants to ask.

“I didn’t sleep with him if that’s what you’re wondering.” Her voice is just loud enough for him to shoot her a listening glance.

“Oh, but you’re making him a sandwich?”

“You should see his apartment complex,” her expression drops, “ and after the way he devoured dinner last night, I just knew he hasn’t been taken care of in forever. And he’s so nice?”

He smiles, “your mom did the same thing for me.”

“You’ve never told me the story,” she reminds him.

He gets up and walks over to the kitchen, leaning against the counter so they can look at each other. His expression is soft, he’s an overly kind man and it was the thing she loved most about him.

“Your grandfather and I worked at a company making refrigerators, I was new to the state and had nothing and so he brought me home for dinner,” he smiles at the memory.

“Her parents got divorced soon after and her mom was having trouble with the bills so I moved in and I helped, and every morning your mom woke up and she made me a sandwich as a thank you.”

“Oh,” she smiled at the recollection, they really were having the same little love story. “Well, I’m thinking about making fish for dinner, would you ask Chip if he likes it? I’ve invited him over for dinner after all his shifts with you.”

He laughs in a huff, he’s proud of her— and himself. He finally found a good one for her.

—

She outdoes herself for dinner. The food is amazing, the table is set, and she’s all dolled up for him. Her dad thinks it’s cute and he doesn’t mind being the third wheel, they all talk to each other like he’s been having dinner with them for years.

He helps clean up after dinner and her dad falls asleep watching Jeopardy in the living room like normal. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his back while he’s still doing the dishes, he’s still all sweat from work but she doesn’t care, she wants to give him a hug.

“What’s this for?” He whispers, placing a wet hand over hers on his stomach.

“Do I need a reason to hug you?” She counters.

“No,” he turns around in her grip so that he can give her a real hug. Wet hands on her back and everything.

She held him there, leaning against him as he leaned against the sink. His heartbeat was quick and he still smelled like sawdust and hard work, but he was warm and soft and it felt so right to just be there.

“Are you working with my dad tomorrow?”

“I will be for the rest of the month,” he confirms her hopes; he was going to be around often.

“Would it be alright if I asked you to stay the night?” She whispers incredibly soft for only him to hear.

He nods against her before taking her hand and leading her outside to the porch. They close the house door softly and then she’s back in his arms, “are you sure?”

She looks up at him and he’s even more beautiful today than he was yesterday, “I can take you back to your place to get some things? It would be nice to send you off to work in the morning.”

“You’ve decided that I’m yours now, haven’t you?” He teased her with a smile, perfectly fine with that.

She nods again, “you could move in tomorrow if you wanted, I’m not sure what’s possessed me to take you in like this, but I really don’t want to let you go.”

He delicately places his hands on her cheeks and pulls her into a kiss, it’s soft and short and he’s quick to look at her again.

“You can have me,” he whispers, “forever, if you want.”

It makes her laugh, “that's the sweetest con you know, you promise yourself to me forever and yet you have no idea if you can stay that long.”

He nods in agreement, “what if I promise my hardest to stay?”

“Okay,” she smiles again, leaning forward and kissing him again, finally.

—

The month is coming to an end and he’s slept beside her almost every single night, and even with that, they’re still taking it slow. They go on dates on the weekends, they make out in her car, he drives her to work, she kisses him at the door every morning he stays with them and they’ve done almost everything but have sex together.

They didn’t feel the need to yet, everything that was leading up to it was fun and interesting. She’s enjoyed sneaking around with him to get each other off back and forth, like an adult game of tag.

She’d blow him in the car on the way back to his apartment after dinner, or he’d come and pick her up after a shift at the diner only for them to end up making out in by the back door, and his hand always ended up in her panties. It was an interesting month of getting to know each other, but she wanted more now.

Her dad is going out of town on a fishing trip with his buddies this weekend, she’s booked time off and Chip has no idea what is in store for him. She plans a dinner, she gets all dressed up for him, there are candles and music and it’s perfect.

He’s amazed by the whole thing and she can really tell he’s been mostly alone for his whole life, he looks at a simple home-cooked meal like it was a million dollars and he was beyond grateful for everything. He almost cries he’s so thankful for the time and effort she puts into taking care of him.

He goes to pick up the plates and bring them to the kitchen as soon as their meal is over, “ah, ah, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Cleaning up for you?” Chip answers with a nervous tone that she hasn’t heard before.

“Don’t you want dessert?”

“I can bring it out for you, stay there,” he offers and then frowns when she stands anyway.

“You’re looking at it,” she whispers as she enters his space.

She takes the dishes from his hands and places them on the counter before wrapping her arms around him, “my dad isn’t going to be home until Sunday night.”

“Oh,” he whispers back before his hands reach for her ass and he’s picking her up.

Her legs wrap around his waist and she grips his shoulders for dear life as he hurries them up the stairs and towards her bedroom.

He’s incredibly strong for such a skinny guy, although he was filling out the longer he knew her. He makes it up the stairs and through her door as she gets a head start at kissing his neck until he has her pressed against the door.

“What’s with you and doors?” She teases as he rests her back on her feet, she draws him in closer to her so their chests are pressed together and she can look up into those sweet honey brown eyes.

“I’m just impatient.”

“Too bad, baby,” she teases, “I’m making you take your time with me tonight.”

“Yes ma’am,” he responded with a smirk, “I’m here to please you,” he whispered as he leaned in more.

Attaching his lips to her neck he kissed towards her ear, “to thank you,” he took a fistful of her hair and moved it out of the way before kissing down towards her shoulder. “To show you how much I appreciate everything you do for me.”

She pushed him back enough to get Chip to stop kissing her neck, instead, pressing her lips against his. Kissing him deeply before running her tongue across Chip’s bottom lip as a request to make out with him.

Making out with Chip was something she did often, yet it felt like not enough every time. His plump lips and velvety soft tongue, soft touches and rough stubble rubbing against her chin and cheeks.

He smelled like oak after a storm, it was warm and electric and delicious. She dipped her face into the curve of Chip’s neck and took a whiff before attacking him with open-mouthed kisses.

He giggled, his hands her hips now, the pads of his fingers going up and his nails trailing back down over the fabric of her dress, the perfect motion to make the hair on her body stand up.

She reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, separating from his neck so she had room to pull it off of him before reconnected their mouths. Kissing him deeply then pushing him onto the bed, watching Chip get comfortable before she crawled on top.

They wasted no time getting back into the groove of things, tongues clashing and hips grinding, soft moans in each other's mouths, hands roaming everywhere. She reached between them to undo his belt and the button of his jeans so his dick wasn’t rubbing against the zipper. Making out like that was some of the most fun she ever had, she could do it for hours on end.

She pulled back, kneeling above Chip, she grabbed his open belt and pulled it through all the loops and chucked it towards the floor. She massaged her hand over the bulge in his pants as she got closer to his crotch, watching as Chip threw his head back to moan.

She fiddled with the waistband, wanting to pull them down, Chip lifted his ass up ever so slightly for her to do so, she pulled his pants and boxers all the way off and threw them to the floor as well. Spreading Chip’s legs and taking him in her hand, finally. She dipped down ever so slightly and licked the tip and he let out a beautiful cry as his hips bucked. She loved his noises, she loved seeing what new ones she could make and he was more than willing to show her.

Chip gasped and reached out to grip her hair, she took that as an invitation to suck his dick, she wrapped her mouth around the tip, slipping her way down as far as she could go before bobbing back up. It was slow and sensual, she made sure to cover all of him; jerking what didn’t fit in her mouth, dipping down even further to kiss his balls and suck one into her mouth.

The people she’s been with before had never been reactive, they either gave her praise or roughly directed her deeper and deeper till she choked. Chip was different though, making soft noises that sounded like ‘yes’ and ‘god’, his little gasps and stutters of breath were the cutest things. It just encouraged her to do it more.

She pulled off, looking up at Chip who was just staring at her softly. If she knew anything about giving a blowjob she knew what her face probably looked like.. eyes blown out in passion and lips swollen bright red. It was a sight he loved to see, his hand slipped down to cup her cheek and then down to his chin where he used his thumb to brush her bottom lip.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

She crawled back up and sat on his hips, taking the hem of her dress in her hands and pulling it over her head. She was wearing a nice matching underwear set for him, nothing too fancy because she knew it would just end up on the floor anyway.

She leaned back down, attaching their mouths once again, he wrapped his arms around her back and slowly rolled them over safely. Now on top of her, looking up into Chip’s eyes was a blessing. He blinked a few times, making sure it was real and he wasn’t dreaming that the most beautiful girl in the world was looking at him like that.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked gently with pleading eyes that let her know he was desperate to touch her however she pleased.

“Make me yours, Chip.”

“I think you always have been,” he replied.

His beautiful sweaty curls drooping over his eyes, she smiled as she brushed them back. Petting his face softly as she looked at him, he was so beautiful. The light was bouncing off the wall just enough to illuminate him.

“How do you want to do it?” She whispered.

“Let’s just go where the rhythm takes us,” Chip’s voice dropped low as he did, pressing their chests together, close enough to kiss as he rubbed their noses together softly.

She kissed him, wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling him in more. He squeezed his arms between her back and the mattress, wrapping himself around her. he decided to reach into her panties with his free hand.

He took a moment to admire her chest, she had caught him staring before. He constantly used them as a pillow, he wanted to touch them so badly, so she leaned forward and let him unhook her bra. Pulling it from her body and towards the floor.

She could sense his hesitation, taking both his hands off her sides and guiding them to her breasts. He whimpered as he felt them, she closed her eyes at the feeling. A small moan escaping her lips as he groped her. His big hands felt amazing, so strong and gentle, rough and yet soothing. Perfection against her skin.

She leaned back against the bed then, leaving him sitting up on her hips. Her boobs flattening out into a funny shape as she laid back, making her smirk in embarrassment. Only making Chip love them more, diving in and kissing the newly exposed skin.

He dragged his bottom lip over her skin between kisses. Leaving a trail of where he’s been already. She had a hand in his hair, holding it out of his face as she watched him.

Panting as she tried to grind up against him, the arousal in her core was overpowering. She needed to feel more, she wanted all of him. She was addicted to him already, hoping she’ll have forever with him.

She was too hot, feeling the sweat gather behind her knees as she tried to find more friction against him. She didn’t mind all the exploring he was doing, it was a wonderful appetizer, but she was nowhere close to being full.

He pulled back then to sit on his knees between her legs before Chip slowly slipped her underwear off. Raising her hips softly before resting her ass back in his lap and spreading her legs.

Fully on display for him, she played with her nipples slightly. Knowing how much he loved her boobs, watching her with a slack jaw as his hands ran up her legs.

He snapped back into the moment when she pushed her ass down against him, a whimper slipping past his lips as he placed his thumb on her clit, rubbing gentle circles into the bundle of nerves.

With his pointer finger, on the other hand, he traced around her entrance, not pushing in, just exploring the wetness as it dripped out. She tightened up on command, seeing his breath hitch as his finger almost slipped in.

“Please?” She begged, arching her back more so that he could finger her.

“Can we try something?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, resting on her forearms as she leaned forward.

“If I lay back would you, um,” he couldn’t say the words. They felt too filthy leaving his mouth, pointing at his face instead.

She sat up then, pushing him back against the pillows and settling herself over his chest and gripping the headboard for support, Chip wrapped his arms around her hips and guided her forward more.

Her legs were already trembling in anticipation as she hovered over his face, feeling his breath right on her core, Without warning, he sucked her clit into his mouth.

“Fuck,” she gasped as she smacked her forehead against the blocked window behind her bed, hoping to god no one could see through the blinds.

He pushed one finger in as his tongue played with her clit. She couldn’t help rocking her hips against his face, helping him get deeper inside of her. He curled his finger, lightly fucking her with it as he sucked, licked, kissed her pussy.

She was a mess, shaking over top of him as she tried to keep her orgasm in. Not wanting to cum yet, wanting to feel all of him inside of her before she did that. So he added a second finger, making her cry out in pleasure against the window without even trying.

Her orgasm ripped through her as she fucked his face, holding his hair with one hand as the other steadied her on the headboard. She couldn’t believe how intense it was, almost knocking the wind out of her as she road it out on his tongue.

He smiled against her, kissing her clit once more before pulling out and helping her back towards his lap. She wasted no time hovering over his cock as it strained on his stomach.

“Do you want to?” She asked, trying to control her breathing but still looking like a panting mess as she anticipated him.

“I’ll always want you,” he assures her with the sweetest smile.

She wraps her arms around him and rolls them over once more, he adjusts between her legs and drags himself along her overstimulated clit, she shudders at the feeling and then laughs at her own reaction.

“Ready?” He whispered.

She nodded, feeling Chip push in, she reached for his hands where they rested on her hips and interlocked their fingers. He bottomed out and dropped to hover over her, bringing their interlocked hands over her head.

She reached up to kiss him, Chip pushing into the kiss and making her settle into the pillow once again. It honestly felt like a movie scene, a first time between two star-crossed lovers. He pulled out ever so slightly before thrusting in again, she gasped against his mouth.

Chip trusted more while she pushed her hips into it as well, an offbeat rhythm developed in pure ecstasy. She let go of Chip’s hands to snake them around his waist, to run her fingers over the soft and slightly chilled skin of his back. Feeling the bump of his spine as Chip ducked into the crook of her neck, placing kisses along her collarbone.

Chip changed the position of his thrust as he wrapped his arms under her, arching her back ever so slightly to reach the bundle of nerves that left her a quivering mess. Y/N, in response to the added pleasure, ran her sharp nails down Chip’s back and he groaned at the feeling, “do that again.” he requested.

“Like that?” She asked, dragging his nails down him once more.

“Yeah,” Chip moaned, dark and deep.

The feeling of pure bliss overtook her body with each thrust, warm chills ran through him with each brush of his thumb on her clit. Every kiss to her neck and squeeze around her waist made her feel like she was on fire.

The hairs on her arms stood up, goosebumps formed along his forearms. Chip kissed from her neck to her nipple and took the hard nib into his mouth causing her to moan like she never had before.

“Chip,” she panted, pulling Chip’s face back up to his.

His eyes were absolutely blown out in pleasure, those golden wonders he used to stare into were now replaced solely by the pupils. She ran her thumb across Chip’s cheek before reaching to the nape of his neck to pull him into another kiss. Open mouths pressing together, hot air on each other's faces as they panted to the pleasure.

She was in heaven.

Her orgasm bubbled in her stomach, “are you close?” Chip whispered right beside her mouth, kissing her cheek lightly after.

She hummed, unable to speak with the mass amount of pleasure coursing through her body. Chip fucked into her a bit harder, a tiny bit faster, hitting her g-spot dead on each time to the point the nerves in her thighs were quaking uncontrollably.

She was so close, Chip used 3 fingers to quickly rub over her clit before she threw her head back with a shout. Cumming with her eyes pressed shut, pleasure coursed through her body stronger than she’s ever felt it before.

Nothing had ever made her cum that hard, ripping through her like her soul was leaving her body. She dug her nails deep into Chip’s skin holding him close to his body while he kept thrusting.

A high-pitched gasp left his lips, close to her ear as his hips sputtered into her’s one last time.

She still hadn’t opened her eyes, her breath rigid, she felt winded. Chip had stilled as he came inside of her and then collapsed into her, deadweight laying on her.

Chip mustered enough energy to prop himself upon his arm and look at her. Using his free hand he ran his thumb against her bottom lip once more to get her to open her eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” she replied with a smile.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, smile growing, “that was amazing.”

“Better than you hoped?”

“I’ve thought of doing this for the last month, I knew it would be amazing but I never imagined it would be that good.” she complimented Chip, “I think I died when I came, no joke.”

He laughed, dropping himself back into the crook of her neck. He kissed her more, up to her ear and across her jaw to her lips. Soft small kissed followed by a long-drawn-out one. Chip pulled their lips apart with a smack.

“Let me clean us up,” he said.

At that moment she realized Chip was still in her, soft and all. He pulled out slowly it was always such a weird feeling to be empty again. He sat up and made his way off the bed, he went to her bathroom.

Coming back still naked, his dick bobbing between his legs, she loved the view. He had a thing of baby wipes with him, knowing exactly where she kept everything in her bathroom by now.

“I can do it,” she suggested, reaching for them.

Chip pulled them back away from her, “I want to.” he said softly.

Running the cold wipe over her soft skin, Chip looked mesmerized. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” she replied with a shy smile, “can you come back up here now?”

He tossed the wipes onto her night table and cuddled right back into her naked body, she held onto him tightly so he wouldn’t escape. She knew he wouldn’t, but she loved him so much she never wanted to let go.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered into her neck. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same yet.”

“Are you kidding?” She laughed, pulling back so she could see his face as he looked up at her. “I think I’ve been in love with you since you walked in and said I was beautiful.”

He reaches for her cheeks and pulls her in for another kiss, “I’m going to love you forever.”

The words used to scare her, but now she looks at him and thinks they might be right for them.

“Forever it is, then.”

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