#Interlude Press
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Now Available: BORN ANDROMEDA by K.M. Watts
"An action-packed space opera that's not afraid of guts, glory, or going against the grain."
— Foreword Reviews
She was destined for a royal life—until galactic pirates changed the course of destiny.
Being eighteen is difficult, especially when you’re a cyborg and heir to the entire kingdom of the Moon. Disillusioned with royal life, Princess Andromeda dreams of nothing but freedom and adventure outside the protective dome of royalty. But when her parents arrange her marriage to an Earthen prince, she is forced to put her kingdom before her dreams of independence.
While traveling to Earth, Andromeda’s ship is attacked by galactic pirates led by her father's sworn enemy, the Lord Captain Bran. Taken prisoner, Andromeda realizes that her captors are unaware of her true identity and sees an opportunity: To best her enemies, she may have to join them.
Price: $12.99 print / $6.99 eBook
Details: Trade paperback, 5.25"x 8”
Pages: 284
ISBN: 978-1-951954-21-5 print // 978-1-951954-22-2 eBook
Cover art by C.B. Messer.
About the Author
K.M. Watts is a debut novelist who first dreamed of becoming an author when she won her school's Young Author Award at the age of five. She enjoys reading and writing YA fantasy and sci-fi, though she also dabbles with YA romantic thrillers. In her free time, she enjoys canyon hiking in her home state of Arizona.
Twitter | Instagram | Website
Add BORN ANDROMEDA to your Goodreads TBR here.
Available from the IP Web Store, Chicago Review Press, Bookshop, Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Book Depository, and an indie bookstore near you.
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In Memoriam: Charles Simic, 1938-2023
The Serbian-born American poet Charles Simic passed away this Monday, January 9, 2023. In memory of him and his work, we are sharing two pieces that feature his poetry that are illustrated with wood engravings. Simic was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1990, a MacArthur Foundation “genius grant,” the Griffin International Poetry Prize, the Wallace Stevens Award, and an appointment as US poet laureate.
The first item shown here is a broadside published by Charles Seluzicki in 1981, printed at the Meadow Press with a wood engraving by Sarah Chamberlain. It features the poem “Interlude” by Simic, and is signed by both Simic and the printer/designer, Leigh McLellan.
The second piece shown here is the book Shaving at Night by Charles Simic, with three wood engravings by Helen Siegl, published in 1982 also printed and designed by the Meadow Press. Each engraving accompanies a poem from the book.
When I was in college, I remember reading a Charles Simic prose poem that had something to do with trees in a literature class (I can’t for the life of me remember the title), and I just remember the image it created in my head and thinking “wow.” I hope that Simic’s work will continue to inspire young poets and readers for many years to come. May he rest in peace.
View more posts with work by Charles Simic.
View more posts with work by Sarah Chamberlain.
View more posts with work by Helen Siegl.
View our other In Memoriam posts.
-- Alice, Special Collections Department Manager
#Charles Simic#In Memoriam#Poetry#poets#broadsides#Sarah Chamberlain#Meadow Press#Charles Seluzicki#Leigh McLellan#Helen Siegl#Shaving at Night#Interlude#wood engravings#Pioneer Valley School#RIP#Alice
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Dragon designed the Birdcage? With the help of an AI she designed, who definitely isn't Dragon.
That does seem like a pretty inescapable superprison, but wow that must be one hell of a custom ceramic design to hold up an entire mountain plus all the weight of air over it. Plus the strength of the cables needed to suspend the entire building from the ceiling. Materials science aside though, I do wonder how she plans to deal with a teleporter who doesn't need line of sight.
#worm liveblogging#worm liveblog#Interlude 6#brb pressing an F on the world's tiniest keyboard for Bakuda
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Obsidian Interlude
Κάτω από το ποτάμι, partner piece to heagorún, ca 2004, Paris.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
It's a pleasant night.
A strange calm has taken the city by dark - the starlit sky a celestial reflection over streetlights and sleep-addled noise, fading slowly to a haze of whispers behind the fog rolling in from the river. Muffled, but never truly silent. As the moon lingers her idle, museful gaze upon the world, the firebrand glow of living presence behind glass snuffs out in the wake of the mist. Laughter and passion and footsteps in the night, one by one, falling away, to bad choices and a morning they hope might never come.
Fruitlessly, of course. But fervently, nontheless.
An inkline trickle soaks and stains through the fabric of this space, painting it black with tastes of charcoal and ash, yet life goes on, unbeknowing. A million people, singing chorus with the breath of a ladden gasp. The scene of a crime, dressed for dancing.
And there he is without his good shoes on.
The trickster's figure stands a solitary frame, gently lit below the cast of a dying arc. Its silken curtain of dim illumination drapes tenderly around and it paints him an outline picturesque; a lily-white shirt with bare forearms to stone - freckled skin faintly warm to the cold. He leans his weight against the rail of an age-worn bridge, halfway balanced across the breadth of the seine while amber eyes throw themselves over the precipice, trailing tides of the water below. A worlds away, his fingers run absent circles over edges of gold, an obol nestled in the cloth-wrapped palm of his hand. Muted and far, he waits, and listens.
For his purpose, he could've gone almost anywhere. Why here, then, he couldn't say. Perhaps it'd been curiosity. Thinking a keen eye might find what somebody else overlooked. Perhaps thematicism, narration in cycles and repetition bringing a certain je nais sais poetry to the front of it all. Engagement with the telling of a good story. Always did have a sense for that sort of thing.
Or maybe he's just hopelessly dramatic.
In the end, it doesn't really matter.
Eventually, the sound of life within the city stops to flow beyond the reach of his luminous hollow, grown a distant, otherwordly noise. And when the fog drifts higher - a heavy, blanketing mist climbing up from the river beneath - he knows he's no longer alone.
A spectre steps out from the shadow, and he greets him with a smile.
"Heya, boss." His tone chirps, a smooth melod to the shrouded gaze which tilts his way - a single amaranth eye peering out below wide blackened brims, vast with the unfolded depths of which it views him. "Funny running into you out here. Come around often?"
The presence approaches, and there's a shift in the air as it stills within reach, the weight of them heavy and old, eternally stranger, yet achingly familiar. Like something forgotten, now remembered. He can't quite make out the slight raise of a brow he recieves for the cheek of his tongue, such miniscule a twitch in pale visage and poise, but he knows, intrinsically, that it's there. A faint amusement seeming to emminate, for all his associate's subtleties.
It tugs on the corner of his lip.
"Speedy work, I'll say, as always. Do you make them pay you by the minute, down there? Or are you just going out of your way to impress me?" He chuckles and trades one manner of lean for the other, rolling over to rest his elbows on the brick and flipping the coin in his hand with the motion - ignoring the way the uneven edge of the railing now digs awkwardly into his spine while he returns the gaze that is given. Meeting half-lidded gold to imperial mauve.
When he speaks the cadance of his voice is... playful. Easy. His posture, wrenched to practiced casuality, pushing for an artificial air of nonchalance to cushion the weight of the unspoken between them. The gravity of why either of them were there, at all.
Two travellers at the crossing of worlds. A bridge, from this world and the next.
A life, hanging coldly inbetween.
He wants to be hopeful.
What he gets for his effort is nothing but silence, poignant. A single look holding long and knowing. An absence that seems almost regretful.
He exhales slow through his nose, and pushes himself up from the edge.
"...Alright, whatcha' got?"
Together under the harbour of streetlight, Charon looms nothing short of grandiose above him, the ferryman's cascade of twined silver locks falling pale over layers of fine obsidian coat. A breeze sweeps over them both and it catches the trims of their clothes in a sway, making the man at his side appear to move as though waves of a void within the space of the midnight he occupies; Wrapped in vapor and smoke, the form of him, something endless and ethereal. The same as he was, when they had met the evening prior. The same as he has ever been.
He steps forwards, bending low, and for a moment Havar thinks he could drown in that darkness. Doesn't move but to accomodate as Charon's head slots into place besides his own, hovering hairs from the curve of his ear where his breath comes through as a whisp and hollow sound. An aurora of deep vibration. A song no voice could sing. An echo without origin, felt into the bone.
He swallows when his other withdraws - a thousand years seem to pass for every second he drifts back away - and fixes his gaze pointedly elsewhere, letting it fall into the fog of the night and vacant emptiness beyond it. Drifting out, his brow knots loosely with the knowledge imparted. His fingers, taken to itch with sudden restlessness, clenching tighter around the obol in his palm. He knows Charon sees it. For what feels like an age, they don't say anything.
Then Havar breaks the silence once more, sights dropping low before flicking off.
"Aye. Well. Guess that'll be me then. No time to waste. Figure the lad'll want to know, anyhow - he'll be digging himself into a moat by now." The trickster huffs an empty laugh that doesn't quite manage a heart to it. He spins sharp before there's time for further words to be exchanged and starts on down the cobble road at a pace no less than brisk, ill-inclined to let linger, non-intent to look back. By and all he's still a job to finish and a promise to keep, so it won't do to get distracted.
He got what he came for, didn't he.
He doesn't need anything else.
Dammit.
"Don't suppose you--?" Just as soon as he'd moved he's stalled, barely ten steps away before his voice chirps up again and he twists comedically on his heel right back around with new inquiry - just a thought, you know, off the top of his head. His bandaged hand shoots up to extend a pointer in signal for the other to hold-- only to stop abruptly when he actually looks upon the figure behind. The tongue in his mouth grown instantaneously heavy.
Charon's stayed on the bend where he left him; alone beneath the arc, above the rushing of the river, surrounded by an aura of ever-fading light. He makes no move to follow, parts no lip to call him out - but the ferryman's head inclines back in such a way and just enough to watch him go, that even through the smog of clouding vapors he can feel it. How the eyes of him lay clean upon his being. How he sees him just for what he is.
A lump settles thickly in his throat.
"... Nevermind. Silly question." Havar waves his hand, dismissive, letting it drop as he flutters to retreat, being once again prevented. A ghostly whisper of the wind is all he gets before a larger hold grasps his wrist in its confines, catching it before it falls and he is gone into the night. There's a blink of genuine surprise where his gaze snaps upwards in return, and suddenly he's face again with his associate, flush with a wall of impenetrable dark, looking back. Asking.
The hand on him is firm for mere a moment before it softens, and he doesn't try to pull away. Fingers rough and scarred smooth slow over the bare of his own, turned curiously tender, as though the skin of a god were something delicate. As though he's something that could break. Calloused, a thumb ghosts cold past his pulse and it finds the edge of wrap, bound tight around his palm, lingering there to trace its edges while an indecipherable expression passes brief across the ferryman's facade.
They're out of time.
Bared open, he plucks the gold within the messenger's clasp - engraved, his fare and price - and proceeds to gently fold the the smaller's digits onto themselves, before gradually, he fades, relinquished to the mist from whence he came and would always return. The touch of him, remaining, like a memory not yet forgotten.
Under parisian skies, only one of them is left when the fog at last rescinds, beckoning the morning and the world to come again, and dance upon that stage they set, unknowing. Laughter and passion and footsteps in the dawn, waking up to do this waltz all over again, as many times as it takes, to whatever end it brings them.
Havar breathes in, and closes his fist a little tighter.
He sighs, and lets it go.
They've both got jobs to do.
And he got what he came for.
"... Yeah. See ya, boss."
#❱❱❱ t: circus aevitas#oneshot obsidian interlude#long post#guest c. charon#// fresh from the presses#// sneak peek on what havar was up to during the thread intermission
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Introduction Post
————
I’M A BAD BITCH YOU CAN’T KILL ME!
hiya! name's Blake. you might recognize me, you might not. rotomblr is confusing with all the multiverse stuff. basically, I'm an ex-champion who's kinda just doing my own thing now. saved the world a few times. met a few gods. y'know, the usual. I even died once! technically. oh, and I’m a university student at Blueberry Academy! mostly here to post about my Pokémon- but my friends Hop and Auberi have access to this blog too, so you might see them on here occasionally.
also!! I have a wonderful partner here’s his blog: @thunderblessedhero I love him sm
that's pretty much all you need to know, I think! signing out!
-Blake
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Auberi Bellerose- 21, they/them, demisexual/greyromantic
Hop Laventon- 20, he/him, asexual/biromantic
Blake- 20, they/them, pansexual/demiromantic
————
Current Arc: Frozen Over
Summary:
OOC: hi! I’m Wren and uHhh this is my first pkmn RP blog. Originally I was gonna make an Eternatus one but I thought it’d be more fun to make one for my OC,, but I might still make the Eternatus one if this one goes well. my main pkmn blog is @xgoldenlatiasx (but i like and follow from @/flightmare-kid)
(update: prolly not gonna make the Eternatus blog lol. for right now at least. I have enough blogs as it is now)
also: in-character mean interactions are welcome. beat their ass
other rp blogs: @thunderblessedhero @partnersintime @scarlet-rider @pokehorsegirl @bisharpenjoyer @dragontamerhiccup @coolguyhilbert @keldeochamp1on @weirdcelebi @sapphireseafarer @justanothercastelian
Warnings: things won’t get TOO extremely dark or serious on this blog for now, there will be a lot of swearing though. Also all the characters are around 19-20, there won’t ever be anything explicit but they’ll probably make stupid dick jokes at worst. Specifically Blake and probably Auberi sometimes. I’ll tag stuff like that as #tw nsfw joke and/or #tw suggestive.
Info about my OC:
basically Blake is my protag in several pkmn games, specifically SW/SH, X/Y, and B/W! the timeline of those games’ stories are in that specific order in my OCverse. (Pretty much any semblance of a canon timeline in the games is destroyed in my OCverse, except for any games w/ sequels like Gen1/Gen2 or BW/BW2. I’ll probably put together a proper timeline eventually, but essentially it’s just in the order I played all the games. Rn that order is FRLG -> HGSS -> SM -> ORAS -> SWSH -> XY -> DPPT/BDSP -> BW -> PLA -> SV -> BW2)
Bio: Blake was born in Nuvema Town, where they lived until they were around seven before moving to Aspertia City. They lived there until they were about thirteen, before moving to Postwick in the Galar region with their mother. There, they met one of their best friends, Hop. At the time, Blake was super closed off and shy, as their social anxiety made making friends difficult. The only one they’ve ever really let their guard down with was Hop. Watching Leon’s matches on TV with Hop was what inspired them to become a trainer, though for many years they didn’t actually think it’d be possible for them- considering they came from a family who didn’t really like Pokemon, therefore they had nowhere near as much experience with them like Hop did. They feared their social anxiety would get in the way, too.
Once they were 16, they unexpectedly got their first Pokemon from Leon- a Sobble named Kappa. After getting endorsed by Leon and some encouragement from Hop, they agreed to sign up for the Gym Challenge. They had a rocky start- losing battles pretty frequently was putting a huge dent in their already low self-esteem, and it was impacting Kappa as well. But over time they learned the ropes of being a trainer and was quickly becoming a rising star amongst the Gym Challengers. They went on to stop the Darkest Day along with Hop, catch Eternatus, become champion, and earn the trust of Zacian.
During their reign as champion, they trained at the Isle of Armor and explored the Crown Tundra. These small adventures slowly helped them realize just how much pressure their title was putting on them- and finally caused them to slip up during the final match of the next year’s Gym Challenge.
After losing their title, they decided to look for a new path- which lead them to Kalos, where they helped in putting a stop to Team Flare’s plan and caught Yveltal, and eventually back to Unova, where they fought against Team Plasma alongside Reshiram. Following the defeat of Plasma, they’ve enrolled as a college student at Blueberry Academy- and have done quite a lot in the past two years, such as visiting the Paldea region and catching more Pokémon. Now, they’ve returned to Unova, and are resting after having helped in the fight against Kyurem.
Blake is also the main character in my comics, Adventures in Kalos (on my instagram @/xgolden_latiasx) and Unova Fates (on Tumblr, insta, and webtoon). This blog will probably contain spoilers for those comics!
More rules/info/explanations/etc.:
All three of these characters are friends with multiple legendaries, so if they seem overpowered to you… sorry? I’m just having fun over here. They don’t really use any of them for battle that often, though they might threaten to sic their legendary on someone as a joke (but they won’t actually). But as of right now the only legendary that’s actively with the group is Reshiram, he’s the only one who’ll get involved in whatever shenanigans/event the gang finds themselves in. (Unless I’m participating in an event from another person and they say they don’t want Reshiram involved.)
I’m relatively willing to join in on high stakes stuff as long as I feel up to it, but please ask me first if you want one of my characters to actively participate somehow.
Also, this blog runs with the idea that Rotomblr is a weird site that links other universes together. So for example say if… Kalos is blowing up or something on another person’s blog and someone tries to get Auberi involved, I’m just going to say it’s happening in a different universe. Or if a different SWSH/XY/BW/PLA protag character tries to interact.
Please also understand that I have realllllly bad social anxiety and awkwardness. I apologize if it takes me a while to respond to something, or if my replies seem short and uninterested (I promise I’m interested in the conversation I’m just bad at words). Or long and ramble-y. Please tell me to shut the fuck up if you need me to.
Past arcs/plot lines:
#Storyline: Haunting Regrets (Explanation of Auberi’s past)
#Story Event: The Calm Before The Storm (Set up for a future arc)
#Story Arc: The Press Conference (This arc was discontinued, but I didn’t really feel like going back and deleting all the tags so it IS still canon but nothing important happened.)
#Typing Through Time (Mini event where a pair of mysterious siblings, supposedly from the future, take over the blog to document their search for a special Celebi.)
#Interlude Arc (BW2 event.)
#PB Takeover (Takeover of a version of Blake that joined Team Plasma.)
List of everyone’s Pokémon (will probs be updated frequently):
Blake:
-Kappa (M Inteleon)
-Go-Go (F Coalossal)
-Venom (M Toxtricity)
-Charlie (M Boltund)
-Jeanne (F Corviknight)
-Lancelot (M Sirfetch’d)
-Athena (F Urshifu)
-Tulip (F Venusaur)
-Lizzie (F Charizard)
-Tater (F Flapple)
-Potato (M Galarian Slowpoke)
-Audun (M Flygon)
-Zuzu (F Dragapult)
-Azi (F Dreepy)
-Shiverbolt (Arctozolt)
-Alto (M Grookey)
-Oran (M Munchlax)
-Fwoofy (Cosmog)
-Stormy (M Sobble)
-Dewdrop (M Sobble)
-Nessa Jr. (F Sobble)
-Bubble (M Sobble)
-Neptune (F Sobble)
-Zacian
-Eternatus
-Red (M Delphox)
-Stardust (M Meowstic)
-Ryu (M Lucario)
-Flick (F Vivillon)
-Verde (M Venusaur)
-Basil (M Sylveon)
-Granite (M Tyrantrum)
-Snooze (M Snorlax)
-Yveltal
-King (F Serperior)
-Cordelia (F Simipour)
-Beau (M Swoobat)
-Lumiere (F Chandelure)
-Kilobyte (M Eelektross)
-Phaedra (F Krookodile)
-Toothless (M Deino)
-Scylla (F Druddigon)
-Stormchase (F Swellow)
-Larkspur (M Venipede)
-Reshiram
-Cheezit (F Pawmot)
-Tiny (M Braviary)
-Salad (F Floragato)
-Cranberry (F Flareon)
-Pecha (F Grookey X Fomantis hybrid)
-Dart (F Cyclizar)
-Mantis (F Slither Wing)
-Hermes (M Corvisquire x Galarian Zapdos hybrid)
-Odin (M Corvisquire x Galarian Articuno hybrid)
-Vulcan (F Corvisquire x Galarian Moltres hybrid)
-Spark (M Galvantula ✨)
-VIOLENCE (F Scream Tail)
-Galahad (M Skarmory)
-Snart (F UD Archen)
-Titanium (F Revaroom)
-Goober (M Scovillain)
-Banana (F Latias ✨)
Hop:
-Cloudy (M Dubwool)
-Flint (M Cinderace)
-Percival (M Corviknight)
-Rumble (M Snorlax)
-Needle (F Pinchurin)
-Jasper (M Silicobra)
-Thor (F Boltund)
-Whisperwood (F Trevenant)
-Summer (F Heatmor)
-Watts (M Toxel)
-Crest (M Cramorant)
-Zamazenta
-Galarian Zapdos
-Mango (F Squawkabilly)
-Arlo (M Quaxly)
-Deedee (F Gardevoir x Whimsicott hybrid)
-Carrot (M Tatsugiri)
-Lumi (F Joltik)
-Koda (M Inteleon)
-Dusk (M Mightyena)
-Flurry (F Cetitan)
Auberi:
-Korrin (M Greninja)
-Calypso (F Meowstic)
-Blaise (M Charizard)
-Glacé (F Aurorus)
-Cantrelle (F Noivern)
-Reaper (F Absol)
-Estelle (F Flareon)
-Sunrise (F Talonflame)
-Chester (M Chespin)
-Ignis (M Hisuian Typhlosion)
-Blanche (F Hisuian Zoroark)
-Aries (M Paldean Tauros, Blaze Breed)
-Spitfire (M Skeledirge)
-Anne Bonny (F Kilowattrel ✨)
-Voltaire (M Joltik)
-Fondue (F Fidough)
-Arceus
-Rouge (M Hisuian Zorua)
-Anastasie (F Hisuian Zorua ✨)
(A note: These aren’t necessarily all Pokémon that are registered to them. Most of the legendaries, for example, are just ‘mons they’re able to call upon or are associated with)
#pokemon#pokemon rp#pokemon irl#pokemon roleplay#trainer blake#introduction post#pokeblogging#pkmn swsh#pkmn xy#pkmn bw#pokeblog rp#pokemon oc#rival hop#rival auberi#storyline: haunting regrets#story event: the calm before the storm#story arc: the press conference#typing through time#(( adding tags to help find those arcs better ))#interlude arc#pb takeover
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between all the gasping, i finally breathe
pairing: michael clifford/luke hemmings
rating: T
word count: 8k
important tags: beaches, alternate universe - college/university, first kiss, friends to lovers, complicated relationships, light angst, driving
Sick probably more accurately describes how Luke is going to feel after four in the morning at the beach in the middle of September. If it were anyone else, that would deter him. In fact, that would be his excuse. Love to go, but I'm afraid I'll catch cold.
But it's not anyone else. It's Michael. And the thing with Michael that Luke learned a long time ago is that you have to carve out moments with him and clench them in your fist or you'll find yourself fading from his life.
i write 8k of muke i make a moodboard i throw it onto your dash at midnight i disappear in a puff of smoke (thank you @allsassnoclass and @igarbagecannoteven for helping me make this fic not suck i love you guys)
#michael clifford#luke hemmings#muke#muke fic#5sos#5sos fic#fic#my fic#my mb#fic mb#i read molly's new fic interlude and i went oh yes muke i like them and then#this#enjoy !!! lmao#it's good. but it's weird but it's very good in my opinion. it's got a little of everything#fluff angst humor driving swimming kissing it has it all baby#you want a fic? you got a fic !#god editing this fic was like twisting my arms off#i actually squat pressed 190 at the gym today and editing this fic was worse than that#ive been including snapchat more and more in my fics and i dont know what that says about me#nothing good i assume#too modern creates an unsettling realism BUT it is what it is#i had to give credit where it was due. literally this entire fic was inspired by a snap story that one guy posted#ive been listening to 5sos5 for like three hours
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AMCF Mag’ : le n°12 est disponible
Episode 411 • Depuis 2021, l’Association Modélisme et Culture Ferrovipathes (AMCF) édite une revue numérique trimestrielle de qualité. Le numéro 12, déjà disponible, est en grande partie consacré à l’évènementiel RailExpo Dreux.
Dans l’épisode 355, je vous présentais la revue numérique «AMCF Mag», un périodique traitant de façon équilibrée aussi bien du chemin de fer réel que du modélisme…
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#Actualités#AMCF (Asso)#Histoire du chemin de fer#Interlude#médias#Modélisme ferroviaire#passion#Revue de presse#Sur le Web
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4k celebration
congrats on 4k love - your writing is absolutely worth all of the hype and even more!!! i adore your work and so look forward to even more people discovering it.
i was hoping to request a lewis fic?? i’m such a slut for a good enemies to lovers situation, so maybe along the lines of reader is a fair bit younger than lewis, but there’s been all of this tension btwn them and it all boils over one night (smuttyyyyy) 🥴
we made up.
LH x fem!rival reader - 4k celebration
in which you can never just bite your tongue
eeeeek i love this request! thank u sm anon for ur sweet words, ur so lovely i hope i’ve done this justice for you! writing for lewis terrified me so this might not be my best work but we move! more lewis requests to come, let me know what you think <3
songs to set the mood: stargirl interlude by the weekend & lana del rey
warnings: 18+!! minors go away!! smut, swearing, degradation, praise, dom!lewis, some switch!reader, implied age gap, slightly inexperienced reader, enemies to lovers, blink n you’ll miss it size kink
2.6k words
you hide admiration with a scowl, curling into yourself, as far away as you can get from him. the couch seems to get smaller and smaller with every overly intelligent, carefully thought out word he says. each sentence seems to be coated in a thick layer of i don’t give a fuck. you don’t know how he’s so good a toeing the line.
after six years in f1, you still couldn’t work out why you didn’t like lewis hamilton.
maybe it was his cool confidence, the way he never lacked composure, while you were called an unhinged, delusional woman by every incel on twitter for so much as breathing. maybe it was his sky high stack of trophies, championships, podiums, wins. you weren’t even halfway close to touching his records. maybe it was the way he was diabolically, inhumanly gorgeous, a truly breathtaking creature. you paled in every single way compared to lewis, so how could you even begin to like him?
it was silly, really, pathetic even, feeling such childish disdain just because he was better than you. he was older, more refined, iconic in every single way that you weren’t. perhaps you’d get there one day, but you simply weren’t there yet.
you’re sat beside him in the press conference, sharing the couch with him, alex, lando, charles and max. it wasn’t the worst combination in the world, but anytime you had to sit in front of a gaggle of hawk-eyed journos and a million cameras with lewis, something unfortunate usually happened. never by design, but you just weren’t very good at saving face in front of the mercedes driver.
“do you think the podium is a possibility this weekend?” someone from autosport whose name you can’t remember asks.
“i’m hoping so, just need to keep the mercs behind us again, but i don’t think that will be that hard.” you respond, without even a sliver of a filter. the material of the sofa shifts as lewis tenses up beside you, inhaling sharply at your blatant disrespect. somewhere beside you, lando sniggers, and max is rolling his eyes.
it was no secret that you didn’t have the softest spot in the world for sir lewis.
“that’s assuming your car makes it to the end of the race.” lewis clears his throat, speaking with confident conviction. you turn you head to glare at him, painfully unable to take what you give. alex slaps his hand over his mouth.
“at least my car isn’t so bad that i’d rather go and learn the alphabet down at ferrari.” you scoff. you avoid the eyes of your comms officer, because if looks could kill, you’d be six feet under already.
“i think we’ll leave it there.” tom clarkson suggests, and you stand from the panel and storm away on trembling legs with a terrible ache throbbing between them.
there’s something about the pettiness, the reasonless back and fourth you two always seem to partake in that leaves you in need of a cold shower.
-
turns out, you have to apologise.
you spend the better part of an hour being bollocked by your press team, who, for some reason, don’t find it particularly amusing that you’d somehow managed to insult the lewis hamilton, ferrari, and mercedes in the span of two sentences.
so, there you were, begrudgingly trailing towards lewis’s hotel room. it’s on the top floor, because of course it is, it’s him. he oozes expensive exclusively, naturally above the rest. you twist your rings nervously, increasingly terrified of being in a confined space alone with the gorgeous brit. your knuckles rap gently against the wood of his door, intentionally weakly. you pray he won’t hear you and that you can just disappear back into the elevator and into your room, to pathetically let you hands wander between your clenched thighs.
but god laughs, and the door swings open. lewis seems startled by your presence, just for a moment though, leaning cooly against the doorframe. his lips pull into a faint smile. two things alarm you. first of all, he’s shirtless, bare from the waist up, a plethora of delicious tattoos on display for you to feast your eyes on. secondly, and somehow even worse, he’s panting, clearly just back from a work out in the gym. he glistens with sweat, and your mind goes blank, apologetic words die on your tongue.
“something to say, angel, or are you just here to stare?” lewis teases, the words rolling off his tongue smoothly. you pray for the ground to gape open, swallow you hole, suck you into hot lava.
“well, i was gonna apologise but i don’t think you deserve it.” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest accusingly.
“didn’t think you knew how to apologise.” lewis grins sarcastically, mocking you.
“has anyone told you how arrogant you are?” you bite back, eyes narrowing.
“why don’t you come in here and i’ll show you just how arrogant i can be?” his voice has dropped a few octaves, seductive and low.
the proposition, the suggestion behind his words makes you fold immediately. you’d wondered for far too long about what he was like behind closed doors and under thick bedsheets, and if you had the chance at finding out, you’d be imbecilic not to take it.
you shove his muscled chest, pushing him back into his room. his hands find your waist, pulling harshly at the material of your loose t-shirt. he’s watching you intently, mesmerised by the angry flush on your cheeks tinging you pink. your eyes convey hunger, matching his, and you’re forcing him down to sit at the foot of his bed.
“why are you such an asshole?” you hiss, slotting your knees on either side of his so that you’re straddling him.
“probably the same reason you’re such a little bitch.” lewis growls, tugging you forward harshly on his lap. you feel his work out shorts ride up on his thighs, the material sensitive on your skin.
your pupils blow wide at his words, and you’re kissing him hard, teeth and tongues clashing messily. his lips are so soft, pillowy as they brush aggressively with your own and you lick wetly into his awaiting mouth. he’s addictive, minty, and you fall against his bare chest as he leans back into the mattress.
“i think you need to be taught some manners.” lewis grunts, flipping your bodies over like you’re nothing, and slotting against your body like a missing piece.
“i think the same could be said about you.” you breathe, sliding your hand under the waistband of his shorts. he chuckles quietly, the rumble reverberating through your own chest, cracking you open.
“try your best.” he whispers. your eyes roll back.
truth is, you’re not the most experienced person in the world. yes, you’re in your mid twenties, but a long term relationship with the worlds biggest loser and dedicating your life to a career in a boys club meant that you didn’t have the time to develop broadest set of skills. you didn’t have the luxury of letting loose in a nightclub with a stranger because if that information got into the wrong hands, you’d be slut-shamed off the face of the earth. so now, you found yourself a little bit lost under a literal sex god.
as if he can hear your thoughts, lewis pulls back.
“what’s the matter? do you want me to stop?” he’s softer than he ever has been with you, melting away in your hands, but you draw him back in, tightening your grip on the band of his shorts.
“no, no, i just…” the words die on your tongue. something in your eyes gives him all the information that he needs.
“do what feels right, good.” his nose brushes your jaw, kissing over it and you settle back into the moment.
“teach me a lesson.” you whisper, empowered in his hands, and he springs back into action, his demeanour slipping right back into what it had been.
“is that why you’re so bad in interviews? just want me to fuck some respect into you?” his lips tug amusedly when you nod rapidly up at him.
an experimental roll of his hips makes you keen, hand slipping into his braids and pulling hard. his eyes fall shut, lips parting to let out a soft groan, his eyebrows pinching from the rough pleasure. your fingers graze over the skin of his toned belly, finding sensitive skin that makes him shiver.
“you distracted, lew?” you taunt, with the only intention of riling him up.
his eyes snap open, hard and lacking any sort of warmth, and he tears your hands from where they rest on his firm body, swiftly pinning them above your head with one hand. he plants himself on one knee, balancing himself so that he can fiddle with the button of your shorts. he makes quick work of removing them, forcing the zipper down and skilfully manoeuvring them with just the one hand.
once they’re gone, along with the lace of your underwear, he forces your thighs apart, and slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt, slicking them up. you’re soaked and he momentarily falters, but he doesn’t let himself get too visibly affected.
“fuck, you’re so wet. been thinking about me, angel?” he teases mercilessly, as he rocks the first thick digit into you, twisting and curling until he finds the spot that makes you buck your hips.
“nothing to say now, hm?” lewis tuts, wetting his lips. the feeling of you squeezing so tight around just one of his fingers makes him choke out a moan. you can feel his hot breath fanning over your face, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of him filling you up.
“more.” you breathe, stuttering over just one word. he revels in how he’s managed to reduce you to this so quickly.
“you sure you can take it, angel? so fucking tight.”
“make me.” you plead, parting your strained thighs even wider for him.
he lets go of your hands, snaking down your body to get himself closer to where you’re dripping already.
“keep them there.” lewis orders, and you grip tightly onto the pillows to exercise restraint.
lewis presses his forearm over the plush of your belly, holding you down as he adds a second finger, watching in awe as it slips so effortlessly into your pussy. you’re mewling, fighting to buck your hips but the firm press of his muscled arm keeps you in place.
“so pretty for me, angel, soaking my fingers.” he notes, entranced at how responsive you are for him.
“want you inside of me, lew.” you whine, knuckles paper white where you’re fighting off the urge to reach down and touch him.
“wait.” he snarls, ramming his fingers even harder, grinding against the soft spot buried deep. “you’re gonna cum like this first.”
with that, he removes the barricade of his arm, bringing his spare hand to your clit, the pad of his thumb drawing calloused circles into the bud. you lose it, grinding down on his fingers like a woman possessed.
“that’s it, sweetie, fuck yourself for me.” lewis encourages, voice gravelly and low.
sparks shoot down your spine, nothing but white behind your eyelids as he lights you on fire. you can’t warn him, the words lost to the tense air of the room as you barrel towards your first release. he eases you through it, not letting up even a little bit, but it pays off when you can’t help but writhe against the cream of the bedspread.
“god.” you croak, flopping limp as he pulls out, crawling over you.
“learned your lesson?”
“not quite.” you flash an exhausted grin, abandoning your grasp on the pillows to slide them down his thick frame.
you trace the lion adorning his shoulder, the compass, each piece driving you further into utter delirium. your hands graze his waist, snaking around his abdomen until you reach the cross, tracing it until you reach words that keep him going.
still i rise the cursive reads, and he shivers as you rake your nails over it.
“fuck me.” you purr. your hands slide under his shorts once more, gripping at the curve of his ass. you push the material down over his thighs, and he happily kicks them away, his inked hands roughly spreading you even wider.
“desperate little thing, bet you go home after every race and fuck yourself silly wishing it was me, hm?” he adjusts himself between your legs, his thick cock nudging against you entrance, drenching himself in the mess he’d made.
you gasp out a moan as he slides deep, taking his sweet time. you can’t even comprehend his words, totally consumed by the brutally enticing stretch of him, your thighs shaking at the delectable intrusion. he hisses at the sensation of your tight warmth, his head falling to rest in the crook of your neck. lewis licks over the sensitive skin, trailing open mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. you feel the sharp graze of his teeth, gentle nips making you shudder on his cock.
“don’t leave a mark.” you choke, and lewis seems to get it, so he skims his teeth lower, sucking purple just over your heart.
you clamp down around him, allured by the tweak of pain, and it seems to spark something in him, his hips rolling into yours experimentally.
“you feel so fucking good.” lewis pants, his breath warm and wet on your neck.
“need you to move.” you plead, turning your head to capture his lips in an urgent kiss.
he pulls out, slamming back into you roughly, your tummy twisting with anticipation. lewis finds a rhythm that suits you both, hips hitting yours with every thrust, each one leaving you full and spent.
“gonna make sure you feel me for days.” he promises, yanking your legs over his hips. as he does, he hits deeper and you yelp, stars in your eyes. “when you sit in the car tomorrow, you’re gonna feel me and remember how to be a good fucking girl, not an attention seeking brat.”
you ramble his name, eyes flooding with tears of overstimulation, dumbfounded at how he seems to hit a new spot with every slide of his cock. he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs, pulling your hips impossibly closer to his as he drives into you, as if he wants to become a part of you, moulded for an eternity. with the way your stomach knots, butterflies and adrenaline coursing through you, you’d comply; you’d let him do whatever he wanted to him anytime he wanted.
“‘m so close.” you whine, pulling on every part of him your hands can reach. a refreshed sense of determination builds in his eyes and he presses hard on your navel.
“so deep, can see it.” lewis slurs, eyes fixed on your belly.
those five words make you unravel, sending you hurtling over the edge. he can’t help but fuck you through it, hammering home while you spasm around him so tight that he struggles to move.
“fucking addicted to this pussy.” lewis groans, burying himself as deep as he can go.
you’re utterly enchanted as you watch him reach his release, gnawing at your bottom lip when his part in a moan, allowing gentle puffs of air to escape. his long eyelashes rest delicately over his cheeks as his eyes fall shut, your name spilling out of his mouth like a needy prayer.
you’re warm from the inside out, flushed and full when he settles, pressing his body weight into you completely.
-
two weeks later, you’re in japan, bored senseless in yet another press conference. lewis sits further down the couch, and you have to cross your legs every time he speaks. no one seems to notice, except him, of course.
when it’s your turn to speak, and you’re asked all about your little spat with sir lewis back in australia, you shrug, smirking.
“we made up.”
-
oof
-
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@mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @formulaal @carlandoxlestappen
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#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton smut#lewis hamilton fic#lewis hamilton fics#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x you#f1 fic#f1 smut#f1 fics#f1 driver x you#f1 oneshot#f1 imagine#lewis hamilton oneshot#lewis hamilton imagine#formula 1 smut#formula 1 fic#formula 1 fics#jas’s 4k celebration#writing things#request#smut#enemies to lovers
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Hiiiii could you do a fic where reader is pregnant for the first time? I need more soft!young president coriolanus so so bad
Soft as Snow || Young President!Coriolanus snow x reader
A/n: thank you for this request anon!! I need more soft coryo too 🥹
Warnings: fem!reader, mention of death
Wc: 860
Divider by @firefly-graphics
In the opulent sun room of the presidential mansion that you call your home, you sat in a plush chair with a bowl of fresh lychee perched carefully on your pregnant belly. The brightly lit room, adorned with decadent furnishings, seemed to reflect the weight of the world you carried not only as the First Lady but also as a soon-to-be-mother.
The door cracked open and Coriolanus entered with an air of authority that seemed to dissipate as he laid eyes on you, his precious wife. Coryo gestured the servants to leave the two of you alone as his steely gaze softened, and a small, genuine smile graced his lips as he approached.
"May I?" he gestured toward the empty space on the chair beside you. You nodded with an eager smile and he took a seat, his eyes fixed on your protruding belly which was covered by the softness of your silk dress. Gently, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "How are you feeling, my love?"
His voice, usually reserved and commanding to people outside of his inner circle, held a tenderness and softness that sent a comforting shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but smile at the sincerity in his question.
"I'm well, Coryo. Our baby seems to be quite content by these lychees," You chuckle as your rub your stomach. Coryo smiles, lychees were a rare fruit to come by this time of year but he made sure that you were fed only the most juiciest, ripe, lychees.
"I'm glad," he hums. His hand finds its way to your belly, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric of your dress, ghosting over your skin underneath. "It's a remarkable thing, life," he mused, his eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—awe, anticipation, and a hint of vulnerability.
You watch him knowing where his mind was at. The thought of his mother dying during birth along with his baby sister. You knew that he was scared. Scared that maybe you would have the same fate as his late mother. But you assured Coryo, that times have changed and that you would be alright.
The weight of his responsibilities seemed to momentarily fade as he focused on you and the life growing inside you. Your fingers dipped into the fruit bowl, a lychee in between your fingers as you bring it to your lips, Coriolanus watching with fascination. The atmosphere hung in a delicate balance, as if time itself had slowed down to savour this tranquil interlude.
"Have you thought about names," he asked, breaking the silence. You chuckled softly, the sound echoing through the room, "I have actually. Vicky," you watch Snow's features contort into a mixture of emotions.
"Vicky. like my mothers-" "Yes, like your mother's name." You interrupt him as your thumb brushes over the back of his hand, a comforting gesture that spoke volumes. "I love it. Vicky Snow," He says with a smile on his face.
As you continued to share the bowl of fruit, the conversation drifted from politics to dreams, hopes and the shared future that awaited your family. Coriolanus, a man known for his strategic mind and politics, revealed a more vulnerable side, a side reserved for you, his wife carrying his child.
Time slipped away, and the room glowered in the soft hues of twilight. Coriolanus stood, his eyes lingering on you with an affectionate gaze. "I've got state matters to deal with, my dear. Just know, you and our child are always on my mind."
~
Days turned into weeks, and the swell of your belly grew more pronounced. The Capitol buzzed with excitement over the impending arrival of the newest member of the Snow legacy. Coriolanus, ever the stoic leader, became a pillar of support, attending to your needs with a grace that contradicted his ruthless reputation.
One evening, as the two of you stood on the balcony overlooking the Capitol, he wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting protectively on your belly. The lights of the city below shimmered like a sea of stars, and for a moment, it felt like the world paused to witness the union of power and vulnerability.
As the days dwindled down to the eagerly anticipated arrival, Coriolanus stood by your side, a beacon of strength. The birthing room, stark and sterile, contrasted sharply with the opulence of the Capitol. Yet, in that space, you found an intimacy that transcended the political stage.
The first cry of your newborn filled the room, and Coriolanus held the tiny bundle in his arms with a reverence that bordered on awe. His usually composed demeanor crumbled, replaced by the unfiltered joy of fatherhood.
"She's so beautiful, just like her mother," He whispers, his eyes never leaving the small face nestled in his arms. "Thank you, thank you for gifting me a gift beyond measure," Coryo looks at you as you couldn't help but let a teardrop roll down your cheek as you gazed at the future you had brought into the word.
You couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected beauty that had blossomed in the heart of the Capitol's calculated power.
#fanfiction#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus fanfiction#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus x you#coriolanus snow#dad!coriolanus snow#soft!coriolanus snow#the hunger games#the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#tbosas imagine#tbosas x reader#hunger games x reader#fluff#coriolanus snow fluff#young president snow#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus smut
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Midnight Interlude
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Wife Reader
Summary: You try to convince Tommy, your husband, to come back to sleep.
ao3 link
-
You awoke quietly in the middle of the night, feeling the weight of your slumber resting beneath your eyes. Too tired to lift your eyelids, you shifted in the bed, searching for the comforting cradle of your husband’s arms, only to find the space beside you cold and empty.
Weakly, you opened your eyes to the dark bedroom. Blinking sleepily, you waited for your senses to adjust while attempting to recall if Tommy had mentioned anything about going on a business trip. Your head ached. Where was that Tommy of yours? You weren’t even able to think because your brain was still buzzing from a peculiar dream. Regardless, you were freezing, and without Tommy to keep you warm, you wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. You cursed, pressing a cold hand to your flushed head. Your nose squirmed at the bitter air.
You weren’t sure how many sleepless nights you could endure without your husband. Lately, he had been going on more business trips than usual and staying up late in his office. You went to sleep before him, and by the time you woke up, he was usually already going about his morning. It was if you married a ghost.
The sheets rustled when you swung your feet to the floor. You stretched your arms awake and rolled your neck to the side, receiving a satisfactory pop in return. Wrapping a silk night gown around your body, you left the bedroom, stifling a yawn as you reached his office, where you heard the cackling of candles and the amber hum peeking through from the crack beneath the door. You twisted the nob slowly, careful not to startle Tommy, and entered the room.
“Tommy? You’re still up," you croaked, rubbing at your tired eyes.
Your toes curled as a shiver passed through your body. The wooden floors of your husband’s office were always deathly cold. And where was that ambitious old soul of his? Hunched over his messy desk, squinting through his glasses as he appeared to be reading over a letter. His marble contours were more sunken each night. His thumbs twitched and fiddled with a fountain pen as if they couldn’t bear to do anything but work. The top buttons of his white blouse (that you were always sure to iron the night before) pealed back to reveal a sliver of skin that you would stare at some nights to ensure he didn’t die working himself to death.
You loved him. God, you loved him. You loved him in a way that certainly would disgust the wives from the country houses down the lane. They loved their husbands in a plain and simple way. Margaret had gushed to you about her marriage and how she had fallen into a timely routine with her husband, dancing around the clock until they fell asleep on a wonderfully fluffy mattress. You stuck your tongue in your cheek. That wasn’t love; that was what men told women love was—a choreographed routine. Tommy was different. He loved you hard. Not just because he was a man and that’s what men were supposed to do, but because he lived and breathed everything he did, even if it killed him.
“I need to write something down." Tommy cleared his throat, too distracted to look up from the letter.
If you were any other woman, you would mistake his tone for annoyance. Not you. The hollow under his eyes spoke for him. Your poor husband never knew when to rest. Even when the moonlight poured in from the window and his hands were stained with ink, that mind of his clicked away into a world only accessible to him. It must be a burden, you think, to have the intellect Tommy had—to be three steps in front of everyone else. Talking to the ladies at the country club exhausted you sometimes because all they seemed to care about was the latest silks and décor from an exotic country or babies with chubby cheeks. It had to feel something like that, like sugar rotting your teeth.
“You’ll have time in the morning,” you insisted, leaning against the doorframe and pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
The candlelight began to flicker as it neared the end of its wick.
Tommy wet his lips. “I have an early meeting out of town.”
Your shoulders fell. You knew who Tommy was and the priorities he had to balance. His work was important to him, and he did it for his family. That included you, too. But at hours like these, when your nightgown wasn’t enough to keep you warm, you craved the comfort of his arms.
“Come back to sleep,” you whispered, crossing the threshold of the office to stand behind him, where he was hunched over on his chair, writing something down.
Tommy relaxed as you began to massage his shoulders. Those eyes that painted you blue on winter nights fell closed for a moment. His hand itched for his whiskey, resting on the icy glass but never raising it to his lips. Several cigarette butts were discarded on his ash tray, some still puffing smoke. He smelled like a mixture of the two. You remember when you were younger how your nose would scrunch up at the scent of his cigarettes. Now, it was oddly comforting.
“I need to finish writing this letter,” Tommy drawled, reaching for the cigarette case that was buried under a file of papers.
As he pinched one out, you grabbed the match box that had been sitting on the windowsill and struck a match to light it as he perched it between his lips. When the end of it lit up, Tommy took a deep drag.
“You’re a man, Tommy, not a god. You need sleep,” you sighed, squeezing his tensed shoulders.
“Not yet." Smoke escaped his mouth in light puffs as he spoke.
You blinked slowly. “Well, I’m going back to sleep.” It was a half-truth. You were never able to fall asleep after waking up in the middle of the night, especially without Tommy by your side.
Tommy’s rough palm covered your hand, which was resting on his shoulder. He cleared his throat.
“I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.”
That was never true. Every time Tommy was gone, the room stank of it. His presence consumed Arrow House; it was as if the walls were made from his flesh and bone. And when he was away, it felt like you were living in a stranger’s home. The paintings on the wall were of a random family, and his office sat as if it were abandoned in a hurry. It was only when he returned that the colors bled back into the walls and you realized you were home.
You leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss on his sharp jaw. He inhaled sharply through his nose. You noticed his attention had drifted from the letter and was now focused on the chandelier.
“Where’s that husband of mine? Hm?”
Tommy continued to take large drags from the cigarette while the both of you bathed in the crackling of the dying candlelight. Eventually, it burned out, and Tommy tapped the butt of his cigarette into the ash tray before setting it down to lean back on his chair. Now dark, he let you slip your hand from beneath his as you straightened your back and ran your nails through his scalp.
He groaned deep and nasally, fluttering his eyes closed. The tip of his tongue wet his bottom lip, and when your pupils adjusted to the dark, you saw the cogs in his head shutting off.
“Come back to sleep.”
“Alright,” he nodded with a grunt.
Most women would have said it was a miracle, not your Tommy. There was no holy spirit that possessed him to say yes. He chose to do so on his own account.
You rode that thought with a smile, turning his head to the side so you could lay a kiss on his forehead.
God, you loved him, you loved him, you loved him.
He sighed deeply, blinking lazily at his hands, which rested on his knees, before standing up. Both Tommy and his chair groaned at the movement. You hushed him and walked him to your shared bedroom, hand in hand. There, you carefully unbuttoned his blouse and slid his suspenders down his broad shoulders. Slowly but surely, you undressed him while his tired eyes watched you.
When you were younger, those eyes terrified you the same way a duck feared a rifle. What you never saw was the love they held behind glaciers of blue. Tommy made sure you saw it ever since. The ink on his hands was dry by the time they came to cup your face. His affectionate touch made more than your heart throb, but the both of you were too exhausted to do anything about it.
You settled for a kiss that he pressed against your lips. It wasn’t passionate or hungry like it usually was, but tender and firm. You loved it all the same.
“I love you." His breath settled on your skin like a warm blanket.
You closed your eyes and leaned forward, letting Tommy carry the weight of your head between his hands. You hummed when he brushed his knuckles gingerly across your cheekbones.
“I love you, too. Now, let’s get to bed before the sun rises,” you smiled, blinking up at him.
He kissed the top of your head, winding his tired arms around your frame to hold you against his chest. He hummed agreeably into your hair, letting his eyes flutter shut. Your arms wrapped themselves around his waist as he held you. You treasured small, fleeting moments like this. It wasn’t often that Thomas Shelby left his boots on the office floor and melted into a puddle. You think that made it all the more special. Your Thomas Shelby, the decorated soldier, the family businessman, and the hardened gangster could step away and become your favorite thing—a loving husband.
By the time you had both settled into the bed, the sheets were still warm, and the moon was still out. Tommy was resting on his side, with his arm draped around your waist as he snored lightly into your neck. Outside the window, the wind howled and crashed against the pane like winter waves. You felt none of it. Tommy’s body acted as a heater, protecting you from the numbing chill that waited at the edge of the covers, threatening to nip at your skin. You smiled, nuzzling deeper into his embrace. Here in the cradle of his arms, nothing could touch you.
#tommy shelby#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy#tommy shelby x you#thomas shelby x you#peaky blinders#peaky blinder fanfic#fluff#domestic fluff#fanfic#fanfiction#cillian murphy fanfiction#cillian x reader#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby fanfic
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GUESS WHO JUST INSTANTLY MANIFESTED BITCHESSSSS🥳🥳😝😝😝
Basically, my brother was watching his football match in his room right, and I can hear that his team is winning and everything cus he's getting SUPER EXCITED and LOUD about it. Now it was getting to the point where the match was coming to an end, but the other team had scored and now I'm hearing him get all pressed and mad, cussing at the TV saying his team better not lose and all that.
Now for context: I freaking HATE it when my brother is watching football, because this is where he gets all loud and god forbid his team loses, cus then he's in a foul mood for the rest of the week and then his mood affects everyone elses week too😒
Keeping the possibility of his team losing and the fact there was like 1 or 2 minutes until the match ended in mind, I remembered that I am literally a master manifester. So I decided to lock in. I didn't let how much time was left intimidate me because I already know that time never matters when manifesting because I know I have been affirming for the past couple days "I never doubt my manifestation abilities because I know I already have my desires" and "I never doubt my manifestation abilities because I know I am a master manifester/in control of my reality". So I decided that whosever team my brother was on would win, even though I couldn't necessarily visualise the team winning (because the TV was in his room).
And you know I manifested immediately when i heard my brother literally roar the house down in glee😭😭 It isn't anything TOO big, but I still manifested that shit in SECONDS. That's on standing on business
@theshifterbear @livingmydreamlife5555 @4ellieluv @revrealities @chichis-interlude tag: @luckykiwiii101
#master manifestor#desired reality#law of assumption#4d reality#loa#shifting#loa blog#drself#shiftblr#shifters#master shifter#law of manifestation#loassblog#loassumption#loa affirmations#loas tumblr#loa success#loa advice#reality shift#reality shifting
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INTERVIEW 013
with. finnick odair
includes. fem!reader, husband finnick, filming, kitchen sex, domesticity, oral (fem receiving)
→ kinktober masterlist
It started out as the definition of domesticity.
There was a package in the mail, sent from Katniss and Peeta, addressed to ‘The Odairs’ in Katniss’ handwriting. Seeing the joint name made you giddy, but reading the letter from your closest friends made you giddier.
They’d congratulated you on your recent marriage, praised the ceremony once more, and had enclosed an old video camera for both of you to document your newlywed endeavors on.
While you had cooking and home decorating selected as ideas for ‘newlywed endeavors’, Finnick had gone a different route.
The camera sat in his hands as he kissed at your neck, his free hand teasing at your waist.
“C’mon, sweetheart. It’ll be fun,” came his promise, spoken lowly and close to your ear in an attempt to get you to give in. You were closer to doing so than you would like to admit, just the thought almost enticing enough to make you put the knife down, slide the vegetables out of the way, and give Finnick what he wanted.
Almost.
You refused to give in without making Finnick plead just a little more.
You hummed, fauxing disinterest as you brought the knife down in another audible slice against the wooden chopping board.
Finnick continued. “We could look back on it. You could see what I see; How pretty my wife is.” The term made your heart flutter, still not used to being the wife of Finnick Odair. His hand at your waist circled around to your front, pressing flat against your stomach and pulling you flush against him so you could feel the semi he was sporting beneath his joggers.
You couldn’t help it anymore, your head lolling back to rest against Finnick, your skull connecting with the taut muscles all along his body.
“What d’you say?” You could hear the self satisfied smile in his words.
You end up on the counter top, any food you were prepping pushed all the way to the side to make room for you. Your legs spread, Finnick’s head between a pair of plushy thighs, your abdomen tensing and relaxing as you controlled your breathing. You caught it all on camera, the object pointed down at your husband who licks and sucks along your cunt like it’s his favorite pastime in the world.
Which, he’s told you as such.
The muscles in his shoulders flex as he nudges the back of your legs with them, arms circling around your thighs to press his fingertips into the flesh.
Your legs have lifted a bit, spreading you open even more.
Finnick presses his tongue flat, letting it relax over the expanse of your cunt as much as the muscle can reach. He licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, repeating the pattern back and forth until you can’t take it anymore. When you whine, the sound desperate and pathetic, he gives you more.
The interlude of teasing has completely passed, Finnick going back to devouring you like he knows how. He releases one of your legs to use two digits inside of your greedy walls, cunt swallowing them up as Finnick pumps in a fast paced rhythm.
He focuses on your clit and the surrounding area with his mouth, eyes opening to look up at you. Through the camera, the green is a little grainy, slightly dulled, but you can see the intensity behind his gaze all the same.
His cheeks flushed, the tip of his nose glistening, blonde wavy hair all over the place from your grip. Your hand finds the strands again as your orgasm approaches, the camera leaning off to the side just a little.
Finnick pulls away from your cunt and you cry out as you stare down at him in shock.
He tuts, jerking his head towards the camera. “Keep it on me, baby.”
You quickly bring it back, taking Finnick’s smile as a form of praise as he goes back down. Just as quick, you’re close again, back arching and muscles tightening.
Your hand slips from Finnick’s hair, nails scratching at his shoulder as it flails around. Finnick, always knowing exactly what you need, offers his own hand to ground you, both of your fingers quickly interlocking like opposite ends of a magnet.
When you cum on Finnick’s tongue, it’s so loud that the tiny microphone in the camera struggles to pick it up.
Watching it back, Finnick teases you for it, his cock sliding in and out of your walls as he fucks you from behind, lips against the shell of your ear as he promises he can make you cum louder here and now than he did then.
#🕸️ 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐑#finnicksworld!#finnicktobr!#finnick odair x reader#finnick odair x you#finnick odair smut#finnick odair
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NO TIME
matt smut/blurb (ig), i randomly thunk of this after watching my favourite character in a show get eliminated 😕 r.i.p hubby + it’s short BUT ITS GOOD TRUST
dom!matt • poc!reader friendly
contains: kitchen sex (once again), quickie, fingering, grinding/humping, pet names, no use of y/n
word count: 0.6k
summary: you’re meeting matt’s parents for the first time, you get all ready, glitzed and glammed for matt to be turned on by how good you look
not-proofread
I was rushing myself and excessively checking if I powered my face down too much. "Baby, you don’t need all the shit on your face; just go natural.” He shrugged as I looked at him unamused. I was having high blood pressure from the nervousness of meeting his parents. Carefree Matt left me in our room alone, obsessing about what I’m going to say.
Checking my outfit for probably the millionth time, just making sure I looked as good as I thought I did. My dress was short but modest enough for his parents to not side-eye me, and the bow in my hair gave me a bit of innocence.
Rushing out of my room to make sure the food is still perfectly warm when they arrive. I did the full nine yards; full chicken, Caesar salad, scalloped potatoes, and the aged wine (for me at least).
The food was prepared, and I set everything on the dinner table. “Are you going to do anything?” I asked Matt, who was sitting on one of the kitchen stools, just spinning in circles non-stop.
"No, because you’re freaking out for no reason; my parents will love you.” I rattled my head, completely ignoring what I was saying, then remembering that I left the chicken in the oven.
I frantically grabbed oven mitts, bending over to reach and get them out, making sure they were a perfect golden-brown. Pulling it from the oven, my dress inched up, revealing my ivy green lacy panties. I placed the tray on the stove, glancing back to see Matt still staring at my ass while I tugged it down.
His eyes never left my body as I continued to do what I was doing carefully watching how he slowly moved his hand towards his crotch, palming himself through his sweatpants.
Enjoying the aesthetic value of how the dinner table was from the kitchen counter I snapped a few pictures when Matt stood up walking around the counter to where I was.
Here he goes again.
Matt crawled behind the counter holding on hip to grind upon his crotch, moaning softly with the friction between us. “Fuckkkk baby— let me put it in” He lifted up my dress for his hand to spank my ass, as he gripped my hips tighter, Matt humped my bare ass and snuck his hand in-front to tease my pussy.
“Matt please, your parents are gonna be here any minute” I complained, holding his hand slowing him down but not stopping him. I began to close my legs in response of Matt inserting his fingers penetrating inside me. “Matt-fuck yes” he curled his fingers within me making my eyes flutter while he slid my lacy panties to the side.
Matt placed his tip on my clit, playing with it before he pressed the head of cock to my wet slit, he slid his dick into me. My eyes rolled back feeling his length brush against my tightened walls. He harshly spanked my ass in-between his thrusts. I felt my head drag back as Matt grabbed my neck, pulling me back to put his lips on mine and sloppily sucking on my neck.
“I needed you bad” He mumbles before tucking his head on my shoulder, abusing my spot making me aggressively throw my head back “shitttt—there, there” I stuttered between my words as he hit that spot continuously causing my legs to shake and fail on me, Matt holding my body up.
Shivers travel throughout my body, feeling the rush flow through and my lips shape an ‘O’. We both heard the sounds of tires on the pavement, headlight shining through our window directly showing the driveway. Matt covered my mouth as I screamed in pleasure while I came.
He did his last strokes, putting my panties back into place and tidying up my back with a paper towel and fixing my dress checking. Matt cracked open the window right before we heard the doorbell ring. “I’m not done with you”
So much for looking this good.
tags: @lunariaxzz @chrissturniolosbitch @leahsbussy @luv4kozume @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @idkwhosnyla @strniohoeee @iiheartstef @nonamegirlxsturniolo @ka1nani @1800chokedathoe @fuzzycupcakebeliever @mattgirly @love4chris @mattslutt @nicksmainbitch @luhsexcbihh @hearts4chriss @junnnilieee07
#Spotify#hoesformatt#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo smut#fan fiction#fan fic#sturniolo smut#smut#riyahspeaks#sturniolo triplets
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THE PARTY & THE AFTER PARTY ೀ kafka & blade ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ‘oh girl, don’t hold back - let it out!’
𝓦ARNINGS ֹ ﹒ ୨ৎ fem!reader - threesome - drug use - dubcon [themes] - slowburn - ft. jing yuan - overstimulation - blade has a crush on the reader - cunnilingus - reader is a bit of a pushover - roommate!kafka - ex-stepsister!kafka - sexting - cum eating [?] - creampie - asphyxiation && gagging - praise - grinding - making out - spit - dumbification - kafka is . . kafka - masturbation [f. & m.] - orgasm control - squirting - creampie - mating press - everybody is slightly ooc - not proofread - minors & dark content antis do not interact ! ! !
𝓐UTHOR’S 𝓝OTE ֹ ﹒ ୨ৎ hihii first full fic ^3^ n first post ! ! so welcome 2 my acc,, m name is echo n i’m pleased to meet u 🫡 eek ‘m so excited, i’ve been sittin n workin on this idea for a while so i hope u enjoy it ! i listened to kiss land by the weeknd writing this and i think it fits rly well sooo >_o this is dark content so viewer discretion advised ! please don’t read if not ur taste T_T im posting this later than expected m soo sry :c reblogs n feedback very appreciated cuz the guidelines r gna get mi < / 3 ! !
𝓔CHOES ֹ ﹒ ୨ৎ kiss land , the weeknd - valentina , daniel caesar - fill the void , the weeknd - sdp interlude , travis scott - the worst guys , childish gambino & chance the rapper .
𝓦ORD 𝓒OUNT ֹ ﹒ ୨ৎ 20.7k+
SHE CARRIES A distinct scent with her: cinnamon, champagne…and a twinge of mischief. It flurries in the air and infects your brain like the plague. She had this certain cadence about her: an aura drawn up in a slick figure and even slicker tongue, characterized by a sultry red color. That was Kafka. She's a bombshell, delivering a traumatic shock that you can only hope to forget. You tried to forget — tried to cloud that era of your life to no avail. She kicked down the rock blockade you'd built, welcoming herself into your life again with an impressive amount of effort.
“Elio said she has nowhere to go! She can't stay with him because he moved into a one-bedroom after the divorce! She's about to be couch-hopping at 22 — it’s sad!!” your mother whined. Her emphasis lay on certain words, pathetic tones emanating from the manipulation of her words. You're weak, standing hunched with a backbone made of cotton candy. “But, mom—” “And she begged Elio not to bother us—bother you—but he did it anyway because we’re always family. Family needs each other, family depends on one another.”
She'd pestered a yes out of you, and since the syllable passed through your lips, you've been counting your blessings.
After all, Kafka was an all-devouring curse: blessings were her kryptonite.
Exactly one week later, you bit your nails anxiously and breathed deeply so much so that you got lightheaded. It's been years, she may have changed, you comforted yourself. Your mind worked on its splintering tooth and nail to soothe your wild imagination. Kafka was always going to be Kafka — it was just a matter of whether she developed or if she enabled perversion.
When she engulfed you in a hug you almost passed out smelling her again. Hearing her was another thing, seeing her was even worse. Smelling her — that warm, spicy scent that burns but entices was the pinch to reality you needed. In the flesh, Kafka stood. In all of her menacing glory - ready to flip your world upside down.
“Missed you, little mouse. Ugh, how’ve you been?” you fought the urge to shiver. The nickname and her ever-tickling tone — God, you weren't prepared.
“Good,” is all you muttered. ‘Way better before.’ you wanted to add.
“Mmm, good, I'm glad. I got nervous when Mom said my baby moved out all alone.”
My baby. You could really just…die. She was just as charismatic as before. Possibly even more, given her blatant maturity. You would think it was a play on your age, but truly it was endearment from her: her form of caring for you.
“Who would've thought we’d be living together again? We’re gonna have so much fun!” In the giggle that slipped from her throat, lies mischief. She picks up a box out of the trunk, turning on her heels with the biggest, most Kafka smile ever. She was always…unique in her definitions of fun. One could only imagine the roller coaster you were riding.
When you make your way to your apartment, you just breathe. Breathing is the only thing that can stabilize you. The jumble of nerves that bounce around inside of you relaxes at your exhales. You're not shaking anymore, or feeling your skin heat and clam up, making it easy to lead Kafka into her room.
“Oh, wow. All this space, all alone? You've really grown up, little mouse.” She compliments with a sigh. The box in her hands now sits on the ground. You flush, dusting your hands on your shirt, “Oh, thanks. Mom helps from time to time.” Even though you would much rather have your independence.
She looks around at the space, the room occupied by nothing except a naked bed and an empty dresser. It's an awkward 30-second silence before she breaks it, “Thank you, again. You're really saving my ass,”
And again, you're wrapped in Kafka’s arms, forced to awkwardly pat her back and stare at the wall across from you as if it were to save you. “No problem…again,”
The hug you share births goosebumps on your skin. Her hands glide across the small of your back, nimble fingers dancing lightly across the surface. The tickle is the least of your worries — the blooms of heat that surge in her wake are what blows your eyes wide open. Kafka’s hugs are tight and warm. Almost comforting if it wasn't for the way she ghosted her lips over your ear just right, making you tense. You hate it because it's something you've grown used to. You like it a lot more than you probably should, actively leaning into her touch after a few seconds.
“We should probably get the rest of your boxes…” You mutter. Kafka sighs, pulling off of you slowly. It's almost as if she's savoring the feeling of you in her hands. “I’ll get them. I shouldn't inconvenience you more—”
“—It’s fine. I don't mind helping,” She laughs and squishes your cheeks between her fingers, “You're too cute.” booping your nose for emphasis.
And she couldn't stop saying it. It almost felt condescending the way “You're so cute,” fell from her lips every time you did something. Your out-of-breath huffs or triumphant sighs elicited the remark again and again as you hauled her luggage up to your apartment. You gave up by the last box and stretched out on her floor, and Kafka only laughs harder as she begins to unpack.
“Do you want me to help you?” You groggily breathe out. Moving is exhausting, and you're not even the one moving.
Tucking the sleeves of the shirt as she folds, Kafka shakes her head no with a chuckle. “You can help me by showering. I'll finish up and order some food, ‘kay? Consider it my thanks.”
“But you've already thanked me—” “—And I'm doing it again.” She cuts you off. Your eyes meet and she cracks a smile, “C’mon, up you go. The longer you take, the longer you have to wait to sleep.”
Kafka is someone impossible to argue with. You swipe your tongue over your teeth to fight off a smile…but her gaze is warm. It makes you nervous in the weirdest way, and your lips stretch wide. Defeatedly, you nod, “If you say so.”
ೀ
The sun retired for the night and in an hour, you'd showered, dressed, met Kafka in the living room, caught up with a shot or two slipped in the mix, and dug into the XL pizza she ordered. It was your favorite toppings—you were shocked, to say the least, that she remembered.
“Enough about me,” She grabs hold of the conversation, placing her plate down on the coffee table—and you hide the cringing your face defaults to with a crooked smile and nod. “What about you? How was finishing high school? Starting university? Is Mom still…Mom?”
You awkwardly giggle, placing the plate in your lap. “The answer to the last question is yes. She's never changing, I fear.”
“But…I've been good, really. I keep saying it but it's true; grades are good, friends are good, and Mom is as good as she could get—” more laughter, “—but, yeah. I'm not traveling like you, Kafka. I barely leave my apartment unless it's to go to class. I'm stable, and I'm good. Nothing to tell.”
Kafka eyes you critically as if she's trying to read you. There's nothing to find because as you said, there's nothing to tell. You've always been the stickler goody-two-shoes type: abiding by rules and expectations and never deviating from your white-picket-lined path. It wasn't perfect, and never always good, but it was enough. Enough that you could say with your whole chest that you're okay with being boring…because, well—it’s all you've really known.
She walked into your life as your sister at eleven and walked right back out at fifteen. In four years, you'd been enlightened to a dark side of the world, but you were always too timid. Kafka was a playful cat, ready to paw at her sheepish little mouse until you played back.
Back then, you were too young, and under the palm of your mother to enter rebellion. Now, you're free…somewhat. Kafka was determined to help you spread your wings. She was going to plant the seed in your ear and let it sprout: “It’s your world,” She says. “isn't it about time you live? The way you want to? You're a big girl now — you deserve a story to tell.”
She can tell by the widening of your eyes that the conversation is bordering on too much. “Uhh, I don't know. I'm happy right now—”
“Happiness is temporary. Memories are forever.”
And while she makes a good point…what exactly would you do? How?
Her head tilts and her eyebrow lifts tentatively. She wants to ask how far are you willing to go, but the conversation is far too premature. “It all depends on you, little mouse,” is what she settles on instead. “I’ll be ready to lend a helping hand when you need me.”
The conversation takes a thoughtful pause. Your head seems to fill with thoughts and returning to her now chilled pizza, Kafka pats herself on the back. You're going to spread your wings and flourish, and she prides herself on giving you the route. It's only a matter of time, she thinks. A matter of time before the real fun emerges.
“Oh, by the way,” she interrupts the silence, “do you mind if I have a few friends over tomorrow? They wanna throw me a housewarming party.”
“Um, no, it's fine. My study group is coming over tomorrow after my classes so try maybe before? Or after that—we won't take long.” You miss the deviousness in her smirk.
With a final bite of her pizza, she nods. “Of course.”
ೀ
Jing Yuan is so charming.
He flashes you a Cheshire smile and you find yourself stumbling over your sentences. You palm your face, embarrassed, and let out a shy giggle. His deep chuckle follows and you almost don't want to look at him again.
Fu Xuan kisses her teeth and rolls her eyes. “Lay off the flirting, would you? Can't leave you two alone for a second...”
She joins the pair of you at the end of the courtyard, golden eyes narrowing. There's an awkwardness that creeps up, and you smile nervously while Jing Yuan scratches his neck. He displays a coy smirk that you avoid looking at — opting to rock on your heels and check in the distance for Yukong.
You and Jing Yuan are classmates; friends, even, if he were to agree with that sentiment. Though your crowds don't particularly mix, you find some comfort in one another. Albeit, most of your time is spent tutoring him. It's nice, nonetheless.
You're not opposed to liking him—in fact, you're smitten with him—but you doubt the feeling is mutual. He's Jing Yuan and you're…you.
His question reaches your ears, breaching your train of thought: “Is Yukong still joining us?”
The way he turns to you makes you shy, and you shrug in place of your words. “Umm, ‘dunno. She said so, but something must’ve come up.”
“Well, in any case, let’s just head to yours. She has the address.” Fu Xuan replies exasperatedly. Jing Yuan shrugs, “If that’s okay with you?”
You perk up at his kindness, and Fu Xuan groans, rolling her eyes. “Uh, yeah! Sure!” With your eyes glued to Jing Yuan’s pleased smile, you miss how Fu Xuan mocks you.
“Can we go now?!”
The three of you quickly commute back to your apartment. It's a nice fifteen-minute walk—even nicer when Jing Yuan let you talk his ear off the entire way. Fu Xuan was paces ahead of the two of you, grumbling under her breath about how she should've said no and cursing to Yukong for leaving her with you.
You've been studying together for a while, but you've never brought them over. Your sessions usually take place at the campus library or the local cafe, so to say you're a bit nervous is an understatement.
Not only have they never been over, but you have Kafka. She’s a wildcard and you can only pray that she's on her best behavior.
Your key spins in the hole and you push the door open. Over your shoulder, you mutter, “I think my…sister’s home so she might come and say hi.”
You hope that's the most that she’ll do.
Upon entry, there's a potent, herbal smell floating around the air. It's slightly smoky, and your throat tightens up. You turn around at your guests and cringe at their upturned noses and scrutinizing gazes. “Uhh…”
“Wait right here…um…” you murmur. You don't wait for their responses before speeding toward Kafka’s room.
The stench is stronger in the hallway and her music is even louder. The bass jumps through the floorboards and you doubt she’ll even hear your knocks — but you do it anyway. Knock knock knock.
No response.
You bounce on your heels nervously, peeking out and seeing Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan talking awkwardly by the door. Your nerves overcome you and you hurriedly knock again. “Kafka! I need to talk to you — Kafka!!”
You keep knocking on the door until the music stops and the door swings open. A cloud of smoke hits you immediately and you fall into a coughing fit, waving the smoke out of your face. “Good God…”
“Oh—my bad!” She laughs at you, turning over her shoulder to her friends and sharing the amusement. Her heavy-lidded eyes fall back onto you, and she leans on the door for support. “What do you need, little mouse?”
“Um…” you look over her shoulder and see her guests in her room. A silver-haired girl rests on her bed and types away on her phone, and a black-haired guy sits on the floor - his low eyes on you as he breathes out a cloud of smoke. You didn't know what to expect but you aren't surprised. You're more…uncomfortable. “Um, yeah — my study group is over and it smells like…yeah.”
Her eyes widen and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “That's right now?! Oh, I'm sorry—Silvie and Bladie came over early and I didn't know you’d be back so soon.”
Silvie and Bladie…interesting names.
You nod to her response. “…Yeah…I don't mind you…smoking or whatever but please open a window? It's very strong and it travels and I don't want the landlord to throw a fit.”
“Yeah, of course. Bladie!” She calls out over her shoulder. The guy—Bladie—doesn’t respond, but only perks up. “Crack open the window, yeah?”
And he just…complies. You're almost amazed at how he just listened and pushed the glass open, the cool evening breeze drafting into the bedroom instantly.
Kafka turns around as though it is normal. “There we go,” She giggles.
“Thanks.” You mutter, nodding your head. She winks at you as she shuts the door. You hear her shutting down a remark made by…Silvie and a barrage of laughter.
You make your way to the door where, thankfully, Jing Yuan and Fu Xuan still stand.
“Everything alright?” Jing Yuan asked. He immediately turns to face you, and suddenly your good mood sparks back up. You nod, “Mhm. She has a few friends over too but…I’m sure it won't be too bad.”
You welcome them in, all piling into your living room and crowding around the dining table.
Jing Yuan pulls his laptop out of his bag and sets it on the table. “I did awful on the last test…” he informs, presumably going back to the gradebook. “55%…”
Fu Xuan bursts into laughter. “No wonder you need both of us to help you study! Good lord!!”
You ignore her teasing and pull out your books. “What do you need help with?”
She's quick to cut him off, “Clearly everything if that grade is anything to go by…!”
“Xuan, stop!!”
Her laughter continues, and Jing Yuan waves her off. “The musings of a jealous nobody don't affect me,” and now it's your turn to laugh. “I'm here to get help so I don't mind going through everything. If you're okay with that, of course.”
“It’s fine, yeah—I’m fine with that! Um, let me just get my…” You trail off, sifting through your bundles of papers in your folders. You try to ignore the burn his gaze lays on your skin. He props his head on his fist as he leans on your table and God, does it make you feel special.
Fu Xuan bites back at his remark, “I'm not jealous and I'm definitely not a nobody! Watch your mouth, Jing Yuan!!”
And now it's your turn to internally curse Yukong.
“Here we go!” You pull out the review packets you made yourself — something you pride yourself on. You lay them on the table for him, eliciting a difference in reactions from your guests.
Fu Xuan sees the packets and rolls her eyes, “Only you would make your own review packets.”
And Jing Yuan instead muses at the sight, “No—it’s cool. Resourceful. I like that.”
And I like you, you want to say. You decide to keep that to yourself and only smile in response to play coy.
“This one is from the first couple of lessons, these two were for the quizzes, and the rest are for a few lessons in between.” You inform, pointing at each packet. “I also have some flashcards and some annotations; let me find them…”
“Look, all you need to do is read the textbooks. All the information is in there.” Fu Xuan argues, taking one of your packets for herself and flipping through it. “Do you read, Jing Yuan?”
“I read, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, so do I — but that doesn't help everyone, Xuan.” You snatch the packet out of her hand, laying it on the table. “But whatever. Do you think this will help you?”
Jing Yuan nods, gratefully. He takes a packet for himself, flipping through it. “You mind showing me how you use them?”
And with a flustered smile, you nod, immediately scooting closer to direct him.
You show Yuan your method: using his notebook to write down what he remembers, going back and adding things he didn't remember, and working out everything in between with what's in the packet. Your mother taught you the method during your eighth-grade year after your grades slipped and since then, you've sworn by it.
Fu Xuan uses this time to tease and ridicule him, occasionally aiding with her…aggressive technique whenever he stumbles over a particular concept.
You share some laughs and rambles along the way, and you’re given a side of Jing Yuan you never thought you’d get. He's surprisingly easy to talk to, and you don't know if he's actually that funny or if you're just that into him — but either way, you enjoy it. He makes your cheeks hot and your smile wider.
He’s always been your campus crush — but he’s everybody’s. You're not special but the way he's looking at you makes you feel as such. You hope that maybe he’ll ask you to tutor him again and maybe it’ll just be the two of you. Without Fu Xuan’s teasing and complaints.
After about an hour, he starts to get the hang of it. He’s focused and his attentiveness leaves you and Fu Xuan the time to talk.
You drown out her complaints about the sorority not allowing her in to focus on the presence of Kafka’s friend in your kitchen. She stands on her tippy-toes to rummage through your cabinets, groaning and slamming her palms on the countertop. “Uhh…do you need something?”
The girl turns around, “Food! Where the hell are all of your snacks?!”
“Um…” You don't get to respond. She stomps into your living room, shoving her hand into the bag of pretzels Fu Xuan brought. “Excuse me!!!”
She shoves the handful in her mouth, crunching obnoxiously. “Those are so fucking dry…” She complains, turning back into your kitchen and rummaging through your fridge.
Your last Kombucha is taken, popped open, and gulped down right before your eyes. You were going to drink that.
With an unabashed burp, the girl sets the bottle down and turns to you. “Hey, little mouse!”
“That's not my name—”
“Can you order some food, please? I feel like I'm being fucking punished.” And she continues to ramble, “Was I a bad girl? Do bad girls not get to eat?” And she falls into a fit of laughter.
You're uncomfortable. You know Fu Xuan and Jing Yuan must be too. This is just awkward, and embarrassing on your behalf.
“Can you get some pizza? Ooh, no, better yet, chili oil beef stew. Do they deliver that?” No. The answer is no. “Hold on, I’ll get the money.”
She scurries back into Kafka’s room with a heavy slam of the door. The three of you turn to each other, and you nervously laugh. How embarrassing.
“Is that your sister?” Jing Yuan asks. Oh God, he probably feels so uncomfortable.
“No! That's her friend…sorry about that.”
“She needs to pay me for a new bag of pretzels! I don't know where her hands have been and I'm definitely not eating that.” Fu Xuan huffs, crossing her arms and crumpling up the bag. You laugh at how she lightens the mood, but turn your gaze to Jing Yuan who's now focused back on his work. Great. You blew it.
Out comes Kafka’s friend, stomping toward you and shoving some bills into your chest. “Here you go! Keep the change,”
You don't want her change. But you don't protest — instead, you call up Delicacy Pavillion. “Hi, can I place an order?”
ೀ
The walk back to your apartment from Delicacy Pavillion feels like a walk of shame. You're even more ashamed because Jing Yuan decided to tag along and Fu Xuan decided to take her cue and leave. Now you're alone. With him. In the middle of the evening. Picking up delicious food for your ex-step-sister and her friends.
He offered to walk with you—“I don't mind. Besides, what kind of guy would I be if I let a pretty girl like you go out all by yourself?” You're not strong enough to deny his flattery, and so here you are.
Now that Xuan is gone, you don't know what to talk to him about. Or how to talk to him. You opt to keep your mum, humming a song you’d heard in passing lowly to yourself. Five minutes away and this day will finally be over.
“Are you and your sister close?” He breaks the silence.
You turn to him, “Ah, well — she’s not really my sister. Our parents were married for a while but they divorced now. A while ago, actually. We aren't close but…yeah.”
“Interesting…” He comments. “Yeah…”
“I don't mean interesting in a bad way—I’m interested…in you.”
Oh.
Oh.
“You're interested…in me?” Your heart is practically jumping out of your chest. You can't hide the flattered smile that curls your lips.
He chuckles, stuffing his hands in his pockets and throwing his head back. “Ha, yeah. Of course — how couldn't I be? You're sweet, very smart…” He turns to look at you. Your eyes lock, “…very cute, too.”
It's like he wants you dead.
You immediately avert your gaze, nudging him in the side. “You're just messing with me.”
“If that's what you believe.” He shrugs, a playful grin resting on his face.
Now you don't know what to believe. But you're going to choose to believe that he means it.
“I'm interested in you too.” You sweetly proclaim, unable to wipe the big grin off of your face. His cheeks flush a pretty rose color, and his smile turns coy. The quiet you two fall into is much more comfortable and much lighter, and now you wish that your time with him won't end.
The pair of you make it to your apartment building, and when you stand in the elevator, you avoid his gaze. He watches you through the reflection of the elevator doors, and his smirk grows as he watches you try not to look at him.
He takes a step closer to you and when his hand swings your fingers brush and you almost drop the bag full of food. He knows how to make you flustered and how to make you smiley.
“Cute,” He mutters. He's not the only one who thinks that.
Jing Yuan does the gentlemanly thing and walks you to your door. As soon as you fish your keys out of your pocket, he pulls you into a hug. His arms are big and muscular and so warm — you immediately hug him back and wrap your arms around his waist.
“See you,” He says, rubbing the small of your back. You timidly respond, “See you.”
The smile on your face is prominent even as he walks away. Even as you walk into your apartment, coming face to face with a ruckus you never thought you’d have the displeasure of walking into.
Kafka and her guy friend are planted on the couch, the strong smoke smell clearly following them into the living room. And the girl…she lay on the floor still swiping away — but as soon as you closed the door behind you, she hopped up. “Yes—fucking finally!”
She bolts over to you and steals the bag out of your hand, “Thank fuck!! I'm so damn hungry!!!”
Kafka gets up, her guy friend immediately following. She smiles at you, coming to wrap you in a hug. “Ohhh, thank you, babe.” And she plants a firm kiss on your cheek. You feel the stain of her lipgloss on your skin, and cringe at it, only nodding and smiling as if to say “You're welcome.”
“I’m going to shower and go to bed…so uh, can you keep it down some?” You say, walking in the direction of the bathroom.
They barely hear you and focus on digging into their food. With a defeated sigh, you stalk away.
And with your back turned, the strict gaze on your disappearing frame is missed.
He’ll see you again, though.
ೀ
“I want you to formally meet my friends,” Not even a greeting as you entered the door. A hi, hello, or how was your day? would have been nice.
“Hello to you too, Kafka.” You quip, taking off your shoes and stretching your aching toes.
“Hi, little mouse,” she sarcastically chirps. She places her drink on the coffee table and you try to ignore the lack of a coaster - instead bracing yourself for the embrace she pulls you in. “Mm, you seem tense; your day went okay?”
You nod. Not quite, is the answer you hold on your tongue, swallowing it down and hiding a grimace beneath your smile.
Jing Yuan hadn't spoken to you all day. He didn't even look at you — his attention was focused on Tingyun. Pretty, brown-haired Tingyun with the charming smile and warmest aura…she’s now your competition, and from what you saw today, she’s leagues ahead of you. Hanging off of his arm like it's her lifeline and encapsulating his gaze in the palm of her hand. You almost stormed out of the lecture when her hands brushed his cheeks, her thumb swiping over his beauty mark.
He's just trying to make you jealous. That thought was supposed to comfort you but it made you even more upset. As soon as your professor shut his mouth you were out of there, leaving dust in your wake as you sped toward the library.
You needed to decompress and distract yourself. You were buried in a book when a touch you remembered too well landed on your shoulder. “I was looking for you.” He says.
Looking for me my ass, you think. But the sentiment warms you, nonetheless, and a smile pulls across your lips. “Here I am.”
“Here you are,” The tone of his voice makes you want to rip the hair off of your scalp. He's so sweetly condescending, so sultry and you can just get lost in his melody. He's like Kafka that way—wait. Nevermind…
“Can I take you out tomorrow night?” The suddenness of his question has you jostled, and the substance of the question has you flustered. Jing Yuan wants to take you out???
You're mad at him, though. He can just take Tingyun for all you ca—“Of course—er, I mean, sure. Why not?”
Fuck.
He chuckles at your stumbling, burying his hands in his pockets. His forearms scream at you as they clearly come into your line of sight — the image to be cherished and forever forefronted in your memory. Why is every part of him so attractive? “Great. I’ll text you later.”
And he squeezes your shoulder as he walks in the opposite direction. Fucking hell.
You're just pissed off. At yourself, at Tingyun, at Jing Yuan — you hate that he made you giddy and excited and you couldn't stop smiling to yourself even as you walked home alone.
He asked you, not Tingyun. Surely, if he wanted her, he’d be taking her out tomorrow, not you.
“So, tomorrow at…5? Is that cool?”
What? “Huh? Sorry,”
Kafka sighs, “I want you to meet my friends. It’ll be like…totally chill and just cool so don't freak out and think some type of formal meet-the-parents shit.”
“Is tomorrow at 5 good for you?” You’d be wrong if you said no. Kafka is trying. “Yeah, um, I guess,”
“Yay! This wasn't my idea, by the way — they want to meet you,” They do? “Really?”
She walks back over to the couch and plops down, downing a gulp of her pink Monster Energy. “Mhm. Silver wants to know how we could ever be sisters, and Bladie…” She takes a pause, having a short laugh to herself, “Let’s just say he’s taken a liking to you.”
You're confused by her statement but you don't press further. You're not sure you want to know.
“Um…I’m going out tomorrow, so,” “We won’t keep you long,” She shrugs.
Your subtly doesn’t work well—you mean to decline the offer. “Okay then,”
You begin to awkwardly walk to your bedroom, Kafka’s voice following you down the hall. “Hey, are you hungry?”
“I’m good.” You answer back. As good as you could be.
┄┄
With the nth layer of lip gloss slathered across your lips, you break into a smile at your reflection.
You’re pretty.
All dolled up: not a single fly-away or stray, cheek-housed eyelash, flawless base, and a perfectly ironed outfit describe your appearance. You spent the better half of your afternoon in the bathroom shaving, plucking, exfoliating, and giggling to yourself about your date with Jing Yuan.
You’ve never looked better. You don't think you’ve smiled this much in your life.
“You look so pretty, babe!” Yukong chimes. Her eyes gleam over the pixelated image on your phone. “So, what type of date is it? …It is a date, right?”
“Well, he didn't say it was a date—but he asked to take me out. What does that mean if not a date?” It's all semantics. Date schmate; at the end of the day it's you and him together. Alone. “He didn't…discuss the details. All I know is that he’s coming at 5:30 to get me.”
Interesting…
“It’s kinda…sexy. Like ooh, surprise me.” You add, giggling.
Right…
“If you say so…” Yukong sighs out. You laugh, missing the sarcasm thick in her tone.
“Well, anyway, I should get going.” You check the time: the digital numbers read 5:05. You're early, but, hey— better safe than sorry. “Call you later, love you!”
Yukong smiles and throws up a peace sign and ends the Facetime.
The hefty laughter from the other side of your door bulldozes through your silence, reminding you. Damn it.
Another small smile in the mirror and you get up from your vanity. You grab your clutch and walk out and into an atmosphere of laughter and…blueberries?
You wave the scent out of your face, and as if it were perfectly timed, the chatter died down and heads turned to you. Your hand fell to your side and you immediately made eye contact with her.
“Ohh, little mouse!!!” Kafka squeals, dragging out the nickname sing-songily. She skips to you, a hand nudging your shoulder. “Look at you!! Look at her guys!” She turns to her friends, grinning wide.
The pair raise their heads, faces morphing in opposite ways of one another in response. The silver-haired girl takes a brief puff from her seemingly blueberry-scented e-cigarette, “Woww, would you look at that?”
She turns to the guy beside her with an escaping smile, “You clean up nice, little mouse.” She compliments.
You cringe at the nickname leaving her lips, nodding. “Thanks…”
“What do you think, Bladie?” Kafka calls out, one arm pulling you close to her and the other swiping down in a showcasing movement. He perks up instantly and looks completely uncomfortable. He avoids looking into your eyes at all costs.
You feel bad. You tuck your clutch under your arm and raise your hands in defense, “No, no, it's okay. Kafka…you shouldn't…”
“Nope—it’s only right I tease you like this,” She rebuts. Her grin shortens to a smirk and her hand squeezes your arm, pulling you closer. “Mom’s not here; somebody’s gotta be the one to nag,”
It's a good thing your mother is not here. You moved out to get away from her. You only awkwardly laugh in response, shooting an awkwardly apologetic face toward Bladie.
“Uh…pretty,” He comments. “You look nice.”
It's only now that you realize you haven't heard his voice yet. And, woah. Wow.
“U-um, thank you. Ha…” You stumble out, growing flustered at your stuttering.
Kafka laughs, sending a look towards him that you miss. “Anyway,” she diverts, “these are my two companions: Silver and Blade.” She points at the pair respectively and they each emote.
“The two most important people in my life. After you, of course,” She informs, fingers nipping at the fat of your cheek teasingly. “What about Elio?”
She shrugs. “Oh, yeah. Him too,” and she and Silver burst into laughter.
Kafka introduces you to them after the laughter dies down, making sure to include “My little sister,”
“Ex-step-sister-now-roommate,” you correct. Silver chortles at your sass and Kafka sends you a narrowed stare. “You're right. My favorite ex-step-sister-now-roommate: my little mouse,”
“Wait, you mean to tell me you have other ex-step-sisters-now-roommates?” Silver jokes, laughing at her own joke. She slaps Blade on his arm to urge him to laugh along — to which he maintains his rigid posture and awkwardly avoids the scene.
Kafka walks the pair of you into the room, toward the couch opposite Silver and Blade. You sense an immediate switch; almost as if you’d changed realities. The air was suffocating in a way you couldn't understand. It was something deeper than awkwardness, something less juvenile than embarrassment. It was palpable: it hurt to swallow when you gulped nervously.
Silver blows another cloud of smoke toward your face, and when the fog dissipates you're met with the mischief on her face, “Sooo,” she drags, “what do you do for a living? This is a nice apartment you got,”
Small talk. You can do small talk. “Um, thanks! I mostly do tutoring and babysitting. But sometimes my mom helps out.”
Her face crinkles up in confusion. “Tutoring pays for all this???”
You laugh, “You’d be surprised at how much people are willing to pay for good grades. I mainly work with middle schoolers who aren't doing too well and their parents are so desperate. They’ll pay just about anything.” You slightly exaggerate the circumstances of your job. There's only one kid you tutor regularly and you've already begun discounting him because of his relation to Jing Yuan. It's a good thing Kafka moved in — the rent was beginning to look a bit dangerous.
“Ohh, interesting. What a hustler,” Silver jokes. Kafka laughs right alongside her, nudging your side with her elbow. “Fitting right in with us.”
The group bursts into a fit of laughter — even Blade spits out a few chuckles — and all you can do is awkwardly laugh along. You feel like a sore thumb: dolled up in your pretty blue outfit while your roommate and her friends are dressed in sweats and assortments of band tees. They laugh at a joke you don't quite understand and share glances that speak an entirely different language from you.
You want the time to speed up. You're waiting for Jing Yuan to save you from this awkward tension like the knight in shining armor he is and whisk you off to the date he planned.
Getting out of here would be so nice. You won't have to hear them poke and prod and tease and you wouldn't be scared to look left. Blade’s gaze is so intense. Goosebumps have risen on your skin from the sheer atmosphere it induces — is he doing this on purpose? He has to be. Kafka must have put him up to it.
It eases you to think that she’s just being herself: her playful, mischievous, dangerous self. In a week she’ll get bored, they’ll stop messing with you, and they’ll find something else to do. That's the way it's always been with Kafka and it helps you to relax.
But it's his stare. The way his eyes shyly rake you up and down again and again. He drinks in the sight of you and doesn't react — he’s committing you to memory and every time he takes a reprieve, his eyes thirst for more and wander right back to you. Kafka notices it. Silver notices it. You notice it. Everybody but Blade can see the way he looks at you: as though he could eat you whole.
He watches your face light up when your phone buzzes and you pull it out of your clutch. Thank the heavens; it’s Jing Yuan.
‘be there in 10. ;)’ He texts. ‘okayyyy <3 see you!’ You text back. Too flirty? Too excited? Oh, God. He hearts your message and your smile grows wider.
Blade wants to say how he wants to be the one to make you smile like that, but it's too early for that. He’ll opt for admiring you, instead, thinking to himself about how pretty you look grinning so wide and how pretty you probably look with his c—
Knock knock knock. That was fast.
You nearly jump off of the couch to answer the door, skirt flaring in the air as you skip to the door. Kafka watches with amusement thick on her face. You're so cute, a guy like Jing Yuan doesn't deserve you.
The door swings open and there he stands. His hair is pushed into a high ponytail and he’s clad in a simple outfit—but God, does he make it look good. “Hey there, pretty girl.”
His greeting awakens butterflies in your stomach. “Hi…” You reply shyly. He smiles at your nervousness and holds his hand out for you to grab, “You ready to go?” You nod almost immediately.
Before Kafka can open her mouth and trap the two of you there, you announce your departure and leave with a wave, slamming the door behind you. The group all share looks, and her smile can't help but get wider. “She’s so cute,”
“Wouldn't you agree, Blade?” Silver teases. Growing embarrassed, he lowers his head. “Oh my God!” She laughs, hitting the couch cushion. “You totally wanna fuck her!”
Blade doesn't respond. Silver turns to Kafka mouth wide, eyes blown, “He wants to fuck your sister, Kaf!” Don't we all?
Kafka sits in between her two friends, placing a warm hand on Blade’s shoulder. He immediately relaxes but keeps his gaze tied to the ground. “It’s okay, Bladie,”
“It happens to the best of us.”
┄┄
“I’m not going to lie,” Jing Yuan breaks the silence, “I didn't have a clue on what to plan. I just knew I wanted to see you again.”
His flattery is out of this world. He has you feeling so special, so wanted—you turn to look at him and just stare in disbelief. The Jing Yuan is driving you in his nice-ass BMW to a date that he asked you out on. Lucky girl syndrome is so real. “It’s okay, I’m not picky.”
“I like that.” He laughs out. “I like you.” His right hand abandons the steering wheel, traveling to your exposed thigh. His touch is light, tempting. He’s testing the waters, and only does he let his hand rest wholly on your thigh when your breath hitches but you don't stop him. He spares you a glance, a smirk drawn on his face when you briefly lock eyes.
“I think you said that before,” You lighten the mood. Your words sound breathless, clambering out of your throat nervously. “Oh, have I?” His hand creeps upward, now sheathing itself beneath your skirt. His fingers tap on your thighs — he’s teasing, waiting for a reaction.
You hum in response, now gluing your eyes to the dashboard because if you look down, you're going to explode.
“Guess I really have to let you know, then.”
“Guess so,” You respond. His hand only lies on your leg, not traveling any further. He pulls into the parking lot of the movie theater. Not your idea of the perfect first date, but maybe he has more planned.
You get out, immediately locking hands and walking side by side into the theater. He opens the door for you, leads you to the ticket stand, and the hold on your hand never falters. He uses it to pull you closer, letting his arm drape around your waist and his fingers tap along your skin. He’s setting you ablaze, burning you with every gesture he does.
You don't even care about the movie—Sky-Faring Commission 8, you think—you’re too focused on Jing Yuan. He drapes you in his jacket and wraps his arm around your shoulder when you get seated. He whispers a joke to you about the previews and laughs into your hair to not disturb others around you. And when the movie gets to a particularly boring part, he finds himself leaning on your shoulder.
His lips are featherlight as he ghosts over your skin. You act as though you don't feel it — gluing your eyes to the movie screen. You couldn't care less about the melodramatic climax on the screen. It didn't matter to you, it didn't register in your mind as important. He was so close, breathing in your sweet perfume and brushing his lips against your skin when he smiled. Oh God, you subconsciously lean towards him, letting out a sigh when puckered lips connect with your neck.
He places another kiss, and then another - readjusting his position to lead a trail upwards. The kisses grow larger distances as he eagerly travels to your lips. His hand reaches over and grabs the side of your face. You couldn't turn to look at him on your own: filled with too much anxiety and nerves to bear the connection.
Your eyes lock - a desire in his juxtaposing with the shyness in yours. He needed you, leaning in swiftly and collecting a kiss.
His tongue abrasively weaves its way into your mouth, sloppily licking around and tangling with yours. He was so powerful: overwhelming and all-consuming. You could only sit there weakly, trying your best to keep up with him.
Yuan is no dummy. He can tell you're not all into it. You sit rigidly and lack any eagerness to kiss him back.
“You nervous?” He whispers against your lips. His hand on your face slips down to your waist with a comforting squeeze in tow. You crack a smile nervously, “Never done this before. Well, like, in this way…”
He's quick to recover from the twinge of annoyance that surges within him. “‘Ts okay. I got you,”
He leans in, hand slipping to your thigh. It's almost cinematic — the movie flickers in deep reds and blacks as an action sequence plays and your silhouettes form on the wall behind you. He's so close, so tempting that you can't help but take in his words. “I’ll take care of you.” He says. And you fall for it.
And he kisses you even slower, more sultry. There's an enthusiastic flame in his kiss — he just wants you to give it up. Let him take you, let him have you. It's not like you don't want it.
As he kisses go deeper, hungrier with teeth sinking into your lip and lips sucking around your tongue, his hand slinks up your skirt. He plays with the band of your panties, feeling the soft material. His fingers roll and entangle in the fabric, feeling the slight jolt of your hips when his touch caresses your skin.
He shoves his tongue down your throat to keep you silent, pushing his hand further onward and cupping your cunt.
Your thighs immediately crush around his wrist. He’s trapped in your heat, feeling the throb of your clit against him. He bites your bottom lip with a smile as he presses his palm flat against you. The applied pressure to your clit has the bud stiffening.
God, you want him. You want him so bad.
You have to stop yourself from moaning and squirming. You’ll literally die if you get caught.
“I want you so bad, baby,” he whispers, pulling away. He kisses your jawline and rubs his hand against your pussy. The feeling is beyond mutual, you think. You can't do this, though. Not here.
You hum in response to him, fearing that any other response may be too loud. Feeling a premature knot gnarl in your stomach makes you panic and grab his arm. You can't cum yet—and definitely not here.
“Too much?” He laughs against your lips. He tries to sink his arm deeper between your thighs and your hips run away. “‘M sorry. How about we get outta here?
Locking eyes with him has you shyly saying yes. You don't have sex on the first date—Jing Yuan or not.
But your body seems to crave him. To want him and in this circumstance, you can be able to bend your rules. “Okay,”
You quickly exit the theater hand in hand with an unimportant amount of time left in the movie. There was a strange feeling swarming in your gut: akin to a thrill with a tickle of unsureness. You chalk it up to butterflies. It's just nervousness because the dream you've held onto ever since you first laid eyes on him is coming to fruition. You've always wanted Jing Yuan. You always wanted to be his.
He drives the car shortly to the parking lot of a shut-down arcade, parking his car and immediately clambering to the backseat with you. It was like he couldn't wait - like he was going to die without you. It's hot.
His hands immediately grab your hips and his lips overtake yours. He slowly lays you against the leather seats, wasting no time. He's making quick and agile movements: hands slipping under your shirt and cupping your breasts and lips wrapping around nips of skin.
You gasp, arching your back into him. “You're so sexy,” He moans, fondling you messily, needily.
“T-thank you…” You stutter out.
He kisses down to the neckline of your shirt, pushing the fabric up and going under to kiss around your chest. His lips replace his hands, the latter rehoming on your thighs and pushing your skirt up. His lips attach and suck around the top of your boob as his hands pry your legs apart, fingers dancing up toward your core.
You moan out softly. His tongue swipes across your flesh and his middle finger walks through your slit. “You’re so wet,” he comments, pressing your clit down with intense pressure.
A weak whimper dances from your lips and he laughs contently.
He continues to rub your clit while kissing your skin, turning your flames up so high that your body burns to the touch. A sticky sound resonates off of the interior of the car, sloshing grossly as your airy moans attempt to compete with it. Your pussy drips, your hole spasming as he teases you further and further.
You never thought you’d be in Jing Yuan’s backseat about to get finger fucked—and as much as you want to, you just - you can't.
His finger circles your entrance, ever so teasingly and you tense up. You pull away almost immediately, snapping your legs tightly shut and beginning to sit up. “Sorry, I’m sorry,”
Yuan takes a seat opposite from you, brushing his fallen hair out of his face with a huff. He gives you time to adjust your clothes, staring out of the front windshield. He looks…bummed, dissatisfied and you feel terrible. “Trust me, it's not a you thing. I just…I dunno. I'm not comfortable with what I don't know,”
“Nah, it's good. You're good.” He sends you a short smile, “Don’t worry about it.”
And you don't want to worry about it, but you can't not. There's an obvious tent in his pants and a frustration hidden beneath his appearance — you blue-balled him beyond measure and made it awkward. He’s probably never asking you out again.
In an attempt to ease the tension, you offer an alternative: “Wanna get something to eat? My treat.”
Taking a look at you breaks a smile on his face, and he nods. “Why not?”
┄┄
The date could have gone worse.
That's what you tell yourself as you ride the elevator up to your apartment, alone.
He had to go, he told you. “Text me before you go to bed, alright?” And that made you feel better, somewhat. He could have told you to delete his number and never go anywhere with him again, so you count this as a win.
You can't shake the tension, though. It's better than whatever the hell you, Kafka, and her friends had floating around, however, it's just as uncomfortable. The elephant in the room is humongous, but neither of you dare step on its toes. You don't blame him for feeling some type of way, but he shouldn't blame you either, right?
“Welcome back! How was your date?” Kafka questions as you walk in the door. Silver and Blade are still here, the latter on his phone and the former focusing on her strawberry crunch ice cream bar. You wave at Kafka, removing your shoes and remembering you still have Yuan’s jacket. You won't leave it out for it to get dirty with the Three Musketeers running around your apartment.
“It was good,” you reveal softly. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow. I’m really tired so I’m just gonna go shower and go to bed.”
Kafka nods, waving you off, “Alright; good night, little mouse!”
You get into your bedroom and don't even think twice. Your clothes are stripped off and strewn across your floor but you make sure to place Yuan’s jacket on your vanity. Your hair goes up and your body wraps in your towel, a quick commute to the bathroom across the hall to wash today off of your body.
Warm water splashes over your skin, soapy clouds run down your body as you scrub. You still feel embarrassed — the scene of you quitting on Yuan replays every time you close your eyes. You're mad at yourself because you know you want him, you always have, and you fumbled your opportunity badly. It's embarrassing for you and him. You fear it's an event you can never forget.
Twenty minutes of pouring the stress and dirt and Jing Yuan down the drain and you're finally ready to sleep. Body clean, pajamas on, makeup off, and skin care on, you climb into bed and immediately grab your phone.
‘just heading to bed c:’ You text. You twiddle your thumbs for half a second before you start typing again: ‘i did enjoy our date today btw…hope u don’t get the wrong impression cause i’d love to go out w u again <3’
That’s good. He knows how you feel, you've said your peace and lifted the weight off of your chest. You turn your phone off and rollover. Off to dreamland you go—
Ding!
Your eyes shoot open. Ding! And now you're rolling back over, grabbing your phone, and squinting at the initial brightness.
‘don’t worry abt it haha’ He texts back. ‘it’s my fault, I should’ve asked’
Your fingers press and heart his message, quick to move to the keyboard and begin typing. But before you finish, another text from him rolls in: ‘i’m glad you enjoyed it. it’d be my honor to take you out again’
You silently cheer, kicking your feet under your duvet. ‘i’ll be holding u to that’
no need already planning our next one
whatre u thinking?
that takes the fun out of it if i tell you dw i won’t make you wait long
He's flirting. You're flirting. Even through text, he has you running in circles looking for a response. What do you say? What do you say?!!
good c; don't wanna wait to see u again
‘me neither’ He starts typing, then stops. Is it over already?
The typing bubble pops up again, and in seconds, his blue message fills your eyes: ‘u mind sending a pic?’
Suspicion doesn't address you—instead a feeling of confusion. Where is this conversation going…?
im in my pajamas lol so not sexy
doesn't have to be, you make something sexy plus the kind of pjs a girl wears tells you all abt her
does it?
mhm
Damn it. You crawl out of bed, turn your lamp on, and step in front of your full-length mirror. A loose-fitting shirt and small house shorts. Nothing extravagant or appealing — just extremely comfortable.
Five attempts at a flattering mirror selfie later, you finally land a picture that satisfies you enough. Immediately to Jing Yuan, it goes, paired with the message ‘what do mine say about me?’
You sit back on your bed, criss–cross applesauce as you wait for his response. Three minutes later he likes your message, ‘says you're cute’
that’s it?
He responds quickly. ‘not sure if you wanna take it there haha’
You're not sure either. ‘try me’
It takes him a minute to start typing again — presumably needing to take the time to make a conscious decision before he embarrasses himself…again.
‘Attachment: 1 Image’ You immediately click on the image, zooming in only to be met with his bulge. Black boxers stretched around a fat tent in his pants with his big hand resting on top of his lap.
His next message comes in seconds later, ‘says you drive me crazy and need me there to make you feel good’
And the next one…‘it's hard for me to control myself lol’
i just get so turned on by you
Oh. He's taking it there.
‘me too’ You have to send the text with your head facing the other direction, nearly jumping out of your skin with the confirmation swoosh sound.
‘i don't usually get that wet btw…’ You inform. It's a bit of a half-truth; you haven't slept with that many people to gauge how wet you can truly get but you're almost positive you've never soiled your panties like you have today.
He hearts your message and immediately starts typing.
oh rly? what abt now? still wet?’
If the way your thighs are pressing together is anything to go by, the answer is a very enthusiastic yes.
yeah want u so bad
You don't sext — you've never done it before and you are awful with your words. You're nervous despite the wave of boldness that's overcoming you. This is escalating fast, bordering territory you've never crossed.
You should've just gone to bed and texted him the following morning. You should have kept it innocent and not pushed him further. You've opened a can of worms and now it's time to reap the consequences. Fuck.
let me see
Double fuck. Maybe triple. Possibly quadruple.
How the hell are you supposed to show him???
You immediately hop up and move your mirror, repositioning it to stand parallel to your bed. Should you turn the light off? Maybe you should.
You jump onto the bed in the darkness, slithering off your shorts slowly, giving yourself time to stop and preserve your dignity. God, you can't believe you're doing this, you think, setting yourself in the most awkward position to show the wet spot painted on your fresh pink panties.
Flash on and legs in the air, the camera shutters three times. If you weren't embarrassed before, you definitely are now.
You send two of the three photos, tossing your phone into your pillows.
The ding is still audible, followed by two more that make your heart jump.
shit you're so hot baby Attachment: 1 Video
A shaky thumb presses play on the video, immediately adjusting the volume when wispy curses spill from the device. The video shows his unclothed abdomen and his hand in his boxers, rubbing his dick slowly.
You watch with peeled eyes how his stomach rises and falls, abs gnarling as he bucks into his own hand. Twelve-second video. It's a twelve-second video and it seemed to last for an hour.
He sends more texts:
wish it was you are you touching yourself?
No.
yeah doesn't feel as good as when u did it, tho
You ignore the way your cunt clenches around the air and your panties grow increasingly uncomfortable with the slick pooling and seeping.
pretend it is me Attachment: 1 Voice Message
Oh fuck. You lay down, bringing the phone to your ear and dancing your fingers across your stomach in hopes of soothing your nerves. This is a lot. This is probably worse than letting him feel you up and almost finger you in his car.
“‘M gonna help you feel good, okay?” He starts the voice message. You nod as if he can see you, and close your eyes to take in the full experience.
“Start rubbing your clit—go slowly, tight circles, okay,” he pauses, presumably to let you complete the action. The quiet is filled with an airy gasp from you, sensitivity extremely prevalent between your legs. You part your folds and hear how sticky it is, and it's even worse when you let your finger slip in between your labia and press your clit. You moan so loudly you have to bite your lip.
With your thighs instinctively closing on your wrist you roll to your side, burying your face in the pillow as you start to do as he says: slow, tight circles around your sensitive bud. You can hear him spit—presumably in his hand—and faint slick sounds in the background. He starts speaking, overpowering the background noise, “Feels good, huh?”
“Keep doing that, okay? Keep going until you're about to cum—” He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath, “—fuuuck, baby. I want to fuck you so bad; bet you sound so pretty when you moan…”
He just turns you on more, leaving you to whimper and further push your face into your pillow, attempting to quiet yourself.
It's been a while since you've had any sexual time — oftentimes too tired or uninterested in tending to your needs even though your body screams at you for a release. You're overly sensitive, clit throbbing angrily and hole spasming thirstily. You need to feel good, to reach nirvana — you needed to let Yuan fuck you and satiate the thirst.
He sounds so good talking to you, moaning for you, working you up to your climax, “Put a finger in, baby. I wanna hear you, too,”
You're just horny at this point. You almost waste no time in recording a voice memo, pushing your middle finger into your cunt with a breathy whine, “Oh, God,”
You start at a slow rhythm, really edging yourself. You huff and whine and whimper all into the speaker, letting him hear every voice crack and deep breath. It feels so good, but it's not enough.
“I wanna be filled,” you manage to say. “‘S not enough…need you, Yuanie.”
Send.
You stop your ministrations as you wait for him to respond, letting yourself come down from the impending climax.
Ding!
fuck
Is all he sends, and then your phone starts ringing. Your reflection in the FaceTime camera has you adjusting your position and putting the phone in a flattering angle, answering the phone with knitted eyebrows and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. What a performer you are.
When the call connects you're met with his dick. His hand traverses the length eagerly, an angry tip leaking milky white down the shaft and glistening as he jerks himself off. You see him behind his big cock: hair disheveled and face red.
“Let me see your pussy,” his voice is gritty, deeper than usual. His tone is almost demanding—you clearly don't have the luxury of being shy at the moment.
You lower the camera slowly, pushing your panties to the side and letting the radiance of your phone screen show the glistening mess to him. “Oh fuck,” he comments, throwing his head back.
“So pretty, so perfect. I bet you're tight as fuck,” You decide to show him: slipping your index finger in first with a sweet moan, then following up with your middle finger after a few pumps.
You're definitely fuller, but it's not enough.
Your cunt squeezes around your fingers tightly, spilling out a waterfall of arousal. Your ministrations are easy with how wet you are: fingers slipping in and out with little to no resistance, just narrowly missing your sweet spot.
It gets harder to hold back your moans—sounds now coming out as broken cries as you bite intensely on your lip. “I wanna cum,” you sniffle.
“Yeah? Cum for me—show me how that pussy creams,” So obscene but so, so incredibly hot.
Your hips buck into your hands and your hold on your phone gets weak. You have to change position: set the device up between your pillows, and put yourself on display
Normally, you would never do something this risky. Maybe it's because of Jing Yuan—or a different potential point of interest just mere feet down the hall—but you feel inclined to jump out of your shell now.
So many years in Kafka’s shadow and even more in your mother's palm. You're grown up now, independent and you want to be taken seriously. It's the least you deserve and the most you want. He's going to take you seriously; he's going to see how badly you want him and the lengths you’ll go to to show up for him.
You've made a big leap in your behavior and you're prepared to deal with the consequences. No more little mouse, you're not a baby anymore.
It's time to take the world in your palm and bask in the mature gleam. You let the spotlight burn your skin as you work yourself to an orgasm, moaning so carelessly you're probably the center of conversation among Kafka and her friends. And you’d be right; partially, anyway.
Kafka having dozed off with Silver ages ago left Blade up alone, amusing himself with an average social media feed and remnants of a joint. He tried to ignore your soft moans coming from down the hall, but hey, he has keen ears.
He knows it's probably that douchebag you went out with making you sound like that and he can't even get mad about it. He's almost thankful — it's not every day you get to hear the melodies of an angel.
Neediness and curiosity reach all-time highs and urge him to do something he's 100 percent going to regret.
Blade takes light-footed steps toward your bedroom, the moans, and whimpers of you getting louder as he approaches the source. You sound so pretty; he can only imagine the way your face is knitted up and how wet you must be.
He hates himself for doing this, but he eavesdrops: letting an ear rest on the wood of your bedroom door and taking in the sounds you spew out.
He wishes he was on the other side of this door making you sound like that. He'd probably make you wake the entire apartment building up—
“I’m about to cum—! Ngh, oh my—” A sharp whine cuts you off. He wonders: do you squirt? Can you? Can he make you? There's no way possible that dickhead can do it.
“Me too—oh, shit, baby.” Comes out muffled to Blade, and his eyes roll immediately. Cornball shit, he thinks.
He hadn't pictured you as the phone-sex kind of girl, but with the way that jackass is egging you on, it's no wonder. You're so much better than this, than that guy and all he wants to do is let you know that. Blade is probably no better, but he can try. He can change for you and do right by you—in every aspect.
Your whimpers grow pitchier and you're puffing out deep breaths. You sound…overstimulated. He can imagine your toes curling and thighs trembling as you fuck yourself, squeezing your eyes shut with swollen lips. Your pussy is probably leaking a river, covering your ass, and staining your (probably) dainty white sheets. What he would give to make you feel good, let alone look at you.
“Yuan—!! I'mcummingImcummingImcumming!!!” You squeal, muffling yourself with a hard slap over your mouth.
Blade doesn't even realize he's begun to palm his cock and roll his hips into his hand. “Oh…” he quietly moans, letting his head fall onto your door.
Shit. He has to leave now, hearing you yelp at the sound and shuffle around. No use trying to hide, so he makes an escape: walking fast out of the front door without a second thought. Great—now he has to drive home with a rock-hard dick.
And you gather yourself. Hanging up the phone with Jing Yuan and walking to your door awkwardly due to the mess between your legs.
Cleaning yourself up in the bathroom and avoiding your reflection in the mirror, you think back to that sound. It was a knock, right?
Kafka and Silver lay on opposite ends of the same couch, curled under your throw blanket which is much too small for them. Blade is nowhere to be found…huh. Weird.
“Hey, Kaf,” you shake your roommate awake over the back of the couch. She moans and rolls over, slowly peeling her sleepy eyes open, “hmm?”
“Were you at my door just now?” The red-head shakes her head no, pulling the blanket over her shoulders and away from Silver.
If it wasn't her…“Where’s Bladie?” She questions, noticing his absence.
You shrug. “He probably left earlier.”
Even half-asleep, Kafka has double the brain you do. You can't see what's right in front of you.
She smiles, shuffling again and closing her eyes. “Alright, then. Good night.”
“Night,”
ೀ
With a week left until spring break, you cherish the time you've spent this last month or so living.
It feels like the first time, in all of your nineteen years of living, that you are living. Your smiles are brighter, your days are happier, and you're living every second to its fullest extent in absolute bliss.
Almost every week you're on a date with Jing Yuan. He's practically your boyfriend, but there's no official label so you keep that thought process to yourself.
Lowkey dates with him that slightly escalate have become your norm. You're still holding off on full-blown sex, and you wish you weren't. It causes some tension every time you restrict him from fucking you - but he tells you he's waiting, he's more than happy to wait. That's more than most men are willing to do and you're happy that you're fortunate to have landed yourself someone like you. Spending the tail end of your dates getting your neck marked up and fingered while you jerk him off is as much scandal as you can handle. Nerves are what's stopping you from going all the way. Definitely not Kafka’s hot friend who you can't stop thinking about.
There's synergy in your apartment now. You're not walking into a room with a tight chest and bated breath, just waiting to see what's waiting for you anymore. It's normal now—all of it. From Silver ransacking your kitchen to an obnoxiously loud-smelling blunt, you're used to it. It's not nearly as bad as you feared when Kafka initially moved in.
You sit in the dining hall with Fu Xuan, listening to her angry rambling about her statistics class. She never backs down, always eager to let a piece of her mind fly whether you like it or not.
“Stupidest fucking class ever. And, like, I shouldn't even be in there in the first place because I am wayyy too smart—”
“Hey guys,” thank God. Yukong shows up and sits next to Xuan, saving you from a monologue about how smart and wonderful she is. You love her, but man does she know how to talk.
“Nice of you to join us,” Xuan says snappily. Yukong pays her attitude no mind, sipping her coffee and turning to you with a knowing look.
She shifts the conversation, “Anyway…I came to let you guys know that there's going to be a party on Friday at the sorority. Tingyun said it’s to celebrate the beginning of spring break.”
You can't even remember the last time you went to a party. The smile growing on your face is too strong to fight. “What time?”
“Umm…I’ll have to check. Probably late though, so…”
This can be your first outing with Jing Yuan. Just the two of you with all eyes on you. Right before spring break as well…it could be your first time together—the thoughts alone make your head spin and a flurry of images swarm.
“Hm. Well, I won't be there.” Xuan states, crossing her arms and looking off elsewhere.
Amused, Yukong questions her why. “‘Cause. I'm gonna be busy with burning this stupid campus down!”
┄┄
hii <3 didn’t see u today so i hope ur feeling alright! also did u hear about the party this friday? r u thinking about going? miss u
You send your trilogy of texts to Jing Yuan, drowning out the conversation Kafka and Silver are having in your living room. “Can you back me up here?!”
Silver looks at you for backup, to which you're dumbfounded. What were they talking about again? “Sorry, what were you saying?” You ask, setting down your phone.
“Ugh!” The gamer groans, falling back onto the couch. “Please tell your sister that a Nintendo DS and a Nintendo Switch are not the same thing!”
“They do the same thing, though!” Kafka defends. “Barely! Kaf, I’m on that thing like, twenty-four-seven and you mean to tell me you think I’m playing Cooking Mama?”
“I don't know what you play. You never let anyone try and join you.”
“Because you all suck! Every single last one of you is dead weight and it makes me look bad.” Kafka scoffs, turning around and looking at you with an exasperated look. You lock eyes and share a similar smile — as much as you claim you and Kafka are total opposites, you get each other in ways not understood.
She turns back around and shuts Silver’s yapping down and at the same time, Blade emerges from the hallway. He looks good. Really good.
His long, dark hair is disheveled and tossed into a low bun, making you gain a newfound appreciation for man buns. His black “wife-beater” tank snugs onto his frame tightly—every ridge and curve of his solid abdomen pressing through the fabric and leaving little to the imagination. Staple gray sweats make you immediately avert your gaze, awkwardly making eye contact with you.
He caught you staring, and you caught him.
As if it were divine intervention, your phone buzzed on the counter behind you and you went straight for it, hiding the flustered look on your face behind your phone. You don't do a good job, though. Kafka notices.
hey baby accidentally slept in this morning but I’m alright heard abt the party but idk if I’m gonna go. not rly feeling it
A frown stretches across your lips as you disappointedly text back.
ohh okay feel better <3
Read.
It's fine—you're fine! You’ll just go with your friends and have a great time and you can see him after break.
You want that to be comforting but your gut tastes the bitter truth. It's not time to have that conversation with yourself so you table it, leaving your phone on the table and joining Blade on the second couch. Kafka and Silver monopolized the other one and you had to fight the urge to wiggle your way between them.
“So, what are we watching?” You make conversation, hiding the shake in your voice by focusing on the TV. Some random show plays, something so stupid you’d never waste your time on this.
“Dunno. Blade picked it.” Silver shrugs, slamming buttons on her Switch.
He turns to you. “Uh, it's the adaptation of the book ‘Verdict’. About Imbibitor Lunae.” He informs shyly. His voice is so gritty and deep—every time you hear it you swear you feel the depth reverberating in your bones.
Blade makes you so nervous. With his intense stare and even more intense aura, he's overwhelming and nerve-wracking. While you've grown to be comfortable with Silver and Kafka, Blade is the only one you walk on eggshells around.
And he feels the same way. He wants to breach the wall and get to know you. He wants to sit on this couch with you with his arms wrapped around your frame and you in his lap and relax. He's so tense around you, so stiff out of pure fear that if he makes the wrong move or says the wrong thing, he’ll scare you off. Blade likes you. And when it comes to girls like you and guys like him, it doesn't take much for things to go wrong.
You like that he reads though. “Ooh, interesting. I’ve never read that book,”
“It's pretty old and short. Most people of our generation haven't heard of it, I bet.”
“Yeah, 'cause you act fifty years old!” Silver sneers, earning a slap on the leg from Kafka. He pays her no mind, instead watching how you laugh at her teasing.
Your eyes get so bright when you smile: full of joy, full of light. It's so cute.
“What episode is this?” You ask him. Clearing his throat, he checks with the remote, “Episode four.”
“Mind catching me up?” Are you doing this on purpose? You’ve got to know what you're doing to him.
Heat drives up his neck and he has to create distance, sitting all the way back on the couch and replying to you with a nod.
You gulp, watching the way his legs naturally spread and how his arms flex. Insanely attractive, almost criminally so.
“So, it’s basically about that guy,” he points at the screen, a graceful-looking man with horns displayed, “called the Sinner—”
“That guy’s a sinner? He looks like an angel,” You comment. You take another look at the screen and Blade fights a smile.
If only you knew.
He continues to break down the lore of Verdict to you, going very in-depth and getting seemingly passionate as he goes on. Kafka scrolls on her phone and takes it in with pride—Blade should thank her. Never in all of her years of friendship with him does she think she's ever heard him talk this much, let alone to someone he’s interested in. It's pure proof of what you do: the best sides of people come out because of you.
You listen to him intently, chiming in with reactions and questions every now and then and completely abandoning the show you're supposed to be learning about. You just like to hear him talk. His rough voice softens up as he continues explaining the story to you and in turn, your body language softens. You can relax and lie on the couch, keeping your eyes on his face as you lean your head down on your wrists.
Details you hadn't noticed before on his face stand out to you — like how clear and supple his milky skin is and how his chapped lips are tinted ever-so-slightly red. You notice how his thick eyebrows wiggle and knit together when he’s thinking, and his awkward, canine-heavy smile when you make a comment. Blade is dorky and surprisingly, a history enthusiast.
He goes from detailing the fabled betrayal of Imbibitor Lunae to the Ambrosial Arbor to everything before, after, and during. From the unusual silence exuding from Kafka and Silver, he realizes just how much he's been talking. Even you have started to drift off, your eyes are heavy as you listen to old Xianzhou tales.
Upon realizing that he’s effectively talked everybody to sleep, he takes the blanket draped on the armchair and covers you, making sure to be as cautious as possible. He doesn't know what he’d do if you woke up and caught him.
As weird as it sounds, he likes seeing you sleep. You look so peaceful like your dreams are full of cotton candy and rainbows. Knowing you, they probably are.
“You’re staring, Bladie.” He turns around to see Kafka, her smirk overtaking her groggy expression. He doesn't even try to refute the claim or defend himself. If there's anyone other than himself that knows him well, it's Kafka. She probably knows him more than he does himself at this point.
“You’re cute, making moves on her and stuff,” He naturally follows her as she makes her way to the kitchen. The blush on his cheeks dusts lightly, and his eyes find comfort in staring at the floor. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.” She reaches into the fridge, pulling out the last can of Mung Bean Soda.
She pops the can open and takes a short swig, “so what's your plan?”
Blade shrugs. Kafka sighs, placing the can on the counter. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”
ೀ
If Jing Yuan wasn’t going to come to the party tonight, you were going to make him regret it.
You dressed in the shortest, tightest dress you owned: an off-the-shoulder white mini-dress with the prettiest shine to it. You bought it impulsively after your mid-term breakdown freshman year, thinking retail therapy would make you feel better. (It didn't–another breakdown ensued when you realized you just wasted money on shit you didn't need.)
You did your makeup the best you ever have. Perfect highlight, sharp and even eyeliner wings, balanced lip combo—cosmetology school should have been your first choice with this type of beat.
Yukong told you to come at 9; the time on your phone reads 8:58. A little late, but fashionably so.
The jacket Yuan had given you still resides in your room due to your forgetfulness. If you're going to this party, why not make a statement?
You slip on the bomber jacket, the bulkiness of the fit aiding the aesthetics of your outfit. It gave off comfy but cute—“in my boyfriend’s closet” vibes. Surely, Tingyun or whoever the hell else competing with you will take the hint with this. Nobody will have to guess whose jacket it is when there's a white lion embroidered on the right arm. If this isn't a soft launch, you don't know what is.
Grabbing your essentials you walk out to the usual scene in your living room: Kafka, Blade, and Silver seated on different couches engaged in a conversation. Their heads turn to you, and you immediately let your gaze fall to Blade. He almost looks away instantly — too much. You're too much and he knows that it's for that guy. The one who doesn't deserve you but gets to see you cum and receive your attention…unfair.
“Wowww look at you! Little mouse is stealing someone’s man tonight!” Silver whoops, snapping her fingers. You roll your eyes at her, brushing stray strands of hair back.
You walk to the door, “Don’t wait up!!!”
Oh, but they will. Some more than others.
┄┄
Yukong’s sorority house is huge but it feels so small with this many people present. The invitation was extended to the entire campus, presumably, and sure enough, they showed up and showed out.
Pulling up was a nightmare — cars and people backed up for what seemed like miles. Your Uber driver huffed and puffed the entire time trying to find somewhere to let you out, and you could only extend apologetic woes and smiles. Walking up to the house was better, but you suddenly woke up from your dream world and realized that people could see you. They could perceive you and form preconceived notions about you just from how you carried yourself. You became conscious of what the hell you had on—immediately regretting the short dress when you had to squeeze between some randoms smoking on the stairs, your bare thighs rubbing against their bodies. Ugh.
The music was loud, seemingly traveling through the floorboards and it felt incredibly unstable to walk in your heels. You searched for Yukong, spotting your best friend off to the side with Hanya.
“Woaahh, look at you!” She exclaims. You give her a spin and laugh. Through your joy, you miss the way her face crinkles up when she eyes the jacket you sport. “Do you want a drink?”
You nod, “Only like, one or two. I'm trying to stay sober; I want to remember tonight.” You send her a look that means only one thing: you have something planned for tonight. What that thing is…well, Yukong isn't sure she wants to know.
She asks Hanya to fetch you a drink, taking up a conversation with you in her place. “How’s the sister situation?”
You hadn't updated Yukong on the status of things in a while. Should you tell her about Blade?
Wait. Tell her what?
As if there's anything to tell…
“It’s actually good. Surprisingly. I thought I’d be begging my mom to take her by now,” you joke. Hanya returns with a red solo cup, handing it to you. “It’s something tame.”
You're not a fan of the taste of alcohol. You can't understand how people willingly get shitfaced—this shit is nasty. You cringe and shudder at the taste. Whatever juice base is added does not aid the taste one bit.
“Her friends are around often. Like…every day. I wonder if they have jobs but I haven't asked,” Yukong takes a sip of her drink as well.
“Did they help this transformation occur?”
And suddenly, the reality of how you look hits you again. “Ha ha, very funny. I wanted to try something new, something sexy.”
“It worked!!” A random girl replies as she and her friends walk toward the kitchen. The face you give Yukong says I told you so, and she rolls her eyes.
“Let’s dance!” You exclaim, grabbing onto your friend with the sudden shift in the music.
Reluctantly, she follows you to the sea of gyrating bodies. Everybody dancing and talking forms a cocoon of heat—you’re encapsulated the moment you breach the area.
Sip, dance, laugh. Sip, dance, laugh. Sip, dance, laugh. You keep this up for a good twenty minutes, breaking on the couch every now and then. It may be only you and Yukong — and the occasional appearance of Hanya — but you're having fun. Fun like you said you would with or without Yuan—
He’s here???
You spot Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye. He daps partygoers up at the door, making his way through the jumbles of people clearly in search. Of you?
You almost call his name and wave but he walks straight toward Tingyun. His hands slide around her waist instinctively and her arms wrap around his neck tightly. She giggles as he lifts her up, and she gives him her cup when she's put back down. They don't break eye contact the entire time he downs the remainder of her cup, and as soon as he's finished, the cup is replaced with her hand and she's guiding him up the stairs.
Did he think you wouldn't be here? Or did he not give enough of a fuck regardless?
Whatever the case—it hurts. You take the jacket off and toss it to the ground, not realizing the stray tear that streaks down your face.
Tingyun is going to give him something that you couldn't. He’s going to give her something you can't have. You feel slighted like the rug has been torn from beneath your feet and you’re doomed to a fate forever on your ass. You look stupid. So so so stupid, but you have enough dignity to wait until you leave to bawl your eyes out.
Ignoring Yukong calling your name, you walk outside and begin calling yourself an Uber. The early spring chills make you even madder. Fuck this stupid dress, this stupid party, that stupid Jing Yuan—“Hey!!! You didn't hear me calling you?”
Yukong comes following after you, her face concerned as she comes into view. Seeing your tears, her eyebrows furrow, “What happened? What’s wrong?”
A sad laugh escapes your throat and you look up at the sky, attempting to hold back the sudden rush of tears. “Yuan is sleeping with Tingyun,”
Her face is full of indescribable expressions. She has many things she wants to say, but she chooses the safe option. “Huh?! How do you know?”
“His lying ass just showed up and threw himself all over her. Then they went upstairs and you and I both know they aren't up there talking.”
You poor, poor girl. “I shouldn't be sad…what was I thinking? I should've known that he was an asshole.” You should have, but Yukong won't blame you.
The last romantic attention you had was from Dan Heng: your kinda-sorta-ex-boyfriend who took your virginity senior year and broke up with you a month later because you were going to different schools. You crave a change in the way people perceive you. Jing Yuan was the closest thing to a fever dream you had in university, and he turned it into a nightmare. What was supposed to be your rebranding - an age of confidence and maturity was overtaken by his pushiness and exclusivity.
“It doesn't matter, I don't care. I just wanna go home,” You hope Kafka and her friends are on their best behavior tonight. You're not in the mood for any shit.
“Are you sure?” Yukong doesn't know how to comfort you. Anything she has to say will make it worse, she's sure of it.
You nod, wiping the string of tears off of your cheeks. The buzzing of your phone lets you know that your Uber is approaching shortly, so you give Yukong a smile that’s meant to comfort her - but it only worries her. She won't push you because the only way this’ll end is messy if so.
She offers you a comforting smile of her own, pulling you into a soft hug. “Call me later, okay?”
She reluctantly pulls away and heads back into the party, head swiveling over her shoulder to make sure you don't jump in front of a car. You're not going to — if anyone needs to, it's that asshole, Jing Yuan.
Your Uber pulls up and saves the day, the warmth in the car settling goosebumps on your skin from the juxtaposition. “Long night?” The driver asks, peering at you through the mirror.
Is it that obvious?
With a sad smile, you nod, “It's only gonna get longer.” You laugh. Imagining the annoying amount of questions and pep talks Kafka is going to give you when you step through the door irritates you. You lay your head against your seat, and then your phone buzzes.
Flipping the device over, you see three notifications from ‘Yuan <3’. Ugh.
Looking at it is going to make you do or say something you’ll completely regret. You regain composure through a deep breath; placing your phone face down on your lap and watching the world blur through the window.
You're trying not to feel humiliated. There's a burn in your chest because every time you close your eyes, there's a scene of you and him together. You're stupid to think he actually liked you. His longing gazes and lingering touches and sweet words were tactics to get into your pants — and it almost worked. There's a reason your mother treats you like a baby: you are one and can't handle the real world. You hate that you had to come to this conclusion like this, but you're not ready.
Thanking the driver, you pull yourself out of the car, trudging begrudgingly into the building and in the elevator. And you can't stop fucking crying.
Stray tears keep escaping and no matter how many times you wipe them away or vigorously blink, it doesn't stop the flow. Why are your feelings hurt this badly? Why did you like him so much?
These same questions cycle as you open your front door, being hit with the same atmosphere you just escaped.
You’ve got to be kidding me, you think. Of all nights, tonight Kafka decides to throw a damn party???
Not wanting to spend another second in this atmosphere, you weave your way through the partygoers — an exceptional amount of people, given the space of your apartment, if you may add.
Trying to escape to your room gets you caught by your roommate, and your name gets called across the party as a result. She maneuvers her way to you, “What’re you doing back here so early, little mouse? I thought we shouldn't wait up?”
The sadness you wear is so prominent. Your face is dropped and your lips quiver when she asks her questions. You stare at the floor to not let the tears fall. “Hey…what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I'm just gonna go to sleep, so can you keep the noise down?” You try to brush her off. Kafka doesn't let you slip away, grabbing your arm and keeping you in place.
The rim of her cup nudges at your chin in place of her hand, forcing you to look up at her. A black headband pushes her plum-colored locks out of her face, straight strands flowing down her back. When she tilts her head pitifully at you, her hair swings to the side, falling over her shoulder and at this moment she looks so approachable. “What’s wrong?” She poses the question again, her tone softer than before.
You almost break down in front of her and she immediately extends her arm around your shoulders, pulling the side of you into her chest. She hands you her cup and you immediately down the liquid with no second thought. Her hand rubs your arm comfortingly and she guides you toward the kitchen, “C’mon, let's talk in here.”
The kitchen is surprisingly unoccupied save for a few hungry stragglers, leaving the two of you to sit on the stools. She refreshes your cup, getting a new one of her own and finishing off another bottle of tequila.
Kafka can tell by looking at you that this upset is caused by heartbreak. No words have to be spoken for her to understand, and now it's her job to take care of you. The way you deserve.
“What’d he do?”
The look on her face is all-knowing. You can't help but break a small smile at her intuitiveness. “I’m sure you can imagine…”
Of course she can. It was clear as day that he wanted only one thing. Everybody but you could see that a mile away.
“How’d you find out?”
“The asshole definitely wasn't trying to hide it.” You state, taking a big sip of your drink and cringing at the bitterness. Yuck. “He told me he wasn't going to come to the party, but I'm there, dancing, and here he comes. With a big wide-ass smile he walks straight to Tingyun and they waste no time in going upstairs.”
You don't normally swear, but you're so irritated that the words just soar from your lips. It’s almost amusing to watch your angry rambling. “Not even accounting for the fact that I was there and somebody could have told me. It was right in my face—right there and it was like I was invisible!!!”
Her eyes travel up and down your body. You're definitely not invisible. Jing Yuan just doesn't know what to do with you.
“He didn't deserve you; I hope you know that.” She comments, sipping her drink slowly. You finish off yours with bigger gulps, immediately hopping off of the stool and searching for a new bottle. Pouring another full cup, you nod, “I do now.”
“And then—he had the audacity to text me!” You sit down, taking off your heels. You're ready to get comfortable and let everything rip. Kafka’s eyes widen, “Oh, really?”
You hum to confirm, picking up your phone and checking the notifications. A few texts from Yukong and Xuan join his messages, but those don't matter. You hand the phone to Kafka, “I didn't even read them. I should block him, right?”
hey baby, i’m at the party wya
just talked to Yukong…can we talk? I wanna explain don’t be like this. at least let me explain?
Double yuck. You absolutely should block him…after this, though.
“He wants to explain himself to you. Classic,” She sneers. You laugh through your sipping, sitting the cup down. “He must take me for an idiot.”
There's a short silence that breaks with you changing the subject. “What’s the occasion?” You question.
She shrugs, placing her cup down. “Just felt like partying.”
Kafka tells a bit of a half-truth. While she did feel like having fun — her idea extends beyond getting sloppy drunk and into territory thus far unexplored. There's one objective she has tonight and it can't be completed unless her two moving pieces are pliable and cooperative. In terms of a checklist, she's halfway there.
Low-lidded eyes narrow at you, as if to tell you her intent wordlessly. You don't pick up what she's putting down, instead feeling heavily nervous under her gaze. “Anyway. Why don't we…”
She trails off, her finger tapping her chin exaggeratedly. “Wanna dance?”
You suck in a breath, holding up your hands. “I think I'm gonna call it a night, actually. It’s kind of late and all that crying made my head hurt���” You laugh. That’s partly true—you just want to escape whatever trap she’s set, if you're being honest. And frankly, after tonight, you have slight trauma from dancing.
“It’ll make you feel better.” She sings, wiggling a finger at you. “Come on; just one dance!”
Your face crinkles. You're not convinced. “Silver’s on the aux, we can ask her to play whatever you want.” She tries to bribe. “No sad-girl depressed shit, though.”
She keeps asking, offering deals and propositions that sound all the more appetizing as she continues. After a series of unabashed begging, you finally agree. “One song,” you sternly declare, hopping off the stool and grabbing ahold of your cup.
Her hands are in the air defensively, a cheshire smile stretching across her lips. “You lead the way,”
You've never partied with Kafka before. Your time spent as step-sisters consisted of you mostly lurking and watching, earning your nickname ‘little mouse’ because you were quiet, swift, and moved at night. You saw her sneak people into the house while your parents slept, throw parties while they were out, smoke in your backyard, and do other wild activities — but she never let you join. Your age was your main roadblock, being deemed too young and too cute to join her and her friends. Dancing with her now, smelling the strong mix of scents in the air and the bass of the music jumping in your bones, you understand why now.
Maybe it's the alcohol or the fact that your heart is broken, but the atmosphere is heavy. There's a lingering feeling that seeps through your pores. It has you dancing with her, letting her hands lie on your waist and your hips sway together.
Your bodies generate a fountain of heat that consumes you. You can't help but just dance: feeling the beat in your very core. Mixed with your surplus of liquid courage, your body sways and gyrates, lighting a flame you won't be able to put out in Kafka. Her smile is wide and her eyes flicker toward the couch, meeting an intense amber gaze.
Blade is entertained…more so intrigued with how you can live freely even after your heart weighs you down. The smile on your face doesn't falter — it only grows and gleams and he can't stop watching you dance.
Should he take Kafka’s place? He wants to take Kafka’s place.
It should be his hands on your waist, his lips on your ears, his words making you laugh—“Ah, I’m exhausted,”
You plop down beside him with an exasperated groan. He almost jumps out of his skin when you appear, and looking up at Kafka who towers over the pair of you, he can tell this is only the beginning. Her smile is warm but all-telling: whatever idea she has brewing in her head is coming to fruition tonight.
“I’ll be back. Take care of her for me, Bladie,” she shoots him a wink. He almost doesn't know what to do. Should he talk to you? Take you to bed?
“Blade?” Your voice is so small, so cute. You're quiet beneath the jumble of sounds crammed in your apartment but he can pick you out amongst the masses. He's never heard you address him before and the way his name leaves your mouth…he’s always going to replay it in his head forever. “…Y-yeah?”
He doesn't stutter but fuck, you make him nervous.
Breathing out airily, you turn your head to him. “…Do you and Kafka date?”
“No.” His answer is straight and immediate. Must be a sore subject…
“Oh…” “Why do you ask?” He knows why you ask. The same reason everybody else does. “Dunno. You guys just seem…close.”
“She’s not my type of girl.”
“Oh?” You perk up, now intrigued. “Then, what is your type of girl?”
You. He picks at his nails and almost avoids your eyes. How does he answer this question without freaking you out? Ah…fuck it.
“…You.” He’s dying on the inside but at least you're drunk—you’re not going to remember this so it won't be that bad. “Really?”
Your tone pitches up as you adjust your position. You lean your head against your hand now, opting to look him in his eyes. His attention feels nice and hearing that somebody insanely attractive wants you. You make him nervous, making him twiddle his fingers, and his cheeks dust rosy. That's a type of flattery that you can't make up.
“Yeah,” he says matter-of-factly. As if it's so obvious that he likes girls like you.
“What about me do you like?”
“Oh, uh, I don't know…” he trails off. He suddenly remembers the solo cup he abandoned earlier in the night and picks it up off the floor. He’s going to need a serious buzz to bear his dirty laundry to the wind. “…everything?” He poses it like a question — as though your reaction would gauge the validity.
Your face was brighter and painted in a flustered manner. “Thank you,” is all you can say without word-vomiting.
“What are you two talking about?” Kafka breaks up your tension, handing you another full cup and weaving her way onto the couch. She takes a seat right behind you, effectively spooning you. She takes a look at Blade over your shoulder, noticing the blush that paints his cheeks and the refusal to look in your direction.
Downing big swigs of your mystery drink, you shake your head. “Oh, nothing…” You sing, giving Blade an obvious reassuring wink that Kafka laughs at. “Guess I should leave you two to it, huh?”
“To what?” You ask coyly. You giggle bubbly, hiding your grin behind your cup. Kafka gives you a look, “I’m interrupting, aren't I? It’s okay to push me away.”
“We didn't do anything yet!!”
“Yet?” Kafka and Blade exchange glances - a series of looks that only mean one thing.
You slap a hand over your mouth, laughing into your palm drunkenly. Your mind is hazy and covered in static. That's not what you meant to say— “Well, I mean…”
She quirks an eyebrow at you, cocking her head to the side. “What do you mean? You playing to run off with Bladie later?”
While that would be great and you aren't completely unopposed…“We were just talking.”
Kafka shrugs, dropping the topic. You’re determined to preserve the privacy of your conversation until the very end. Well, anyway, there are other methods of getting the show on the road.
Her brief time away from the pair of you was spent curating a queue of songs on Silver’s phone — songs she knows you like, songs she knows Blade likes, and songs she knows your inebriated bodies will like. Full of bass, full of sensuality, full of dirty innuendos that get your core filled with butterflies and your head filled with fantasies. She took it upon herself to mix up a concoction strong enough to wipe out a village of Pilgrims and your inhibitions.
From the moment your mother mentioned staying with you, Kafka thought of you. You’re a staple goody-two-shoes, held down to Earth with a strict upbringing and a perfectionist mindset. You were always eager for more, wide eyes watching as she and her friends explored all types of realms unbeknownst to you.
It’s her way of setting you free and paying you back. All those times you covered for her, all those times you took care of her after a long night out, and even now, taking her in when you have no reason to — it’s her way of saying thank you. Giving you the release you’ve been clawing for since she met you; giving you the release you deserve.
Blade is perfect for you. He's the type of guy to send your mother into cardiac arrest but the type of guy to love you right. He's not a man of many words but of many actions — a crafter, a creator, a provider, a carer. What you need is stability, something in scarce supply ever since your parents split up; but you also need someone to fix. That can't be Kafka, it won't be her.
She's going to hand you the tools to set you free, but it's up to you to forge your way out.
This box of safety you guard yourself in is coming down tonight. The burden of finding the perfect, golden guy, being the perfect, golden girl, and living a perfect, golden life is shriveling by the minute, each alcoholic sip you take singeing its weight.
The sultry beat of the next song punches through the atmosphere. The vibe of the party seems to slow down: the chatter lowers itself to background noise, bodies move longingly and languidly, and the lights seem dimmer. Your body feels heavier too, slumping forward on the couch to where your forehead collides with Blade’s knee.
His hands are quick to slip under your arms, helping you sit up straight. Kafka rubs a supportive hand in circles on your back, “You alright, little mouse?”
You look at the man in front of you, his silhouette slowly coming into focus. With his hair freed down his back and toned body dressed in his usual comfortable loungewear, he looks good. So fucking good with the worried look on his face.
“Hey, I got you,” he states.
In a second your strength is replenished and you muster the courage to lean in, stealing a kiss from him. It’s unexpected, sloppy, and tastes a whole hell of a lot like liquor…but, fuck, does it feel good.
He doesn't know what to do with his hands, choosing to remove them from beneath your arms and rehome them on your waist. The initial shock dissipates and his body naturally leads into your kiss, his eyes closing after taking in the image of an amused Kafka.
You whimper into his mouth, eager to climb onto his lap. Your hands roughly tangle in his hair, pulling his face unimaginably closer as if you were trying to consume him whole. The feeling of his slightly chapped lips against your glossed ones is like heaven - even better as he gets to re-slick them with his tongue.
It’s like the world around you doesn't exist anymore. Time could cease to exist and it wouldn't faze you because you have everything you need beneath you. The warmth of another person, the kisses of pure desire, the hands of desperation…it all rests in Blade and he delivers it unto you. It's all that matters right now, all you could ever wish for — forget Jing Yuan, your mother, whatever stressors have been weighing you down. It's insignificant, it doesn't matter, not when Blade sucks your tongue and his hands grab the fat of your ass.
It doesn't take much to escalate the situation with the amount of alcohol and stress in your body. It needs to all come out.
“Alright, lovebirds.” Kafka practically pulls you two apart, holding your hand and hoisting you to your feet. “Let’s get you to bed,”
You grumble like a petulant child, holding your other hand out for Blade to grab. He’s quick to slip your hand into his. “I don't wanna go to bed…”
Leading you through the myriad of people, Kafka laughs, “Don’t worry. We’re not going to sleep.”
You giggle at her words, the meaning not fully processing in your hazy head. You miss her innuendos the way you always have, focusing on Blade. His arm wraps around your waist to stabilize you with Kafka’s hand locked in yours. It’s intimate, it’s nice, and though you can't see the heat burn in his skin in this darkness, you can feel it with how close he is to you.
Kafka leads the three of you into your room, flickering your light on and closing the door behind you all. She locks it while you basically drag Blade to your bed.
You're more abrasive when you're drunk: grabbing Blade by the fabric of his shirt into another sloppy kiss. It’s amusing to watch, Kafka’ll give you that. But that's not the image she had in mind.
“Easy tiger,” she purrs, sitting behind you on the bed. You both catch your breaths, looking at each other with small smiles. There's a spark of desire in the room, latching onto any and everything and setting it ablaze. It’s hot and palpable and you need to set it out. “Let’s take our time, yeah?”
It doesn't register what she meant by that until her hands are fondling your chest and her chin rests on your shoulder. “Mmh…” she moans, feeling your nipples harden through your dress, “We’ve been waiting a real long time for this, haven't we, Bladie?”
He finds himself at a loss for words, swallowing thickly and keeping his eyes trained to you. “Yeah…”
“Why don't you come show her, then?” Kafka instructs, fluttering her eyes up to him. He doesn't need much encouragement to catch your bobbing head with his palm, leaning in and taking the lead in your kiss.
Under his behest, the kisses are softer, tamer, but filled with just as much—if not more—fire as before. He takes his time in carefully traversing your mouth with his tongue — completely contrasting from the kisses you gave him previously. You were taking a page from the book of Jing Yuan, using how he kissed you as a guideline for the basis. But that's not what you wanted. What you wanted from the very beginning was for him to take his time: to savor you down to every detail until your lips bruised and swelled, then move on to the rest of your body with passion.
Blade’s kisses were heavy with passion and need - as if he, too, was holding onto a package full of burdens.
As he moves down your jaw and neck, Kafka’s hands travel down to the hem of your dress, slipping under and gripping your bare sides. Her hands are cold and you flinch at the feeling, but it soon feels nice as her hands slide to cup your boobs under your bra. Your head falls back on her shoulder, allowing Blade more access to the expanse of your neck.
Your hips pathetically gyrate against the bed, receiving minimal friction that aids you in no way. It only makes you needier.
Blade pulls away to let Kafka pull your dress over your head, revealing the pretty, matching white set you have on underneath. You so obviously wore this with Jing Yuan in mind, and it irritates Blade that he was ever worthy enough to you to warrant such an ensemble. It was never right, never fair — but he has you now, and he doesn't plan on letting you go.
Kafka takes the initiative and unclips your bra, tossing the undergarment to the floor alongside your dress. You're pushed flat onto the mattress where she takes a moment to remove her crop top, leaning over you in her black lace bra.
She places a chaste kiss on your lips leaving your eyes to widen — watching with blown pupils as she lowers herself to your chest and darts her tongue toward your pebbled nipple. You drawl out a whine, your body curling up in response. She swirls the nub, dragging her teeth lightly on it and leaving you hissing and whimpering. All the while, Blade strips down to his underwear, tossing his long hair to the back and palming the tent in his pants.
You turn your head to your left and spot him, your face cringing in pleasure. You stretch your arms toward him and he complies, letting your hands find the sides of his head and pull him in for another kiss.
An agile hand slithers beneath the thin band of your panties, a slender finger slipping between your labia and running through your folds. You moan out into Blade’s mouth, hips jerking away and legs kicking into the air. “Your sensitive pussy’s all wet…” Kafka observes. She lays her head right below your boob, focusing her attention between your legs.
“‘S making a mess through your panties.” She laughs when you moan out again, her finger traveling down to your entrance and prodding.
“Kafka…” you moan, pulling away from Blade.
“Let’s see how long it takes to make you cum,” it’s so obvious that you're not going to last. Your cunt is soaked and only gets wetter by the minute, and her teasing ministrations have you moaning like a bitch in heat.
She adjusts her position, peeling down your panties and leaving them around your ankles lazily. The draft in your room whistles against your soaked folds - a chill runs up your spine as a result. She spits onto her hand as if it's needed, diving straight toward your clit. The sensitive bud is attacked mercilessly: heavy pressure weighing on it as Kafka draws figure-eights. There's a sticky clicking sound that arises and it makes her smile, taking a look at you and Blade over her shoulder.
You suck on his thumb, his left hand rubbing from your neck to your chest. Your whimpers are contained behind his digit, but your watery eyes say all. “You hear that?” She suddenly speeds up her actions, making your back arch and voice sing out around Blade’s finger.
And like a professional, she slows down, inching her finger back down to your hole. It slips in with ease and she sighs. “Dunno if she’s gonna be able to take you, Bladie,”
She pushes her middle finger in knuckle-deep, twisting her finger as she slithers her ring finger in beside it. Blade’s finger in your mouth does nothing to pacify you any longer - her fingers in your cunt bringing out the sweetest moans they’ve collectively ever heard. “She’s so tight…squeezing around my fingers.”
You writhe around in Blade’s hold and your arms brush over his hard-on every now and then. He winces and hisses, bucking into your touch. He needs to preoccupy himself before he cums in his pants—deciding to aid Kafka. His hand tentatively crawls toward your clit, rougher, thicker fingers pinching your bud. It has you huffing out a wail, balling your fist weakly on his thigh.
They keep up a steady pace in tandem, building up your orgasm with ease. Your body is reactive and receptive to their touch: falling apart when your core gets tight and even hotter.
“C’mon, little mouse…let it out for me,” Kafka encourages. She places sparse kisses against your thighs, the print of her lips faintly left in the color of her lipstick. “I can feel it. You wanna cum so bad,”
“Do it,” she murmurs between kisses, “let it out.”
It’s like your body is under her control. Your orgasm builds and crashes in a matter of seconds. Your hole spasms around her fingers but she never stops scissoring them inside of you, rubbing against your sweet spot and effectively overstimming you. You wail heartily, wrapping your arms around Blade’s arm and stopping him from continuing.
Kafka doesn't stop finger-fucking you until you come down from your high and endlessly whimper. She smears your release all over your pussy, bringing her coated fingers to her mouth.
Exaggeratedly, she sucks your juices off of her fingers, making sure to rock her hips against nothing and moan at the taste. “Mmfh,” and with a pop, she removes her digits from her mouth.
She hovers over you trying to catch your breath, capturing your face in her hand and squeezing your cheeks, forcing your lips to part. She lets her saliva drop from her mouth to yours, backing up with a smile. She stops you from swallowing: “Share,” she says.
You and Blade’s lips meet, smushing and mixing yours and Kafka’s spit. It gets messier, sloppier, and it's completely inefficient due to your awkward position but you comply nonetheless.
When you part, Kafka is making quick work of you and flips you over to your stomach. You yelp and giggle, looking over your shoulder and meeting her wide smile. Her index finger boops your nose and she turns to Blade, presumably signaling for him to get up. He stands up, hands grabbing your ankles and adjusting you perfectly.
Kafka slaps your tailbone softly, using her other hand to brush your hair out of your face. “Ass up,” she instructs, and you listen.
You wiggle your butt in the air with a laugh, laying your head on Kafka’s lap. Her pants are pretty comfortable and you find yourself becoming relaxed — while behind you Blade is pulling his boxers down and freeing his dick.
The last time you had actual sex was months ago…as in the middle to end of your freshman year. It was a forgotten one-night stand you met through a dating app - but he’s no match for Blade.
He presses the tip to your entrance, just teasing. Your heavy eyelids fly up, and you immediately brace yourself. You barely felt him, but he's big. You know it.
“Fuck…” he hisses. He wedges his cock between your folds, feeling your wetness smear against him. You feel his width, his length, his weight—he’s a lot less girthy than what you felt with your hands with Yuan, but he makes up for it in length.
If he keeps dragging his dick between your folds he’s going to cum. He has to physically stop himself, sucking in a deep breath because it's now or nothing.
Pressing the tip in you both gasp — and your sounds only drawl out until he completely bottoms out. He's so deep, and you're so wet. He's so big, and you're so tight. Dribbles of your previous orgasm and endless arousal seep out around him, and he nearly moans at the sight.
Getting a good grip on your ass, he spreads your cheeks, pushing you forward while pulling out. It’s a languid motion, edging you for the heart-stopping drop he imposes when you're filled fully again. Your moans come out with every collision and they're full of air. Your chest is tight and all of your air is flying out of your mouth. He's rendering you breathless, but it's nothing compared to how you're making him feel.
Blade begins to gradually increase his pace to satiate this intense hunger. He fucking needs you.
Now that he has a taste of you, his head is clear and his body is in nirvana. His strokes are precise and sharp. He pistons out of you with control, deep grunts skipping out of his mouth. It’s like your pussy is made for him: squeezing him just right in a tight hug and drooling endlessly.
Splat splat splat! The wet sound echoes from your collisions, battling against the barrage of moans that escape your mouth. “Oh, f-f—” you stutter over the curse, clawing at Kafka’s legs. She coos at you, rubbing your face. “You can take it, you got it. Good girl,”
“C-can’t! ‘M gonna cum!” You sob, burying your face into her leg.
Your body hasn't recovered from your previous orgasm, still reeling and the added pleasure Blade stacks on doesn't help. You feel like you're going to explode, wailing and drooling all over the place as your hips gain a mind of their own, fucking back against Blade and chasing your release.
“Think you can squirt for us?”
Oh, hell yeah. If there's one thing Blade wants to do for you, it's to ruin anybody else for you. He wants a monopoly over your body — he wants you to know him as your main source of Heaven on Earth and if there’s one way to do that…
In three swift movements, you're flipped back onto your back, legs on his shoulders. He slips back in with ease, wasting no time in pounding your cunt. He’s fiercer, more determined: drawn up with furrowed brows and his bottom lip snatched between his teeth, Blade becomes a different person.
There's more need, more fervor, an insatiable feeling that’s driven by your warm pussy around him and the idea of being the first person to make you squirt—the only person to make you squirt.
Kafka wraps her hand around your throat, squeezing the sides, and watches with pure amusement as your eyes grow foggier and your sounds grow choppier. They're just using your body, pushing you to the very limit and it's working so well.
A new fire has been lit under your ass and you feel alive — you're on top of the world and nothing but a grand finale can bring you down.
“G-got tighter…” Blade grunts out. Kafka turns to you, seeing how even though your eyes and mouth spill over, you still manage to curl your lips into a toothy grin. “Think she likes it,”
“You like this, huh? Being choked out while getting fucked silly?” God, yes. You love it—you’re on cloud nine.
In this position, Blade can fuck you deeper. He’s effectively digging you out, the slight left-leaning curve of his cock hitting your g-spot again and again. Quakes rack through your body again; it’s coming.
They both can tell and it's getting sloppy. Blade is holding back from blowing his load deep in you, and Kafka? Well, Kafka’s happy to play the supporting role - now letting go of your neck and wedging her head between you and Blade.
With her ass in the air, Kafka dives into the perfect arch to let her lips wrap around your clit, taking the neglected bud into her warm mouth with a long moan. The vibrations jolt through your body and you nearly scream out, thrashing above them.
It's too much, your body can't handle it. You start to crumble: your stomach gnarling and tears streaming down your face. “IcantIcantIcant—” Your hands frantically try to push Blade away but to no avail.
His grunts grow more animalistic as he puts all of his body weight into his thrusts, slowing down. He goes harder, making your body jostle with each grind of his hips. His face is knitted in pleasure, his porcelain skin damp with sweat and blemished in a crimson brushing. Kafka abusing your puffy clit with her tongue has you and Blade losing your minds, collectively falling apart.
This is it. This is pure, unadulterated bliss.
White hot heat surges through your body as you shake. Your thighs quiver on Blade’s shoulders, and Kafka can feel the stiffness of your clit. She slithers back to her seated position, her eyes never leaving the passion-filled affair occur.
Words you try to form only come out as broken squeaks and even Blade can't hold back any longer, letting out a string of blissed-out curse words as you clamp around him. The orgasm that begins to pour out of you is paired with a force that’s all but pushing him out.
You sob and he moans out — one last thrust breaking the floodgates. A clear stream shoots from between your legs, spurting at his abs. All the while, his orgasm comes over him, filling you with all his heavy balls had been storing.
You can't even move. Your chests heave for big breaths, unable to catch them.
It’s a high you can't come down from — filled with a surplus of electricity, liquor, and desire. You needed that more than anything, you needed him more than anything.
┄┄
A small yawn leaps from your mouth when your eyes begrudgingly open. What time even is it…?
You swing your arm over behind you in search of the device — but you're instead met with flesh. You're suddenly wide awake, sitting straight up only to realize you're completely naked. You turn to your side and there lays Blade, snoring softly into your pillow.
What the hell happened last night…
You jump out of bed, find something stray to throw on and feel an incredible ache between your legs. Clearly, you had quite the night. You can't concisely remember what happened last night and right now is definitely not the time to rehash your decisions.
You're not completely opposed to doing whatever you did with Blade because…well, he's Blade. He's always been attractive to you, and at least he’s willing to treat you like a person.
You're not going to wake him up so you leave him a note: scribbling your number on a random piece of paper and scurrying out of the room.
You need to find your phone and get some air—“Good morning. Took you a while to get up, huh.”
Kafka sits at the bar, stuffing her mouth with a spoonful of cereal. Does she know that you and Blade…
“Oh, yeah. Hey. Good morning…” you awkwardly puff out. Your voice is hoarse and you cringe at the sound, placing your hands on your chest with concern. “I’m gonna go um…get some food,”
“I made some eggs earlier if you want some—” “—I’m good. I could use the air, anyway.”
Kafka shrugs, turning back to her cereal. You rush out of your apartment in a blur, slamming the door and leaving Kafka in a brief silence.
Moments after you left, Blade emerges from the hallway. “Morning sleepy head. How’d you sleep?” She teases.
He nods, rubbing his eye. He takes a seat next to Kafka, holding up a piece of paper between two fingers. “Woke up to this,”
“The hell is that?” Kafka questions, spinning her spoon around in her bowl.
He flips the paper over, “Her number.”
A smile breaks across her face and she slaps his arm playfully. “Look at you!”
Blade fights off a coy smile, twirling the paper between his fingers. He waited so long, so patiently—and it was all worth it. He would do it again and again. All just to make you his.
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omg I'm obsessed with your latest "don't fucking touch me" prompt. Would you continue it?
Hello! I know this is actually from earlier in the week than the one I answered a couple of days ago, but I was saving it because, while I don't exactly have a continuation, I do have a little stobin interlude I wanted to share
I'm still working on the "fix it" part of this idea, but at least in the meantime Steve gets a hug?
[Part 1]
It isn’t unusual for Steve to show up at Robin’s house well after any reasonable guest would come knocking. It isn’t unusual for him to do it by climbing the side of the house and knocking on her window (she hasn’t told him that her parents don’t really care anymore if he’s there in the middle of the night; she figures the physical activity counts as some kind of jock enrichment). Unfortunately, it isn’t even unusual for him to appear out of the dark because he’s upset.
What’s more unusual is the way he sits silently on her bed after she’s let him in, the way he’s almost folded in on himself, the way he won’t quite meet her eyes – as if there’s anything he can or even needs to hide from her.
What’s fucking unheard of is the way he starts crying when she pulls him into a hug, his face pressed to her shoulder and his arms wrapped around her waist like she might disappear if he doesn’t hold on.
Robin doesn’t even understand what’s happening at first; she can feel Steve shaking against her as she rubs a hand up and down his back, but when his shoulders start to heave like he’s having trouble drawing in breath, a cold bolt of uncertainty lances through her gut. She tries to pull him back to look at him, to see what’s wrong, but she only gets him far enough away to hear one very quiet sob before he’s hiding his face again and she realizes–
“Oh. Oh, shit– okay, this is happening. Okay.” Robin resolutely does not panic as Steve sobs into her shoulder, even though crying isn’t something Steve does (not that Robin’s ever seen, and she’s seen Steve through a lot); instead, she goes back to rubbing a hand up and down his back, bringing her other up to pet his hair, and tries her best to project literally any kind of comfort. “Okay, you’re okay – well, you’re obviously not okay, but I’ve got you. You can just let all this out and when you feel up to it you can tell me what’s wrong because you’re kind of freaking me out, but not until you’re ready, okay? I’ve got you.”
She feels maybe her success is mixed, but Steve doesn’t complain and he doesn’t seem to be made more upset, so she can’t be doing too badly.
All told, Steve’s breakdown is unsettlingly quiet. Robin tries not to think about why he can cry so silently, and instead focuses on finding the transition from actively sobbing to sniffling and trying to catch his breath. The next time she tries to pull him back, he lets her, still not quite meeting her eyes and automatically bringing a hand up to wipe at the tear tracks on his face.
Robin has seen Steve all manner of beaten and bloodied and bruised, but somehow, sitting here in her room, still half-curled into her space with his face blotchy and wet from crying, she thinks this might be the most upset she’s ever seen him. She can only imagine what’s happened to cause it – at least until she can get him to tell her.
“Get it all out?” Robin asks, as gently as she’s able (she’s never been great at gentle, but Steve’s used to her by now, she thinks he’ll get it).
Steve shrugs, but then gives a little nod.
“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to give you some tissues so you can clean yourself up, because I love you, but I’m not going to wipe your nose.” This gets a congested laugh from Steve, and Robin allows herself an answering smile. “Then I’m going to go downstairs and get you something to drink, and then you’re going to tell me what’s wrong, because I am this close to being seriously alarmed.”
“Sorry,” Steve says gruffly, ducking his head, moving to pull away.
“Nope, we don’t do sorry here, nothing to be sorry for,” Robin insists, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and keeping him close. “I just want to know what’s wrong, okay? I want to help. So here.” She shoves the box of tissues from her bedside table into Steve’s lap and gets up with one last squeeze to his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”
Robin slips out of her room and sneaks down to the kitchen (her parents don’t really care about Steve’s late night visits, but they will be grumpy if she wakes them up), poking around quietly for some kind of suitable post-breakdown sustenance. She ends up with a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and a half-eaten package of Oreos from the pantry – the late night snack of champions, she decides.
Back up in her room, Steve has shucked his sneakers (no shoes on Robin’s bed, it’s a cardinal rule) and settled himself up against the pillows; his face is dry and his eyes aren’t as red, but the tiny smile he gives her when she passes over her spoils still makes him look just as sad as before. Still, Robin valiantly lets him get through half the bottle of Gatorade before she elbows him gently in the side, demanding answers.
“Right.” Steve caps the bottle and rolls it nervously between his hands, watching the highlighter fluid yellow slosh around inside. “So, uh. You know how I’ve been seeing Eddie?”
Robin’s heart sinks. “Oh, shit, did you two break up?”
“Actually, it turns out…” Steve clears his throat. “It turns out that there wasn’t anything to break up. Apparently, we’ve been friends with benefits this entire time and I’m just a delusional idiot who made up an entire relationship in my head. So there’s that.”
There is nothing Robin can think to say to that. There’s entirely too much to unpack, and none of it makes sense.
“What,” she finally manages, a little flat.
“Yeah, he said that, uh. I’m not the type of guy you have a relationship with, and that I’m hot, but I’m just a good friend, and we’re just having fun.” If Steve’s voice cracks on the last word, Robin doesn’t mention it.
In fact, she’s too busy being consumed by rage to really notice. “He said that to your face?” she demands.
Steve clears his throat. He won’t meet her eyes. “Not– not exactly.”
“Steve.”
“The guys were over, and I went out to get some air, and that’s… what I heard Eddie saying to them when I came back in,” Steve says. “So now they know how pathetic I am, too, which is. Great. That’s fucking great.”
The world goes still. Suddenly, everything makes perfect sense. Robin reaches out and squeezes Steve’s wrist. “I’m going to have to leave for a few hours, okay?” she says. “I have to bike down to the trailer park and fucking kill Eddie.”
In a flash, Steve twists in Robin’s grip and grabs her by the wrist in turn. “Don’t leave,” he says quickly.
“No, he doesn’t– he doesn’t get away with this,” Robin hisses. “He doesn’t get to do this to you and not face consequences!”
“He wasn’t trying to– I mean– I was the one who–”
“Are you defending him right now?”
“No, I just– fuck.” Steve lets go of Robin and shoves both hands up into his hair, grabbing and pulling. “I already feel enough like some fucking – loser reject, okay? I don’t want to be alone right now. Please just… stay.”
The rage doesn’t abate (if anything, there’s probably more of it), but Robin’s priorities do rearrange, and she settles back on the bed next to Steve. “Fine,” she huffs. “Munson gets a stay of execution.”
She pushes the package of Oreos into Steve’s lap and orders him to finish the Gatorade. She doubts if he’s going to escape tonight without a migraine, but dehydration on top of stress will only make it worse.
They sit quietly for a while, munching on cookies, shoulder to shoulder on Robin’s bed, before Robin breaks into the silence.
“You’re not a loser, Steve. You’re my best friend, and you deserve to be loved, okay?” she says softly, reaching over to wrap her hand around his wrist again. “And one day it’s going to happen. I’m choosing to believe in love, too.”
For a long moment, Steve says nothing. When he finally does speak, his voice has gone a bit rough. “If you make me cry again, I’m dumping what’s left of the Gatorade over your head.”
Robin snorts, squeezing Steve’s wrist. “There’s that mean girl I know and love.”
Steve laughs, too, small but sincere, and Robin takes it as a win.
Part 3
#platonic stobin#steve harrington#robin buckley#stranger things#solar wrote#answers from solar#anonymous#I hope this is okay!#as I said earlier this week; I would definitely like to continue that idea I'm just still kinda working out how...
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Agenda : Salon du train miniature à Bourges
Agenda : Salon du train miniature à Bourges
Episode 396 – Le Cercle Ferroviaire du Cher 160 et le Saint-Mandé Club Ferroviaire organisent un salon du train miniature à Bourges (Cher) les 11 et 12 novembre prochains. Plus d’une trentaine de réseaux sera exposée et une cinquantaine d’acteurs économiques seront présents sur 3700 m².
C’est une exposition riche et variée qui est annoncée. Même si les deux association sont historiquement…
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#Actualités#Agenda#Artisans#Bourges#CFC (Assos.)#CFC 160 (Asso)#Cher#détaillants#exposition#featured#Interlude#LR Presse#passion#SMCF (Asso)#Sur le Web
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