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#send it back to whatever circle of hell it came from
leocheerio · 2 years
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sehnsuchts-trunken · 8 months
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Oh No, There's An Arm Around My Waist
Bradley Bradshaw x fem!reader  2k words
summary: You wake up in the same bed as Bradley Bradshaw. That's it. Or is it?
tagging a few people who said they'd like a part two... it took me a while but whatever, right? @roostergooster @pono-pura-vida @chassy21 @startrekfangirl2233-fic-recs
sequel to “Oh No, There's Only One Bed”, can be read seperately tho
top gun masterlist
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The light that filtered through the windows was golden, almost, warm and comfortable and you were cozy and sleepy and smiling, giving yourself all the time in the world to wake up. You blinked your eyes open slowly and tugged the covers all the way up to your chin and shimmied a little further down into the warmth of the bed and for just a few seconds, enjoyed the feeling of being pulled closer.
Then you ripped open your eyes again and froze to the very tips of your toes.
You were being pulled closer.
There was an arm around your waist, a body behind yours, breath on your neck. And with a start, the events of last night came rushing back to you.
The booked out hotel. The one bedroom. The one bed. Bradley. Bradley's words, Bradley's touches, Bradley's goddamn pajama-briefs. That you hadn't been able to fall asleep. The way he'd hugged you close. How you'd almost confessed your feelings to him.
Those fucking feelings. Those feelings you'd kept buried inside of you for so long, so goddamn long that you had never even thought to tell another living, breathing human being. Not your family, not your squad, nobody because hell, Bradley was a friend, he was your friend, and nothing more than that.
But now here you were, wrapped up tightly in his arms in the same bed. And he was only moving closer. Pushing closer to you, pulling you closer to him, burying his face in your hair and splaying his hand out on your stomach.
So maybe - just maybe - there was a teensy tinsy part of your friendship that was more than a friendship. Had perhaps always been more than a friendship. Longing glances you'd always put off as looking out for each other. Kisses on the cheek. Kisses on the forehead. Kisses on your hair. His arm around your waist, around your shoulders. Things you'd played off as him just being generally affectionate. But maybe that hadn't been it. Maybe that wasn't it. Maybe those moments when you'd almost kissed, maybe they'd been real, not just figments of your imagination - like after deadly missions, stumbling into each others arms, or slow dancing the night of Mav's wedding, or that one time in the jacuzzi.
You didn't know just how long you were lying there, on your side, trying to steady your breathing and keep as calm and as quiet as possible, not moving an inch. You didn't want to know. Your thoughts were running in circles, pondering the same questions again and again and each time arriving at different conclusions. A part of you was screaming to do something. Anything. But that probably would've been mental suicide. So you kept still and hoped, begged, prayed to all gods you could think of that this wasn't some dream and that your imagination was not off pranking you right now.
Finally - it had to have been at least half an hour - Bradley shifted behind you. He groaned, pushed away from you just the tiniest bit, pulled his arm from around you and brought his hand up to shield him from the sun.
"Good morning", he muttered, all deep, raspy morning voice, instantly sending a shiver down your spine. You didn't trust yourself to turn around just then - maybe he wasn't pressed into your back anymore but that didn't mean that he wasn't still way too close.
"How'd you know I'm awake?", you asked instead, already missing his warmth (even though the room certainly wasn't cold).
"I've got a sixth sense when it comes to you", he chuckled. He'd turned onto his side again and was talking to you, directly (indirectly? to the back of your head?) now, and you'd known him long enough that you were well aware of it. And well aware of the fact that he'd stare at you until you turned around to him no matter how long it took. He was stubborn like that. So you did turn, even closer to him now, folding your hands between cheek and pillow and biting your lip to ground you just the slightest. To remind you that this was still reality. That all of this was happening to you right now.
That Bradley was, in fact, lying on his pillow next to you, with adorable bed hair and a cheeky smile and a bare torso and way too few inches in between you. You could feel yourself tense up again.
"Like you knew tonight that I wasn't falling asleep?", you asked, a bit breathless.
Bradley nodded.
"Exactly like that."
"Well, thank you then." You couldn't help but smile at him a little. "I slept like a baby."
He laughed at that and for a second you closed your eyes and just soaked up the sound. You could very well imagine always waking up next to him like that. With his laughter fanning against your cheek, his fingers softly running up your arm almost as though he thought that if he did it slowly enough, you wouldn't find anything strange about it.
You didn't.
It wasn't strange, per se. It was new and electrifying and encouraging you in your (childish? foolish?) belief that maybe, yes, maybe you were more than a friend to him as well. Maybe he was testing the waters. Maybe he was going further already. Touching you like that, it was... bold. Wasn't it?
Maybe you had to be a little bolder as well. Just the way you'd wanted to tonight.
So you pulled a hand from underneath your cheek and, tentatively, very deliberately, brushed through his curls, all the while heavily avoiding looking him in the eyes. You could feel the way he was staring at you, burning holes into your skin, but you just pushed through and ignored him as best as you could. You were already feeling too close to passing out.
When you pulled your hand back, his fingers had reached your shoulder, dancing along the spaghetti straps of your nightdress, and you took a deep breath in before you allowed yourself to meet his eyes after all.
"Sorry", you whispered, getting a little more nervous now. "You had a bedhead."
Bradley made a sound in the back of his throat that you couldn't quite identify as any particular emotion.
"No apologising", he muttered, his eyes falling down to his fingers on your skin as he sneaked his way up over the covers and brushed his thumb along your throat, your chin, your jaw. "Just do it again."
You swallowed hard. But who were you to deny him? So despite your racing heart and despite your screaming mind, you reached out and tangled your fingers in his curls again. You were sure now he was on the same wavelength as you. Right? He had to be. This wasn't platonic behaviour. This was nowhere close to platonic. Was it? And if not... What were you supposed to do with that information? What did it mean? Had Bradley liked you, too, for just as long? For longer? How much time, how much relationship had you missed out on because you'd been too afraid to act on your feelings? How would you go from here? You couldn't... You wouldn't... Would you?
"You need to stop thinking so much", Bradley said softly, pulling you gently from your thoughts back to reality - of his thumb smoothing over your skin, of your fingers in his hair, of his breath on your cheek and the warmth of his body. "It's alright just to act once a while."
You had to smile a bit because he'd learnt that from Mav, but you didn't feel the need to remind him. Maybe he was right. Your overthinking had rarely ever helped you. But, well, it was quite hard to get rid of an old habit, wasn't it? And were you brave enough to leave it behind just this once?
With that smile of his... Maybe.
"Okay", you said. "If you say so. Then kiss me."
Bradley's eyes widened for just a millisecond before his lips twitched into a grin and he leaned forward - leaned in, closer to you, and your breath caught in your throat and your hand stilled in his hair and his thumb on your jaw settled to keep you in place. And then his lips met yours and the entire world came to a halt.
This was perfect. He was perfect. He'd always been, but his kisses... Oh god, his kisses. What had you been missing out on? You could've had this forever. He was working magic on you, you were sure, because no one should be allowed to kiss this good, to make you feel this weak in your knees even though you were lying down, to make you tense up and relax at the same time. It was truly like time had stopped, for just a few minutes - neither of you dared to move, too engrossed in the moment, too enamoured with each other.
It turned into slow-motion at some point. You didn't know just when. It melted into golden honey, thick and heavy and heady. You could really feel yourself heat up now, feel the warmth of him seeping into you, of your own cheeks flaring red. You could feel every particle of your body react to him as he cupped your jaw and pulled you closer, as you pulled your hand from his hair to move up and down his arm, to lightly press your nails into his skin.
Maybe it was that, your nails raking along his biceps, that flicked some switch in Bradley, but you didn't know for sure and you didn't care as his tongue ran along your bottom lip, asking for consent, asking if- and your lips parted without hesitance, with a soft, low sigh, with your nails digging into his arm because that seemed to have had a wonderful reaction the first time. He pulled you closer, closer, closer, pulled his hand from your cheek and grabbed your waist instead to pull you even closer, closer, closer there too.
You trailed your fingers down his arm as well, abandoning your scratching in favor of softly stroking, giving yourself time because oh, you had all the damn time in the world with him, to reach the back of his hand, to wrap your fingers around it (your pinky touched his pinky and you had to smile into the kiss, despite how hot and bothered you were getting) and slid your other hand back up into his hair to tug on his roots. Then, just because you could and just because you wanted to, you pushed his hand from your waist over your hips and down to the top of your thigh, right where your nightdress ended. You could feel Bradley's fingers flexing, gripping just a little tighter now that he had naked skin under his fingertips. That was all the confirmation you needed to bring his hand up again, to slide it softly, carefully, slowly over your underwear, your nightdress bunching up above his arm, until he was holding right onto your waist again - onto the naked skin of your waist, just because he could and just because you wanted him to.
That was when he pulled back, his forehead still pressed against yours, his eyes still closed, his fingers still tight on your waist.
"Fuck", he muttered, breathless and panting. "We should probably stop before this goes too far."
"There's a too far?", you asked, just as breathless and just as panting.
"With you?" He opened his eyes to look right at you, his thumb brushing over your skin again. "Of course not. But this is a hotel room and we're on borrowed time and most importantly, we just had our first kiss. I'd like to take you out on an actual date first."
Your heart stopped beating for a second. Then it started hammering. Blood rushed to your ears and you heard a frantic ringing and you had to close your eyes and bite down on your lip and then open your eyes again just to make sure that this was, in fact, all still reality, and that it was indeed happening, unfolding as it did. That Bradley was here with you, that he'd touched and kissed you, that he wanted to take you out on a date.
"I'd like that", you whispered finally. "I'd really like that."
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trashmouth-richie · 8 days
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this comes from @serasvictoria with this ask the prompt words were: pillow, caught, crush
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18+ no minors, angst leading to smut, vulgar, eddie talks about his dick and steve’s 😌
2.1k // eddie x fem reader
your ex hears you’ve moved on; is he ready to let you go?
send me a prompt!
“Don’t be a dumbass.” 
Ringed hands were folded together, glistening from the makeshift dramatic lighting in Gareth’s basement. 
In the summer, Hellfire moved locations from one member's place to another, rotating every Friday to a different place. A new aroma to tickle one’s nostrils upon entering whichever home was the designated spot for the evening, to host Hawkins very own hell bound teens. 
Some homes were kept nicer than others, while Eddie’s trailer smelled like stale cigarettes and bong water, the Sinclair’s living room was pristine with updated furniture, smelling of warm vanilla and the smell of dinner still lingering in the air. 
Gareth takes another gulp of Mountain Dew, wiping the lime colored beverage from his lips. Belching on the spot. 
“Why would I lie about that?” 
Eddie shifts in the folding chair leaning forward— the chain from his waist clinking on the metal, “whatever man, don’t fuck with me.” 
Gareth grins, hands up in surrender, “listen dude, I’m just telling you what we saw,  no need to shoot the messenger.”
What Gareth and Jeff had seen weighed heavy on their minds. They had even contemplated on keeping it secret. The two couldn’t decide if Eddie should know or if it would hurt him— in the end Gareth opened his big mouth and blurted it out, in the most repugnant way imaginable. 
The painted tin container used to hold dice was crushed under the weight of Eddie’s fist as he hammered it onto the table. 
Jeff shook his head, sucking in a breath between his braced teeth, looking away from the soon to be manic Munson. 
Eddie’s temper ran hot when it came to one thing—and one thing only, you. 
Raking his fingers through his scalp, he kicks the back of his chair upon standing, ragged breaths in and out, eyes to the ceiling. You still had a hold on him, it had been months—and the only one who seemed to not be able to move on was him. 
He chuckled, pinching the inner corner of his eyes and shaking his head, “one of you take over as DM, I gotta go.” 
Bounding up the stairs before he could hear any bitching from his two longest standing friends, the carpeted steps squished under his quickened boot steps. Stealing a cookie from an iridescent colored decorative plate on the kitchen counter, Eddie stomped out the front door and to the paved driveway, starting his van with a flick of his wrist, pedal to the floor as he reversed onto the street, running over flower beds in his wake.
The daffodil warmth of the sun was high in the sky, a small stitch of wind blew the blades of grass gently, feathering the soft pages of your book every so often. 
It was a perfect summer day as you laid out on your driveway, ass parked in a tiny kiddie pool from your youth, blue in color, the flimsy plastic circle was filled with cool water straight from the hose. 
A few shots of spiced whiskey danced on your tongue and tangoed with the carbonated bubbles of the mixed in Coke, fizzing with each slurp from your straw, you don’t have a care in the world. 
Admiring your freshly painted nails in the pastel bubble gum shade he had picked out— it was a stark contrast to the ruby reds you had been accustomed to— but those days were long gone, and things were finally starting to look up for you. 
It had been four months since Eddie broke things off, claiming he needed ‘space to find himself’ and although you spent a majority of that time wallowing in ice cream containers and mopping up tears when you saw a brown set of curls, or heard the jingle of a chain wallet— you moved on. 
He wasn’t from Hawkins. Didn’t know of Eddie at all, and you preferred to keep it that way. You were never ashamed of the boy you loved for so many years, the only embarrassment you felt was the night he ended things like someone would end a call after placing an order for pizza. 
Like it meant nothing to him, like you meant nothing to him. But that was then, and you were happier now.
So when you looked up to see Gareth’s wide eyes staring in shock was not at all how you imagined your date would go. You had been caught red handed by his best friends, and you knew it was only a matter of time before he found out. 
Toes twirling in the water you bobbed your head along to the music playing on the portable radio, sunglasses perched on your nose— not a single care in the world. 
Until the music turned to something more familiar.. the screech of guitars and aggressive tempos, you could practically feel the warmth leave your skin as the dark cloud of Eddie’s van cast its shadow on your skin, parked in your driveway like he belonged here. 
By the way he tore around the corner and through the stop sign— you knew he was pissed. The clunk of his rings scraped against the paint as he reached through the window to open the door—still broken. 
“I don’t smoke anymore Munson, but if you’re offering freeb—”
“Who is he?” he interjected, in no mood for your joking tone. 
Sucking your drink until the ice clinks together at the bottom—whiskey making you ballsier than you ever had been—you finally answer, “Who is who?” 
He crosses his arms, trying to stay calm, although all he wanted to do was scream, “the guy, cmon princess, don't play dumb with me.” 
Staring at him you can’t believe the audacity of the boy standing in front of you, coming here, demanding to know what’s going on in your life when he’s the one who practically skipped on his way out of it. 
instead of stomping around and causing you a scene, you simply ignore him, “you’re in the way.” 
“Huh?” 
Pointing with a lazy finger to the sky you watch as his eyes follow, “don’t tell me you came here to bitch me out, you’re wasting your time.”
He leans in over your body so close that you can see the chocolate color of his eyes, eyes that you'd lose count of the times you’d stare into them. 
“I’m not leaving until you tell me who he is.” 
“Okay.” You say nonchalantly, unbothered. 
“Okay?”
“Yeah go ahead, stay. ‘s long as you want,” you push yourself up from the pool, standing in a string bikini that matched your nails, “I’ll be the bigger person here, and I’ll leave.” 
Water dripped down your thighs as you walked to the front porch and pushed the door open, ready to slam it shut and twist the lock upon entry—but a dark boot prevents your dismissal.
Rolling your eyes you try to kick his knee to get him to move but he wouldn’t budge, and you huff in annoyance. 
“Pretty sure this is harassment.” 
You ignore the way he walks in your house like he knew his way around, even though he did, your house was a second home to him for years.
Shutting the door with dramatic flair, Eddie leans into your space, inches from your nose, “just answer my question sweetheart— and I’ll be on my happy little way.” 
“You’re deranged if you think I’m telling you anything.”
He cocks his head and laughs like a jerk, mocking you.
“Thata more than likely, but I know better than anyone,” his eyes undress you, fingernails skating across your thighs, “how much you like it.”
You turn and shout over your shoulder, “go home Eddie— I’m not in the mood for this!” 
He barrels around you, demanding your attention. 
“Aww you’re not in the mood?” his voice dipped to a gravelly bite of anger as he put his hand over his heart, “my sincerest apologies to your feelings baby…but I somehow don’t give a fuck about your little feelings when I find out from Gareth that you were sucking some guy’s dick in the Starcourt parking lot.” 
Your face heats in embarrassment and Eddie’s eyes are glassy, coated with pain. You never wanted to hurt him, never wanted him to look at you the way he is right now. 
“Ed—” 
He smirks.
“I think it’s cute…honestly, still doing the same shit you did with me…” he moves to brush your cheek with his thumb, “I’m flattered.”
“Get out,” you bite back, making to shove him to the door but you’re no match for him. 
“D’dya swallow for him like you did for me?” 
“Get..” 
“He bigger than me?” 
“…out!” your shoves are fruitless against his broad shoulders.
“Last I checked Harrington was the only one who had me beat… unless you’re fucking him too.”
The slap startled him, but he knew he deserved it. The torment in your eyes was fueled by his words and he fucking hated himself for making you feel that way. 
He was hurting too, body shaking with rage and swallowing tears the whole drive here. But, when your tears fell on the apples of your cheeks— all his pain turned to gloom. 
“I’m sorry— I�� That was a dick thing to say.” 
“Do you think getting over you was easy for me?”
“I don’t know.” 
“It wasn’t.. and truthfully I don’t think I am yet, but what fucking choice did I have?!”
“Babe—.” 
“I loved you, Eddie… I still fucking love you. Why isn’t that—”
His large hands clutch your cheeks, warm lips press into yours with a magnetic force you had forgotten about. Eddie’s tongue tasted like the tobacco spice of a camel, and a subtle hint of mint, and you devoured it like you were starved. 
He whispers and groans how he was so stupid, a real dumb mother fucker, and that he never should have ended it. 
Accepting his apology—for now—you pull him towards the couch, heels rocking on the carpet until they hit firm on the plush sectional, still lip locked with the man you swore, that you hated to your friends but your pillow heard a different plea ever since he broke your heart.
His arms wrap around your waist, fingers daintily pulling the string from your bikini bottoms until the soft fabric hits the floor.  His Hellfire shirt joins them before you both collapse into one another on the cushions, Eddie’s hair draped into your face hiding you both away from consequences and the reality of bad decisions. 
He breaks away from your lips to lick up the slope of your neck, and your head angles back in ecstasy. His body temperature was like fire against your skin, curling your legs around his back you couldn’t get enough of him. 
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Eddie grooaned, grinding into your naked cunt, his tongue kitten licking around your neck, working his signature hickey into your skin, “my angel.”
You moan feather light in his ear, fingers twisted into his curls. His hand works down your front, sliding between your slick folds with skills you swore only he possessed. 
He played your body like a guitar, knew how to tune you up, the proper way to hold you. A true expert of his craft— your pretty little noises would harmonize from the simple touch of his fingers, your sweet cunt clinching onto him like vice. 
“Missed that sound,” he chuckled, his bangs pushed up from the angle on your neck as you came undone, “so pretty like this… drunk on how I’m making you feel.” 
Your eyes were pinched shut, chest heaving from the breath shattering orgasm you haven’t had since you got dumped by him. Nobody came close to the way Eddie could do it.
Kissing him square on the mouth, you twist your tongue with his, massaging them together as if a flame could spark from the pink wet muscles.
Intimacy with Eddie felt like home, like a warm blanket straight from the dryer when you were freezing. A cup of soup to soothe an itchy throat. 
He melted into you, collecting each gasp you choked out with a kiss from his lips, doing a poor job of hiding the smirk on his face when your breath was stolen from his pistoning hips. 
New— but entirely the same, your bodies fell back into each other like no time had passed and he made up for what was lost, twice. Each time your cries rang out like music to his ears— his favorite song. 
You slept now, adjusting to his arm wrapped around you, a kiss to your forehead, and a new plea in your pillowcase— for Eddie to stay, forever. 
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sqiim · 1 month
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my loneliness is killing me
(mdni)
gallagher x reader
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warnings: p in v, oral (fem recieving), pussy smacking (my fav), spanking, rough sex (he is NOT gentle), slight breeding kink, degradation (a little), fem!reader, no y/n, tit slapping
a/n: a non resident evil fic??? finally is all i'm sayin... anyway big thanks to @strawbabysweet for sending me tiktoks of his sexiness i will never get over him. he has a fat cock he don't need length he makes up for it in girth i just know it. anyway ik he isn't out yet BUT WHO GIVES A FUCK!!! he's hot and yea. idc.
title is from ...baby once more time by britney spears (he is a britney fan do not tell me otherwise)
wc: 1.3k
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“C'mon princess,” He slaps your ass, and you can't help but go rigid from the surprise attack on your ass. Seems like he doesn't really give two fucks, let alone one, as all he does is chuckle. “Lemme have a taste, S'only fair.”
He smacks your ass again with a smirk on his face, as if he fucking owns you, as if he can get away with just doing whatever the hell he likes. He'd be right to assume those things, but still, dignity is a thing and you'd rather preserve it than throw it away.
Your lack of a response leads to another swat on your poor ass.
Whipping your head around to fully look at Gallagher, you narrow your eyes at him like you're zeroing on your prey. It was also as if you had placed him under your scrutiny, though you waver momentarily, and turn away from him bashfully because of it. “I mean- I suppose-”
“Perfect.” Narrowing your eyes at him does nothing to placate him, it only spurs him on further to strip you of your clothes until you're bare for him, the cold air brushing against your skin.
“Fuckin’ beautiful tits.” A rough hand squeezes your breast with little to no remorse, gentleness suddenly becoming a privilege to have with the way he groped and fondled you. “Real fuckin’ nice.”
Although this is always how he treated you in bed, it never failed to colour you surprised, and also wetter than a puddle.
Never did you personally feel as if you liked it rough, but Gallagher certainly fucking did.
He smacks your breast, a gasp of surprise, pleasure and of ‘ow what the fuck’ lets go from your lips, before he does the same to the other breast, just to be fair.
An even playing field is always ideal, even when it comes to hitting your tits.
A hand threads through your hair and presses you to Gallagher's lip, your nose bumping against his skin painfully, though it's a kiss pure of anything holy.
He then yanks you away from his lips, like you've just poured away all his liquor supply and he can't fathom it.
There's a moment where you stare into each other's eyes, as if either of you had something to say, yet nothing to converse on at all.
Nails rake over nipples, then they're met with his tongue and teeth not long after, being harsh with you like you were made of stone, not porcelain.
“Gallagher-” His name is like a switch waiting to be flicked on, because as soon as you'd uttered his name, his fingers are sliding down to your clit, rubbing tight yet messy circles.
“I'm gonna get you fuckin’ drenched.” It's more of a command, yet it renders as a promise in your head, makes you nod and whine in between your bitten and sore lips (which was your own doing).
“Lay on your back- gonna eat your pussy.” You do as you're told, feeling your hips be lifted to shove a pillow under them, just for that better angle.
Spit collides with your pussy and drips down to your hole, then a small pool on the bed with watchful eyes following it.
A loud slurping sound rings through your ears, as well as the feeling of Gallagher's tongue lapping up your wetness and the remnants of his spit on your pussy.
His tongue felt like sandpaper, the stubble irritable against your skin and the hot pleasure all stemming from his ministrations left you digging your hand into his hair and gripping for dear life.
Shoving his face further into your cunt causes him to groan loudly, as if it came from deep within his chest.
It's barely been that long since he got his tongue on you, and the man is starved, maybe even dehydrated because he's not letting up.
“What a fuckin’ meal.” He grumbles as he pulls away, spitting on your pussy before diving right back in again to hear those moans quiver from your lips, and to have the taste of you embedded on his tongue like a stain.
Your thighs are kept in a grip lock, an imprint of a rose tint from his hands already blemishing your inner thighs as they're vigorously kept open.
He's greedy, can't get enough of your or the taste of you. Although he wanted to be fair ‘cause you sucked his dick yesterday, it feels as if all of this he's doing for himself.
“Oh shit- shit-” Sounds about right, it's the only word coming to your head, nay, it's the only coherent thought in your head as any form of semblance is lost on you.
When you came, you came down slowly, yet hard and forcefully, as if it was yanked down by someone as your legs trembled and twitched from it.
“So goddamn messy baby.” Gallagher pulls away from your clit, releasing your thighs to spread your clit open and give it a few wet smacks, and you can't help but jolt at that.
His face is nothing short of covered in your juices, a shiny sheen coating his mouth and chin that quickly gets wiped away by the back of his hand.
“G'nna fuck you.” He unbuckles his belt, doesn't even bother taking off his trousers fully, instead he just gets his cock out without undressing. Rude.
His dick slaps against your pussy, the wet slaps are nothing short of crass, let alone vulgar. It's bad enough you're still so sensitive that you're jolting everytime he does it.
It slips in easily, yet you're still pretty tight. His dick graces against your cervix, and you can't help but cry out a little, especially when he bottoms out, his balls hangin’ real heavy against your ass.
“Like a fuckin’ treat.” It's groaned out under his breath, the squeeze yet the inherent wetness of your cunt is nothing short of addictive.
A familiar grip against the fat of your thighs settles on them, and it's your call to twist your hands in your bedsheets before he fucks into you.
Much to no one's suprise, he fucks into you like his life depends on it as well as his mother's life. It's hard, a painful jabbing against your spongy spot, but it's enough for you to cry out moans without a care in the world.
“Got me rock solid just from eatin’ you out.” Clenching around his cock, he lets out a sound that could only be described as a growl. “Cheeky fucking bitch.”
His words are punctual and bold in your ears, but they only come to swarm in your brain as soft and light as he gives you all that you crave for.
Gallagher's hair drips against his shoulders, curling past them as he fucks into you, traitorous strands drapping over his face or sticking to his skin either from his eat out session or the sweat forming on his forehead.
Grunts leave his lips, whereas light and breathy moans leave yours, though they grow more stronger and pronounced as he gets impossibly harsher and faster in the way he thrusts into you, though you're hardly complaining.
“‘m g'nna- fuck- g'nna breed you like the bitch you are.” His thrusts no longer have a rhythm to them, as it seems he's slipping into the depths of the feeling you're presenting him.
You come one final time, a cry so loud that you might actually get another noise complaint is ripped out of you, and you should really feel embarrassed about it, but you don't.
“Shit- just take it all-” One last forceful thrust into is all it takes for him to spill into you, cum oozed into you until he was empty.
Pulling out, he gazes at his cum leaking out of you in blobs as your hole pulses, but then he catches it with his fingers and slips the liquid back in. “There we are, we don't want any waste, do we?”
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mokulule · 2 months
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A Pinch of Salt - Part 4
First | Masterpost
The final part of the first installment of the Salt in the Bones series which is a project co-created with @clockwayswrites, you can see the other stuff written for it in the masterpost link above or go to the first part.
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John looked at the kid, who just stepped inside the fucking binding circle. His mouth fell open in shock.
“What is wrong with you!?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was an exclamation, and John didn’t wait for any answer. “Of all the sodding, daft, goddamn tossers - what were you bloody thinking? No, you weren’t thinking. Otherwise you wouldn’t have fucking done that. You DO NOT go into the blasted circle!”
“Are you done?”
“Am I-“ John spluttered.
Are you done? He asked, as if John was the unreasonable one here! “Oh you’re right chuffed, aren’t you mate? Well, you cocked up, you’re about to be banished right alongside the storm, you little git!”
“Then stop the banishing or banish us both. It’s your choice.” Kid stood, back straight, jaw clenched stubbornly and a frown over those wide blue eyes. His hair and clothes whipped violently from the storm, but he didn’t care, just kept his eyes on John.
John raised his hands in frustration, words dying on his tongue. It would serve him right!
It would serve him right; he stepped into the bloody circle. It wasn’t John’s fault. Everything was going fine for once and maybe that should have been John’s warning. Whatever was up with the kid he apparently had a soft spot for ghosts - even after John had told him several times that the spirit was gone. It’d gone nova. No coming back. The end. It would continue it’s rampage until it burned out. It would hurt and destroy indiscriminately.
And yet he still-
It would serve him right to get sent to Hell alongside it. It wouldn’t even be the first time someone John worked with got sent to Hell for their trouble. John Constantine was bad luck for everyone around him. It happened.
But it was different when John held the reins of the spell that did it, when he had the choice to stop it.
Still John was at his wits end. If he stopped the banishing, the kid was still trapped in the circle with the spectral storm. If he broke the circle they were back at square one except they were in the center of the storm’s power and it was even angrier.
It was easier, safer, to just continue the banishing. Kid had made his stupid arse decision. John wasn’t a good person. He did what was necessary. Ends and means and all that.
But he was a bloody kid - a teenager - they were basically obligated to do stupid shit. Didn’t mean he deserved to get sent to Hell for it. John had seen and done a lot of shit, but when it came right down to it he didn’t want to add sending a kid to Hell.
John had seen enough dead kids to last him a lifetime.
“Oh bollocks.” John let his arms fall and cut the feed to the banishing spell, wincing slightly at the backlash. “You better have a plan kid.”
The kid had to have some sort of abilities with that aura, maybe all hope was not lost? The kid grimaced and John’s forced optimism crumbled like so much sand.
“I-“ the kid winced as something in the storm hit the back of his head. He rubbed the spot, and looked almost apologetic, “I figured I’d try talking to them.”
John stared.
And stared.
“Or-“ the kid backtracked, “just calm them down somehow?”
“You cannot ‘calm down’ a spectral storm!” John felt like a broken record on repeat. “It’s impossible.”
He threw up his hands and walked exactly three steps away counting his breaths all the while wracking his brain for a different solution. There weren’t any good ones. Heck it was a miracle the kid hadn’t already been torn to pieces being inside the circle.
“We’re dead,” he lamented dramatically.
“Half-dead.”
John’s head snapped around at the weird response.
“I mean,” the kid tried for a smile, “I’m the only one in the circle.”

John stared in despair. The kid’s sense of humor needed serious work.
“I’m not gonna leave you in the bloody circle, kid.”
Danny stood struck wide eyed at the admission. That was- He didn’t know how to deal with that. There was a pang in his chest. He felt too open, too vulnerable. He swallowed before finding his voice.
“Just let me try something, okay?”
Danny turned around to face the center of the storm, he instantly had to squeeze his eyes near shut, from all the dust. Instinctively he took a breath and coughed. Okay breathing not good. Too bad he was human right now.
He had to get closer, closer to that screaming grief. He might be human right now, but he was also a ghost and the anger from earlier was just a thin veneer on top of grief on top of a cry for help. He felt it in his core like scrabbling hands desperately looking for purchase.
He took a step forward, hands up to shield his face, pushing against the wind. Another step. Then another.
How was he gonna calm them down?
Danny didn’t know. He knew fighting. He’d even sometimes recently had luck with talking. But this? It was way beyond talking, until they were calm there would be no such thing. Danny didn’t know what to do. He could only press on and hope an idea came to him.
The grief was stronger the closer he got to the center, it tore into him. Tears trickled down his cheeks and turned into gunk from the dust. Something sharp cut into his bare arms. Danny frowned, kept his head down and pushed forward.
Another step and the grief sunk sharp claws into his core. He screamed clutching his chest and gasping for breath that would do nothing. But the claws were gone as soon as they’d come, retreated as if they’d touched fire.
“Are you alright kid?!”
Danny spared a quick glance back to Trenchcoat who stood all the way up to the edge of the circle, face white as if he’d seen a ghost. Danny couldn’t help smiling at that. Something that alarmed Trenchcoat even further.
“I’m breaking the circle.”
“Don’t,” Danny coughed clearing his throat.
Danny looked back up, squinting through the swirling dust. It may not be visible, but something had changed. There was still the anger and grief, but something else too. A sense of waiting. Waiting to see what Danny would do. They had tried tearing him, the trespasser, apart down to his core, but in doing so they had felt him. They had felt his intention to help and retreated.
Trenchcoat was wrong, there was still a sentience there. Danny found himself grinning in triumph.
But even better Danny had an idea. His core vibrated giddily in his chest. He was a bit sore, but otherwise none the worse for wear. He just needed to reach out and connect with the ghost, he felt sure he could calm them. He just he needed a distraction, he didn’t need Trenchcoat to realize he was the one doing anything ghostly. He wracked his brain, something that made noise, drew attention, was maybe a bit ridiculous, but didn’t take much of his attention from the real work-
That was it!
“Twinkle-“ his voice broke on the first word but gained strength as he continued- “twinkle little star,” Danny sang. He didn’t need to look back to see the incredulous look on Trenchcoat’s face.
He kept singing, he knew that song by heart. His mom used to sing it to him, back when she actually put him to bed. There was a stab of melancholy, but Danny clutched on to the positive aspect of the memory and reached out with his core, its hum getting stronger.
It’s okay, he told the ghost, help. Safe. Peace. Calm.
He took step by step further into the calming storm. And all the while he sung them a lullaby.
John stared.
Then he stared some more. He was doing a lot of staring today.
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, what he was hearing.
The kid was was singing a lullaby to the spectral storm. And that wasn’t even the most baffling thing. No, the kid was singing a lullaby to the spectral storm and it was bloody working.
The storm gradually calmed until suddenly it was gone. The silence was loud in the sudden emotional void. John staggered from the sudden lack of pressure. All that malice gone in an instant. All that was left was a gently cupped ball of light in the kids hands.
“There you are,” the kid said softly in a slightly scratchy voice.
John couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. It was impossible and yet here they were.
There was a flash of light and suddenly they stood in a house. Built brick by brick by two pairs of hands. Children ran through the rooms. They grew up. They had kids of their own, who had kids of their own. They lived and they loved and they were protected.
Then they were gone.
The door shut for the last time. The house was empty.
A large metal ball slammed through the walls, spreading dust and splintering the doorframe that had measured the growth of generations. It was torn down.
It had stood here, right in what would be the plaza.
The translucent shade of an old women, bent and bony from a life of hard work, hovered in front of the kid. She warbled sadly at him. John couldn’t understand anything but the deep sadness, but it seemed the kid did.
“It’s okay,” he said embracing the spirit, somehow managing to do so despite her definitely not being solid. “You’ve done your best, nobody could ask more of you.”
He paused and his voice softened further, “it’s time to let go.”
The old lady looked over at John and gave him a stern look that had him frozen in place. She was the type of grandma that would wack his fingers if she caught him going for the cookie jar. He wasn’t entirely sure what the look he got meant. Only that it felt like an admonishment.
She looked back on the kid and her features softened, smoothed and in the next moment she turned to mist in his arms, dispersing in the waning light coming from the overhead windows.
John couldn’t entirely believe what he’d just witnessed. Calling a spirit back once they’d gone nova, it was impossible. Unheard of. Banishment was how you dealt with spirits like that. It was a tried and tested method. Yet-
John shivered.
Death magic. It was the only explanation.
The kid reeked of it, to the point John had thought he was the ghost he was here to deal with. He’d thought he was some kind of creature, but he was just a kid. A kid with a very specific magical affinity who’d just done the impossible. He was filled with a sense of awe and dread he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
He felt shaken. Like he’d stood right next to a bell who’d been rung to herald change.
John was no prophet, at most he’d get vague premonitions and he far preferred to be in the moment rather then dwell on the future or the past. He most definitely did not want to even contemplate this kid’s future. He swallowed.
Magic, in John’s experience, always came with a cost.
The kid promptly sat down on his butt. John had broken the circle and was running over before he even realized.
“You okay, kid?” He asked breathlessly.
The kid looked up, eyes a bit dazed as he blinked at John. John couldn’t really tell if his complexion was grey or it was just the dust covering every inch of him. Several places, particularly his hands, the dust was dark from blood where he’d been cut in the storm. He looked unfocused.
“How many occult detectives are you seeing?” He asked unable to hide the note of worry.
“Too many,” Kid said tiredly with a shake of his head that had cement dust falling all over. Then he looked back up and elaborated with a smirk, “one.”
John huffed a laugh. If he could joke he couldn’t be that bad off.
“How does burgers and fries sound?”
-
The kid now dusted off to the point where you could almost tell his hair was black rather than grey sunk his teeth into the burger with a pleased hum. He chewed and swallowed.
“This is almost as good as Nasty Burger.”
John paused fry halfway to his mouth. “That sounds disgusting.”
Kid laughed. “I forget how it sounds to outsiders. It used to be Tasty Burger way back when they first opened, but someone vandalized the sign and it kinda stuck.”
John hummed thoughtfully, he could appreciate the joke. Kid’s use of the phrase outsiders made it sound like he came from an insular town. Probably best for him if he stayed there.
“What’s your name, kid?”
Instantly the blue eyes narrowed on him in suspicion.
“What’s yours, Trenchcoat?” He challenged.
John huffed at the nickname and reached a hand across the table. “John Constantine.”
The kid looked suspiciously at the offered hand, then reached out and took it. “Nightingale.”
John nodded and shook his hand before letting go. Smart of him to give him a codename, he wasn’t apparently completely without sense. “Because of the singing.”
For a moment the kid looked confused to the point where John actually thought maybe he’d given him his real name.
“Singing? Ah-“ He blushed looking down and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “No, that just seemed like a good idea at the time.”
John shook his head, fuck it if he didn’t like the kid. He picked up his milkshake and raised it. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
“If it works…”
The kid, Nightingale, grinned ferally and raised his own shake to clink it against John’s.

“If it works.”
-
After filling up the near bottomless stomach of the teenager, they parted ways in an alley. John’s mind was already on his next case - people going missing in a forest in Germany that had a distinct this-is-not-just-a-GPS-dead-zone flavor to it - so he only absently noted the strange look on the kid’s face when he opened the portal. It was morning in Germany, he could start looking into things before calling the House for a proper sleep.
“Take care, kid.”
With those words he stepped into the portal and let it close behind him.
Danny was left looking at the portal. He shook his head, jaw tight. With real magic apparently portals were just easy. It didn’t do him any good to think about. He glanced around and when he found the alley just as empty as before he jumped into the air transforming as he went.
There were better things to think about, like the concept of an occult detective, he thought as he flew in the direction of Amity. It sounded like it could almost be an acceptable profession in his parents’ eyes.
And it probably didn’t require good high school grades either, he thought with a grimace as he remembered he had an essay due tomorrow.
-
Hope you enjoyed this story which explored how Danny and Constantine first met in this AU. Next step is letting it sit for a while, then do a thorough editing and putting it up on ao3 as a oneshot. (And then maybe talk to Clock about starting writing on the main story proper? We'll see). Comments are greatly appreciated :D
Another link to the masterpost if you wanna see the other bits of writing and/or subscribe to the series
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oharapussy · 8 months
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miguel x peter x fem!reader sex pollen fic because i’m corny and also a freak🤭
crossposted to ao3 💓i am fueled by replies and comments
minors please dni
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these idiots. you had urgent business to attend to, as always, in some dangerous, exotic location, universes away: and this big motherfucker with his smug little friend tagged along. you didn't mind either of them alone, miguel with a silent fortitude, and peter, boyishly charming, but together, you couldn't seem to stand them. perhaps it was the way they bickered, or how their shoulders moved, but something felt wrong. it was in a moment like this, watching their complicated, masculine frames, studying the fronds of a nearby plant, your face seemed to burn:
imagine them both jerking off on you at the same time. imagine them eiffel-towering you. imagine them leashed and begging.
you waved the thoughts away, embarrassed and suddenly tight between your legs. be a professional, you silently screamed to yourself, pushing your way through vines and past tall trees. walking a few paces, you noticed a lack of noise from behind you, your accomplices going dangerously quiet. turning back, you were confronted with the two in a way you had never seen them before.
hunched over, gasping for breath, a sweet smell in the air dissipated. it caught you off-guard to see them so weakened, especially when, as you came closer, their knees seemed to buckle against your touch.
“don’t come near me,” miguel demanded, keeping you at an arm’s distance away. it seemed that he was about to say more, before he was cut off by a wildly-pornographic cry, straight from his stomach. your face turned red, trying not to look him in the eyes. fear twisted in your stomach when you felt a slim hand, ostensibly peter's, cup the heat between your thighs, sending a shock through your body. 
“what are you two doing?” you hiss. you feigned seriousness, trying not to admit that you’re just about to moan from the touch alone. from behind you, you feel miguel’s hot breath against your neck, practically sandwiched between the two. his large claws retracted, you felt a sting as he grabbed ahold of your ass, massaging it.
“i’m sorry,” peter shuddered, his voice beastly and muttering. you felt the unmistakable sensation of his hard-on pressing against your thigh. “i just need this right now. please, honey.”
feeling his hand rub your clit through your suit, you instantly moaned, embarrassed at how amazing it felt.
“you liked that?” he asked, pawing circles around the sensitive spot. shaking your head yes, he chuckled a bit, clearly amused at how much he had flustered you. "didn't think you would be into this," he added, slipping his hand down your waistband.
"shut the hell up or i won't help you two anymore," you groaned, desperate for more of his touch. from behind you, miguel wrapped his hands around your waist, bending you there, much to your surprise.
"i need to taste you, mamí," he whined, rudely tugging away at your suit to expose your cunt. "please, i need it." admittedly, it was cute to hear him beg. rocking your hips back into his face, he attacked you, licking between your legs with the lewdest sounds imaginable. and god, was he fucking good at this. quickening his pace, he brought you to the floor, sitting squarely on his face.
“oh- gentle, please,” you whined, feeling his tongue swish in and out of you. clasping your thighs over his face, you wished he could stay like this forever- you’d have to come back here and find out whatever that was in that pollen. hungrily, peter eyed you, jealousy brewing in his stomach, his cock twitching. all of a sudden, miguel pulled away from you with a humiliating pop, slick dripping down his chin.
“parker, she’s crazy fuckin’ wet for us,” he moaned, giving your ass a gentle smack. you clenched around the air, knowing what was coming.
if you could think straight, you would probably individually be criticizing their technique. taking long, languid strokes up and down your pussy, peter was certainly the more romantic of the two. miguel, however, was the one really fucking you. crying out, your legs stretched to their capacity as you tried to contain both of them- you felt tears fall down your face from the overstimulation.
“taking turns so well with our new toy, aren’t we?” peter muttered, his breath hot against your folds. you didn’t even care anymore: not about what this meant for you as co-workers, not sexually, not romantically. as long as you could feel one of their noses against your clit, drunk on your slick, you could die happy. coming hard against their faces, they lapped you up, hardly finished.
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cosmicdumpling · 1 year
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crazy for you » jung wooyoung
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SYNOPSIS: Wooyoung seems to have harbored a crush on you for a while now, and as much as he hates it, he manages to hold out just fine. A trip to the beach with the rest of your friends, however, becomes a huge threat to Wooyoung’s remaining resolve.
PAIRING: wooyoung x gn!reader (they/them pronouns used)
GENRE: romance/fluff, suggestive, humor
THEMES: best friend!wooyoung, best friends to lovers, pining, implied uni students!ateez and reader
⚠️  WARNINGS: profanities, alcohol, aggressive kissing (???), poor san kind of cockblocks and wooyoung decides to traumatize him
WORD COUNT: 8.0k
➺ MAIN MASTERLIST
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Wooyoung lets out a long wheeze.
Beside him sits San, who’s withdrawing the metal straw that’s halfway through his mouth as he glances over at the coughing man with a weirded-out expression. He makes the effort to set his drink back down onto his thigh, the damp bottom of the glass creating a huge patch of wet circle on his light blue shorts. Wooyoung coughs again to draw out his previous choking, inhaling a huge amount of air before sighing, gulping, and straightening up on his seat again.
“You okay?” Asks San as he gently pats Wooyoung’s back, who grimaces but nods his head nonetheless as a reply.
“Yeah, yeah. Liquid just went down the wrong lane, that’s all.” He clears his throat, taking a careful sip from his smoothie just as his eyes smoothly dart over to take a glance at your direction again; this time, taking the time to properly take in your presence without embarrassingly choking on his own drink.
Hongjoong is the first to acknowledge your presence, followed by Seonghwa, and then the rest. Like how Wooyoung had expected, they instantly gush about your rather fresh and new look, dressed in a summery outfit that’s quite different from your usual style, but still looking incredibly good that it momentarily sends the two fashion enthusiasts to another dimension.
It’s the reason behind Wooyoung’s twenty-second choking too, but nobody’s supposed to know that.
It hasn’t been that long since you all arrived in the place― a rather cosmopolitan beach that’s a four-hour drive from the capital. The vacation had been planned months prior, but none of you had the time and the headspace to make it happen after a surge of projects and final examinations in the season. It most certainly came as a surprise when Yeosang was the one who’d brought it up after everything― considering he’s normally the silent one who goes along with whatever is decided or claps back to a stupid idea that somebody might chip in to the group. But it’s also especially because of the fact that Yeosang is the one who’d said he wanted to push the vacation through, and the fact that you had all been through hell, that the long-standing and almost completely wiped out trip to the beach finally happened.
Seonghwa and Hongjoong had everything planned out from the accommodation, to the food, down to the activities, so your arrival and checking in was fortunately a lot smoother than it’s supposed to be. After setting foot on the destination, and after a few arrangements and preparations here and outfit changes there, you’re finally coming out to gather at the beachfront for the sunset campfire, as per what’s written on Seonghwa’s very intricate itinerary.
Wooyoung forcefully tears his gaze from you, afraid you’ll catch him staring so badly and tease him about it. 
He’s a huge pest himself, but he prefers to be the one on the annoying side and not the other way around. So instead, he chews on the little crumbs of ice from his smoothie and frowns ahead at the shining sun to conceal and bluff the reactions you’ve managed to contract from him.
He tries desperately to hide it because you aren’t supposed to be cute, you’re supposed to look like a porcupine in his eyes or something, and he’s supposed to tease you because of that. He’s supposed to let out a hyena laugh, annoy you to death, then play fight with you until the end. That’s how it has always been in the course of your lifelong friendship. But for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.
And he swears it’s getting more and more ridiculous how this has happened a lot of times lately. 
On your class reunion.
At a mutual friend’s birthday party.
At your apartment when you had a movie night and a sleepover, and you were even only in some plain freaking sweats and a comfy loose shirt!
He absolutely hates how the thought of him being attracted to you looking so homey makes him seem like a true domestic fool in love.
It also scares him even more how those times are the only times he’d begun to realize and process those feelings properly, because he’d been feeling them for so long before he’d begun to take notice of it.
Wooyoung had always thought you were pretty, and decent, too― that’s what he always says as a response to people telling him that you’re gorgeous or cute, or anything of the like. 
It’s not like he’s lying though― yes, he does find you attractive, but a few years before, you were the type of attractive that was “not just for him”. His compliments directed towards you are always genuine; it has always been, but of course he’d cover that up with some sort of statement that would have been seen or deemed as offensive if he isn’t your best friend.
Wooyoung always liked showing affection, but always mischievously if not one in sadder days. And so it has been bugging him, for quite a long time now really, why he seems to be so disturbed over your presence and why it gets harder and harder for him to get the additional teasing statements out that normally followed his compliments without some offensive stuttering.
Or without averting his gaze. 
Or hesitant eye contact. 
Or an erratic heartbeat.
For him, it’s frustrating, really, because he isn’t as dumb as he hopes he would be and he knows exactly what it means.
“Well, how do I look?” Your voice snaps him out from his daze, and if not for the littlest bit of sanity left in him, he would have choked on his drink again. Thankfully, he doesn’t, but now you’re standing in front of him in all your glowing glory, which makes it harder for him to compose himself. It must be hilarious, he thinks, that you’re awfully oblivious to his twitchy and jumpy attitude— even twisting and turning to show off the outfit that you’ve planned solely for this trip weeks prior. 
And it pains him how you look absolutely, breathtakingly, gorgeous in it.
Wooyoung hums, pretending to attentively look at you for a moment before leaning back into the bench, swinging his arm to rest against the backrest as he frowns up at you. “Like Chewbacca in a summer outfit.”
At his reply, your smile drops and you glare at him, though it’s rather lighthearted. Clicking your tongue, you roll your eyes at him before toying with the sleeves of your clothes, examining your outfit again.
“Come on, Wooyoung, they don’t look bad! In fact― oh my fucking god, you must be kidding me,” San manages to choke out after looking up from playing a game on his phone, blinking in rapid succession as he looks up at you with wide eyes. “You’re so pretty though?”
“Hey, I never said Chewbacca looked bad,” Wooyoung clicks his tongue, turning his head to look at San, who’s setting his phone and drink aside to approach you. “It’s you who insinuated some negative note on my statement and made it some sort of Chewbacca slander.”
Wooyoung’s gaze absentmindedly follows yours and San’s movement as he speaks. San holds your hand and helps you twirl around, a bright smile gracing your face at the attention you were getting from the man.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You reply with an exaggerated flick of your foot as you twirl once more, causing crumbs of sand to purposefully hit Wooyoung, who jerks back in shock with a scrunched face. Your laughter echoes in his ear, and he opens his eyes, looking at you with some kind of fiery determination that sends you laughing even harder.
“You little―”
Wooyoung stands on his feet and grabs a handful of sand, chucking it to you as some sort of retaliation. A shriek leaves your lips and you dodge his hits by running around before you begin engaging into some hilariously intense sand battle; laughs and shrieks filling the open area as it steals much of the attention from the people around.
“You scoundrels! Look, my smoothie is full of sand― get a damn room already!” San whines, dodging the crumbs of sand that come his way while frowning down at his wasted drink. He wastes no time in grabbing Wooyoung’s drink though, making sure it’s sand-free before consuming it instead.
Continuing your little play-fight, the laughter increases, though you get closer and closer to the shore. And just as you’re planning to fight him with seawater instead, bits of the sand that he chucks your way manages to enter your eye, so you halt on your spot with a wince.
“Ow,” 
Wooyoung takes a few moments to examine you from far away, watching you blink and rub your eyes before realizing that you’re actually serious, so he quickly jogs over while trying to bite back a guilty laugh.
“Let me see,” He snorts as he approaches, the small cold waves of water by the shore lightly hitting your feet, making you stumble a bit. Wooyoung’s quick to hold you close though, and he gently takes a hold of your chin.
“Stop rubbing your eyes! It’ll get worse,” He laughs, swatting your hand away, and you try to pry them open but ultimately fail upon feeling the sting as the (unfortunately) salty air hits your eyes. Wooyoung tells you to stay still just as he puts his hands on either side of your cheek; and when you just stand there, closing your eyes and not fighting him back, it’s like a bucket of ice water is dumped onto him.
Your eyes are shut close, steady breaths coming out of your nostrils as you wait for him to touch you. Before he could move, though, your hands find his button up shirt, clutching and bunching up the cloth to balance yourself with your vision blocked. Wooyoung looks at you again, this time, his gaze fixated on your lips— that’s become so, so appealing and inviting to him that he feels his breath choke high up his throat.
“What are you doing? Hurry up, stupid!” You scold, bringing your hand up to blindly strangle him (which results in you accidentally poking his eye), and he stumbles a bit with a laugh, rubbing it before blinking the momentary sting away.
Mentally, he’s already swatting and hitting and cursing himself for dazing out and thinking about kissing you― not directly, but still implied― because god, he’s literally being so weird he couldn’t take it, but it happened at the wrong time too, and he’s so fucked if any of the other boys were paying attention to him and realized how fishy he’s been acting. So, he clears his throat and gently takes your face in his hands once more, gently prying your eye open before blowing onto it.
“Why do you both hate each other so much?” Yunho’s voice comes from an adjacent spot as he chuckles, watching you both with much fondness with the others trailing behind him. Wooyoung snorts as a response, glancing scarcely at their direction whilst he cups your face and tries to pry your eyes open again, a cheeky grin adorning his lips.
“We don’t hate each other, we’re offensive soulmates. We’re used to it.” He mumbles before turning back to you.
After Wooyoung blows a gush of air onto it in a weak attempt to make the foreign object go away, you begin to open your eyes and slowly blink in rapid succession to adjust your vision. Your hands then unknowingly come up to hold Wooyoung’s that are still resting on the sides of your cheeks. The first thing that you see is Wooyoung’s face― his annoyingly handsome face at that― and you’re about to throw a jesting insult at him about it, but you see this charmed look in his orbs first, that the words get choked in your throat, unable to come out for some reason.
Wooyoung blinks, hands frozen while his shoulders are clearly tense, and his eyes trace a line from your eyes, to your nose, to the plump of your lips before the lump on his throat bobs up and down when he visibly gulps. Feeling a surge of panic from the sudden silence, he pulls his hands from your face then awkwardly shoves them inside his pockets instead.
“Now, now,” Hongjoong claps, a lop-sided grin tugging onto one corner of his lips as he catches everyone’s attention. He bites back a laugh when Wooyoung’s head snaps to his direction a little too fast in a poor attempt to feign attentiveness in the awkward atmosphere. 
Because Jung Wooyoung is everything but attentive, especially when it comes to Hongjoong.
“Everybody hasten up! Let’s start the campfire.”
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Mingi had been squished flatter than a pancake halfway through the sunset campfire. 
He had been the scapegoat for the group’s games this time; twenty minutes into the game, and they’ve managed to have him take seventeen shots, which, apparently, is more than he could handle to make it through the night. Everybody seemed to be having their own fun even though nobody actually really got to play truth or dare― because fooling around in the spur of the moment seemed to be more appealing to everybody than the desire to play the, what San liked to call, “oldfangled and mainstream” game of truth or dare― many things had happened and the newfound comfort of just doing whatever seemed to be relaxing.
Wooyoung had thanked the heavens and around probably fifty two celestial beings for that, because had they played truth or dare with the boost of alcohol, he would surely be fucked.
Thankfully, everyone’s so distracted, because everything is fun when you’re tipsy or drunk. 
Seonghwa had managed to bring in some new friends for everybody; some people he’d met alone near the floating bar. There was one girl though, who Seonghwa really seemed to especially like; bringing a very huge smile to his face the moment she did so much as laugh.
Hongjoong noticed this, of course— patting Seonghwa’s back and encouraging him to make a move, knowing if he did, he’ll have the whole cottage room to himself tonight.
Right across you, Jongho is singing along to a song he slightly messes up out of being drunk, though his voice is as lovely as ever as he leads the whole group to jam. Yunho is play-fighting hand cobra with Yeosang right beside Jongho, while San and Wooyoung chats about something you couldn’t make out or hear, but it doesn’t matter.
At least he’s distracted enough to not know how good you think he looks in his gray silk button-up with its long sleeves messily rolled to his elbows.
On either side of you sits Ryujin and Lia, the friends of Seonghwa’s “friend”, whom you’ve grown close to within the first five minutes Seonghwa had introduced them to the group. The rest of your circle of friends scattered messily across you, especially Mingi who is sprawled out cheek-flat onto the sand while a grimacing Hongjoong tries to tug him back to his seat on the log, saying it’s not his bed and that he might be lying above the home of tiny crablets― which is quick enough to make him spring up and clumsily sit back up.
From the other end, Wooyoung sits with his elbows propped on his knees, the sound of faint laughter and chatter blurring around him; San’s words slowly becoming inaudible when he catches sight of you again. You’ve been watching everybody laugh and have fun for the most time― occasionally chatting with the girls. 
“Wooyoung, can you― hic― hand me some salted nuts?” Jongho pleads, which ultimately distracts him from his reverie, but he snorts and reaches over to grab the pack of nuts from the snack tray near him anyway.
From the corner of Wooyoung’s eye, he sees Lia and Ryujin whisper something to you before slipping out of their seats, heading together somewhere along the area. The sight of you sitting alone makes Wooyoung take a final sip from his drink before pushing himself to stand, taking the packs of salted nuts that Jongho had asked him for along with him.
“Hey! My salted nuts―”
“Managed to save you some before Jongho could hog them to himself,” Wooyoung mumbles, waving the packs around as he approaches you. Immediately, you snort and chuckle, seeing the rather mischievous smile on his lips while he weaves his way through the others’ horseplay.
“What a superhero,” You jest, leaning slightly to the side to peek behind him, only to see poor little Jongho struggling to crawl towards the snack tray, clumsily grabbing whatever snack he could see while a ‘stupid wooyoung’ falls off of his lips. Chuckling, you shake your head just as Wooyoung takes what used to be Ryujin’s seat just beside you. He opens his palm upward, showcasing the snack for you to take, quirking a brow when you give him a once-over.
“Thanks.” You say, slamming your hand atop his in an attempt to grab the snack, though Wooyoung’s hand tenses up, and you both lift your gazes to meet each other in the eye. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, silence, and a little more silence before you begin to snort, and Wooyoung finally bursts into a fit of laughter.
“Since when were your hands this tiny?!” He almost shrieks, laughing his ass off once more before setting the pack of salted nuts aside to compare your hands. The sight of your hand, almost an inch shorter than his, makes you groan and roll your eyes with a smile.
“It’s not tiny! It’s just smaller than yours.”
“That counts!” He shakes his head, clearly finding amusement in the situation. Wooyoung’s gaze flickers momentarily to your face, then back to your touching hands, and his smile slowly fades as soon as he feels the tip of your skin gently sliding down to his palm. Before you could completely let your hand fall back down on your lap, Wooyoung’s fingers bend to enclose around yours, feeling and rubbing them slightly.
“Your hands are so cold though.” He gulps, continuing his miniscule actions as your fingers slowly wrap around his thumb with how he’s rubbing friction onto them. Wooyoung brings your tangled hands down to his lap before he takes your other hand, then tugging them up to his lips to blow on them.
There, you take notice of how his lashes flutter prettily against his cheek, how the point of his nose perfectly compliments the natural pout of his plump lips. He’s so effortlessly beautiful, as much as you hate to admit it, and he’s got your stomach turning into that of a zoo. 
Wooyoung is handsome― he always has been, but you’ve never really seen him in the same light, or at least you think you didn’t. Or you don’t want to. Or you didn’t― or whatever. Just as if he hears bits of your thoughts, he lifts his gaze, staring at you from below his lashes before he raises a brow at you out of faux intrigue.
“What, are you immune to this huge ass campfire?” 
Instantly, you find yourself shrugging, and though Wooyoung returns a little snort, it suddenly becomes awkward― not because you’re looking at each other with some hidden fondness, but because it suddenly becomes silent.
“Oh my god,” It’s Yeosang who speaks first and breaks the silence with a groan that makes you both turn to the others, who are already silently staring at you and Wooyoung out of intrigue. A small chuckle erupts from Yeosang and he shakes his head right after taking one single glance at your hands, then saying before he takes a sip from his drink, “You guys might as well just kiss.” 
You feel Wooyoung’s hand twitch in yours, making you snap out of your trance and slowly pull your hands away from his. Inwardly, you try to assess his reaction but then produce to cuss yourself for letting your obvious awkwardness slip― not even bothering to respond to Yeosang with an ‘ew’ or a mere ‘yuck’ just to save yourself some embarrassment for being unreasonably awkward. But it comes even more as a surprise as Wooyoung doesn’t even bother to throw a snide remark back, because he always does it, and there’s absolutely no reason for him to be embarrassed.
He even kisses your cheek in front of the others most of the time, just like he does with them— Yeosang’s words were nothing compared to that very public act of affection he displays in the daily, so why did it seem to weigh a lot this time?
But it’s really because Wooyoung’s brain is somewhere else, his remaining sanity prompting him to think of reasons as to why you pulled your hand away. Should he have said something to block Yeosang from making you feel embarrassed? Were you offended that at that moment, you were sort of linked to him for a bit? Or worse, did you not want to kiss him?
“But please, not in front of us.” Hongjoong kids, snapping Wooyoung out of his reverie as  he gives you both a rather teasing grin just as he throws a chip into his mouth. The others pay no mind to it― at least not really, just a little laugh here and there almost as if they’re… expecting it to happen. 
Eventually.
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“Guys, I think the live band is starting―” Mingi groans, and his excitement for the live band (that he’s been looking forward to since forever) seems to overpower his drunk state as he’s the first to hear the subtle beating of the adjacent drums whilst it’s being tested. Hongjoong, being a musically-inclined person himself, is obviously excited as well as he quickly begins asking the others to pack up and gather their own trash to throw in proper waste bins before leaving to the stage. 
Thanks to Mingi’s incredible sharpness, you manage to secure spots near the front before people could crowd, which means you must make the most out of the experience. It doesn’t take more than five minutes and the band begins playing a series of pop songs to hype the energy of the crowd; the night is still young and yet to be enjoyed. Yunho’s the first to bump your side with his butt in an attempt to get you to dance, and in no time, you’re already grooving around with him like drunken fools. But it’s really just his energy that powers you to move around even when you’ve been too shy minutes prior; and you’re thankful for his existence.
You manage to spend time with each of your friends for every oncoming set of songs, and you think there’s nothing that can top the time and energy that you spend tirelessly. The band did a good job at starting and maintaining and then boosting the energy of the crowd from the start; from an exciting pop and reggae to a relaxing r&b. But as they near the peak of the night, the songs begin to reduce to calmer ones, the crowd growing as equally relaxed as they’re given time to recover from the fatigue that they just spent jumping around.
Just as you regain consciousness of what’s happening around you, snapping out from what seemed like a dream, you notice that Mingi is slightly dying near the left side of all the mingling bodies, not literally though― as he seemed to be a little too drunk after he’d continuously headbanged and drank and danced around to all the pop songs played earlier. Yunho is trying to tend to him though, trying to get him to stand up only to be as equally tired and shitfaced drunk as the other male is. You see Yeosang approaching the two of them, trying to get them out of the mingling bodies to the empty space just near the side, because if he doesn’t do that then they’ll obviously get stepped on sooner or later when they finally fall face-flat on the sand. 
Jongho on the other hand somehow managed to find his way on the stage, singing along with the original singer for a duet; Seonghwa is in an adjacent corner cheering Jongho on before turning to look at his fling sweetly, who’s cuddled to his side. Hongjoong is in the front row, holding up a digital camera to film Jongho like a proud stage mother as he sings on stage.
“y/n!” Somebody calls, and from the sound of their voice, they come from behind, so you turn. But before you could face the owner of the strained voice, smoke blows out from the pair of smoke machines on the stage. The bright lights reduce to a dim tone, and you squint to make the figure out emerging from the smoke.
Bright eyes, plump lips, exposed chest...
Wooyoung.
“There you are, I’ve been looking for you,” He says, a relieved sigh escaping his lips before he reaches up to ruffle your hair.
“Hey,” Chuckling, you let the greeting roll smoothly off of your tongue right before playfully swatting his hand away. He submits to it, pulling his hand before shoving it inside of his pockets. 
Before he could say anything else, the bright lights reduce to a dim tone, the music shifts, and you both barely get to hear the words the singer utters before you’re looking around, baffled, seeing how people are suddenly facing each other in pairs instead of facing the stage. Wooyoung catches the word “romantic” only, and his eyes widen just as he swears he feels his heart leap from his chest.
Is the universe really toying with him on purpose? Because as far as he was concerned, he looked for you in hopes of jumping along to that one Justin Timberlake song, but now that he’s found you, he’s bound to share a rather intimate moment with you under this makeshift romantic atmosphere.
It would have been better, had he been alone. He could have settled at the back, leaned against a tall table and watched everybody kiss in front of him; he honestly couldn’t care less. But now, his friends are too far away, dancing with each other, cuddling with some people they barely know, or are just busy puking somewhere near the shore.
As if to make things worse, you’re standing right next to him, as stiff as a pole as you both face the stage; the people couples surrounding you either kissing or hugging to the fucking death to this Madonna love song. He figures he’d better be off drunk than to stand awkwardly right beside you, but he isn’t, and nor are you.
So you both continue to stand there, listening to the singer on stage.
A little awkwardly, you begin swaying along to the song― just because you don’t want to look too stiff or weird, so Wooyoung does the same. 
But of course, something just has to happen; and your hand just has to accidentally brush against Wooyoung’s, like any other romantic cliche. It happens once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Again, for the fourth time.
And going five.
With how often it’s happening, you begin to think that maybe Wooyung’s teasing again, so you steal a glance at him from your peripheral vision.
But your heart practically jumps to your throat when you see that he’s already looking.
Wooyoung clears his throat as you turn your head to him. “Nice song, huh?”
“Oh. Yeah,” You say, then it goes silent again, so you try to speak up again by saying, “It’s Madonna, after all.”
Thankfully, Wooyoung chuckles– the very single act that made you feel a little relaxed under the rather tense atmosphere.
“God, Seonghwa is actually ridiculous for finding a fling on the first day of our trip. But then again, it doesn’t really matter when he’s snuggling close with somebody while we’re just standing here, does it?” He manages to let out an actually believable chuckle to cover the underlying uncertainty of his voice. 
“True,” An airy chuckle leaves your lips as you turn to Seonghwa’s direction, watching him hold the girl close to his chest while the song plays. You look back at Wooyoung and nudge his arm with your elbow. “Well I guess it’s not that bad because you’re as lonely as I am.”
And you regret it immediately the second your words leave your lips because, what is that even supposed to mean? Wooyoung doesn’t respond as you hoped he would, though― he only snorts at you instead of taking offense and playfully fighting you to the end, like he usually would, but you think it’s better than him being all serious about it... probably.
There’s silence again, though you see Wooyoung gulp and inhale and exhale as if to calm himself down for some reason, so, feeling a strange surge of courage surge through you— with him seemingly as nervous as you are— you turn to him.
“Hey—”
“Woo—”
Your words come out in unison. 
Wooyoung beats you to it and jerks his chin towards you, saying, “You go first.”
Then your confidence deflates.
Fumbling slightly with your fingers, the moment heightens all the more when the instrumental starts playing and there’s a higher chance of Wooyoung hearing what you have to say. How crazy can you be, feeling all confident and then backing away in a split second? But that’s maybe because he has something equally important to tell you and what if it’s that he has a lover? Or a crush? Or something that might embarrass you if you speak first? But after gnawing on your bottom lip for a couple of seconds, gaze dropped to the floor out of worry and anxiousness, you finally decide to just let the gods have their way with your life, as long as you get this weight off of your chest. So you huff and say,
“This thing… do you feel it… too?”
―then beat yourself up for the question because, just what is that supposed to mean? As vague as it is obvious, you hope Wooyoung doesn’t really catch what you mean to ask, but somehow you also do. 
“What thing?” Is what Wooyoung says though, and it takes you two seconds long to process it, that he manages to add, “Oh, your sweaty hands?” before you could say anything else.
Just like that, your widened eyes reduce to a slant, deadpanning and glaring at him for his hilarious response. It’s supposed to make you laugh, and you are supposed to laugh because he might be oblivious and you have to cover it up.
But you don’t.
Instead, you murmur a small “Nevermind,” before turning away to face the stage again, refusing to believe you just made a fool of yourself in front of your own best friend, and maybe, crush. But it’s better than to have openly expressed your feelings and then getting turned down, isn’t it?
“y/n,” Wooyoung calls, his voice airy as if he’s about to laugh at you in the most hilarious way he possibly can, so you don’t turn to him. But being the overly persistent man he is, of course he continues poking on your arm, to which you dodge by clicking your tongue and moving away.
“Shut up, Wooyoung. I can’t hear the song.” You say, which is an ultimately lame excuse because the large speakers that blast the singer’s voice are tenfold louder than Wooyoung; but this embarrassment of yours causes a smile to tug onto the corners of his lips.Wooyoung coughs into his enclosed fist in an attempt to clear his throat, bottom lip getting caught in between his teeth as he tries to bite back a smile. 
One moment, you feel as though your heart dropped to your stomach, and then the next, you feel it rise up to your throat. It’s there and suddenly you can’t get words to come out of your lips because you feel Jung Wooyoung standing behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist whilst his cheek rests almost next to yours.
What I’m dying to say is that I’m crazy for you,
Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true
He sings the lyrics into your ear, and the singer’s voice seems to fade in the background because nothing is more heavenly than Wooyoung’s voice. Too stunned to move or even utter a word, you stand there, frozen in his arms while he begins to sway your bodies slowly. Then, your hand slowly finds its way atop his arm; and Wooyoung expects you to pull his arm away, but you don’t. 
You don’t tell him you feel his heartbeat speed up from your back.
I never wanted anyone like this,
It’s all brand new
Wooyoung spins you around, then gently takes a hold of your hand, slender fingers wrapping around your wrist just as he tugs it upward. The feeling of his skin on yours once more makes you lift your gaze to meet his eyes, and you catch him watching you with fondness in his gaze. His eyes flicker down once more to your free hand, and he does the same to it, now holding both of your hands before he brings it up to his shoulders, swiftly sliding closer to you, your fingers now subtly touching behind his neck.
Wooyoung’s gaze becomes rather shy as he lifts his gaze to meet yours once more, a small smile tugging on his lips as he places his hand cautiously on your waist. What’s annoyingly weird is that he’d done it so many times before— placing his hands there when he’s moving past you, on crowded parties, on formal dinners, or even stupid prom nights— but this time, there seems to be something different with the way you’re touching each other; like it feels more intimate and just… more.
With a gulp, you move closer to him and avoid his gaze. But Wooyoung is just determined to have you melt into a puddle as soon as possible because in a millisecond, he’s gently taking a hold of your chin, lifting it up, only to place his forehead against yours.
Your eyes dilate at the sight of Wooyoung so close to you― his lips just mere inches from yours. It’s the first time you’ve been this intimately close with him in such an intimidating atmosphere, but you like it. You really do.
His eyes are closed, and he continues to enjoy the moment— humming to the song— which stretches your lips into a smile. As soon as you close your eyes as well, however, Wooyoung blinks his eyes open, and it’s his turn to adore the tranquil look on your face. His chest rumbles with the chuckles he’s letting out, and you open your eyes before slightly pulling away to look at him.
“What?” You ask, but Wooyoung only shakes his head with a smile that almost reaches his ears. Then, he inhales a breath of courage before lifting one hand to tuck stray strands of hair behind your ear. His soft gaze lingers momentarily on your lips before it trails up to your nose, and then your eyes. Then, he cups your face again, his fingers sliding against your cheek, the underside of your jaw, and your neck as he lets out a shaky breath. 
You sense the nervousness in his slightly trembling fingers, in his breath, and in the look in his eyes. And so when he couldn’t bring the words to come out of his mouth, as much as he so desperately wants to ask if he can, you begin leaning into his touch. The action alone makes Wooyoung relax, and just as he’s quickly cupping your face with now both of his hands―
“Wooyoooounggg!” 
San’s nearing voice makes you and Wooyoung jump away from each other, fast, that it even makes you both accidentally bump into the people snuggling an arm’s length from behind where you previously stood. After muttering soft apologies to the couples for ruining such a sweet moment— to which they only seem to disregard as they’re too into the mood— you and Wooyoung inhale shaky breaths, stealing awkward glances at each other just as you turn to face the stage again while Wooyoung feels San’s arm wrap around his shoulders. Unconsciously, the overly excited boy jumps around on his spot, shaking Wooyoung’s shoulders just as he turns to San with an expression he fails to read out of drunkenness.
“Wooyoung! Wooyoung, I think I’m finally going to get a girlfriend—”
“San,” Wooyoung deadpans, pursing his lips slightly to convey a contained and restrained look before lowering his voice to whisper, “I think what you’re about to get is a black eye from me.”
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“If we want to be able to stick to our itinerary for tomorrow, we all have to wake up on time despite staying up late, so don’t fool around too much and go to bed as soon as you can, please.”
“How about you take your own advice? Don’t stay up too late frolicking—” Wooyoung playfully chirps back, only jolting and backing away a bit when the older male turns around and threatens to run over and get him under his chokehold. But Seonghwa couldn’t afford to ruin his rather blissful night; not when he’d obviously had the time of his life only to have the mood tumbling down because Wooyoung can’t shut up.
It happens a lot though, and at this point it’s even a regular thing that neither of them pay much attention to it. Everyone continues walking lazily, some even moving a little too slowly towards your respective cottages— like you and Wooyoung, who remains a few meters behind. Although he’s not walking right next to you, he takes careful steps, obviously wanting to match your pace as you slowly drag your feet through the sand. 
The familiar cottages come to view, and the others begin racing each other to their rooms. Just as you’re about to run along, Wooyoung grabs a hold of your arm, your name leaving his lips airily.
He licks his lips and heaves a breath, hands slipping into his pockets as you turn to look at him. The air is cold and strong, making you shift closer to your best friend to at least feel his warmth.
“What is it, Woo?”
Throughout the years you’ve known Wooyoung, he’s confident, noisy, (a little?) annoying, and hyperactive. To see him so shy and nervous especially around you is something out of the ordinary, which is why you know something’s really amiss and that it wasn’t just the alcohol talking. Wooyoung’s tongue pokes at his cheek as he begins gently kicking sand to ease the pooling anxiety in his chest.
“About a while ago,” He pauses to gulp, and then there’s silence as he tries to search for his words. When they don’t come, you try to cover it up just in case he regrets speaking about it.
“Oh, don’t get too worked up about it, I’m sure we just got a little carried away.”
You even chuckle a bit after saying it, because you assumed everything that transpired was to be left at that, but Wooyoung’s eyes are glossy as he lifts his gaze from his feet to meet yours.
“You think so?”
You blink, “You don’t?”
Silence.
“I gues… I… Maybe you’re right,” Wooyoung says after a few more seconds of silence, catching his lower lip in between his teeth as he stares into blank space for a bit, right before making eye contact with you― a little bravely this time. “But I just want to let you know that it wasn’t entirely nothing for me.”
There’s silence, again, but it’s because Wooyoung allows you to recuperate for a bit so that you can listen intently to what he’s about to say.
“It’s been going on for a long while now, really, and I think we both know it. This… thing between us, the thing you asked me about a while ago? Yes, I feel it. I really do. And it's driving me crazy because I want to do something about it. I want it. I want—” He sighs, “I want you.”
Heavy breathing. 
“I think I’m crazy for you,” Wooyoung says, the sigh that escapes his lips this time resembling much that of relief; as if some weight is loaded off of his chest and he’d successfully gotten the words he’d longed to say out of his lips. 
“It’s not even because you wore something that’s so different from what you usually wear; it’s not even because I’m a hopeless romantic and I felt so lonely in the sea of couples while a live band sings a ridiculous love song. It’s not because of that stupid makeshift romantic atmosphere that I got carried away.” Wooyoung takes a hesitant step closer to you, but you don’t back away— lost in the sea of emotions in his eyes.
“But from the very start, I’d already thought of you. I already wanted to spend every moment with you and it’s fucking ridiculous because I don’t want to just stand next to you, cheer you on like how best friends do. I want— I want to cheer you on, hug you, and kiss you, and shower you with all the love that I have for you but as somebody more because everyday, I think of you. Of course I do, I’m your best friend, but you’ve been crossing my mind so much these days that it’s driving me crazy— you’ve been staying in my mind like crazy as if it’s your home— and I tell you that I love you everyday but I don’t mean it jokingly or halfheartedly anymore, I don’t feel like you understand my I love yous the way I really, genuinely, sincerely, love you. Yes, it’s that deep, and I know I’m rambling and not making a lot of sense but I’m being as honest as I can, and I just really want to get this off of my chest because there’s no other way I can express it. If not for San, Choi fucking San, maybe I’d be rambling less because we’d either be awkward with each other, I’d be rejected or maybe you’d feel the same, but I’m not saying you should—”
“My god, Jung Wooyoung,” Wooyoung watches you rub your temples using your thumb and middle finger before letting your hand dangle back to your sides. A small quirk is visible at one corner of your lips as you snort at him, saying, “Did somebody ever tell you that you talk too much?”
Wooyoung winces slightly, left eye twitching before he licks his lips and looks around aimlessly. 
“You all do,” He shoves his hands inside his pockets, a hesitant look written across his face as he awkwardly meets your eyes again.
“Well then―” 
“Let me guess,” He sighs, shutting his eyes just as he nods his head in understanding. “I should shut up?”
“Yeah. You should shut up,” A pause, and with his eyes closed, he doesn’t see the grin on your lips that you try to bite back. “And just kiss me.”
Wooyoung’s head snaps up as he whispers a stunned, “What?” that makes you chuckle, and you shrug and sigh just as he looks at you expectantly.
“To cut the drama to the chase, I feel the same way, Woo.” Is how you explain it to him subtly, right before reaching over to punch his chest playfully as you say, “Do you even know how hard it is to get you out of my head—”
Wooyoung takes large steps towards you, ready to dive in to capture your lips into a kiss― just what he’s been a little too slow at doing a little while ago. But just as he’s cupping your jaw with his one hand, the other settled on your waist to pull you close—
“Wooyoung, what’s taking you so long? I want to ramble to you about my— Oh hey, y/n!”
San’s voice almost echoes in the open, and with how he sounds, he’s a little oblivious to what’s about to happen in front of him even when you and Wooyoung are pressed unusually close to each other. And at the sound of his voice— his second interruption for tonight— Wooyoung groans, turning his head to his friend and giving him a wide-eyed look of warning. 
But when San’s brows only raise as a response, Wooyoung decides to hold up a palm to him, telling him to stop and wait for a moment.
The poor stunned boy only becomes twice as stunned as soon as he sees Wooyoung lean in and capture your lips into a kiss, and you’re pretty sure he’s drowning in surprise when you begin to kiss Wooyoung back. As soon as your lips begin moving gently against his, Wooyoung grins into the kiss, and he retracts his hand after hearing San’s silence, knowing he’d successfully taken the hint. 
Little footsteps pad away— which must be San escaping the scene— and it’s either he gets to his cottage, traumatized that he shuts up about it or so shocked he’ll tell the others to come out and see what’s happening. But without much care about whatever San might do, Wooyoung lifts a hand to cup your jaw instead, tilting his head to kiss you again, the kiss deepening even in the midst of small laughter and clashing teeth and swollen lips.
You don’t know how long you’ve been kissing for, but you wouldn’t want to have it any other way. 
Wooyoung’s lips are like soft cushions that press ever-so-gently yet passionately against yours— way better than how you’d imagined it, that it makes you melt under his touch. He smiles into the kiss again, making a smile appear on your lips as well, and you laugh and kiss and then laugh again, until your noses are gently nuzzling against each other and your lips are hovering above each other’s mouths.
“Fuck, you really make me go crazy, do you know that?” Wooyoung mumbles against your lips, his eyes producing a faint glimmer of what anybody could only recognize as love. You slide your hands from the back of his neck, down to his shoulders, then to his chest, and you feel the terrible pounding of his heart atop his clothed chest. Chuckling, you sneak a soft kiss on his lips again just before pulling away slightly to place your forehead against his.
“Just one touch and I already know it’s true, Woo. If that's what you're worried about, just know that I'm crazy for you, too.” Cocking your head to the side, it's Wooyoung's turn to feel flustered. “Hard not to be when you're this sexy.”
“Oh you—”
Hongjoong's voice rips through the air. “Fuck inside your room, not out there, for goodness sake!”
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KIA'S NOTE: another repost from my old acc! i want to know what you think, lmk through my asks or through the tags! ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
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informalcrybaby · 2 months
Text
One Condition (Travis Kelce x Reader) P.2
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“I’m Travis by the way.” You could feel his warm breath as his low gravelly voice crested over your ear. He was so close, invading your space in the most exhilarating way. If you moved a fraction of an inch, your back would be pressed flush against him.
“Y/N,” You replied, trying desperately to keep your voice even.
“Well, Y/N,” He shifted slightly behind you, “I hope you have some kind of competitive spirit because I don’t like to lose, honey.”
You couldn’t stop your giggles as they fell from your lips. You grew up fighting for everything and anything you ever got. When it came to you, competitive was an understatement. You turned towards him, having to raise your chin significantly to meet his gaze.
“Try to keep up handsome,” You smiled a devilish smile as you spoke, “You look a bit too heavy to carry.”
His eyes blazed with a mixture of amusement and some other emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Whatever it was caused an increasing amount of heat to gather between your thighs and you squirmed slightly to soothe the ache it left behind.
“Stop flirting you two!” Murphy’s booming voice broke through the haze Travis created, “You’re up Y/N.”
“Game on,” Travis chuckled, his big hands reaching out to give you a gentle nudge forward, “Show me what you’ve got pretty girl.”
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The game was down to one final throw, and you needed a fucking bullseye to win. You had gone shot for shot with Travis the entire game. He cheered you on with every hit you landed on the board and goddamn if that wasn’t doing something to you.
“Come on honey,” He cheered, clapping his hands together, “You got this!”
“Choke! Choke!” Murphy mocked from your side jokingly, but she was shot down quickly by Travis.
“Hell no peanut gallery, my girl is a badass, she’s got this on lock!”
You swelled with pride at his praise and decided there was no way in hell that you were going to lose. You let the dart fly without hesitation and before you could even register that it hit dead center, your legs were swept out from underneath you.
Travis had his arms tightly around you, squeezing your back to his front. His warm, mahogany scent invaded all your senses as he held you close. He turned you to face the losers and you joined him in rubbing in your joint victory.
“Ya’ll are sore winners!” Murphy exclaimed, “But I’ll still buy your next round.”
She turned on her heel and dragged her partner back towards the rest of Travis’s group. You expected Travis to let go but he didn’t. He set you back on your feet but kept his arms firmly wrapped around your middle. His fingers trace lazy circles on your stomach. You could feel him through the layers of clothes in between you and a shiver rippled down your spine.
“How about we skip those victory drinks and get fresh air instead, badass?” he asked as his index finger skimmed a bit lower.
You shifted backward into him, rubbing your ass slightly against what you were sure was his growing erection. He groaned, pulling you impossibly closer, his lips falling to the shell of your ear and giving it a gentle kiss.
“I have to let Murphy know where I’m going in case you turn out to be some kind of sexy murderer.” You joke, trying to cool the intense burn in your core.
He lets go and you gasp as he gives you a gentle tap on the ass, nudging you forward.
“Meet you outside, I promise to leave my chainsaw in the truck.” His lust-filled voice drives you forward, and you can't help but latch onto the bait he's cast.
"Leave the chainsaw," You call over your shoulder, sending him a playful wink, "But I can be talked into handcuffs."
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i love love love what you did in kinktober and fluffcember with him, so 2 and 11 with harvey specter!
Send me a comfort prompt!
Ahh thank you so much, nonnie! I did something a liiiittle different with this one!
Prompts: Giving them a shoulder message when they won’t leave whatever they’re working on; stopping by their workplace on your way home late at night with the hunch that they’re still there
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Harvey glances at the time off-handedly, then does a double-take when he sees how late it is. He frowns, reaching out and taking hold of his phone and lifting it, eyeing the complete lack of notifications there. Harvey hums, eyes narrowing a touch before he stands. He smooths his jacket as he rounds into the hall, striding toward the bullpen.
The office is almost entirely dark and silent, but he sees a light on in one of the far cubicles.
--
You're so locked into the brief that you're working on. You've hit a good flow; the volume on your music is up so loud that you can hardly hear your own thoughts. That's why you nearly jump a foot in the air when someone's hands land on your shoulders. You whirl around, your earbuds falling out as you turn around in your seat.
Your panic melts to fond irritation at the sight of Harvey, his smile widening as his brows raise.
"Jesus," You laugh, settling back down in your seat and resting your hand over your pounding heart. "You scared the shit out of me."
"I gathered."
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I came to ask you the same thing." Harvey leans back against your desk, folding his arms across your chest. "You told me you'd text when you were heading out."
"Well, I'm still here, so."
"Do you have any idea what time it is?"
"I know exactly what time it is."
"Great. Pack up, let's go."
"I'm not done here."
"Wrap it up."
"I can't," You shake your head, turning back to your laptop and resuming your work. "Louis needs this at eight in the morning."
Harvey scoffs, rolling his eyes. You feel him shift beside you, straightening. You figure that that'll be it, that he'll leave without saying goodnight—
And then his hands settle on your shoulders again. You figure he'll kiss your cheek, tell you not to stay late...
But your eyelids flutter as he begins to gently massage your shoulders.
"Harvey," You warn softly, "Don't you dare."
"Don't I dare what?" Harvey murmurs, "I'm just helping you relax a little. God knows how long you've been hunched over your laptop."
"I'm not hunching. I have excellent posture."
"Sure you do, Quasimodo."
"Fuck off."
"Ooo," Harvey chuckles. You can feel him leaning in closer, lips brushing against your temple. "Big talk from a junior associate."
You fight back a shiver as your fingers flex over the keyboard. Then, you resume your typing.
"You gonna keep that up, Mr. Specter?"
"I might, if it means you leave faster."
"If anything, your shenanigans are slowing me down."
Harvey hums, thumbs sweeping over the base of your neck and pressing in slow, careful circles. You let your eyes slide shut for a moment, drawing your lip between your teeth. Damn, he's good.
"You sure you're set on staying here?" He adds.
You sigh heavily, nodding. "Positive."
After a moment, you feel Harvey straighten, murmuring, "Alright." He gives your shoulders one more squeeze before letting go.
"Get home safe," You offer dejectedly.
"I'm not going home."
"What?" You frown, whirling around to look at him. He tucks his hands into his pockets, strolling away.
"Text me what you want to eat. You're gonna need takeout," He calls over his shoulder. You can't help but grin, springing up and chasing after him. You grasp his sleeve, tugging to turn him before you dart in, giving him a tender kiss. You're certain that in another instance, he may recoil, but the office is otherwise dark and silent, and Harvey draws you in without hesitation.
You peck his lips once more, drawing back just a touch.
"You're a real softie, Mr. Specter," You murmur.
"How dare you. Get back to work," He teasingly orders, patting your hip and shooting you a wink before drawing away.
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throneofsapphics · 5 months
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https://www.tumblr.com/theparadoxart/730787672331829248 this one i believe. love that lorcan x reader one btw, very well written. feel like some lorcan writers write in a way that makes lorcan seem unappealing to me (no shade or whatever, most likely just a preference)
bad idea
Azriel x f!Reader
Summary: Azriel comes to you with a new job proposal. 
Word Count: ~3.8k
Warnings: suggestiveness, mentions of blood, mentions of drinking
A/N: ah thank you, he's a fun character to write! based on this request, thank you for sending it, sorry it took so long!
You sat down heavily on the steps. The year passed quickly in Cesere passed quickly. Just before the outbreak of the war against Hybern, and after the attack on the temple, you’d arrived. 
Rhys requested for you to help with the aftermath. You were honored by the request, and knew he’d sent you for a few different reasons. You could hold your own in a fight and had grown up in a temple. Not this one, specifically, but you’d spent your later childhood secluded with the Priestesses. 
You kicked your legs out before you, letting your back press into the stone wall, eyes closing as you breathed in the night air. Fresh and clean, the taint of blood and death had begun to dissipate. The months after the war weighed on everyone here. You’d stayed here throughout the duration, and after, protecting the small outpost and rebuilding. 
You opened your eyes to gaze out at the horizon. The sun was slowly setting, but clouds obscured the view. No pretty sunset tonight. Maybe tomorrow would be better. 
Dawn til dusk, everyday for a few years. Sometimes even longer. Exhaustion had quickly set in now that the fervor died down. Could you do this for a lifetime? You weren’t certain. Vacations didn’t exist in your world, not for you at least. It would be a cold day in hell before you admitted you needed a break - or help. 
A low chill overtook the area, and you leapt to your feet, hands palming the knife at your side as a shield slid over your skin and the door. A figure emerged from the corner, shadows dispersing to reveal a familiar form. Your lips curved into a smile. Azriel. 
The shield dropped, you’d recognize his scent anywhere. Night-chilled mist and cedar. His brows flicked, and you realized you were still gripping the knives. You shrugged, and lowered yourself back down to the steps, patting the spot next to you. 
A snort left him, but he crossed towards you in a few long strides. His legs spread, forearms propped on his thighs as he gazed at you. His stare was a brand, as if he saw through every layer and defense you’d built. He always had that way about him. 
You tilted your head to meet his gaze. His mouth curved at one corner. 
“Good to see you.” He spoke first. 
“Likewise.” A grin broke out on your face. Seeing an old friend was always nice. Mor had brought you to Velaris several centuries ago, and you’d quickly become friends with the rest of the Inner Circle, but you’d always been closer to Azriel. Well, you did spy for him for a brief period before you both figured out it wasn’t your best skill. 
“Why are you here?” You winced at your own words, as they came out a bit harsher than you meant for them to. Thankfully, he didn’t look offended. 
“Doing my rounds.” Rumors spread of him visiting, but somehow you’d always missed each other. 
“Not seeking out my company?” You teased him. 
His mouth tightened. Maybe he had been seeking you out. “Part of the job description.” 
You hummed, but went into a small report about the state of things here. Nothing to report, really. The new priestesses were adjusting, the wards you and Rhys built were still strong, supplies came in as needed, trading was slowly building back up again. 
“How are you?” He emphasized. You blinked. 
“Everything is well.” You’d just explained all of that. 
He huffed, and fixed you with a look. You, personally - not the state of things. 
“Fine.” You muttered, switching your gaze back to the horizon.
“Liar.” For now, you’d ignore that comment. 
“How is everything in Velaris?” You switched the subject, not very smoothly. His eyes narrowed slightly, telling you that conversation wasn’t over. 
“It’s fine.” His words were clipped, but his tone was a tad softer than usual. “I - we miss you.” 
“Really?” You drawled. 
“Yes. Really.” 
You leaned over and nudged him with your elbow, carefully avoiding his wings. “You’ve gone soft, shadowsinger.” 
“You need a break.” He wasn’t wasting any time, then. Were you that easy to read?
“No.” 
“Yes.” He countered. 
“I didn’t realize I answered you.” 
He let out an exasperated sigh. “I forgot how damned stubborn you are.” 
-
Azriel was impressed. You’d detected him within seconds of his arrival, and were as sharp as ever. Plus, you’d defended the outpost throughout the last few years. Resources had been stretched, but they’d placed you here - knowing you were both capable and willing to take it on. The best candidate for the job, but even he could see how it wore on you. He’d checked in with the Priestesses briefly, but you’d never been present. Maybe he should have sought you out sooner. Azriel shoved away the hint of shame creeping into him. 
A new idea had dawned on him nearly as soon as he saw you. They needed another trainer for the Valkyries, and you needed a change of scenery. It was an ideal situation, and they’d already started evaluating volunteers for a few Valkyrie-Priestesses to relocate out to some of the outposts. Roslin, Deirdre, and Ananke. He’d quickly reached out to Rhys during one of the pauses in your conversation, and gotten a resounding approval. 
“Have you heard of the Valkyrie’s?”
Silence filled the space, all noise seeming to disappear as you froze next to him. 
“My mother was a Valkyrie.” He barely caught your words, just a whisper over the wind. How had he not known that? That explains your natural talent. Accidental pregnancy? Did she hide you when war broke out? 
“Months before that war broke out, she sent me to a temple. I was ten.” You confirmed his suspicions. 
He cleared his throat, and began to explain the re-birth of the Valkyries. You listened intently, hanging on to every word like a lifeline, your eyes lighting up with each new word he spoke. He had to focus on getting the words out, not on the look in your eyes - the new life breathed into them, the anticipation he could sense building in you. Joy and sorrow. Something in his chest ached at the emotions freely rolling from you. At the old memories he was undoubtedly digging up. 
-
“We’re looking for another trainer.” He finished before you could get a word in. Your mouth parted, eyes widening. He was kidding, right? “I’m offering you the position.” 
“Offering or ordering?” You joked, trying to deflect the maelstrom of emotions rolling from you in uncontrollable waves. Your mother would be proud, would be overjoyed. “Either way I’m in.” You quickly added, not wanting him to think you were declining. 
His lips quirked up at the corners. “I would’ve dragged you back if I had to.” 
“I can’t leave until someone else,” you waved your hand at the building behind you - the Temple. 
“We have something set up.” If he says he does, you’d believe him. Azriel would never put Cesere in the hands of someone he or the Inner Circle couldn’t trust. 
“Fair enough.” 
He stood, holding out a hand for you. You frowned, but took it - letting him tug you to your feet. His hand lingered for a few seconds, scarred flesh rough against your skin. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, before he dropped your hand, taking a quick step back. “I’ll touch base tomorrow, and we can finalize arrangements.”
 Before you could reply, shadows had swarmed him again and he disappeared. Never one for words, you huffed a laugh but didn’t read into the situation further. You understood the other message behind his words - don’t tell anyone yet. 
Your mind filled with a thousand more things to worry about. If the switch happens, how would you transition back into life in Velaris? What could you do to help the new Valkyrie-Priestesses adjust? You rubbed your hands together, change was good. A new purpose, and now you had plans to put into place. Assuming everything works out. He wouldn’t get your hopes up like that. Hopefully. 
You didn’t need to guess what your mother would think - she would be overjoyed. Memories of your early childhood flooded into your mind. You’d been just months out from beginning official training when you were dropped off, your mother depositing you on the doorstep after a hushed conversation with the Head Priestess. You overheard her swearing a vow of secrecy to your mother. 
She embraced you, the lone tear on your cheek dripping down on her armor, glinting in the sunlight. 
“Be brave,” she whispered, pulling back to hold you by the shoulders. You straightened, and nodded to her. “Never forget I love you.” 
“I love you.” You replied, she squeezed your shoulder once before disappearing. She never made a promise to return, and dread had built in your stomach. A sixth sense told you this would be the last time you saw her, and you committed her picture to memory. Brave. You could be brave, for her. 
 You were surprised the shadowsinger didn’t know. Out of everyone, you’d suspected he would’ve sniffed your ‘secret’ out. There wasn’t a singular reason why you kept your mother’s identity a secret, more of a feeling that you should. The priestess swearing a vow of secrecy had altered something inside of you. Why had you told Azriel, after all of these centuries? And why hadn’t he questioned it further? 
Your head pounded, and you rubbed at your temples. The sky was dark, the full moon casting a soft glow over the streets. Bed, you needed to sleep. 
-
Two weeks later, you were unlocking the door to your old apartment. A sheen of dust covered every surface. The kettle was still on the stove where you left it. You really had left in a hurry. 
Three hours later, you were satisfied it was clean enough for now. Rummaging through your pantry, you found some old rice and dried beans - probably no good by now. It was late, past sundown. The food vendors were long gone and maybe you should’ve thought of this before your cleaning spree. 
You flinched as a knock pounded on the door. There’s only one person who could sneak through your wards like that. 
You swung the door open and Azriel stood there. He did cut an imposing figure, wings tucked in behind him - still wearing his leathers as usual, hazel eyes scanned the room behind you. Always on guard. He held a basket before him. It seemed so … domestic, for one of the greatest Illyrian Warriors to show up at your doorstep with a picnic basket. 
“Please tell me that’s food,” you stepped to the side to let him in, shutting the door softly behind him. The aroma of fresh bread, cheese, fruits, and different meats wafted through the room and you nearly moaned. He gave you a look, as if to say; isn’t that obvious? 
You glared at him, and he held the basket out in front of him as a peace offering. You fought the urge to lunge for it, and instead gently took it from his hands, his fingers brushing against yours. You ignored the bolt of electricity flooding through you, quickly turning to place it on the kitchen table. 
“Staying to eat?” You asked without looking back at him. Your cheeks were flushed - and you didn’t need him to see that. You unfolded the towel, revealing an assortment of food fit for at least four people. 
“Is that an invitation?” You felt the heat of his body behind you, hovering mere inches away. He leaned over you, snatching a grape. As he took a step back, you turned to lean your body against the table, propping your hands behind you. 
He tossed it in the air, catching it in his mouth. 
“That was a very Cassian move.” You commented, but reached for the same fruit and copied him. Your eyes closed as the sweet fruit popped in your mouth, a moan involuntarily leaving your lips. You’d have to find out where he got those from. 
You heard shifting, fabric shuffling together, and your eyes flew open. Azriel had a smirk on his face, but it was undercut by the light pink on his cheeks and the faintest whiff of arousal. Your own rose to meet it. This was bad, but a little flirting couldn’t hurt … right?
“Something wrong?” You gave him a sweet smile, reaching back for another fruit, closing your lips around it as you popped it inside your mouth. You watched him, as he watched your motions - eyes fixed on your lips. 
He recovered quickly. “I’ll get plates,” and strode past you. He headed to the correct cabinet on the first try. It took you longer than that to remember where you’d kept everything. 
“How did you know that?” 
A shadow brushed against your lower arm. Of course. It trailed up your body and brushed against the back of your neck, somewhere between comforting and sensual, before retreating back to him. It curled around his ears, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. What had it told him? That was probably too nosy of a question. 
-
Azriel’s self control was thoroughly tested by you. The soft moan that escaped, the way you stared at him as your lips wrapped around the fruit. He wanted to feel them against his, to see if they felt as soft as they looked. To taste the sweet fruit on your own tongue, would it be different? Would you let out another one of those sweet moans? What other kinds of noises could he draw from you?
Inappropriate. Very fucking inappropriate. You were friends, had been friends for centuries, and he’d be working closely with you. He had centuries of practice exercising self-control, he wouldn’t lose it around you. If there was anything between you, he would’ve noticed it centuries ago. Nothing, he could chalk this up to a … misunderstanding. Wrong, his shadows whispered in his ear, wrong. He was keenly aware of your gaze on his back as he grabbed two plates - mismatched and slightly chipped porcelain. Slowly, so damned slowly, he turned back around and started plating food. He couldn’t look at her, not yet. He prayed you didn’t look down and see him straining against his pants. At least he’d detected a slight shift in your scent as well. 
“Sit.” He told you, sliding the plate across the table. One elegant eyebrow arched at the command, but you listened. 
He blinked at you. You must be hungry if you’re not making some kind of snarky remark.
Azriel knew he should leave. Should stride out the door, send some sort of letter to tell you when to show up, leave his plate full, pretend none of this happened, but he didn’t. Instead, he schooled his features into a neutral mask, watching you inhale your food like you hadn’t eaten in days. 
It was several minutes before he realized he hadn’t eaten a bite, you laughed as your thumb wiped away a bit of food from the corner of your mouth, before your pink tongue darted out to capture the small morsel. You looked down at your now empty plate and frowned, hand starting to reach for the basket again. 
His lips curved into a smile, and he took your plate from you before you could, ignoring your squawk of protest. Instinct wanted him to fill it for you. The delighted grin on your face, and thanks from you satisfied a part of it. This time, he remembered to eat his own food. 
“I’ll come get you in the morning.” He said between bites. You paused, rolling a grape between your thumb and forefinger. Why had he brought those? 
“Where will we be going?”
“To train.” He deadpanned. 
Your teeth tugged at your bottom lip. Fuck. “You don’t feel the need to test me first?” 
“Do you want me to?” He abandoned his plate and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. 
You shrugged. “It’s what I would do.” 
“Are you saying you’re not up to it?” The words came out cooler than he meant for them to. “I know you are.” He added, a bit gentler. “I would’ve ‘tested’ you if I doubted.” 
The answer seemed to satisfy because you turned back to your food.
-
Sure, you were hungry - but at this point the food was a distraction from him. From his intoxicating presence. If you stared too long, you’d be trapped and end up doing something stupid. You didn’t miss the way his body had reacted, how he was avoiding looking at you for too long … 
Bad. Fucking. Idea. 
-
“You’re obvious.” Cassian elbowed him. His brother wasn’t wrong, his focus was on the female instructing some of the newer priestesses. Explaining balance, showing them how to sync their movements with their breaths. Objectively, he could say you were a good addition to their team. You had an easy way about you, a genuine smile, and enthusiasm that drew everyone in. Himself included. A week ago, he’d collected you for the first time - arriving two hours before training officially began so he and Cassian could go over their lesson plans with you. They’d decided to have you with the newest group of priestesses joining. 
He grunted as Cassian’s elbow hit his ribs, harder this time. 
“I’m observing.” He said through gritted teeth. Inconveniently, you twisted your head over your shoulder, winking at him before returning. Azriel shook his head as Cassian laughed, and re-focused on the priestesses now returning from a water break. He smoothly situated them as far away from you as possible. Out of sight, out of mind. If only it worked like that. 
A few hours later, you were speaking to Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie over by one of the water stations on the far side of the courtyard. Rhys strolled through the door, hands in his pockets. Azriel fought the jealousy creeping inside of him as the two of you exchanged words - too quiet for him to hear. You only shot him a small smile a second before Rhys winnowed you away to mother knows where. The three Valkyries started making their way over to him. 
“Did you need to eye-fuck all morning or should I shove the two of you in a closet?” Cassian drawled as the females came into earshot.  
He turned his head to face his friend. Did he already forget Azriel had to chaperone him and Cassian for months? 
He didn’t need to reply, because Emerie spoke directly to Cassian. “Now you know how we felt.” 
“It’s not like that.” Azriel protested. 
“Really?” Nesta let out an edged chuckle. He felt his hands fist defensively at his side, a reaction he thought was trained out of him centuries ago. 
“Yes.” The word was clipped, and he left. He needed to be gone before they’d push about your friendship. Push about things that are none of their business. Something everyone in this city seems to be good at. Maybe with you as the exception. Part of him wished you’d pushed further. 
This was destined to end horribly. Nothing good could come of getting involved with someone he had to work so closely with, had to spend so much time in close quarters. That’s what he told himself, at least. 
-
Azriel took his shirt off. To be fair, so did Cassian. But … sweat glistened on his skin, dropping down his chest and stomach. The whirled tattoos along his back were still there. You decided you need a drink - preferably a large and strong one. You’d drink Absinthe now if you had to, but could settle for water. 
You didn’t know if he was avoiding you. For the first week, he’d picked you up each morning and dropped you off after. But, now Rhys or Cassian would take you back down. Unless you ended up tagging along to the library with some of the priestesses. 
You didn’t realize the Courtyard had cleared around you. This was the first time the two of you had been alone together in three weeks. Just grab your things and leave, you told yourself. Maybe you could take those 10,000 stairs, or head down into the library. You could probably find your way through the virtual labyrinth of stairs and corridors leading down. 
You headed towards the door that would lead you through the mountain, and hissed as your fingertips came in contact with a shield. You sucked them into your mouth, soothing the small burning sensation. 
Azriel cursed audibly behind you. You slowly turned to face him. 
“Rhys did this,” he admitted. You didn’t reply, but let your magic probe at the shields. Until the High Lord decided you could leave, the two of you were stuck here. 
“Any idea why?” You finally asked to break the awkward tension. 
“No.” He ran a hand through his hair, and made his way over to one of the benches. He tapped the spot next to him, just like you had to him when he found you in Cesere. Your heart thundered with each step closer, and you left a few feet or so of space between the two of you. An appropriate amount of space. 
Azriel seemed deep in thought, his eyes fixed right ahead of you, leaning forward so his forearms were propped on his thighs. Unashamedly, you studied his profile. The sharp cut of his jawline, sun glinting off his hazel eyes, his naked torso, the flexed muscles of his thighs. 
“Like what you see?” He asked without looking at you. 
“Yes.” You spoke without thinking. Your attention diverted, now gazing right ahead of you. Normally, this would be the time for you to make a cowards exit. But, Rhys had gone ahead and fucked that up that option for you. 
Several moments passed before he spoke again. “Let me take you on a date.” 
It took you a few breaths to recover. “Ask nicely and I’ll consider.” 
That caught his attention, and you felt him studying you this time. Your pulse fluttered as you turned to meet his gaze. “Please,” he said in a mocking tone, and a little smile crept onto your lips. 
You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to think about it. “Fine,” you sighed - as if it was a big ordeal. The blush on your cheeks betrayed you. But, as you voiced your agreement - the shield dropped. That was his goal.  
You stood, stretching your arms above you to get some of the tension out of your back. Currently, you had a nosy High Lord to track down and have some choice words with. Azriel stood with you. You had a feeling he was about to do the same thing. 
Maybe one day you’d thank Rhys. For now, you wanted to make him regret his existence for forcing your hand.
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throwingmetothelions · 6 months
Text
Cam Boy HC - Bad Omens
So I got a request from an anon about like … phone sex or virtual sex or something and it was lowkey stumping me. Then I thought about cam boys. Then I think it was @badhedonist that said something about cam boys and that confirmed that I needed to give y’all my headcanons about this. Auntie V doesn’t work for a week so prepare to be sick of me. TW: mentions of sex work, voyeurism, exhibitionism. WE SUPPORT SEX WORKERS IN THIS HOUSE DONT START WITH ME.
Noah (StopTheFuckingCar) - He started cam work out of what he saw as a necessity. He was 20 when his girlfriend at the time suggested it.
“It’s just like … there’s a market for the tattoos and the long hair and shit. You pretend like the camera isn’t on. Ignore the chat or whatever … but making quick money from jerking off can’t hurt, ya know? Make some gas money for tour,” she told him as she pulled up the site. She mumbled something about sharing the link around her circle, something about bitches always wanting her man and having the opportunity.
Quick money for tour.
Just a few times.
He made the username … some old band lyric that came to mind. Made sure his tattooed skin and the ends of his hair were visible in the camera. Black ink scattered over a moonlight-pale belly. He shook like a goddamn leaf the first time he started the show.
Ignore the chat. Ignore the camera.
I think Noah muted it all. Didn’t want to hear the clink and cling of people sending money, or liking it. Didn’t want to think that people were watching him.
The shit ya do for a handful of Slim Jim’s and some fucking apple juice, man.
His nervously twitching hand wrapped around the base of his dick and squeezed around. Hard. His neck rolled and Noah’s head fell back as he felt the blood flow.
Do what you normally do.
Noah reached over himself with his right hand and grabbed the bottle of “Lavender Champagne” lotion his girl kept on the bedside. He’d never really needed lube or lotion before as leaning his head down and spitting on his cock was, well, acceptable to him … but maybe not to one of the twenty-seven people watching. The cold lotion ripped a hiss from his clenched teeth, but his head fell right back into its previous position as the slick slide of his fist passed over the head.
Holy fuck.
Noah couldn’t hold the tiny gasping moans that left his open mouth. The heinously obscene sound of his cock being worked over made the blood rush to the tips of his ears. His heartbeat was present in his dick as he jerked himself faster and tightened that grip at the end of each stroke.
“Oooo shit,” it’s high pitched and it comes with a quick roll of his hips.
At this point, he really was entirely lost in the self-pleasure. The cam didn’t exist. Hell, the laptop could’ve flown off the bed and he wouldn’t have known because the way his toes were curling and his ass was grinding into the mattress before arching off again? Pure pandemonium in his melting brain.
“I’m so goddamn close,” he whimpers as he almost reflexively closes his legs at the intensity. He hasn’t jacked off like this since he was a fuckin’ teenager, and maybe that isn’t even true. He definitely hadn’t hit the point where anyone could walk in and see and he’d make eye contact and continue in a long time. Seriously. It could’ve been Jesus and every single disciple he had. All nine or whatever, Noah thinks.
“Can I - can I cum? I really need to fucking cum,” he whines and thrashes his head around on the pillow, and who he’s talking to? Not even he knows that. Noah might bite his lip until it bleeds if he doesn’t bust soon. His left hand shoots out from under the blanket to grip on to as much of the bed as he can grab. “I’ve gotta … oh … uh,” his moans get progressively louder as he cums so hard that the ropes hit him on his fucking neck. His eyes flutter back open and the bright light of the still rolling screen is a violent reminder.
Frantic and unable tell what is lotion and what is semen, Noah hits a key and stops the camera abruptly.
74 viewers. A full chat log. 4 private messages. A shit load of coins or some shit - he never checked how the currency works.
MommyAlicia: I like the way you beg pretty baby xx
Throwitallaway: Do you take requests?? I’ve never cum so fast.
XXXXTinkerbell: I’ll be following you bc this was fucking hottt
Noah catches his breath, blinks a few times, and he cannot hide the small upturn in the corner of his mouth.
Nicholas (OdachiDaddy) - Nick wasn’t new to this. He’d been using cam work as a means of play for about a year now. It all started as something he jumped in on once with Noah.
“Emo Twink Boyfriends Jack Off In The Living Room Before Pizza Guy Comes Over” was a fucking hit, and Nicholas had never made 150 bucks that fast.
He started his own shit. Quick nickname. Tagged Noah for the views.
See, Nicholas was always good at math. He knew that slowly tugging on his leaking cock plus a little dirty talk specifically catered to those housewives that weren’t getting enough from their men meant dollars (and lube) in his hand.
“If you were here I’d let you lick all of this up,” he muses as he shows the camera a bead of precum he’s swiped off the tip. He brought his thumb to his bottom lip before dragging it across and moaning under his breath.
The money counter dinged away.
He ran his tattooed fingers over his hip and continued to twist his wrist over the head as he adjusted himself into a sitting position.
CherryBomb14: God ur so hot I want you to put a baby in meee
His mind works quick. Her profile picture shows that she’s older … he takes a risk.
“Again? Make you a mom again? Come sit on this cock and we can discuss details,” he chuckles as he bites his lower lip and nods his head back a little.
The money counter clinks so many times he can’t count it. Bingo.
Not that he was ever this bold with real life partners, not always. He’s been a creative all his life though. Nick knew what they wanted to hear, and he let it flow while he put on a show for them.
“If you’re watching alone feel free to - fuck. Feel free to play along. I know you need to cum. I know work was hard. Just … you can reach down and rub on that clit a little? For me?,” he strokes his cock as he makes direct eye contact with the camera. “I know you’ll do it for me because I know you’re soaked. Go ahead and fucking check sweetheart,” he groans as he feels the pool of heat building in his gut.
Nobody needed to know about the unnecessarily long hours spent scrolling through porn, reading Reddit posts, and letting his own filthy mindbox scroll away that it took to curate the dirty mouth that got him in the top 5% of male performers. Hell … whatever got him there, right?
Nicholas pauses to spit in his hand before continuing. As much as he did this for his loyal viewers, anyone in his position would be .9 seconds away from blowing a load all over themselves if they fucked their fist the way he did.
“It’s … it doesn’t feel like your pussy. I want your pussy,” he licks over his bottom lip as his head falls back and his mouth parts with a silent scream.
Feeling his end near he does what he’s known for … call it a finishing move or some shit. “I’m gonna give you my cum - where do you want it, huh? Can I fill it up? I’m gonna fill it up,” he cums all over his hand with a loud grunt and a harsh snap of his hips. He likes to ride it out by ghosting his fingertips along his shaft … plays with his cum a little, much to the enjoyment of the 322 viewers he has.
“Ugh. That was a good one … holy shit,” he lets out an exasperated sigh as he swipes at his forehead with his clean hand. “Alright, y’all know the speech. Meet me back here on uhm … meet back on Wednesday at 7 pm Pacific and we’ll help each other out again, hmm? Night night,” he smiles and turns the camera off before tucking himself away.
Nicholas slowly got up from the couch and went to go take a shower with thoughts of next week’s theme bouncing around in his skull.
Folio (RideItLikeYouStoleIt) - He got introduced to the sex work world through Nicholas and Noah when he forced them to explain why they needed him to dress up like a Pizza Hut worker, knock on the door of Noah’s house and ask them if they ordered the extra-large meat lovers with stuffed crust.
He looked at them like they’d lost their goddamn marbles, but he couldn’t help but think about how they made 300 bucks in 15 minutes and all they did was jerk off (which Folio was quite good at) for a handful of people.
See, Folio has a specific niche. A role he’s taken on. His brand, if you will.
There’s a religious following of about 400 viewers that pay to watch him do cum tributes. It’s all very structured. The money hits his account by the end of the day on Thursday, and on Friday morning he prints the pictures that his paying viewers sent in. Sometimes it’s just a face, sometimes it’s their ass cheeks spread wide and inviting for him, and sometimes it’s their pussies that they’re parting open with two fingers.
“I’d pound away at this cunt until its fucking raw, I swear to god,” he grunts as he quickly works his hand over his dick. “I wish you could sit this pretty pussy on my face babe,” he groans as he teases the tip.
The coins clank away as the camera rolls. The view is his nipples down and he’s standing up while holding the photo in his left hand. His chin pins his shirt up so the viewers get a clear shot of the eagle he has tattooed across his heaving chest.
“Is this what you wanted? I’ve been saving all this cum for you - shit. I wanna paint that ass with it,” he moans as he feels the warmth rise up his torso.
Folio had a fascination with cum tributes before he even knew what they were. He was a simple man. Flipping through a motorcycle mag and seeing a girl sitting on a bike was enough for that night to end with a few pages you couldn’t turn anymore. If he could profit off of something he was already accustomed to … why the fuck not?
Throwaway395: I might have to send one next week omg
StopTheFuckingCar: You should! He can cum more than once ;)
If he wasn’t so fucking close to the edge Nick might have laughed at Noah because yeah. The weed does that to him. That’s part of why he decided to capitalize on his abilities.
“God I’m gonna cum so fucking hard,” he grunts as the money counter chimes again. And with a loud groan that’s been ripped from his lungs, he does. He paints the perfect picture. Gets the paper all messy and cum covered … rubs it in with the tip of his dick.
“Thank you so much for sending that in,” he smiles as he holds it up to the camera. He shows off his work for a second, “alright. Now up next we haaaave … Ms.KatieLove. I’m gonna grab some water and we’ll get into it,” he chuckles as he blows a kiss at the camera.
Jolly (TheDoorsUnlocked) - Oh Jolly. Jolly didn’t get introduced to this by any of the boys. His own dark perverse fantasies brought him in front of his monitor three nights a week.
Jolly doesn’t touch himself unless it’s on cam. That’s bible.
The thrill of getting caught was one that hung over him for years. Something about touring and being close to others. Something about having to jack off with an almost fully dry hand to keep the sounds down, but secretly hoping that the accidental moans would send someone knocking on the venue’s broom closet door.
He makes a ritual of it. He greets his fans with a soft and warm voice. Jolly pans over to the window and opens the curtains up, and then pans back around to show them that his bedroom door is unlocked. He sits in his computer chair and he pulls his cock free from his sweatpants.
“So,” he says as he strokes himself in long languid succession, “my roommates have a few people over and I was thinking about like,” he bites his lower lip in thought. “I was thinking like what if someone gave them bad directions to the bathroom and they walked up here and just … fuck that feels nice - they just walked in on me getting off like this,” he tilts his head to the side as his jaw clicks.
“What if you were here? And what if we were fucking really slow under the covers? If they walked in would you make me stop, or could I grind against that pussy while they ask me what the WiFi password is,” Jolly can’t help but apply extra pressure when he rhythmically squeezes the head of his dick at the thought.
Living in a house full of sex workers really meant that he could text them the exact time that he needed them to knock on the door, or the exact time he wanted one of them to shout and ask if he was ready to go to the grocery store yet. His fans loved those brief oh shit moments.
SasukesWifey: what if someone is leaving the party and they look up into your window? I would run right back inside ugh
“Don’t tease me like that,” he hisses as his dick spills a little more precum. Of course Jolly has tint on his windows and no one can see in, but they didn’t need to know that. “I need to cum but I gotta stay quiet. Oh my god,” he breathes out.
OdachiDaddy: FUCKIN’ CAUGHT. IM COMING UP UPSTAIRS DAWG. YOU SAID YOU WERE WORKING ON A SONG.
The coins start flowing like lava.
Jollys eyes blow wide as his pace quickens. Nicholas threatening to blow the door wide open was all it took for him to cum all over his stomach.
“Shit shit shit,” he groaned out as he squeezed the last drops of cum from his dick.
Just as the money counter stops furiously clinking, Jolly shoves himself back into his pants (and curses quietly because he knows that cumstain will show straight through) and sits back as the door opens up.
“Whaaaatcha doin,” Nicholas asks in a singsong voice.
Firefly_21: oooo who is he 👀
Jolly mouths a solid “shut up,” at the camera before raising his eyebrows.
He hangs his head in his hands and laughs as a smile breaks out over his reddened cheeks.
“Well … stand up bro. We got burgers down there. Come on … get up,” Nicholas yanks on his hand with a wicked smirk as Jolly clicks out of the session.
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thatwriterchick222 · 1 month
Text
slap you silly (john price x f/reader)
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summary: literally just a short one shot with pussy slapping teehee
a/n: another draft i had lying around that i never posted... i'm still blushing and giggling over it tbh
NSFW under the cut ;))))
--------------
“Look at the mess you’ve made, my love.” Price pulled his fingers out of your dripping cunt, his eyes intently watching as he smeared your come around. You trembled beneath him, his thumb still rubbing your clit as you came down from a powerful orgasm.
Lifting his hand from your cunt, a string of your slick connected the two of you for a moment, and you couldn’t help but stare, your mouth agape and your breaths still heavy.
Suddenly, and without warning, Price’s hand came down and gave your pussy a quick slap, sending a mixture of pleasure and pain jolting through your body. You jumped, a surprised yelp escaping your throat. He looked up at you, letting his hand gently rub you up and down.
“Like that?” He tilted his head, his forefinger and middle finger lightly drawing circles on your clit for a moment. He looked infuriatingly cocky, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
You nodded, redness creeping up your neck.
Sure enough, he pulled his hand away before landing another slap on your aching cunt, and this time, the sound of your wetness was apparent. Your face became even redder than it had been, the slick sounds emanating from your body being one of the most arousing things about it. Price rubbed you again, the stinging pain from the slap subsiding quickly.
He quickly smacked you again, his palm lingering on your clit as you jumped under him, your lips parted as you simply let him do whatever he pleased.
“Bloody hell…” Price watched your face contort in both surprise and pleasure, taking in the way your body reacted to his hands, your hips bucking as he stroked you, or your tits bouncing as he slapped you once again.
The strange concoction between the stinging pain and searing pleasure was oddly addictive, each harsh slap of his hand against your cunt making you squeeze your thighs around his forearm, yet bucking your hips for more.
You could feel yourself working up to another orgasm, strangely on edge despite him barely touching you how he normally did. It was as if he were teasing you, after slapping you hard he let himself hit a little lighter repeatedly, as if he were patting you on the back.
“John…” You ground your hips into his hand as he gently stroked you, soothing the pain that rippled through you. Your cunt burned, and you assumed it was probably redder than it ever had been, and wetter than it ever had been. Sharp breaths and pathetic whimpers were the only sounds you could get out, your brain practically mush as he began to stroke your clit once more.
“Use your words, darling.” He said, his eyes staring you down, knowing damn well that you were already close to your second orgasm.
If you were being honest, you didn’t have words, for you were too flustered, your heart pounding in your ears and your body absolutely on fire. You just wanted him to keep touching you, and you would do about anything to keep his hand there.
“Don’t– stop.” Were the only words you managed to get out, but you should’ve held back because you knew Price was in the mood to be mean. He slowed his movements on your clit, and then pulled away, landing another quick slap against your pussy. You bit down on your lip, hard, to stop the moan from coming out, to prevent yourself from giving the satisfaction that you enjoyed this.
His finger began slowly running up your slit, gathering the slick that was dripping down. You let your head fall back against the pillow, his feather-light touch a welcome change to distract you from how numb your lips were.
And then he slowly began to push his thick middle finger inside you, and you practically melted around him at the delightful stretch. It went in easily because of how wet you were, and he quickly decided to add another finger, slowly pumping them in and out. You were already so on edge due to the painfully slow teasing, and you instantly ground your hips down desperately on his fingers, reveling in the way his upwardly curved palm brushed against your clit. Your eyes screwed shut, your orgasm approaching faster than you thought it would.
You were startled out of your trance as Price reached up and landed a quick– yet gentle– slap on your cheek, along with a quick and low whistle to grab your attention.
“Hey, eyes on me, angel.”
Fucking Christ.
It wasn’t long before you were letting go around his fingers, each quick thrust of them against your g-spot coaxing more and more out of you, your hands scrambling for purchase on the bedsheets. Your body shook as waves of burning pleasure coursed through you, and as you were beginning to calm down, your breathy and shaky gasps dissipating, he pulled his fingers out and slapped your tired aching pussy one last time.
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Text
First Dance
Announcements: I have a requests box open on my profile! (I think... I’m still working on how tumblr works). I write for MHA, Harry Potter, Attack on Titan and Naruto so feel free to send me some requests!! 
Summary: You’ve known Bakugou since your UA days but at the alumni dance things feel a little different between you two. Flashbacks included. Bakugou pov mostly. 
Warnings: Fluff! Fem reader. Pining. 
WORDCOUNT: 2254
***
Bakugo tried to loosen his tie, it was hot in the dance hall. It was good to see Class 1A back together again, even if he would never admit it. Class 1B on the other hand... damn he wanted to strangle that pompous straw haired copy cat Monoma. He took a deep breath and focused back on the group he was talking to. 
Kirishima was talking animatedly to Shoji, one arm around Mina. They took a while to get together after graduation but Bakugo was glad it happened, he was tired of hearing Kirishima pine after her. Half and Half was busy talking to invisichick Hagakure and Sero. Denki was scheming in a corner with Mineta and slowly Bakugo’s gaze glided around the circle, over Jirou and right onto you. He felt a tightness in his chest and for some reason the room felt warmer. 
Damn it. He thought he was over this stupid crush. It had been three years since graduation and he hadn’t seen you at all since you just came back from doing work overseas. He hadn’t gotten the chance to speak to you since your return. He had kept putting it off. His eyes lingered on you, your smile and that stupid dress you were wearing. 
Although you were deep in conversation with your old friend Jirou, you couldn’t help but feel someone’s gaze on you. Your eyes slide from Jirou’s face, over her shoulder and you make eye contact with Bakugo. In the time you had been gone, you heard that he had been climbing the charts and was now the #2 hero, right behind Midoriya. You had never really gotten over your high school crush on Bakugo and you received notifications on your phone anytime a news story came out with his name on it. You felt your cheeks turn red under his gaze and quickly turned your attention back to Jirou. 
“Something on your mind?” Bakugo had been so focused on you that he hadn’t noticed Kirishima walk right up to him and started looking back and forth between Bakugo and you. 
“FUCK! Shitty hair! You can’t just walk up unannounced. I could have blown you to bits...” 
“C’mon man! Just go talk to her.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” 
“Don’t be like that Bakugo... remember the last time we were at something like this?” 
“No.” 
He said no but Bakugo had been beating himself up for three years over it. 
---
It was the graduation dance. The last night before everyone started going their own separate ways. Bakugo had plans to go to Tokyo and start his own hero agency right away. You on the other hand had plans to work overseas and “pay back” in a sense, the foreign powers that helped Japan during its struggle with All For One. You wouldn’t be gone forever, just three years, however there was a certain someone you were hoping would try to make you stay. If he had asked, you would have stayed. 
The party had lasted forever. You had danced all night until you had to take your shoes off because your feet were so sore. The girls kept you busy all night with the usual scheming, gossip, photos, bathroom trips and of course the group dancing. You were gonna miss these girls. You couldn’t think about it or you would start crying. Bakugo on the other hand was acting strangely tonight. He kept walking close to you, acting like he had something to say but then you would make eye contact and he would frown and walk away. You wondered if you had done something to piss him off... Well whatever it was, you might never know. Your flight left in two hours and your ride to the airport was on its way. You heard a slow song start and instead of awkwardly waiting around for someone to ask you to dance, you decided to slip out of the dance and wait for your ride. You might not be able to handle all of the goodbyes anyways. 
At some point in the night Bakugo couldn’t find you. He had been working up the courage to ask you to slow dance all night. He requested three slow songs already. For the first one he just couldn’t get the words out and ended up telling you that you had something on your face. The second time that stupid bird asked you to dance and Bakugo just had to sit and watch from the side of the dance hall. He finally convinced the DJ to give him one more slow song and now you were nowhere to be found. Bakugo was scanning the room looking for you and just before he could give up, Ochako walked right up to him and asked him to dance. He reluctantly accepted. 
“It’s going to be so weird not seeing everyone together anymore. I don’t think I’m ready.” Ochako was trying to make small talk but Bakugo could barely hear her. He was focused on finding you out in the crowd.
“I’m surprised you didn’t ask Y/N to dance...” Ochako said slyly. 
“Huh??” Bakugo’s attention snapped back down to her. 
“I mean, you like her right? Everyone says you like her.” 
“Tchh.” Bakugo looked away but his ears turned red. He didn’t know how everyone knew but he was gonna kill Shitty Hair if he found out he was the leak. 
“She left you know.” 
“What?” Again his attention was 100% on Ochako. 
“She slipped out when the song started. She’s probably on the way to the airport soon.” 
“Already?” Bakugo felt the blood drain out of his face. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t asked you to dance yet. He hadn’t told you that you looked pretty in your dress, he hadn’t asked you to walk through the gardens with him, he hadn’t had the opportunity to finally confess to you... to maybe kiss you. 
“Go get her.” Ochako had stopped dancing. 
Bakugo looked down at her a little stunned. 
“Go! Go get your girl Dynamight!” She said it louder and caught the attention of others. Kirishima stopped dancing with Mina and looked over to Bakugo. 
“WELL? Go after her!” Mina shouted. 
“C’mon think like a man!” Kirishima added. 
“Ooh! It would be so romantic!” Momo said enthusiastically. 
“SHUT IT!” Bakugo yelled but he was already running out of the doors. 
The brisk night air hit his face as he catapulted himself out of the dance hall and headed towards the front gates.  
“Damnit! This is taking too long!” 
Bakugo stripped off his jacket and tie and threw them behind him onto the dirt path. He rolled up his sleeves and used his quirk to catapult himself into the air. He blasted his way to the front gates in less than two minutes and just in time. 
You were about to get into the car. You had the passenger door open when Bakugo fell out of the sky and skidded to a stop right at the UA gates. His hair was disheveled and he was wiping his hands on his pants. Your heart skipped a beat. 
“Y/N!” 
“Bakugo?” 
Reality caught up to Bakugo in that moment. He didn’t know what to say... “Come back and dance with me.”?? That would be ridiculous. 
“Uhh... I... are you... leaving?” He managed to force out some words, some question, even if that question had a million other questions behind it. 
“Yeah...” You gave him a confused look. Wasn’t it obvious? 
“Oh. Off to the States right away then?” 
“My flight leaves in like two hours.” 
“Right. Well, I just wanted to say...” Bakugo was at war with himself. He had to say he was afraid. He had faced villains on very power level but somehow this was more terrifying then every one of those encounters combined. He wanted to say so many things, 
“I’ve loved you ever since I met you! I wanted to dance with you! Your dress looks amazing! I’ve admired you as a student as a hero but mostly as a person. You’re beautiful inside and out! You were the first to be kind to me and I want to protect your kindness for the rest of my life! AND MOST OF ALL I DON’T WANT YOU TO LEAVE!!” 
But Bakugo didn’t say any of those things. 
“You wanted to say...?” You asked. Bakugo had stopped in the middle of his sentence and was giving you a wide eyed look. 
“Yeah I just wanted to say... good luck.” He opened his mouth again as though to add on, but he snapped it shut again. 
“Oh...well...” You can’t say you weren’t disappointed. But it was always a naïve hope that Bakugo might share your feelings. You quickly smiled to cover your disappointment. 
Bakugo watched as you smiled and ran towards him throwing your arms around his neck. He felt the breath leave his body and his arms clamped around your waist and he buried his face in your shoulder. 
“Thank you Bakugo.” and with that you were leaving his arms, getting into the car and slipping away. 
---
Bakugo had spent the last three years replaying everything that went wrong that night. He had tried to move on, he went on so many dates in the first year that he lost count. But he never could make it to the second date. He tried focusing on his career and he rose pretty quickly after he gave up on dating. But it was hard, playing wingman for Kirishima and Kaminari, being a groomsman at Izuku and Ochako’s wedding and watching you post about your foreign adventures, only wishing he could be there with you. It made his blood boil thinking about all the people you could be meeting who might catch your interest. All because he was too afraid to make a move that night. 
“You do.” Bakugo’s attention snapped back to the present as Kirishima said this. Bakugo merely scoffed. 
“I know you remember Bakugo. You got so wasted afterwards and all you could do was whine about how you let her go. Actually... it’s the only thing you talk about after you get drunk...” 
“Shut up or I’ll shut you up Red.” Bakugo warned. 
“Alright... But I’m gonna ask the DJ for a slow song and if you don’t ask her to dance I’m gonna tell everyone about that time two years ago you fought that laughing gas villain and-” Kirishima couldn’t finish his sentence because he had to dodge Bakugo’s oncoming blow and run to the DJ’s table before Bakugo could catch him.
Damnit. Bakugo watched as Kirishima talked animatedly to the DJ and pointed to his phone. The music started playing moments later. Kirishima was right though. Tonight he wouldn’t mess up and let you slip away again. He turned and found you still talking to Jirou, right where he left you. He strode over to you, blatantly interrupting your conversation and held out his hand. 
“Dance with me.” 
You looked up at him with a look of shock and he realized he still had no sense of tact even after all these years. Your shock faded into a grin and he felt relief flood his body. 
“Alright.” You took his hand and he pulled you in and slid his other arm around your waist. You began to sway to the music and everything else seemed to fade away. 
“How was your time away?” Bakugo asked his head tilting down. 
“It was amazing! Oh you would have loved it! There was so many things to see, so many landmarks and museums! I learned so much! Oh and I met a lot of people too!” Your face lit up as you spoke. 
“Oh really?” Bakugo felt his heart drop at that last part. 
“Yeah! I wished- I mean I wish you were there to see it.” 
“Hah, maybe next time princess...”
“Princess? Are you saying I look like a princess?” 
Bakugo turned red. 
“You wish y/n.” 
“Oh come on, is it so hard to say I look good? I put some effort in you know.” 
“Tchh..” 
You were both silent. You didn’t know what to say next. Maybe you flirted a little too much with him. You were just so excited to see him again, you couldn’t help it! 
“You don’t look good.” 
“What?!” 
“You look great.” Bakugo said blushing and avoiding eye contact. You leaned up so your lips were close to his ear. 
“You look pretty great yourself.” 
Bakugo couldn’t help it. A shiver went down his body and he could feel his face turn as red as a tomato. He stopped dancing. He pulled back and looked at you. 
“Y/n...” 
Then he leaned down, his hand cupping your face and he gazed into your eyes as if asking for permission. Permission which you gave. Suddenly his lips were on yours and he was kissing you. He was kissing you like he was drinking up your soul, pulling your face up into his, his lips surprisingly tender. He handled you like you were precious. It was nothing like how you imagined kissing Bakugo would be but it was amazing. You broke off the kiss when you started hearing the cheers. 
“Man we’ve been waiting forever for you guys to do that!” Sero yelled across all the cheering. 
Bakugo didn’t even care. He just grinned down at you. 
“You’re telling me Soy Sauce...” Bakugo said but only loud enough for you to hear. 
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shionancientsblog · 5 months
Note
Size: Large
Drink: Witches Brew
Flavor: Ghost Punch
Dessert: Unholy Red Velvet Bites
(If possible, sub reader, please) 🫶🏾
Sorry for the long wait, here's your order anon and Happy Halloween 🎃
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“Well, well, what do we have here?” you heard a low, soothing voice coming from the blanket of smoke.
You told yourself that there was nothing wrong with denying the words of the pastor, your parents and the entire community of religious bigots in your small town. It had been instilled in you – repeated until exhaustion, that the devil lived in the heart of every man and you, a young nun waiting for the vow, believed it very little. Demons don't exist, after all, they are just an invention created by man's fear. Yet the muscular, slender – and decidedly scantily clad – figure left little room for doubt.
His large emerald eyes, vibrant like the fire of the underworld, and the large black horns that emerged from the green curls were palpable proof. This was a demon of flesh and blood and a devilishly attractive smile.
“A young nun, huh?”. That voice brought you out of your thoughts, bending down to your height and studying the rosary hanging on your chest. “What leads a modest servant of the Lord to summon a demon?”.
You remained there, kneeling on the floor of your little room, looking at him like a pillar of salt. A giggle shook his broad shoulders, “Oh, don't look at me like that, little lamb. You'll end up wasting me.”
“Are you…a demon? A real demon?” You asked, a mixture of surprised and hesitant. “I'm certainly no angel, little lamb. Although, I must admit, I would love to have a nice pair of white wings.”
So, you had established that demons were real creatures, now the most pressing question was: how to send him back?
“But enough about me, answer the question I asked you, little lamb. Why did you summon me?” he asked you. His piercing green eyes studied you curiously, every inch of well-covered skin you had.
“Simple curiosity. I always thought that Satan and his demons were just a bogeyman for the gullible and I wanted to test my theory.” you answered truthfully, “Now that I know demons are real…you can return from whatever circle of hell you came from.”
A loud laugh shook the four walls of your room. “You're hilarious, little lamb! You humans are so ridiculously innocent that it makes me laugh every time!” he teased you. 
Once he had calmed down his fits of convulsive laughter he tried to explain the situation to you, as if he were talking to an ignorant child. “You see, little lamb, this is how it works: you evoked me, with your pretty little circle of salt and your cheap ritual candles, but to ensure that I go back to tormenting humans without faith or common sense, you must give me something of value in return. Very simple, right?”.
Simple indeed.
“Okay then, what do you want in return?” you asked. The smile he gave you was anything but friendly. It was the look of a predator targeting an innocent gazelle in the tall grass. “Oh, a simple little thing, really. I certainly won't ask for your soul, I wouldn't know what to do with it, but...” he bent down to look you straight in the eyes, his smile widened, “...your virginity will do just fine.”
The red of shame inflamed your face. “My...Why that one?!”. With a simple yet sensual gesture, he moved a lock of hair behind your ear. “Because, since the break of dawn, the devil exists to tempt and man to be tempted.” he said, caressing your cheek, “But I will tell you a secret: we demons, in return, are tempted by the tender and innocent flesh of you little lambs. It makes us…addicted, possessing you, depriving you of that precious innocence…”. 
He leaned close to your ear, sighing lewdly, “To fuck you so hard that your perverted moans will reach the ears of your Almighty Lord. It's satisfying to see him angry at the loss of a pure soul, you know?”.
Before you could say anything else his lips were on yours, depriving you of the first affectionate gesture between lovers. It was a kiss so sweet and delicate that it almost slipped your mind that the author of the butterflies in your stomach was nothing less than a servant from the underworld. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, before you could even realize it he had already lifted you several feet off the ground. His lips feverishly traced the line of your jaw, testing the skin of your neck – your silent moans caressing his ears like the finest of melodies.
His hands, meanwhile, caressed your back, his sharp nails left shivers even under your apprentice tunic. The hairs on your neck stood up at attention as he felt them on your pale skin, tracing your scalp and tugging hard on your hair, giving him more access to your jugular. His lips slowly traveled up to your ear, biting your earlobe. “Izuku...” he murmured soothingly. “Keep that in mind, little lamb, because that's the name I'll make you scream for the next few hours.”
He laid you on your bed, towering over you in all his scantily clad Adonis form, your already heated cheeks growing hotter seeing his abs contract with every breath he took. His emerald gaze fell on the portrait of the Savior hanging above your bed, an amused chuckle escaping his lips. “Sorry pal, but this copulation will be anything but sacred. But don't worry – he said as he turned the portrait face the other way – your lost little lamb is in good hands.”
“My… my parents will be back soon.” You said, trying to sound hostile. Izuku looked at you from under his eyelashes, his green eyes sending shivers of an unknown nature between your legs. “You don't say...” he replied to you, the tight black top he was wearing disappeared with a snap of his fingers, “Look at me, I'm shaking in my boots~.”
His nails dug into the fabric of your tunic, an evil smile curling his lips. “And to think I wanted to be a gentleman, but if you pray to me like this...” and he masterfully tore off your sacred dress, leaving you with your chaste underwear on. Izuku licked his lips, as if those white panties and shirt were the most sensual erotic outfits he had ever seen.
“You most assiduous believers really wear too many clothes...” he murmured absently, ripping off even the white protection that remained covering your breasts. You tried to slip away, to cover yourself, but he didn't give you the chance. He pinned your hands to the sides of your head, a derisive laugh coming out of him spontaneously.
“Hell…” he cursed, “I've seen a lot of breasts in my life, but yours…” he exhaled sharply. “Makes me want to bite and mark it, to see my seed run down your skin.”. His lips kissed the valley in between the breasts, his tongue lapped and sucked at the nipple. A shiver ran up your spine at the feeling of something unnaturally hard poking at your thigh. Izuku released the now reddish nipple with a pop, basking in your fearful yet bashful expression.
“Felt that? That's called an erection, it's proof of how much you excite the fuck out of me.” he said lewdly, grinding against your still covered femminity. “It feels big doesn't it? Wait 'till I'll split you up with it. Bet it'll make you scream in pure ecstasy as I carve my way inside, fill you up and make you my little sinful lamb.”
“But first…” he momentarily let go of your wrists, a strange black and dark green thread replaced his hands. His lips traced your skin, still pure, from the sternum, passing through the belly, lingering on the navel and arriving just above the flap of fabric that separated it from your temple of purity. “I have to prepare you first.”
His nails pulled down the thick underwear, exposing your naked, sinful body to his eyes. You kicked your legs to push him away but his hands kept you still and pinned to the bed. “Acting like a brat will only make me angry, little lamb.” he warned you, his eyes a very dark shade of green. “You don't want me to get angry, do you? Otherwise I might turn your first time from ecstasy…to hell.”
You ceased your squirming, knowing, deep down, he might live to that thread. Izuku purred deep down from his throat a “Good girl.”
His tongue lapped at your labia with long, flat tongued swipes, earning loud cries from you. Your fingers grabbed fistfuls of green locks as the biforked appendage split you open, massaging your walls and sucked skillfully your hooded clit. Only when thick and scarred fingers added to his pleasurable torture, that the tight, foreing coil in your stomach snapped.
Izuku praised you, lapping the remaining of his saliva and your juices from his lips, but you were far too lost and hazed to understand what he was saying. Through lidded eyes you spied the demon getting rid of the rest of his clothing, your gaze traveled from the chiseled chest to the sculpted abs and…
Oh, Lord.
You were a stranger to males reproductive anatomies, aside from the comments boys at school made with each other when the pastor and the nuns weren't around to witness them, but you figured that demons – once humans in their living days – weren't far off in terms of measures. Turns out there was a difference. A huge one indeed.
Izuku caught your staring, your clearly wide and scared expression, and chuckled upon seeing it. “Don't worry, my dear. I'll be extra gentle with you.” he reassured you with a tone that mixed together genuine concern and mockery. He suggested you to breathe deep and slow, you followed his suggestion, taking big gulps of air. 
Air that failed to enter your lungs as your poor virgin walls were ripped apart. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear, trying to dull the pain the best way he could. He fought to restrain himself, your tight heaven like a siren's call to him, to not take you in the most primal and animalistic way.
His thrusts were slow and deep, making you see the Heavens above – if such a thing really existed. “Harder…” you pleaded, the slow peace not enough to satisfy that ache in your body. Izuku's eyes glowed, a bright primal green, as a sinful smile bloomed on those kissable lips of his. 
He reversed the positions, allowing you to be on top of him, your hands placed on his chest as a sort of stability. He instructed you by guiding your hips into the right movement, his hands a warm presence that sent shivers of pure pleasure down your spine. Your movements were clumsy, unexpert, mostly due to his cock piercing deeply – you could almost feel it in your stomach – but you were still chasing after that sensation his tongue caused you minutes prior.
The jingling of keys and the calls of your mother froze the blood in your veins. What they were going to say, to react, upon seeing their beloved daughter – a young nun waiting for her vows – caught up in such sinful actions with the most blasphemous creature. You heard Izuku chuckle at your troubled state, that mischievous smile told you he wasn't going to back down, oh no, but he had a more devilish idea in mind.
The handle of your door kept clicking, your parents shouting to open the door from the other side. Izuku hoisted you up by the thighs, your back slammed against the wooden surface. He resumed his pace, rougher than before, making you scream and moan – unable to hear your parents' desperate pleading and yells from the opposite side.
“Why don't you tell them?” he mocked, “Why don't you simply tell "Sorry mom and dad, I can't open this door 'cause a demon is balls deep inside my virgin pussy and I'm too busy enjoying it"?” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust, making your skin slam repeatedly against the wood. He seemed to care very little if you actually tried to speak a coherent sentence or grab at his horns or scratch his shoulders.
Your orgasm hit hard, your mind fuzzy and light – not even the threats from your parents reached your ears, your body felt like it was boneless. Izuku came right after you, thrusting those few deep strokes before releasing something scorching hot inside you. 
Your mind blacked out as he was uttering something, an affectionate smile adorning his lips.
Izuku watched you sleep peacefully, all wrapped around in his satin red sheets. Back in his chambers, in hell. He would never leave you to succumb alone to the shame of your parents, of your whole community of bigots and to the wrath of the Almighty Lord. He swore, if God desperately wanted his property back then He should send those snooty Angels down there and watch them die one by one. Like fuck he would give you back to Him.
You will forever be Heaven's lost property. 
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checkoutmybookshelf · 9 months
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The Circle is Reforged
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Tamora Pierce's Circle Reforged books are an interesting case, because this is really where she started bouncing around in time in Emelan, and filling in some parts of story that were mentioned, suggested, or explicity referenced but not told. The books themselves were published well and truly out of chronological order, but having read them in publication order as they came out and then in chronological order on reread, I honestly don't think there's a "preferable" strategy. If you've read the Circle of Magic and Circle Opens quartets, you can explore the Circle Reforged in whatever order. However, I think I'm going to cover them in (more or less, no promises) publication order here. So let's talk The Will of the Empress.
*absolutely rampant, unapologietic spoilers for the Circle of Magic and Circle Opens quartets below the break*
This book explore the implications and consequences of Lady Sandreline being both Fa Toren in Emelan and Fa Landreg in Namorn. Our girl is practically royalty in two countries, but after she is orphaned in Hatar's smallpox epidemic, Duke Vedris in Emelan and Lord Ambros Fer Landreg in Namorn largely shield Sandry from her responsibilities as the primary landowner of the Landreg estates--which is entirely reasonable given that she is ten years old at the time.
When we get to the beginning of Will of the Empress, though, Sandry has been functionally running Emelan in the wake of Duke Vedris's heart attack and Ambros has been pointedly sending her account books for her Namornese estates. Sandry has been neglecting the hell out of those, and misses the fact that the Empress of Namorn has been financially squeezing Landreg to try to force Sandry back to Namorn.
Sandry has also been largely completed separated from Briar, Tris, and Daja for almost two full years by the opening of this book, since they went off to travel with their teachers and she stayed. She's had contact with Lark, but even that dropped significantly once Sandry moved into the Duke's Citadel.
Given all of that and two years of personal growth and change, when our four protagonists reunite in the house Daja buys for them, they collectively seize up in self-consciousness and shame and uncertainty. Plus seriously powerful ambient magic. Which literally everyone with eyes (except our protagonists) can see is a bad thing. So to kill two birds with one stone, Duke Vedris asks Briar, Tris, and Daja to go with Sandry to Namorn as basically bodyguards. The background hope is that the four of them get to know each other again and find their equilibrium.
With a lot of yelling and a distinct lack of talking, they set off to Namorn.
Which is when we really get off to the races, because the lack of talking means that Briar hasn't told the girls he's dealing with PTSD from the war in Gyongxe; Daja hasn't said she is dealing with abandoment issues, figuring out her own sexuality, and having helped kill a friend who had killed a lot of people by setting fires; Tris hasn't told anyone that she developed a skill that kills or drives mad 99.99% of all mages who try it and the whole Ghost-is-Jack-the-Ripper thing in Tharios; and Sandry...well, I love our girl, but she's dealing with a combination of inheritance and political machinations, her crippling terror of another family member dying on her watch, and the fact that she actively chose to rip three people to shreds to save Pasco's life. So everybody has big feelings and nobody is dealing with them or communicating effectively. Which, again, is a GREAT combination with the phenomenal cosmic powers.
This is a Sandry-centric book, but as we did with Sandry's Book, we also get a metric ton of the other three as well, because as they did in Sandry's Book, they're coming together as a unit. Trying very, very hard to prevent that are Berenene dor Ocmor, Empress of Namorn and her court mages, Ishabal Ladyhammer and Quenaill Sheildsman. They are trying to either recruit or get rid of four legendarily powerful mages. The recruiting goes...poorly. For a variety of reasons. The getting rid of goes WORSE.
Part of the recruiting scheme for Sandry specifically includes a himbo husband that Berenene can boss around to her heart's content. The approved suitors are Jakuben fer Pennun, who had himbo down pat, and Finlach fer Hurich, who was less himbo and more goldigging asshole with an influential uncle. Finlach ends up leaping SO FAR over the line that Berenene has to slap him down so hard that his entire life is ruined.
Then we come to Pershan fer frickin' Roth. Even if you take the Namornese tradition of kidnapping brides into account, Shan takes the whole thing to another level because his ass makes Sandry feel SAFE and WANTED and VALUED AS A PERSON before turning around and kidnapping her in a trap tailor-made for subduing even a very powerful stitch witch. Literally this man is the worst and he deserved so much worse than he got.
Overall, this book is about reconnection and remembering that some bonds are deeper than two-year world tours. It's also about seeing your siblings as their whole selves and accepting them, warts and all, because they are the people you love and who love you back. This is one of my favorite Circle Universe books, and I think it is objectively the best Sandry book and the best "all four of us are here" book in the Circle universe.
This book also objectively heavier than the Circle of Magic and Circle Opens quartets. It's still technically YA, but it's the 16-19 end of YA more than the 13-15 end, given that it deals with not only PTSD and trauma, but also sexual assault and kidnapping, so take care if you aren't in a headspace for those topics. The book will still be there, and taking care of yourself in your book choices comes first, always.
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rhondafromhr · 3 months
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Nerds corruption au chapter 4!!
Took me awhile before I was happy with this one but it’s finally done!
Previous chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
“We’re Gonna Become the Bullies” - Chapter 4: I’m The One To Wrong What’s Right
Grace starts her day the same way she always does: waking up to the shrill buzzing sound of her alarm far too early in the morning. She hates to admit it (sloth is a sin, after all), but every once in a while it would be nice to hit snooze a couple times. There’s no time for that, though. She has to do her sweep of the school bathrooms to check for graffiti. She has to make sure the side exit to the gym is safely locked so nobody can sneak out to “smoke up” during class. As hall monitor, it’s her sworn duty to keep Hatchetfield High safe from all the troublemakers trying to normalize sin and drag everyone down to hell with them. She figures it’s the least she can do to atone for the perverse thoughts she was having about Max Jägerman up until the Waylon place incident. Among other, more recent developments.
Then there’s the whole thing where she’s kind of friends with Maxwell now, along with everyone else who was involved in that prank. She brought that hatchet and the other supplies that night expecting a very different outcome (the specifics of which are between her and God now, since it never came to be. Only He can judge her), but this is intriguing, too. Being the “school snitch” only gives her so much power. Sure, she can issue a detention slip or run and tell a teacher, but she knows in the end all it does is get people to be sneakier about whatever they were doing wrong next time. Being in Max’s inner circle opens up a world of possibilities. People are scared of him and there’s not a lot they won’t do to avoid his wrath. It’s been a week and by now, everyone knows Max will absolutely fly off the handle at anyone who dares mess with the rest of the group. They’re also starting to realize that said group can be pretty intimidating in their own right and becoming more scared of them. Grace would be lying if she said the thought didn’t excite her.
She thinks back to that first Monday after the Waylon place, when Max first heard about Brad calling Peter that crass nickname. The righteous anger he exuded briefly brought that tickle back again. The next day at lunch, Max proudly recounted to the rest of the group the awesome punch Pete landed and how Brad ran away like a little bitch after and how Steph gave Brad the hardest slap with one hand while holding Pete’s in the other and wasn’t that the sweetest, most romantic thing ever. By the time he got to their stint in the principal’s office, she stopped listening, just imagining Peter and the crushing impact of his fist on Brad’s face. She thought about the slap over and over again, too: Steph raising her hand, staring down at Brad with rage burning in her eyes and bringing it down hard, leaving a red mark on his cheek. Her face, she realized with horror, was red, too, but for an entirely different reason. Oh, heck. Oh, no. Not again. But this was even more shameful than even the worst thoughts she ever had about Max. This was about two people at once, one of whom was another girl.
She tries to push away those thoughts for now and joins her parents at the breakfast table, where her usual cup of hot water is waiting for her. If they had any idea what’s really been going on with her, they’d probably send her away to live at Camp Idontwannabang with the Jerries permanently and the first time in her life, that doesn’t sound too appealing. So she’ll just have to continue acting like nothing’s wrong - essentially lying to them. Another sin to pile on top of all her others. As they say in that video game Richie likes: “gotta catch ‘em all.” Her whole life, all she’s ever wanted is to be a good, chaste, godly girl. It’s what her parents and her church friends have all come to expect from her. Not to mention God Himself. There must be something deeply wrong with her if she tries so, so hard to live up to this standard and still falls short. The feeling of being a failure is so crushing she can almost physically feel it bearing down on her.
“Gracie?” Her mother says gently, “Gracie, are you alright?” Grace realizes tears are stinging at her eyes. She strains to hold them back.
“Oh, yes, Mommy, I’m okay! It’s just allergies. I, um, stopped taking Benadryl. Even if it’s over-the-counter antihistamines, drugs are drugs! Might as well be smoking the devil’s lettuce. Oh, I should get going or I won’t be early for school!” She leaves hastily, not stopping for her usual kiss not the cheek.
“Wait!” her Mother calls after her “it’s raining cats and dogs today, you’ll catch a cold, let us drive you!” All she gets in response is the sound of the door closing.
As Grace rides her beloved pink Schwinn bike to school, she can’t hold back the tears any longer. It’s early enough that not too many people are out and about, so hopefully nobody sees. She supposes she could always use that Benadryl excuse again, it’s believable enough for her. When she pulls up in front of the school, she notices two familiar figures standing in front of the main entryway. Shoot, it’s Max and Richie! She hastily wipes her eyes and stops to park and lock up her bike before approaching them. She composes herself and goes into hall monitor mode, even if her heart isn’t in it. They’d better not be hanging out here waiting to buy reefer off of the smoke club.
“Hi, Max! Hi, Richie! What are you two doing here so early?” She says, trying to keep her tone as chipper as possible.
“Oh, we have an appointment we couldn’t possibly miss,” Max tells her. Great, so they are here to buy drugs! She can’t even save her own friends from the dark, dangerous path that starts with weed and eventually leads to them smoking much worse substances under a bridge somewhere. Maybe even in Clivesdale!
“Uh, yeah,” Richie says nervously. He rubs his fingertips together. “Chad Thompson called me a cringe-ass weeb back in seventh grade, so I guess we’re going to catch him on his way in and issue an ‘outdoor swirly’, whatever that is.”
“Oh, you’re gonna love it, Richie, it’s the best! Really subverts expectations. No one would ever think they’re about to get a swirly outside.”
“Yeah, I see your vision, but I feel like I’m really not grasping the logistics. Like, there are no toilets out here, how is it even possible?”
Grace is vaguely familiar with the term (“weeb”, that is. She’s just as confused as Richie about the outdoor swirly thing). She’s pretty sure it refers to people who are into those Japanese cartoons that Richie likes so much. She’s actually heard him refer to himself that way a few times and sometimes Ruth calls him that, too. It never feels mean when she does it - it’s obvious she loves that Richie’s a “cringe-ass weeb” and she wouldn’t have him any other way. They might be two of the most lewd, crass people she’s ever met, but she has to admit their friendship is something special.
“I don’t get it,” she says “you call yourself a ‘cringe weeb’ all the time.”
“Well, he said it like it’s a bad thing! It’s not just the words we say, but the way we say them that can have a long-lasting impact. I learned that at the anti-bullying assembly!” Oh, Max and his anti-bullying quotes. Grace would never tell him this, but she thinks flipping them to be pro-bullying is quite creative of him. Entertaining, too. Sometimes, she just has to giggle at the absurdity of it. Her mood finally starts to lift. She’s glad she ran into her friends. Her friends. She can call them that now.
“Well,” she says “I’d better go do my morning perimeter sweep. See you later, boys!”
“Later, Grace!”
“Bye, Grace, see you at lunch!” Poor Richie still looks a little terrified.
The downpour lets up and becomes a light drizzle as she starts towards the gym, fully intending to go take care of that pesky side entrance so the smoke club can’t ruin class today. Then, on an impulse, she makes a u-turn. What can she say? She’s a little curious about the logistics of Max’s new trick, too. She watches as they accost Chad. Oh, an outdoor swirly just means shoving his face into the huge rain puddle that’s formed on the ground. Max does it first. He moves slowly and intentionally, giving Richie instructions to accompany the demonstration. Appropriating the very forces of nature to enforce his rule over Hatchetfield High. It’s actually kind of poetic. She wonders what his backup plan was if it didn’t rain.
Max hands Chad off to Richie. Chad struggles, but can’t seem to get free. Richie must be stronger than he looks. His hesitation disappears and he moves with more confidence, seeming to delight in the torment just a little. He pushes Chad’s face down into the puddle, holds it there for a second, then yanks him out so they’re face to face, leaning over him menacingly.
“Who’s the cringe-ass weeb now, bitch? Trick question, it’s still me! But I bet you’ll think twice before talking shit about it next time,” he says as he shoves Chad to the ground.
“You guys are un-fuckin’-hinged! I don’t care what anyone says, I’m reporting this. You basically just tried to drown me!”
Maybe Grace can be of some assistance. “I’m the hall monitor and that’s not what I saw,” she says.
“Oh, hi Grace! I thought you left to go do your rounds,” says Max, as upbeat as ever.
“What did you see, Grace?” There’s a mischievous glint in Richie’s eyes.
“Well, Richie, I saw him shove you into that puddle. Completely unprovoked, no less. You were just standing here minding your own business. He held you down for a solid thirty seconds. I was scared he was going to drown you! I was about to go get a teacher, but then you finally broke free.”
“Fuck off, chastity belt! Who would believe that? He’s not even wet.” If Ruth were here, she’d have something to say about that phrasing.
“Well, for one, the principal would, because I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I’m the hall monitor and I’ve never given him a reason not to trust me. Who’s he going to believe between the two of us?” As childish as she knows it is, she can’t help but stick her tongue out at him. “How could you attack poor Richie like that? What’s he ever done to you?”
“Yeah! Oh my god, Richie, are you okay? That must have been traumatic for you,” Max says dramatically. It seems like he’s having fun with this.
“I’ll- I’ll live,” replies Richie, trying to sound meek and pathetic. It’s not too much of a reach for him.
“Your life is so hard and yet you’re so brave,” Max says with feigned solemnity. Richie pauses for a second, as if he’s debating what he should do next, then theatrically throws his arms around Max and buries his face in his chest. He adds a couple fake sobs for good measure.
“It’s okay, bro. It’s okay. We’ve got you.” Max smirks as he pats his back. Richie stays in position, but raises one of his arms in order to flip Chad off.
“God, fine, whatever!” Chad storms off.
“Grace,” Max says excitedly “that was awesome! You know, I always forget you’re the hall monitor.”
“Yeah,” Richie adds “We’ve really been sleeping on the potential for abuse of power!”
There’s a thought. She’s had real power this whole time, she wasn’t leveraging it to its full potential. It’s a shame - if she’d realized this sooner, she would’ve been much more effective at keeping the hallways free of debauchery. She’ll just have to make up for lost time.
“Just doing my job,” she says, now sporting her own mischievous grin.
And if she actually had fun hamming it up with Max and Richie and she’s a little proud that she was able to help them pull off their stunt, then that’s her business.
Before Grace knows it, it’s the end of the school day and she doesn’t feel like going home and being interrogated about this morning just yet. She sends her parents a quick text claiming that there’s an “emergency abstinence club meeting” and begins to wander the hallways aimlessly until she reaches the auditorium. She knows they’re currently doing rehearsals for The Barbecue Monologues. Ruth is always complaining about the actors flubbing their lines and messing up her lighting cues. Up until now, she hasn’t had much of an interest in the show. Apparently, it contains some foul language and references to sex (in a high school production! What is this world coming to?), but she has to pick her battles and her effort to get homecoming canceled has been time-consuming enough. Curiosity gets the better of her and she slips into the auditorium. She’s not sure what she expects to see, but it certainly isn’t Ruth standing center stage absolutely belting her heart out. Her voice is angelic and she puts so much passion and raw emotion into her performance. Beholding it is an almost religious experience. Grace would know.
The number draws to a close and Grace can’t help but applaud.
“Oh, no, my anxiety! Who’s there?” Ruth cries.
“Ruth, that was beautiful! If you’re that good, why aren’t you in the show? You should be the lead!”
“What, no! I’m way too nervous to do that! Plus it’s too late, rehearsals have already started and Trevor’s the lead.”
“Well, what if he wasn’t?” Grace says with a conspiratorial grin.
“But he is,” Ruth replies, not quite sure what she’s getting at.
“Have a little faith, Ruth! Things can change.”
Oh, no, she’s snapping again.
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