#may have to get chinese food for dinner

[thefaultinourchickennuggets]

i could go for a block of cheese rn, or even some garlic broccoli

#personal #may have to get chinese food for dinner #i shouldn't #but i might

[corroded-hellfire]

you ask and you shall recieve, older!eddie not only helping you relax your mind after a rough day but also, being the only one who's ever been able to put you in subspace, because the man KNOWS how to treat a woman<3 im in like desperate need for this kind of fic because i need someone to put me in subspace

The joy I got from this request. You have no idea. Older!Eddie is literally my ultimate weakness. But I tried to be as accurate as possible with subspace, even though it's different for everyone.

You can meet how Eddie and reader met here!

Warnings: smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), choking, spanking, subspace, soft dom!eddie, sub!reader, older!eddie, age gap (Eddie is 42, reader is 24)

Words: 3.1k

It may be true that your apartment is closer to work than Eddie’s trailer, but your car always seems to have a mind of its own when you’ve had a bad day. You’re pretty sure that your car takes over and brings you to your boyfriend’s place without you even being conscious of it. Today was no different. You’d forgotten your lunch at home, been late because of traffic, and worst of all, been passed over for the promotion you know you deserved. 

It all led you to sitting in your car outside of Eddie’s home, his truck not in its usual place in front of the trailer. He should be home any minute, but every second that ticks by grates on your nerves like a broken bow on a fiddle. 

The moment you see—or rather, hear—his truck come into the trailer park, you yank your key out of the ignition and get out of the car. The squeaky bucket of bolts careens into its usual spot, then falls silent. The blaring metal music stops, and the engine dwindles down until it’s quiet. The driver’s door opens before you hear it slamming closed.

“Hey, baby,” Eddie says as he walks around the front of the truck. He takes a drag of the cigarette he’s been smoking, then tosses it into his empty garbage can out front. “Been here long?”

“Not really,” you say, instantly attaching yourself to his side once you’re close enough. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Eddie says, ducking down to press a kiss to your head. “How was work?” 

When your only response is a sigh, Eddie frowns, the subtle wrinkles by his eyes becoming even more prevalent. He tugs you over to the front door and ushers you in once he’s unlocked it. You watch as he takes his hair tie out, shaking his mane free. The wild brown curls cascade down to his shoulders. Unable to help it, you reach up and play with the hair framing his face. It’s something that’s always calmed both of you; you playing with his hair. It can relax Eddie to sleep and have you forgetting all your troubles of the day. Wrapping a single curl around your index finger, you notice the start of some gray at his temples. It makes sense since the lack of color has been popping up more and more in his beard and stubble lately. You don’t think he believes you when you tell him how sexy it is. 

Eddie leans down, cupping your face in his hands, and presses a soft kiss to your mouth. 

“Rough day, baby?”

You nod and he instantly wraps you up in his arms. He hasn’t even changed out of his greasy coveralls yet, but you couldn’t care less as you bury your head in his chest. His large hand strokes up and down your back as he presses sweet kisses to the top of your head. When he goes to pull away, your fingers tighten over the zipper of the coveralls, silently begging him not to let go. 

“Don’t want me to make something for dinner?” he asks. You shake your head against his body. “Want me to order takeout?” You shrug. Eddie sighs and squeezes you against his body. “How about this…” Eddie pulls back just enough so he can tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Why don’t I call up to get some Chinese food delivered—I know, I know, Golden Palace is your favorite—and I’ll get changed and hold you in my lap until the food gets here.” 

“I’d like that,” you tell him. Satisfied that he came up with an agreeable arrangement, Eddie smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

He makes his way into the kitchen, balancing the phone receiver on his shoulder as he searches the fridge for the magnet with Golden Palace’s phone number on it. “Want your usual, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.” Kicking off your shoes, you nudge them over to join the tiny pile of Eddie’s near the front door. As he talks on the phone, you make your way down the hall to his bedroom. The starchy blouse and pinching skirt you’ve been wearing all day have worn out their welcome. Slipping them both off, you drop them on the chair in the corner of Eddie’s room. Spotting your favorite pair of Eddie’s sweats hanging out of a drawer, you move to go get them before freezing in place. No, you decide, you don’t want to wear them. You’re content in just your bra and panties. 

Eddie’s bed is one of your favorite places in the world. And here and now? It’s just about irresistible. Climbing on, you lay back against his pillow and take in the messy room around you. Clothes are strewn about everywhere, despite his hamper in the corner being empty. There are a few photo frames on the walls now, which makes you smile. Before you, there’d only been posters of bands and movies. Some are still there, but now there are also photo collage frames on the walls featuring the people he loves. His uncle is in a few of them, as well as his buddies from his old Hellfire days. There’s even some of you that you begged him not to hang up, but he said you looked so good in them that he wanted to look over at them whenever he wanted. But your favorites are the ones of you two together. One of them is from when you’d gone to Chicago together and got caught in a snowstorm. Another is of you standing on the corner of a dock at Lover’s Lake, where you forced Eddie to hold onto your hips and recreate the Titanic pose. He’d rolled his eyes, but who’s laughing now that he put the picture up on his wall?

Eddie steps into the bedroom and stops when he sees you only in your underwear. “Babe, you can borrow clothes. You know that.”

“Didn’t wanna,” you say, making grabby hands for him. A soft smile comes to his face as he sheds himself of his coveralls and climbs on the bed next to you. 

“What do you want?” Eddie asks. He’s pretty sure he already knows, but you both know you’ve got to ask for it. His suspicions are even further confirmed when you just look at him from beneath your eyelashes, fluttering them at him. “Tell me, princess.”

“Want you to make me feel better,” you say in a hushed voice. Not looking him in the eyes, you trail your fingers over Eddie’s thin gray t-shirt. “Want you to take care of me. Like only you can.” 

Before Eddie, you barely had any sexual experience. But with the limited amount you did have, guys could never make you feel good. They were lacking in multiple ways, actually. Not only could none of them bring you to orgasm, but they couldn’t even distract you sufficiently when all you needed was to get out of your head for a little while. Eddie had gotten you into subspace the very first time he’d tried. Never before had you trusted someone so much, felt completely safe, which only added to the hazy feeling that came over you. You’re pretty sure Eddie was made specifically for you. Funnily enough, he thought the very same thing. 

Eddie nods, laying one of his large hands on your stomach. His calloused fingers rub against your bared skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“I can do that,” Eddie assures you. “Let’s get you more comfortable, okay babydoll?” At your nod, Eddie slips your panties from your legs and you reach behind you to unclasp your bra. Once the garments are tossed somewhere on the floor, Eddie crawls on top of you, nuzzling his nose against yours. His nose trails down to your throat, but that’s not the part of him you want there. Eddie notices the barely there whine that escapes you as he places a hard kiss against the soft skin of your neck. 

“My princess wants my hands, doesn’t she?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Eddie shrugs himself out of his t-shirt and unzips his jeans. He might as well take it all off now because he doesn’t want to have to stop for a single moment once he’s got you going. Finally shed of all articles of clothing, Eddie lays one large, tattooed hand on your hip. Ever so slowly, he moves the hand up your body. Over the softness of your tummy, over the small tattoo you’d gotten on your ribs, just below your breast, that you decided to get after admiring Eddie’s ink for so long. Finally, his hand trails over the swell of your breast, only pausing briefly to flick a thumb over your nipple, before slipping over your collar bone and halting on the one place you wanted it. The pressure Eddie applies to his hand on your throat isn’t enough to impact your breathing, but enough to feel the possessiveness in the gesture. Waiting until your eyes slip closed, Eddie tightens his hand just slightly, causing a hitch in your breathing. This is your sweet spot, he knows. Right where you start to feel your worries melt away.

“You want me to fill you up?”

“Y-Yes, sir. Want you t-to fill me up, please,” you say.

“Gonna fuck my baby girl so hard,” Eddie says as he nudges your legs apart. “Won’t be able to have a thought in her pretty little head that’s not about me and how good my cock is making her feel.” 

Resting back on his knees—but not too far back, keeping the pressure on your throat—Eddie spits into his free hand before working his saliva up and down his cock. Seeing you already relaxing, legs spread, eyes closed, and his hand on your throat? Eddie didn’t need to pump himself very many times before he was clamoring to be inside of you. Running his fingers through your folds, grinning in satisfaction at how wet you already are, he mixes your slick with the saliva on his cock. He lines himself up with your entrance, eyes focused on your face as he pushes in. Your brows pull together, just a little, and a low breathy moan escapes your lips. Eddie leans over you, bracing himself on the forearm of the arm that’s not holding you around the throat. 

“How’s that, baby?”

“More.”

“More, what?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows.

“More, please, sir.”

“That’s my good girl.”

A groan tumbles out of Eddie as he bottoms out. He thrusts his hips, sliding himself in and out of you, picking up the pace just a hair each time. The pressure on your throat increases as his hips snap against yours.

“Wanna tell me what happened at work? What’s got you so upset?” he asks as he keeps a steady pace.

Keeping your eyes closed, a sigh escapes your lips. “Out of all the p-people who started working there around the same time I did, I-I’m the one who’s most qualified for—.”

“Ah,” Eddie cuts you off with a tut. “That was a test to see if I fucked the stress out of you yet. And I failed.” At that, he begins pounding into you even harder, the headboard against the wall sounding like a jackhammer. Whimpers start to fall from your lips, and when you open your eyes, a few tears slide down the sides of your face. Eddie pulls out of you, releasing his hand from your throat and you groan at the loss of both sensations. “Come on up, baby. I want you on your hands and knees.” 

Letting out a small whine, you turn your head to bury it in his pillow. “M’comfy, sir.”

“Up, princess,” he orders. 

He slips his hand underneath you and pulls up. Complying, you move slowly, letting Eddie know that you're headed in the right direction. Once he’s satisfied that you’re in the position he wants, —and has admired the view—Eddie pushes his cock back inside of you. He gives it a few thrusts before his one hand grabs your hip hard enough to bruise and the other gives a harsh smack against the soft plush skin of your ass. 

“That’s one, baby,” Eddie says. “Want you to count them for me, okay?” When your only response is a nod, Eddie gives your ass another smack. “Okay?”

“Y-Yes,” you whine. “That was two, sir.” 

“Good girl,” Eddie says as his hand rubs over the area he just struck. With no warning, he pulls his hand back and gives another stinging slap.

“Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Uh…”

“Come on babydoll, what number are up to now?” Eddie asks. 

“I don’t remember, sir,” you admit with a whimper.

That’s the answer Eddie wanted, though. Your brain was slowly turning to mush, which meant he was doing his job. It almost meant that he needed to get you on your back again, since he knows that’s where you get the most enjoyment out of subspace. 

After one more smack to your ass, Eddie reaches forward and wraps his thick fingers around the front of your neck. He guides you up until your back is pressed flush up against his chest. 

“How’s my princess feeling?” he asks as he slips out of you. The sensation causes a whine, bringing a soft smile to Eddie’s lips. “Shh, just changing positions, sweetheart.” He carefully maneuvers you until you’re lying on your back again. Before you get fully down though, he slips a pillow under your hips. One, it’ll support your ass, being sore from the spanking. And two, this angle always allows Eddie to hit your sweet spot. 

Hands holding onto your hips, Eddie slides himself back inside of you, causing your face to scrunch up in the most adorable way. He lowers himself to hover over you, his dark curls curtaining his face above yours, like the two of you are locked together in this private moment. Your eyes blink open, sleepily, as he starts pounding into you again. Eddie’s wish was coming true; there was nothing in your head besides him. Heavy eyelids drooping, your gaze shifts down to his scruff, making Eddie let out a breathy chuckle.

“Looking at the gray again, baby? I don’t get what you find so sexy about it. Like the fact that I’m old, huh? That I know what I’m doing and know how to take care of this tight little pussy of yours? None of those boys your age know how to handle a woman like you, do they? No. You need me. I know what you need, baby girl. I know what makes you feel so good.”

Eyes becoming too tired to hold open, you let them close again. Your mouth opens slightly, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to run his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“Such a pretty girl.” Your eyes open again, the fucked out expression a sign of victory for Eddie. “Aww, look at you. Got my smart girl all nice and dumb, huh? My cock that good, princess?” 

Whines begin to fall from your lips, your brows tighten up. Eddie can read your body better than he can read The Hobbit, so he knows you’re very close. It’s a good thing too, because so is he. Whenever he sees you this blissed out, it hurtles him towards his own release. 

Supporting his body with one arm, Eddie reaches down and rubs tight circles over your clit. “How’s that, babydoll? Does that feel good for my baby?”

There’s an imperceptible nod of your head, but Eddie sees it. Feels the way your walls are starting to clench around his throbbing cock. 

“Let go, sweetheart. Let me make you feel so good.”

Your body is limp, the only movement is the rapid rise and fall of your chest, and your hips as they move against Eddie of their own accord. The moment your body tips over the edge and into your orgasm, Eddie feels his. Feels the way you soak and clench his cock. It has his hips stuttering, letting out a string of moans and curses as he releases inside of you. 

“Fuck, princess,” Eddie says as his body comes down from his high. He looks down at you, eyes open but glossy and relaxed. Mouth curled into a lazy smile as you look back up at him. You’re spent and so is he. 

Taking a deep breath to try and get his breathing back to normal, Eddie pulls out and flops down beside you. He knows sometimes it can take you a little while to come back to him when you’re in this state. But he also knows that holding you while you’re in this haze is your favorite part. Maneuvering the blanket on the bed—which he now needs to wash—he tucks it up to both of your waists. Slowly and gently, Eddie manages to get you to turn over and holds you in his arms. Your face nuzzles into his neck, your sweat and his blending together. 

“You did so good for me, baby girl. You’re always so good for me. I’m one lucky old man.”

The soft giggle against his skin lets him know that you’re still there with him. He rests his head against yours and runs his fingertips up and down your bare spine. “Why don’t we take a bath after this, hmm? Nice warm bath, then curl up on the couch. You can pick a movie to watch while we eat dinner. How’s all that sound?” 

“Good,” you say, barely audible. Your arms slip around Eddie’s waist, and you pull yourself as close to him as you can in your floaty state. 

Eddie gives you a gentle squeeze in his arms. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you look up at him. Gazing into your eyes, he can see that you’re coming back to him bit by bit. Once you relax your grip on him, he’ll go get you some water to drink and run the hot water for the bath. But right now, he’s going to lay here and enjoy the cuddles that you both need. He knows you’ll thank him for this when you’re fully returned. And he’ll tell you yet again how you don’t have to thank him for it. That he loves being with you like this. The fact that you trust him in this way. Seeing you go from majorly stressed to being totally blissed out was more than enough thanks for Eddie. He feels honored that he gets to help you in this way. His perfect little girl.

“How you feeling?” Eddie asks softly.

“So good,” you say dreamily, making Eddie chuckle. “I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you too, princess.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #older!eddie #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #request #roses collection

[darkness-and-books]

Not Invited

Egon Spengler x fem!reader

⚠️: none

word count: 734

Egon had blanked out quite some time ago, utterly entranced by the girl in a booth at the other end of the chinese restaurant. She was sitting by herself reading a book as she waited for her food to arrive. He had seen her smile brightly as the waiter came to take her order, and that smile was breathtaking.

“Dude, what are you staring at? It’s been five minutes,” Ray asked, snapping Egon out of his trance, “Uh, what?” Egon asked, tinting pink at having been caught. Peter followed Egon’s gaze to the girl and smirked. “Not a what, a who,” He teased, Peter and Ray exchanged a knowing look.

“It’s nothing, I was just thinking,” Egon rushed to explain, “Yeah, I’d be thinking about her too, she’s real pretty,” Winston said as he glanced over to the girl who was now getting her food. “You should go talk to her,” Peter encouraged him, “Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen?” Winston tacked onto Peter’s statement.

“She could hear me,” Egon muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Okay,” Peter said in what seemed to be a surrender. Everyone at the table sat in shocked silence for a minute at how quickly Peter dropped it. 

Peter excused himself to use the bathroom before standing up and leaving the table. What no one at the table knew was that he was actually making a beeline for the girl in the booth. On his way over he stopped a waiter, “Hey could you tell the people at that table that there’s a call for Winston and Ray?” he requested and the waiter nodded curtly and made his way to their table. He continued on his way.

“Hello,” Peter greeted the girl kindly, “I’m Peter,” he introduced himself. She looked up from her book, “Oh, hi, I’m Y/N,” She replied quietly. Peter looked over his shoulder to see Egon alone at the table, “I was wondering,” He started, pointing in Egon’s direction, “You see my friend over there?” He asked her, “Well yes,” She said skeptically. “He thinks you’re really pretty and I was wondering if you’d like to switch seats with me and sit with him,” Peter explained in a hushed tone.

Y/N looked up at Peter with a raised eyebrow, “There are other people around, it’s not like I’m asking you to the back alley,” He pleaded with her. She seemed convinced by this reasoning, “Okay,” Y/N agreed and picked up her plate, “Thanks, you won’t regret it,” Peter assured her, “That remains to be seen,” she said before leaving the table.

Y/N walked nervously to Peter’s friend, who upon further inspection, was really quite handsome. “Hi,” Y/N greeted as she came to a stop in front of him. Egon’s eyes widened and looked as though they might actually fall out of his head, “Erm, hello,” he managed, looking around to see that she indeed had to be talking to him.

“I’m Y/N,” She said as she put down her plate and sat across from Egon in the booth. “Hello Y/N, I’m Dr. Egon Spengler,” He said, putting out his hand for a handshake and feeling like an idiot in the process. It’s not like this some formal event, why couldn’t he just be normal? He asked himself.

“Oh, a Doctor, fancy that,” Y/N said with a giggle, “Glad you think so,” Egon smiled and began looking for a waiter. As one walked by, he gestured him over to the table, “May I have a glass of water and whatever she has?” Egon asked the waiter, who briefly looked at Y/N’s dish before scribbling it on his notepad and walking away.

Ray and Winston walked back out to see that their place at the table had been taken by the girl Egon had been eyeing just a few minutes before. “Good for him,” Ray muttered while Winston looked for Peter. Peter was waving them over to the table where the girl had been sitting when they left.

“This,” Winston started, pointing at the table where Egon and the girl sat, “Was your doing, wasn’t it?” Winston accused more than he asked. “Of course,” Peter said, smiling proudly as he sat up a little straighter. “Go on have a seat, I have a feeling we aren’t invited to dinner,” He commented cooly as he opened up a menu.

#ghostbusters #egon spengler #egon spengler x reader

[carmesi-butterfly]

hi!! i have this noncon to dubcon request wherein meandom!ricky is the son of your boss, and reader is his mom’s new housekeeper. reader accidentally drops one of the most expensive wines in the shen household (due to ricky intentionally pushing her), and ricky threatens her that he would tell his mom, to get her fired, but he then tells her that he won’t have her fired under one condition and that is to let him fuck her, and use her like a cumdump.

and also, can i be 🍄 anon? thank you!

meandom ricky + fem! reader. word count 1,5k. warnings noncon to dubcon, degrading, abuse. not proofread. a/n: hi! i'm gonna try doing the asks more seriously like this time more often (if i feel like it ofc), if i feel like doing something simple i will be using the format i'm already using. also i feel like i added too much intro and a poor amount of smut, sorry anon ㅠㅠ i may do a part two of this because i loved your idea! welcome to the family 🍄 <3

your stay at the shen household was an average experience as a housekeeper, maybe too many hours but that's compensated with a high salary, nice food, and good clothing for doing your labor without having to use your own clothes. the only problem was the son of the house, shen ricky, a young man with unbelievable beauty, sharp features that made him look like a god in the eyes of a normal person like you, and a devilish aura accompanied by a small grin that was always set at the minimal hint of your presence near him.

instantly as you got into that house ricky started to molest you, it started with a few glances at your chest and ass when you were in a “suggestive position” while doing your labor, he didn't even try to hide how he was looking at you like a jewel exposed in an exhibition, free to everybody to look at, things escalated quickly to the point of him touching you shamelessly, squeezing your boobs and bottom tightly while whispering all the things he would do to you, making you feel humiliated and helpless, the last straw was today’s incident at the kitchen, as a housekeeper you were doing your usual job, leaving everything clean and tidy for the shen family, mrs. shen asked you personally to clean and organize their wine collection for a special dinner they will have soon.

after accommodating the majority of the beverage there was only one left, a beautiful bottle with an eccentric decoration, adorned by gold leaves and letters of the same color on the tag, it was probably the most expensive drink among all the others and the most important one for the event, your assignment was about to be done but the blonde guy appeared in the room, driving your nerves to their highest point only with his presence.

“my mother asked you to do this?” initiated the conversation, getting close to you slowly.

“u-uhm, yes” your answer reflected discomfort, “it's for the dinner meeting…” your responses were brief, trying to avoid a possible next conversation but not trying to be too dry because he's your boss, your earnings depend on him.

“i see” his short reply relaxed you a little bit, you supposed that he wasn't in the mood for a longer conversation and you were perfect with that, as far as you stayed from him the better.

sadly, your assumption was wrong and the chinese boy was just waiting for a moment of distraction on your side, the moment that came when the last bottle of wine had to be kept on the drinks cabinet, as soon as you turned around with the fragile object in hand ricky went direct to your back and pushed you, this was enough for you to fall, the wine slipped out of your hands and ended up colliding on the floor in front of you. the only response that came out of your body was your hands covering your mouth as a sign of surprise, your throat started to hurt as you tried to suppress the tears, a stupid “mistake” like this is going to cost you your job and probably the future ones, working as a housekeeper depends a lot on the recommendations people give to their acquaintances, you think the shen family is going to recommend you after this? of course not, even if you're not at fault in this situation, who is going to believe the humble servant over the son of the family? no one.

“look at what you've done,” pointed out, bending down on your side while looking at the mess he created, “do you think my mother will get you fired for this?” said with a smile.

you turned up to him with an anxious stare, your heart started to beat faster, and the big amount of tears you were saving came out like a waterfall, “don't tell her, i will make it up, clean everything! you don't have to pay me, please just don't fire me” your desperate cries weren't more than a sweet melody to his ears who were pleased to hear it, and craved for more.

“hm… let's have an agreement then” the opportunity of having something as an agreement with the youngest of the shen in a way to preserve your job was risky, especially knowing the kind of behavior he had with you before, but losing your employment wasn't an option you could take right now. “i will take the blame for this,” started, his index finger pointing to the broken wine, “but you have to let me do to you whatever i want, that's the only condition i ask you, you know what i mean by that, right?” it could be confusing for others, but you knew exactly what he was asking for and were willing to give him everything to maintain your job.

“okay, i accept…” you said the words that sealed your contract with the devil and were aware of that. more tears slide down your face knowing what is coming next for you, an act that ricky enjoyed profusely.

“don't cry, you will enjoy it” demanded, his hand grabbed brusquely your hand and made you face him, “clean this mess and go to my room, don't take much time or things will get worse for you” with those words he left the space, leaving you in a spiral of chaos and conflictive emotions.

your face being forced into the pillow absorbed the tears and silenced all the moans, groans, cries, and everything that could come out of your mouth at this moment. roughly, ricky pulled your hair driving your head up, near his so you could hear him better.

“i told you would enjoy it,” bragged, his dick slamming harder into your pussy, the impact of the amount of strength he was using made the clapping sound in the room louder, acting more desperate as a signal of his orgasm being closer.

your mind didn't agree with that, his touch on your skin felt nauseating like if you were about to vomit every time he brushed his fingers over you, but your body said the opposite, your legs trembling, your clit palpitating and your cunt clenching at every thrust while your mouth was drooling leaving a trace of saliva on your face and pillowcase, your mind dizzy with all the pleasure even if ricky was just beginning this torture.

“i already fucked you dumb but we just started, let's see how much you can last” his thurst followed the same fast but steady pace, “we won't stop until you're dripping my cum, yes?” asked you, as if your opinion were important or worth of consideration for him. his last words were an advance of what was about to happen, acting as a premonition that became true, with a last shove of his dick into your pussy the young man had his first orgasm of the night, cumming inside and holding you tight restricting your movements, his mouth biting your shoulder fighting the moans that wanted to be free. for you, this was more than humiliating, but the cumshot was so strong, it hit your interiors and filled you so deliciously that provoked your climax too, causing a strong reaction in your body that never went through a phenomenon as strong as this, the pillow helped to muffle your loud moans whilst your whole physique trembled like gelatin.

the position was changed quickly by ricky, who now had you in a mating press, his cock not leaving your cunt even when he turned you around without any difficulties like a puppet, he didn't want any of his semen leaking out of you until the end of the act. after taking a few inhalations trying to regularize his breath a bestial motion started, his whole dick coming in and out of your pussy hitting your cervix in a way that made you cry, your mouth could merely release stuttering at every shove, you completely lost the ability to speak of how good he was fucking you, even if your hole was so abused by ricky’s dick that it felt like burning or your nipples and clit being so sensitive because of the overstimulation that they react to the most minimum brush, it hurt and at this point of being fucked so dumb you can't think if you like it or not.

by the end of the action, you can't even recall an estimated number of times you've finished, it's safe to say that you probably passed out too, and didn't notice, it's not like ricky cares so you probably fainted and he continued fucking you… but that's okay because his mission was completed! having you filled up to the brim of his seed, cunt so full of it that at the moment you got up to dress it started dripping out and sliding through your legs, which got the mean boy mad and he had no more option than to masturbate you, using his delicate and slender fingers to maintain everything inside while a few insults and degrading words were said, that hurt your ego but hey, you need to accustom to it if you want to keep your job.

#anon ask #zerobaseone smut #zb1 smut #zerobaseone ricky #zerobaseone x reader #zb1 ricky #zb1 x reader #shen ricky smut #shen ricky x reader #ricky smut #mean dom #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 imagines #zerobaseone scenarios #zb1 scenarios

[grilledbroccolli]

Part 2 of Vampire!reader craves Dan Heng

tbh the titles may not corelate to what I'm writing. As you can see what I wrote is purely self indulgent. Anyways, not a lot of vampire action going on in this one. Description: continuation of part 1 , please read it if you haven't already. This is just mostly Dan Heng taking care of reader Warning: vampire, small wounds, blood?(idk)

Dan Heng has always noticed your fangs and how your eyes would glow a little when you see your crewmate’s wounds after a battle. At first, he thought you are sadistic and a threat to the Astral Express. You refuse to treat wounds or look at blood for longer than 5 seconds. He thinks you’re weird.

“Slow, slow down. I’m all yours.” Dan Heng truly hopes he could relief your hunger.

You soon came back to your senses. You stop sucking on Dan Heng’s wrist and look at the two little holes on his wrist. Horrified to what you’ve done, you push him away.

“Shit! I’m so sorry, Dan Heng. I truly don’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry.” You said as your eyes not scrambling everywhere but Dan Heng’s eyes. Your eyes started to tear up.

"Hey hey, shhhh, it's alright. Just drink up." He comforted you as he held out his wrist again.

"Nooo. I can't." You refuse. Both of you go back and forth a few times until Dan Heng got tired of it.

"Ok, you know what, just take a shower." Dan Heng walks to the bathtub behind him and starts preparing a bath for you.

"You know you don't have to do all this, right?"

"You're right. But you are not even taking care of yourself."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying sorry." Dan Heng finished preparing the bath and walk to the door. "Take a nice hot bath. I'll leave some clothes at the door. After you're done, go to the kitchen."

As he is about to leave, his thumbs wipe the corner of your mouth that have some of his blood stains on it. "And also... don't fall asleep in the water."

The door shut gently. (What is going on) You messed up. Not only did you hurt him, but also now that you tasted human blood or his blood especially, you can't go back anymore. He tasted so sweet, sweetest of all human blood you've tasted, tastier then any animal blood you've drank. Just thinking about it made you blushed in embarrassment. Before you think too much about what happened, you strip and dip yourself into the hot bath that Dan Heng prepared for you.

After you finished washing up, you wipe yourself dry with the spare towels in the bathroom. You quietly open the door and found some fresh clothes lying by the door outside.

"Why is he so nice to me?" You question yourself. You have never seen him so worried. You never get the impression that he would risk his life to help you. You always wanted to get closer to him, know what he likes and what he taste like. But, you never would have thought that whatever happened would happen.

You stop overthinking and leave the bathroom, heading to the kitchen.

Dan Heng was right at the stove cooking what seems like instant noodles. The microwave is heating somethings up at the same time. The lights are all off, only a single lamp is lighting up the area. Stars can be clearly seen outside the big windows.

"Ah, you're done. Sit down. It'll be ready in no time."

////

Dan Heng place down a heat proof mat and the pot of noodles right in front of you along with a pair of chopsticks and a chinese soup spoon. Not long after, he took a plate out of the microwave.

"Here, eat up. It's not much. These are the leftovers from dinner." He said as he sat down opposite of you.

You haven't had any human food other than drinking Dan Heng's blood just now. Your stomach is starving and hurting like crazy after throwing up nothing but stomach acid.

"Ah wait, darn, I forgot. Here, stomach medicines." He hands you some stomach medicine for soothing your stomach after vomiting. He knew you might throw up again if you don't take care of that fragile stomach of yours right now.

"T- thanks." You take the medicines and start munching down your food. Food had never tasted this good before. Maybe it's because you haven't eaten the entire day or it was made by Dan Heng.

"Slow down, y/n. It's not gonna run away from you. You're gonna choke." Dan Heng gently scolded like a worried mother. As if on cue, you choke on the noodles.

"Jeez, I told you so." He said as he fetch you a glass of water. As you gulp down the water, he gently soothes your back, as if to help with your choking.

"Ah sorry, I can't help it." You said with a sheepish grin. Dan Heng blushed slightly, but it's left unnoticed by you. He suddenly pat your head and clear his throat.

"J- just be careful next time."

////

You finished your late night meal. Dan Heng wash up the dishes. The relaxing sound of running water made you sleepy. Soon later, you fell asleep at the table.

After Dan Heng turn off the sink and wipe down the counters. He turn around and see your head resting on top of your arms, eyes closed, taking in deep breathes. His heart clenches at the sight. Knowing that you had been restless the entire week, you deserve all the rests and his blood. Ah, what have you done to him. He's ears are turning red at the thought. He thought back at the incident in the bathroom. The feeling of your fangs sinking into his skin. The way your tongue would seldomly lick over the wound to make sure not a single drop is wasted. These thoughts made him heat up so much. He starts to feel dizzy, not knowing if it's the recent loss of blood or the thought of you. All he knows is it's all your fault. He glance down on the two little holes you made on his wrist. He thinks it's cute

He sweep you from your chair into his embrace. With one arm under your knee and the other cradling your shoulders. He hoist you up a little to allow your head to rest on his shoulder, making sure you won't fall or feel uncomfortable. He carries you to your room and lay you down. As he is about to leave, you grip on his sleeves.

"Don't go," you whined.

"I'm not going anywhere," he sighed. He had no choice but to sat down beside your bed on the floor, not wanting to lay in your bed without your consent. He stayed awake until he knew you are completely asleep.

Dan Heng stands up from his sitting position and starts to tidy up your bedroom. He picks up all the pillows on the floor and starts to throw out the empty blood bags. He takes the untouched cold tray of food out and clear out the mess you made. After all that, he place a bandage on the wounds and went back into your room. He went back to his previous spot and fell asleep there.

______________________________

There's gonna be a part 3. I still have some ideas left unwritten.

damn i do say so myself i'm cookin good.

#dan heng x reader #dan heng x y/n #dan heng x you #dan heng #vampire #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #star rail

[cptnleviackerman]

"Am I your lockscreen?"

jean kirstein x gn reader

content - modern au, fluff, jean calls reader pretty, jean gets embarrassed when you look at his phone words - 1k

"Do you seriously think you have better moves than me, Kirstein?"

Jean tilts his head, but keeps his eyes focused on the screen, not wanting to let your taunting get to him. 

The two of you had been engaged in a close battle of video games all afternoon, currently playing a 3 round game of tennis on the Wii to decide which one of you gets to choose the place you'll order food from for dinner. 

"Babe, just watch this serve and you'll be eating your words." He brings his arm back in preparation for his tennis serve. "Just like you'll be eating Chinese food for dinner!" 

Jean ends his sentence with a whoop, clearly already planning his victory as he prepares to undergo what he assumes will be his final few swings. 

The first swing is his serve, a nice and solid start in which he had you leaping to cover your end of the court. 

"You know if I win this set I win the entire match, right? It's match point, baby."

You scoff, trying your best to ignore him. 

His second swing has your heart beating frantically, and even though your eyes have been trained on his every move on screen, you still almost miss it—managing to save it by the skin of your teeth. 

"I love you baby, but there ain't no way I'm letting you win right now."

And he's right. His third swing is his most forceful yet, and you're pretty sure he almost let go off the Wii remote—thank god you told him to use the remote straps. 

You groan the second your Mii misses the tennis ball, but it's drowned out by Jean's incredibly loud, and giddy, cheering. 

"Wooooooo! Aw yeah, ah ye— did you see that, babe?—ah yeah, I'm a genius, I literally nailed that!—that was amazing." 

His cheering bleeds into something more along the lines of a song, and you can't help but laugh as you reach across the sofa to pick up Jean's phone, thinking that you may as well get the menu up and ready to browse while he finishes his gloating.

"Yeah yeah yeah, it's probably for the best anyway, you're such a sore loser—" 

Jean turns to look at you—ready to take all your teasing about how much of a bad loser he is, and how you let him win this game to save your poor ears from having to hear all his whining—when his eyes widen.

“Am I your lockscreen?” You ask, stunned.

ShitShitShit

Jean grimaces. 

Act dumb.

“What are you talking about? I… I don’t think I have a lockscreen at the moment.”

Not that dumb.

You smile, narrowing your eyes slightly in amusement as Jean’s mouth opens and closes. 

"And you're sure about that, huh?" 

"I think maybe Eren changed it the other day…" 

You stare at him, watching the cogs turning in his head. 

"I never change my lockscreen—I wouldn't even know how to—and if I did I'd only ever change it to something really good—not that you're not good—shit—I mean like, a good photo of the sky or a nice group shot or a pic of my dog—not that I think you're like my dog—you're really pretty—not that my dogs not pretty—it's a different type of pretty, you know? You wouldn't compare apples to oranges—no wait—that's not right…"

Jean looks to the ground as he trails off—not daring to meet your eyes. He could feel the tips of his ears burning. His face felt hot. His heart was racing wildly. 

God. That was a mess.

“Jean?”

He continues avoiding your eyes, willing the ground to open up and swallow him right where he stood.

“Jean?” You ask again, “Is this photo from my instagra—”

“You weren’t supposed to see that.” Jean says quickly. 

You look at him for a second—watching his chest rise and fall rapidly, and seeing how his hands are beginning to shake—and you take a step towards him. 

“Jean, would you please look at me?”

He doesn't.

“Baby, I’m serious,” you try not to smile at his stubbornness, “it's very, super, extremely important that you look at me right now.”

You step in front of your boyfriend, placing your hands on his cheeks and angling his head so he is forced to look at you.

“I’m not mad, Jean. I’m not upset or confused or embarrassed, or whatever it is that you think I'm feeling right now.” 

Jean furrows his eyebrows, but he doesn’t dare to interrupt. 

“I love it. A lot. And I can't believe I didn’t know—wait, is this what Eren was teasing you about the other day?”

Jean nods, and you're unable to stop the smile that lights up your face.

“Oh my god… you’re the sweetest guy ever.” 

You move your hands from his face, and instead settle your arms around his waist, pulling him ever so slightly closer to you.

“Why didn't you want me to know?”

“I don’t know… I think maybe I thought it was too soon…?” Jean says, his voice rising as he reaches the end of his sentence.

You shake your head.

“It’s not too soon, definitely not at all. I love it, okay?”

“Okay.” Jean smiles.

“Just promise me one thing—”

“Anything.”

“Next time you want a photo for your lockscreen, just ask me. I don’t want you to be forced to use the same photos that everybody gets to see. I want you to have something special.”

Jean feels his cheeks flare up with warmth at your words, but he nods his head.

Satisfied, you untangle your arms from around his waist and plop yourself down on the sofa, holding his phone out towards him.

Jean’s puzzled look causes you to let out a small giggle.

“Baby… You won, now come over here and order me some Chinese food.”

Jean grins, his cocky winner demeanour suddenly returning as he sits down next to you, flopping himself practically on top of you and slinking his arm around your shoulder.

“Give me that phone babe, it's time for the winner to choose the dinner.”

#he's so cute I want him so bad #want to pepper his face in kisses #mwah mwah mwah fr #jean kirstein fic #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein fic #sage.fics #aot fic

[boneblushed]

Untouchable

masterlist | part 4 | part 5

synopsis So maybe Rafe Cameron isn’t as bad as you thought he was.

wc 4.3k

As the football team files into the locker room after practice, Rafe Cameron jogs ahead, the space filling with sweat and grit. The vague scent of testosterone permeates.

“Dude,” Dalton carps, shoved aside as Rafe pushes past him. “You good?”

“I’m late,” Rafe pants, fishing his towel out of his gym bag before throwing it into his locker. “She told me she’d murder me if I was late to another meeting.”

He’s in too much of a rush to notice the reception this receives, a flurry of knowing looks punctuated by a keen sense of hubris. Kelce and Dalton may be the only two willing to bet on his odds with you, but it’s clear that the rest of the team—the prefects, the graduating class—have picked up on the lingering eye contact and ricocheting glances, the drawn out meetings and nescient closeness.

Not that it matters. September now, with the crisp Autumn chill beginning to unfurl, you maintain the same, safe distance from Rafe Cameron as jilted you had once delineated. Sure, you’re friendlier now, a little softer around the edges, but it’s clear that you’re fighting hard to keep things professional, hold him an arm’s length away and not closer.

He wishes it wouldn’t bother him as much as it does. There’s been a few instances where he’s attempted more than a ride in his pick-up; an invite to whatever lame party his team’s throwing that weekend, an offer to stop by the Burger Shack on the way home. As friends—colleagues. To minimal avail, of course, you’re always giving him the same answer when he asks: “Nice try, Cameron.” Not a yes, not a no, just this odd, taunting response that’s sweetened by your peach scented lipgloss.

His most recent attempt had been just the other week, when a meeting about winter formal had run longer than you’d initially planned. It’d been brought to his attention by a pang of hunger in his abdomen, and he’d pulled up Uber Eats without any sort of ulterior motive.

“What’s your McDonalds order?” He’d asked, looking up at you briefly.

The sun was hanging low on the horizon that evening; he remembers this because of the way it bedaubed the bottom half of your face, accentuated the smooth column of your throat.

Your frown looked prettier in yellow light — that’s another thing he remembers. You’d raised your eyebrows a little, not bothering to look up at him. Another pang. “Why?”

“You’re not hungry, Y/L/N?” He’d asked, raising his in tandem.

“Starving.” You’d glanced up then, frowning harder, prettier. “Maybe you should concentrate on getting this done so we can both go home for dinner.”

“Okay, not McDonalds,” Rafe had acceded, flicking back to the UberEats home screen and leaning in. “Chinese? Thai food? Something fancier? Vending machine crap?”

“Cameron.”

“Y/L/N,” he’d mocked, knocking his shoulder against yours cajolingly. “C’mon, we both need a bit of food. We’ve been at this for fucking hours.”

“So if I say yes,” you’d asked then, angling away and sending him a pointed look, “you’ll let me pay for my own meal?”

Rafe hadn’t missed a beat, scoffing, “Of course not.”

You’d sighed, “Exactly.” And then, “Nice try, Cameron.”

Like clockwork. He’s thinking about it now, mostly about the way his name moulds your gloss-shiny lips, when Kelce’s voice breaks his reverie.

“Pussy whipped,” he coughs, earning a few stifled laughs from the rest of the football team.

Rafe’s about to rise to the bait when his conscience forces a falter, reminding him of the last time you were brought up in this locker-room. He’s constantly, incessantly taunted by the stupid, sophomore version of him; more so now that he knows his fondness of you was misinterpreted back then. So he’s adamant that there won’t be any more crude shows of affection—when he tells you he’s grown, he’s wants to be able to mean it.

So, instead of responding, Rafe flips Kelce off over his shoulder, grabbing his lathering gel and disappearing into the shower area.

“Oh shit,” Kelce wolf-whistles, more a jibe than a taunt. “You really are pussy whipped, huh?”

“Do me a favour, Smith.” Rafe sounds calmer than Kelce had expected him to, his rough voice scary steady. “And keep her name out of your mouth.”

—

You’re scrunching your nose when he nears, head lowered and notes in disarray.

It’s that stupid, heady cologne he wears—musk and patchouli something, you think—that you’re developing a knack for recognising almost anywhere. And chlorine, always chlorine and other pool chemicals, except for Fridays which are devoted to football practice petrichor.

“I would ask if you own a watch,” you say, refusing to look up, “but I know you do, because the Rolex logo blinds me every fucking time it’s in the sun.”

Rafe takes a seat beside you, snaking his arm around your backrest and swivelling it around to him in one swift motion.

You gasp in surprise, though it melts into a scoff as the indignation sets in. “Cameron,” you angle back, eyes widening slightly. “I was in the middle of something.”

“So here’s the thing,” he begins, ignoring you. His thighs are pressed into either side of his seat, the groove of his knees nudging your thighs ever so slightly. “I was… alright, a minute late, yeah? And I thought — well, she isn’t going to care if it’s a minute or ten, she’s going to murder no matter how late I am.”

You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms over his chest. “True.”

“So,” he leans down, fishing a cylinder of Pringles and a packet of Skittles out of his bag, “I thought I’d take some time to pick out my ideal last meal.”

You glance down at the assortment dubiously, narrowing your eyes. “Vending machine crap?”

“Vending machine crap,” Rafe affirms, throwing them onto the table beside him. The plastic crinkles ominously.

“Bold of you to assume that I’d allow a last meal, Cameron,” you say then, faux-serious.

He leans forward in his seat, his blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Christ, Y/L/N, you’re going to deny me fundamental human rights now?”

“Wouldn’t you rather a quick, painless death than us delaying the inevitable with some food?” You respond, leaning forward in tandem.

“A quick, painless death, huh?” He asks, his voice lower now, roughened by the closeness. “How’re you going to do it then, head girl?”

The amusement on your features gives way to diffidence. It feels as though there’s a hidden meaning to the words he’s saying, something more crackling alive in the inch of space between your faces. “Poison,” you say, softer too.

A pause. Rafe’s gaze falls to your lips, and his chest stills, his broad shoulders tensing. “Don’t know if you’ll need it,” he murmurs, his Adam’s apple bobbing arduously. “Not right now.”

You furrow your brow, momentarily bemused. “Hm?”

Rafe Cameron thinks about kissing you often. He thinks about it in this absentminded, matter-of-fact way, like it’s meant to be on his mind all the time, like the pull in his chest is an inevitable part of being your almost friend—colleague.

He thinks about it extra hard now, slanted by your proximity and the soft, bergamot notes of your perfume.

Contrary to your vow, it’s eliciting a slow, painful death not to lean in and press his mouth against yours. He swallows again, his gaze lingering on your lips, and the tension in the room sears through you like a meteorite.

You pull back hastily, clearing your throat and turning back toward the table. “Anyway,” you cough, pulling your laptop forward and touching the mousepad. “We should really get going on this agenda.”

Rafe takes a little longer to regain his composure, his warm breath folding over your shoulder as he sighs. He turns too, leaning forward to look at the screen, and suddenly his proximity feels like too much to bare.

You move your chair to the side a little, the legs scraping over polished wood tauntingly. Rafe’s chest pulls in protest. “Right,” he says after a beat, trying not to frown. “Winter formal.”

The pair of you work in silence for a while. Time ticks by slowly, the maddening inches between you shrinking, and it’s only at the sight of a purple horizon that you acquiesce and stop working.

When you close your laptop and turn to address Rafe, you find that he’s already looking at you.

The revelation makes your pulse jolt. You break eye contact and clear your throat, busying yourself with your tote bag.

“Your focus is unparalleled by the way,” he says after a beat, his voice somewhere between amused and exasperated. “Remind me never to leave you alone when you’re studying.”

You try not to look too pleased by this revelation. “I always study alone, Cameron.”

“For your safety, Y/L/N,” he replies, faux-sombre, “I really think you shouldn’t.”

You look over at him, raising your eyebrows. “Is this your weird way of asking me on a study date?”

“Oh no,” he responds matter-of-factly, pushing back onto the hind legs of his chair. “One, I don’t study.” He leans forward then, ducks his head to eye-level, the blue of his irises bright and ever present. “Two, studying together is not a date.”

In your head, this translates to: you’re overestimating his interest. You say, suddenly chagrined, “I was kidding. Obviously.”

“So was I,” Rafe returns, cracking a roguish grin. “Obviously.”

You scoff, throwing your tote bag over your shoulder and standing up. “Nice try, Cameron.”

“It’s true, though,” he replies, oddly sincere as he straightens. “Any other girl and I’d never fucking dream of bringing them to a library to hang out.”

“Make out,” you correct with a cough, earning another grin.

“Exactly,” he nods, raising his eyebrows significantly. “I mean, shit, I’ve got a reputation to uphold Y/L/N.”

You breathe out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head. “What? As the Academy’s biggest fuckboy?”

“Fuckboy?” Rafe echoes, faux-affronted. “It’s not my fault I’m such a goddamn delight, now, is it?”

“Except,” you reply, trying not to smile, “that delight is probably the last word I’d use to describe you.”

Your shoulders knock together as you walk forward. It becomes harder not to smile, his closeness like warm syrup.

“And the first?” He asks.

“Well,” you splay your palm out and begin listing adjectives off, “cocky, arrogant, absolutely insufferable, sweet when you want to be which is actually rarely ever —”

“Sweet?” Rafe interrupts, something fond swelling in his chest. “I’ll take sweet.”

“You’re forgetting the rarely ever part,” you remind him, raising your eyebrows.

“Still,” he insists, grinning stubbornly, “ever.”

You shake your head exasperatedly, almost amused, and push through a set of double doors that take you to the foyer. The carpark isn’t far away, and the promise of a ride home—time and closeness like something rare—lingers in the air.

It’s as you’re grappling with its presence that you frown, suddenly aware of the silence. The pair of you have stopped walking and you aren’t certain why that is. “This conversation was going somewhere, wasn’t it?”

Rafe furrows his brow thoughtfully, though his features are quick to acquiesce. “Right. The fact that I don’t consider studying a date.”

You cringe again. “Oh.”

“But,” he continues, tapping the side of his nose conspiratorially. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

A tell-tale warmth spreads over your cheeks. “Nice try, Cameron,” you mutter, though your voice sounds weaker than you want it to.

“Don’t worry, Y/L/N,” he murmurs back, bowing his head to eye level. “When I’m asking you out for real, I’ll make sure that you know it.”

—

Lightning: his musk and patchouli scent—and chlorine today, no petrichor to fill the air.

Thunder: his voice. Deeper when he’s calling out for you than when you’re alone with him.

One always comes before the other, like this cyclical reminder of how much of him is now familiar.

“Y/L/N!” He calls out urgently, prompting you to halt.

“Cameron?” You turn to face him as he nears, evidently bewildered. “No meeting today, remember? Cromwell’s away.”

“No, I know,” he answers, a little breathless. “How’re you getting home?”

You furrow your brow bemusedly. “Walking?”

“I always drive you home after meetings,” he says then, quick to fall into your step. “Let me drive you home.”

“Did you hear anything I just said?” You ask, sounding a little exasperated. “We don’t have one of those today, genius.”

Rafe grins handsomely, knocking his shoulder against yours. “I’m a creature of habit, Y/L/N. Can’t you use your head girl goodwill and humour me just this once?”

You shake your head bemusedly, deciding to accede. “I don’t get why this is such a big deal for you.”

Rafe shrugs matter-of-factly, beads of water falling from his damp hair to his broad shoulders. It pulls your gaze from his muscles to the bare expanse of his forearms, his shirt sleeves rolled up so his Rolex glints in the yellow sun. “It’d be weird,” he says finally, “driving home in silence on a Wednesday instead of listening to your god-awful playlist.”

“Hey!” You chide, pushing him sideways playfully. “My playlist is fucking fire.”

Rafe makes a face. “Listening to that much Taylor Swift can’t be healthy.”

“Don’t do that,” you return, fixing him with a knowing look. “I hear you humming along to Delicate whenever it plays.”

“Good tune,” he defends, accurate lyrics, “that’s it.”

“Aw,” you tease, smiling this sweet, amused smile up at him—sunshine incarnate. “Don’t worry Mr Fuckboy, I won’t tell anyone that you’re actually a secret swiftie.”

Normally he’d return the jibe, but that fond look on your face is making it hard for him to breath. He wishes he had a camera, pathetic as that is. He wishes he had you, was afforded the luxury of endless time with your pretty face.

“Kildare Academy’s head girl everybody,” he says after a beat, unlocking his car with a tandem grin. “The paragon of confidentiality.”

Delicate plays once on the ride to your house. And when it does, his proclivity for the song now made public, Rafe Cameron isn’t afraid sing along loudly.

He’s proudly unabashed when the chorus blares through, singing, “Is it cool that I said all that?”

“Is it chill that that you’re in my head?” You join in between laughter, angling toward him to face him fully.

His long fingers drum against the steering wheel with the beat, making the muscles of his forearm pulse. He leans forward to turn the music up louder, and when he hand drops again, it falls onto the vibrating gear shift.

Dangerously close to your exposed thigh, a slate of sunlight painting it a warm shade of orange. “Cause I know that it’s delicate.” Rafe becomes acutely aware of the lyrics to this song, all of a sudden. “Isn’t it…”

“Isn’t it, isn’t it, isn’t it,” you continue to sing, that sweet, amused smile making a return on your face. Almost pleased. The awareness grows maddening.

You continue to hum along whilst Rafe tries to catch his breath. He’s almost grateful for the fact that he’s nearing your house until he realises that this means no more pretty girl in his pick-up truck.

“Think you can keep yourself from studying too hard this weekend?” Rafe asks, pulling into your driveway carefully.

You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows playfully. “Think you can force yourself to do a bit of study this weekend?”

Rafe throws his arm around your headrest and leans in a little, this fond, roguish grin on his face that makes your chest hurt. “Why? You asking me on a study date, Y/L/N?”

“No,” you answer, fixing him with a pointed look. “I just think your brain deserves a little bit of a workout.”

Rafe presses his tongue against his cheek, his gaze falling over your figure slow. “Trust me when I say,” he replies, his voice lower now, rougher. “That the real estate you occupy in there is a workout in itself.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, that pain in your chest dissolving into something softer. “All the nagging,” you deflect, “huh?”

Your front door opens, and Rafe catches the movement in his peripheral vision. His eyes linger on you anyway.

“Not quite,” he murmurs finally, just as you turn and unbuckle your seatbelt.

You look up at your porch and find your mother squinting down at you. She has a dish-towel clad hand pressed against her full hip, and her warm gaze scans over the pair of you knowingly.

When her expression changes, the delighted smile on her face creating crow’s feet, you recognise what’s coming before she’s even opened her mouth.

A few weeks ago, before his presence infused all this sweetness into your bones, you probably would’ve turned to him at this stage and pleaded he refuse.

Now, however…

“Rafe!” You mother calls out, gesturing for you to roll down the window. “Have you had dinner yet, sweetheart?”

“Not yet, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he answers, leaning forward to send her that handsome smile of his.

It’s a compromising position, his cheek close enough to press against yours, and you’re awash with the heat of his torso as it occupies the personal space in front of you. You swallow.

"Well then," she responds, "you'll have to stay and have it with us."

The arm he's wrapped around your headrest relaxes, his fingers brushing over your shoulder intermittently. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” your mother dismisses, waving the dish-towel around. “If you help me make the last few bits, you’ll be doing the opposite of imposing.”

Rafe hesitates momentarily, his eyes flicking to your face for approval. It’s only then that he’s able to recognise the closeness; his pupils flex a little, just enough to make you swallow once more.

You’re okay with this? He seems to ask.

You shrug. It appears all the confirmation he needs to shift the gear into park and release the ignition, his close proximity wavering.

And he walks the short walk to your porch behind you, his pleased expression hidden, unaware of the look of exasperation you’re sending to your mother.

She raises her eyebrows reproachfully. It’s only polite, they seem to say, as if we’re doing him a favour. As if Rafe Cameron doesn’t live in the most expensive house on the island, no doubt equipped with a private chef—a miscellany of fancy dinner items.

Maybe you’re embarrassed by the mediocrity of your own home, on the cusp of the Eight with enough roots to belong to the Cut. And you know it’s silly, thinking this way; terrifying too, because since when did you care what Rafe Cameron thought of you?

The fact that you’re grappling with these emotions must show on your face, because Rafe pulls close once the three of you are in the kitchen, ducking his head to your ear.

Goosebumps bloom where his warm breath fans over your skin. “Are you sure you’re good with this?”

You know he doesn’t mean anything by it, but you sort of hate that he knows this is affecting you at all. You breath out a scoff, breaking away from him deftly. “It’s not a big deal,” you lie, sending him a stern look. “Drop it, yeah?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies, raising his arms in surrender. Then, he shifts his attention to your mother, who’s grabbing a bunch of fresh vegetables from the fridge.

“Think you can handle chopping duty, Rafe?” She asks, handing them over to him with a smile.

“Yes ma’am,” he repeats, and then he raises his eyebrows at you, his blue eyes filled with mirth. “So this is where you get it from, huh?”

“Ma’am,” you mother echoes, nodding approvingly. “I like it.”

After she’s enlisted your help in making the salad dressing, she can’t help but hover over the pair of you, throwing jibes as she pleases.

“So Rafe,” she says, ignoring your stern look, “Y/N tells me you’re captain of the football team, on top of being head boy. Your parents must be pretty proud of you, huh?”

Rafe’s features falter. There’s a split second where the hand that’s chopping away at the lettuce freezes in place; it’s a subtle pause, but you’re in tune enough to recognise it despite your mother’s ignorance.

“Maybe,” he answers finally, quick to plaster a smile back onto his face. “Though they do tend to have pretty high expectations.”

“And I’m sure you’re meeting all of them,” your mother dismissed airily, her bright eyes warm. “Do you know where you want to end up next year?”

“UNC,” he replies automatically. “Wanna stay reasonably close to my family, you know?”

You frown at this, sending him a questioning glance. From the little Rafe has disclosed about his father, it’s clear that he’s a bit of a tyrant—why would he wants to stick around here for him?

He turns his head in tandem, somehow reading your thoughts. “Wheezie,” he adds, looking back to your mother. “I know my dad’ll take care of Sarah just fine, but me and Wheez tend to get a little bit forgotten.”

“And Wheezie and Sarah are your younger sisters?” Your mother asks.

“Uh-huh,” he affirms, returning his gaze to the chopping board. “But anyway, I’ll probably apply to some of the other colleges on the East Coast, too, just in case I don’t manage to snag one of UNC’s football scholarships.”

“I’m sure your grades’ll get you through,” you say then, unable to help yourself. There’s a pause as two pairs of eyes descend on you, Rafe’s a little surprised, your mother’s on the smug side.

“Careful, Y/L/N,” Rafe teases, nudging your shoulder with his. “That was almost a compliment.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully. “The dumb frat boy act may work your friends, but I know you pull more A-grades than all of them combined.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, a jibe. “More keeping tabs, huh?”

You shrug, mock-nonchalant, tapping the side of your nose conspiratorially. It transforms Rafe’s expression into something roguish, full of mischief, and he ducks his head slightly, feigning a challenge. “You’re right though,” he says, lowering his voice. “I’m coming for your title, Miss Future Valedictorian.”

“So that’s why you didn’t want me studying this weekend!” You exclaim, faux-affronted.

“It’s also why we can’t go on study dates together,” he affirms, nodding soberly.

You furrow your brow. “You’ve lost me, Cameron.”

He raises his eyebrows significantly. “Too distracting, Y/L/N, keep up.”

It throws you, the ease with which he admits to this, your mother his witness. You try to dismiss it with a scoff, though the sound that comes out of your mouth is far weaker. “Anyway,” you glance down at the concoction in front of you, cheeks too-warm, “dressing’s ready.”

—

Rafe stays far longer than you expect him to.

He tackles your mother’s interrogatory remarks like a champion, deflecting as necessary. And he’s polite about it all, effortlessly charming, asking just the right number of personal questions—making your heart swell with his thoughtfulness.

And it’s terrifying, really, when dusk falls and he’s still here. Burnt ochre transforms into deep, purple hues, and it’s only then that your mother acquiesces and lets him go.

“Thank you again for dinner Mrs. Y/L/N,” he says, halted at your door with a handsome grin on his face.

“You’re welcome here anytime, Rafe!” She answers delightedly, sending him a playful wink. “Especially when you joke about the fact that I look thirty.”

“Sisters!” He insists, looking between the pair of you solemnly. “Seriously, Mrs. Y/L/N. Love your work.”

Her smile extends from her lips to the sides of her crinkly eyes, crow’s feet shining through. “Give your family my best.”

He nods kindly, and she turns, disappearing around the corner and leaving you to close the door.

Just you and him on your porch, now. The stygian sky descends on the scene like velvet, and the silence reclines, allowing your gaze to fall over him in paces.

His too, agonising over everything from the curl of your lashes to the osculate between your lips. The smooth column of your throat, illuminated by the dim glow of your porch lamp.

“Thank you,” he murmurs finally, breaking the silence. (He knows, if he hadn’t, the urge to kiss you would’ve grown unbearable.) “For tonight. I haven’t sat down for a meal like that in a while.”

You’re quietly surprised by the revelation, and in the beat that follows, his figure blurs around the edges. He’s proximal, though not proximal enough. And his once-damp hair is now fluffy with static, his taut muscles ever-present, his torso like a body heat furnace.

One step forward, and he’d be able to press you against your front door and kiss you. You swallow thickly.

“Don’t thank me,” you say quietly, willing yourself to look up at him. “It was fun.”

Another pause. He’s staring down at you with this intensity that makes your cheeks burn, and you find yourself grappling for purchase on something—anything, overwhelmed by his closeness.

“If only you were always like this,” you add, trying to tease though sounding a little weaker than you want to.

Rafe’s forearms are bare, rougher in the chill. He crosses them over his chest, leaning into the column of your porch, closer. “Like what?”

His warm breath unspools. He’s softer like this, at your doorway after dinner, his thick brows raised and skin awash in yellow light.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, looking away without meaning to. “Sweet.”

“Sweet?” He echoes, his voice lower, rougher. “I’m always sweet, Y/L/N.”

“That’s not true,” you whisper. You’re aware that he’s inched infinitesimally closer.

“To you,” he rasps, “I am.”

He pushes off the column of your porch then, ducking his head until it’s at eye-level with yours. When his rough palm finds the contour of your jaw, you let out a shaky breath, your heart a mess.

“Rafe,” you warn.

“Y/N…” he echoes, his finger sweeping over your warm cheek.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe x you

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

wibta if i asked for a restaurant my partner doesn't like?

this will probably be past worrying about by the time it comes out and its not super high stakes but im mostly curious people's take on this. we're both autistic btw.

my (23m) birthday is soon and my (25nb) partner is taking me out for dinner. my favorite food is sushi, but they don't like sushi at all, and it is expensive, so we're instead going to a chinese buffet that has a decent sushi selection. there are two buffets to consider here. buffet A is our usual one, it has an ok selection of sushi and good chinese food, but buffet B has much better sushi and is the one i would want to go to the most. the problem is, my partner does not like the chinese food at buffet B. i dont really see a problem with it, and i thought they liked it when we went before, but they stated they dont like that buffet and want to take me to A for my birthday instead, which makes me really sad because they have a much better sushi selection at B than A.

would i be the asshole if i pressed the situation to go to buffet B instead even though they dont like it? my logic is that its my birthday and i should get to choose the restaurant, but they do have some autism problems with food, and idk how bad their aversion is to buffet B cause we've only been there once, but they may not even have anything to eat. then again, im already compromising on going to a chinese buffet instead of a whole sushi place, but thats mostly for price, because they like some of the other entrees at sushi places anyway.

idk, its not like i wouldn't enjoy buffet A because i do really like their chinese food and they do have some sushi, but i would just have a better time overall with B since what i really wanted for my birthday was sushi primarily not chinese food. there's no price difference between the two buffets so that's not an issue, and yes they are paying for it bc its my birthday lol.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[joelsmochi]

closer

rating: E 18+ pairing: tortured artist!Joel x black!girly!f!reader summary: Joel hits a creative block with a mural, leading him down a road of discovery and intimacy in ways he's never felt before. warnings: au/no outbreak, unspecified drug use + marijuana use, unprotected piv, sex while under the influence, consenting adults!!! age is not specified but we can assume joel is mid 40s, brief mentions of death + abusive relationships, ooc!Joel (he is not the same person he was 1/2 pill ago…), third person pov but most of it is from joel’s perspective, very fluffy sex they may have said i love you wc: 5.3k a/n: Happy New Year everybody! This was inspired by Closer by Goapele and Prisoner by The Weeknd & Lana Del Rey plus I was thinking too hard about the time I ate an edible that had too much THC for me to handle and I produced whatever this is. Hopefully tortured artist!Joel hasn’t happened yet because I felt creative with this one…

ᝰ

The frayed paintbrush relentlessly slapped against the concrete wall, coating the discolored brick in thick layers of different browns, reds, and whites. Opaque smoke blurred his vision, yet he only let it inspire the strokes of his hand, creating a beautiful image that wasn’t clear to him yet.

Before he knew it, the sun had set; he sat on his hard leather sofa, massaging the twinge that had settled into his wrist while his face wore a disappointed scowl. He was displeased with his progress, the blob that was already half dry on the wall of his loft.

A rumble snuck into his stomach, forcing him to stand up and absentmindedly walk into the kitchen area. However, his disappointment grew when he opened the fridge to find nothing suitable for a proper meal. As he glared at the half-eaten yogurt and scarce 24-pack of beer, he decided to go and get Chinese food.

He lit up a cigarillo to accompany his walk around the block and across the street, tossing whatever was left into a sewer drain just in time for him to open the door to the restaurant.

“Miller,” a worker greeted with a smile, “your usual?”

Unknown to him, the smell of his cigar caught the attention of a waiting customer. She waited until he was done chatting with the employee to ask, “Cream?”

He did a double take, unsure if she was talking to him at first. She was tall, maybe five foot nine or five foot ten, with big hair and brown skin, and dressed in something far too lovely for her to be eating Chinese for dinner.

“I’m sorry?”

“You smell like cream-flavored cigars,” she said, sounding amused.

He felt unsure of how to respond, not wanting to seem rude, watching her diamond earrings gleam from the low yellow lighting. He paid for his food and answered. “Yeah, just had one.”

“Black and mild or swisher?”

“Blacks,” he answered, growing a little uneasy from the stranger questioning him despite the mundane topic. 

“My favorite,” she boasted, earning another look from him after he put his change in the tip jar. “They’re much smoother.”

The man didn’t respond, only offering a tight smile in return. The pair stood a few feet apart silently, listening to people chattering and utensils clanking behind the counter as they waited.

She smelled like expensive brown sugar perfume and cocoa butter, a sickly sweet combination that tickled his sense of smell. Her scent was reminiscent of a freshly baked cookie a kid couldn’t wait to dive into. She was dressed in a lovely skirt and a prissy top paired with a mix of gold and silver rings and necklaces and bracelets — two colors he usually hated paired together, but somehow, she made it blend beautifully.

Her makeup was soft, or so it seemed. It wasn’t too heavy, but her eyebrows were bold, as was the line drawn around her vermilion border. He noticed she blinked slowly but held her eyes wide as if she anticipated something to happen.

The employee’s voice brought the two adults out of their daydreams.

“Beef and broccoli and chow mein?” They asked.

The artist waited kindly for the woman to grab her bagged styrofoam container before reaching for his own; he walked a few feet behind her, suddenly feeling bad for his cold demeanor earlier once they were outside.

“You want one?” He called after her before she got too far away; she turned around with a frown, confused at his offering.

He reached into his pocket and held up a couple of fresh cigars. She grinned, secretly desperate for a smoke. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she strutted back towards him. She strutted like a cat, one leg crossing the other.

She allowed the man with the messy hair the privilege of placing the stick between her plump lips, keeping her eyes on his as he watched where he was lighting.

She took a long drag, waiting for him to get his cigarette lit before asking, “What’s your name?”

His eyebrow cocked up, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was amused. But he answered anyway.

“Joel.” He sharply inhaled; she responded with her name and a smile, thick smoke spilling out from the spaces between her teeth as she gently exhaled. “You from around here?”

“No,” she said, “I like to travel. See new places. Find new things… Right now, I’m fixated on museums—art museums precisely.”

That piqued his interest. “Art? What kind of art d'you like?”

“Any art that speaks to me.”

Joel smirked at her answer as if it were funny. “Oh yeah? What speaks to you?”

Instead of her usual quick response, she pondered momentarily, trying to locate proper words to avoid rambling. “Suffering or excitement.”

He could only narrow his eyes at the vague response, but she spoke again before he could ask for an elaboration.

“You must like art,” she guessed correctly.

“I’m uh…” And there’s a long pause; the rhetorical shame of confessing what his job was had risen, but for what purpose? After a short internal debate, he finally admitted, “I’m an artist myself.”

Her eyes widened with excitement, which Joel found adorable. She asked him various questions: what kind of art he created, how long he’d been painting, his favorite creations…

He admired her interest in the subject and how she listened carefully and intently, clearly trying to understand as much as possible about him.

“How do you stay inspired all the time?”

Shit.

Joel’s mind ran blank for a few seconds, and he watched the woman’s face contort into confusion. She worried she’d brought up an unhealed wound and persisted that he didn’t need to answer.

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Joel assured, “I’ve honestly been at a block lately…”

“Oh.” She sounded relieved. “Do you do anything to help get over that?”

He sucked on his teeth as he thought of an appropriate answer, yet nothing came to mind. He couldn’t lie even if he wanted to. “Just wait for it to pass.”

“…Could... Could I see your art?”

For the first time, she seemed to be shy. Her teeth grimaced, and eyebrows crooked out of fear of rejection, but Joel was sure he was far more nervous than she was.

"Uh, sure..." He said hesitantly. "What I have at home is nothing special, but-"

"I'm sure it's beautiful," she interrupted. "I'm free right now if that works."

ᝰ

This was unlike him: inviting a girl he'd just met into his home. She had something that enamored him. What was it, he wondered with each passing minute, was it her beauty or curiosity? Was it the way she smiled or how sweet her voice sounded? He couldn't ponder for much longer as she had already begun complimenting his home.

"A loft," she said while taking in the brick walls of his home that were littered with several paintings that all seemed to be works in progress. "It's cozy." Joel watched as her painted nails gently trailed over the armrest of his stiff couch just before she reached up to feel a painting of what seemed to be a little girl.

His staring made the woman laugh, and while he could admit he was being a bit precarious, he just wanted to ensure she wouldn't mishandle that particular piece. She didn't. She just reached to stroke the texture meant to resemble the girl's curly hair; she touched it for only a moment before pulling away and turning around.

After realizing the painting was sacred to him, she asked, "Is that someone you know?"

His shoulders and chest rose as he sucked in a melancholic breath, and she couldn't ignore the sadness that swarmed his eyes.

The woman was satisfied with no answer and moved on quickly. "May I eat with you?"

Joel gave her a stiff nod, his thoughts still filled with the traumatic memories of the girl in the photo.

They sat quietly and slowly ate their food, the lack of heat from their containers making the meal invaluable. The silence comforted him as it felt much different than the cold silence he was used to. No. Her silence was warm and comforting... Like a mother caring for a sick or sad or sleeping child. She didn't offer any awkward glances or stiff smiles. She didn't hide her joy or her optimism despite his distant demeanor.

Her eyes weren't as big as they were just an hour ago. Perhaps the food made her sleepy, he thought.

"Where ya from?" He figured he should at least be a good host.

"Rockport. It's a small town in Massachusetts. You?"

"Born and raised here," he answered.

"Really?" She squinted at him while poking at broccoli with a fork. "Never wanted to leave?"

Shrugging, he said, "Thought about leaving, never needed to."

"Is that painting supposed to be the same girl?"

She pointed to the spontaneous mural partly done on the big red wall opposite to them. He looked at it, forming different opinions and thoughts on his work.

"No. Not entirely sure what that one is yet," he grunted. "Needed to paint something, but I can't quite figure it out yet."

"You should do a self-portrait," she suggested with a wide grin. "I'd love to see how you see yourself."

"Nah, if I did that, it'd just be a college-ruled notebook with a bunch'a scribbles in it."

She chuckled at his pessimism, gaining a confused look from him. "So? Maybe someone would see something between the scribbles."

"I don't like painting myself," he said firmly.

She couldn't care less about his seriousness; she saw his need for perfection and keeping busy with work. Seeing the distress on the average person's face wasn't unfamiliar to her; all she wanted to do was take it away.

"Your art is lovely, Joel," she spoke truthfully, "For what it's worth, I think you'd paint yourself beautifully."

He chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds, taking in her warm smile and gentle words.

"You're very kind," he admitted, "thank you."

The temptress walked and stood in front of the mural to admire the thick blobs of paint that were still tacky. She saw the vision but just as quickly saw the block.

"You seriously do nothing to help the creative blocks?"

With a slight frown, he shook his head to confirm. "Just try working on something else until I find my rhythm again."

"Why not? Why not music or movies or going outside for more than Chinese on a Thursday evening?"

Feeling a bit antagonized, Joel scowled at her. "I paint what's in my head, not around me."

"Maybe that's the problem." She sat close to him on the floor and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Maybe you've painted all you know, and you're stuck right now because there's nothing new inside that pretty little head a'yours."

"Flattery only gets you so far, sweetheart."

"It got me in your apartment, did it not?"

His scowl grew, and he felt no need to hide his annoyance from her.

"Just tryna help," she smirked.

"I don't need your help."

"Clearly not," she simpered; she pulled a bag of ground weed from her purse and held it up for him to see. "Maybe you need Mary's help."

"You're fucking joking."

"It helps me," she said softly. "When I don't smoke, I'm a very anxious and shy person."

Joel's eyes fell to her hands, which were beginning to work the weed into a paper very carefully, watching her roll it precisely. "Really?" He asked incredulously.

"Mock me all you want, Joel, but I must say that even a couple of hits can make you feel ten times better."

"Not interested," he quipped.

"Well... If weed isn't your speed, then maybe..." She licked the paper shut and placed it on the table, then reached in her purse again for a bag containing different colored pills. "...ecstasy would be more fitting."

"You expect me to take drugs from a stranger?" He asked.

She leaned her chin on his shoulder and whispered, "I'm no stranger, Joel. I'm your inspiration."

He found himself laughing at her choice of words, not paying her any mind as she climbed into his lap. She placed a pill between the rows of her teeth and bit down to break it in half, offering him whichever half was smaller.

"You don't have to if you really don't want to... But it will help."

Her voice was so enticing that Joel was sure he was already high from the affection she persisted in giving him.

"Help me paint?" He asked, still not entirely convinced.

"Help you create."

Joel thought about it: he had nothing left in his life to live for other than his talent for painting, and he even felt that it was being wasted on unproductive days and constant disappointments.

For months, all he wanted was to create one last masterpiece and to feel proud of it. If all it took was to give in to some strange form of peer pressure, then that's just what needed to be done.

Almost an hour later, however, his worries about art were set aside.

With his head lying in the pretty woman's lap, he tried remembering why he had been so angry before. He let her stroke the curly hairs on his head and trace his lips over and over again.

"You're doing good," she cooed gently.

"You're very, um," he swallowed between his heavy breaths, "nurturing."

He noticed the woman's eyebrow shift upwards, and an amused hum left her mouth. "Hm. No one's ever said that before."

"Really?" Joel began to realize how dry his throat became. "Well, it's a compliment."

"Thank you," she giggled. "Thirsty?"

"Mmhm," he moaned.

Reaching over to grab the water bottle on the floor, she took a long sip as she felt parched before holding his head up to help him drink some. He felt her sticky lip gloss around the rim and found himself latching even harder onto the plastic container.

She let him drink as much as he needed before closing the bottle and helping him stand up, urging him to paint something.

He felt a wave of heat envelope his body, the hairs along his arms and neck dancing along his skin. He wanted to laugh, but nothing was funny, so he tried to hold it in. He followed her around the room and watched the ends of her hair bend and curl around her arms. She opened a few paint bottles, squeezing some onto his stained palette and holding the brush out for him. She couldn't help but laugh at the elation in his wide eyes; he was definitely in a much better mood than before.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer, not bothering with the meaningless utterance of words and just giving into his need to kiss her. She wasn't surprised by the gesture, inviting his tongue into her mouth for more. She tasted the cigar on his breath and lips, ignoring how bitter it seemed.

The paintbrush smeared itself against Joel's elbow, causing him to jolt back in shock, only to laugh when he realized the purple-coated paintbrush was bending on its own. He took it from her hand and approached the wall, immediately getting to work.

While he worked and ranted about how the piece was "basically painting itself," she undressed slowly while prancing around the room and humming to some tune that found its way into her head. Joel saw the colors blend and separate, waiting for the wall to respond with where his next brush stroke should be.

The woman found herself looking at that painting of the little girl again. She was unable to quiet her curiosity.

"Is she your daughter?"

Her voice broke the string tying him to his work, and he stumbled around a bit before turning around and facing her with an asking face. He let his tools go and followed the sound of the siren, looking deeply into her wide eyes.

"She was my daughter," he admitted freely, something he refused to do as often as possible.

"Where is she?"

He noted how concerned she seemed and took it as an invitation to confide in her.

“She uh… She died ‘bout ten years ago.”

Joel felt her fuzzy arms weave around him, encompassing him with a sense of comfort. It was the first time he could talk about the tragedy without bursting into tears. Her lips pressed warm kisses into his forehead and temples as she attempted to bathe him in consolation.

He removed his head from the crook of her neck to look at her face. Her eyes, although appearing a bit lopsided, were still wide and curious, like she was still waiting for something. He tried to focus on just her, but all he wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to paint wanted was to pai-

A shriek broke him out of his trance: the woman seemed surprised about the splatter of paint that got on her bare chest and arms. Joel blinked rapidly and tried to decipher what had happened between talking about his daughter and... Now.

Had time managed to escape him? Was he too out of it to realize that? And who put on the jazz music?

The brown liquid dripped down her body and hid her nipples; he found the motion fascinating. How happy she seemed to be coated in the cold dispense helped him feel more at ease and join in laughing with her. Her hair, frizzier than before, somehow gave the illusion that she was underwater. It just flowed so freely.

"You are a mermaid in the most beautiful depths of the sea," Joel shouted dramatically.

"Wh-what?" She giggled before smearing a finger-lengths of paint onto his forehead.

His hand absentmindedly poked the paintbrush into her collarbone, tickling her in the process. "You are free... And kind... Did you turn the music on?"

And she's giggling again. God, he couldn't get enough of that sound. She was a siren, manipulating him with her songs of joy and laughter.

"You told me to," she answered; only Joel took a few minutes to process it. She covered her hand in yellow paint, cradled his cheek, and let the print of her hand stick to his face as if she were marking her territory. "I'm glad I met you tonight, Joel," she said quietly.

Instinctively, he beckoned for her to close the space between them. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

Her arms snaked around his neck as she looked at his aura and vented. "I was supposed to go on a date tonight with my ex-boyfriend. He wasn't the greatest guy. Abusive. Angry. But my parents love him, and they say he's changed, so... I wanted to try again."

Joel's drug-induced nosiness got the better of him. "Why didn't you?"

She sighed, a smirk daring to grow on her face. "I wanted to make him feel stupid."

He wrapped his arms around her waist at her wise words, holding her close as if she would blow away had he exhaled too hard.

"M'glad I met you too," he admitted. "Did I spill paint on you?"

"Just a bit, but it was my fault. You were in a daze," she admitted bashfully.

The pair took a few minutes to look at each other, feel their spirits, and soak up the serenity between the small gap in their lips.

"Do you wanna fuck?"

Those words would have left Joel speechless in any other scenario at any other time on any other day. But he was high out of his fucking mind, and once his brain had fully processed her question, he answered with a short and sweet "Yes."

He waited patiently as the vixen undressed him, and she took her precious time; her knuckles grazing the wiry hair along his pelvis sent hot shivers across his abdomen before his jeans pooled around his ankles. Lifting his arms to aid in the removal of his shirt, he flinched and giggled childishly when she placed a kiss or two along his collarbone.

She gasped at the nails digging into her sides, his hands begging for more because his voice was too weak to. The desperation grew in his eyes, and he wanted to feel close to her. To feel all of her depths and shallows and curves and grooves. Her essence rendered him helpless. The smell of her perfume was even more sickly than he recalled, but all the much more sweet.

Their bodies danced onto the floor, bending and curling around each other like snakes.

"I was always afraid of this," he spoke as she worked her hand around him, not that he needed it. "Feeling close with someone. After my last... You know."

She smiled at his words, telling him with her eyes: I know.

"I was so scared to feel close to someone..." She admitted. "After him, I wanted to be left alone. Untouched."

"What changed that- oh, fuck," Joel moaned, feeling her wetness encapsulate him.

"Someone found me, ha-ah, hmm... And took care a'me, just like I'm doing for you."

Joel clawed at her back, reaching for her hair, but his arms were too heavy, with the quick rushes of euphoria soaring through his veins. Her moans and pretty little sounds coaxing him into blindness. He couldn't see her face, covered in the universe of her bangs littered with stars and planets, until she leveled her happy face with his. The shimmer in her glossy eyes let him know she enjoyed this just as much as him.

"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, ever s-seen," he moaned.

Finally able to lift his arms, he used them to hold her face gently. He admired her refreshing beauty. She moaned something about how sweet he was, though it went unregistered to him.

All he could feel was her thighs flexing against his hips every time she rode down, and he felt his cock brush that sensitive sponge deep inside of her. Her hands pressed painfully into his ribcage, but he didn't mind. He loved that she needed him so much that it hurt.

She laid her body down on his chest, bringing her lips to his chin; he whimpered at the softness of her lips, his warm breath hitting her nose and making her body shudder. His mouth parted to stick his tongue out for her to lick and suck, which she did graciously.

He never knew his tongue could feel so ticklish or that having it licked would feel so damn good. It made his cock throb against her walls, forcing a moan out of the both of them. Her nails scratched his scalp tenderly, hips rocking back and forth, creating the perfect rhythm.

Her breasts dragged against the hairs on his chest, making some of the dried brown paint flake onto him; her nippled peaked, vulnerable from the friction.

Joel wrapped his forearms around the base of her spine and rolled over as carefully as his intoxicated body would allow. With hair splayed out, she looked so ethereal, like a walking painting herself.

Then, he noticed a bucket of paint sitting nearby and dipped two of his long fingers inside, dragging the white liquid down the valley of her breasts until he reached the peak of her belly. He noticed how her body reacted: all of the little shakes and shudders signs of appreciation made his heart swell.

His hand reached around her hip to grip her ass as he rested his body weight on her and enveloped her in more kisses. His hips rocked gently and slowly, careful not to hurt her. He wanted to feel her cum and hear her beg him to keep going.

To her, it felt like he pushed deeper with each thrust, begging her body to swallow him whole and allow him the grace of becoming one with her. Her eyes were so low, yet she was seeing more clearly than ever. Seeing his aura radiate off of his broad shoulders and tousled hair - it was a haze of blue and purple. But hers were shades of reds and oranges in his eyes, a fiery tyrant that bullied him with praise and adoration.

His nose tickled her chin while his lips made their way up to plant another kiss on her sweet, sweet mouth. The alcohol in her perfume singed the hairs along his face and nostrils, pilling the hairs on his arms.

"Harder, ngh- please," she murmured.

He saw her blown pupils roll gently beneath her eyelids as beads of sweat formed along her hairline. Her breathing was shallow and short. She was close.

Licking his reddened lips, he pushed her knees back until they were flush with her jawline and shifted his body weight from his knees to his toes, then changed the force of his hips without changing the rhythm.

She loved that he listened to her: harder did not mean faster, and he fucking perfected it. Almost like he knew just how hard to go.

Joel drove into her deep enough to make her cunt squelch and clench around his thick cock. He felt clumsy inside of her like he was tripping up over his own orgasm. He felt all of her ridges and curves, the smooth and the rough; everything intensified in a way that could only be described by the God he didn't believe in.

But she had him questioning that in the back of his mind. He would have believed that she was God herself if he wasn't aware of how high he was. She looked celestial, her mouth forming an 'o', and her hair sprawled around her shimmering face. Even with her mascara flaking and running slightly, she seemed so content, so pleased.

Joel's desperation to come inside of her was almost primal, instinctive... If her nails weren't digging so sharply into his forearms, he wasn't sure whether or not he would have been able to hold back.

He didn't ease up on her throughout her orgasm. Honestly, he didn't think too much about it. He never wanted right now to end. With a sense of ecstasy coursing through his veins, he managed to turn into something he tried so hard not to be. He craved her body, her kisses.

He pulled her into his lap before resting his cheek on her breast. He inhaled the musk of her sweat deeply, cherishing the divine woman she was. She felt as beautiful as she looked. She fucked just as sweet as she smelled.

His clammy hand ran over her flexed calve as she bounced on him. Her movements were sloppy from his tight grip, not that either of them cared. She was sure not to go too high or come down too hard, allowing her pussy to drip white remnants of her orgasm onto his balls. He licked and kissed and bit her tits as a submissive thank you.

She kissed the top of his hair, strumming her fingers along his scalp. "Joel," she moaned, "I love you."

"I love you, too, baby," he grunted almost instantly.

Raising his head to look back at her blissed out face, he pulled her even closer. His chin dug into her clavicle, but his neediness only made her laugh softly.

Joel's face twitched as his body proposed its orgasm, his dick throbbed roughly against her sensitive walls. She gasped, taking it as a sign to fuck him faster despite the burning in her legs. He winced at her arms weighing heavier into his collarbones but just clawed at her ass to power through the pain.

She placed a hand over his heart and pushed gently, forcing him to feel the thumping against his chest. He felt so much of his anger and pain dissipate beneath her touch, instilling love and peace in place of it.

"You're so precious," he whispered. A lovely smile rose onto her face, one that drove him crazy. He looked at her with big puppy eyes that threatened to fill with tears. She licked along her teeth and bit her bottom lip. "I love y-you..." He knew he didn't mean it and that she didn't either, but he missed being able to say those words. "Tell m- oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Tell me you love me," he pleaded. "Tell me you love me 'til I cum, baby."

"I love you, Joel.”

His eyes screwed shut, face falling into the curve of her neck.

“I love you, baby. I want you to cum for me,” she moaned, breathless from exhaustion.

His nails dug deeper into her flesh, he was clinging onto his climax as much as possible, wanting to wait long enough for it to destroy him.

“Oh, Joel, fuck!” She yelped. “I love you, I love you!”

And he broke.

His nails scratched lines up her back whilst he screamed into her chest. Her pussy throbbed against his sensitive cock from the arrival of her second orgasm, heightening his sensitivity.

A few tears shed his eyes at the closeness; Joel felt like he was falling into the Earth. He was so dizzy and confused, cornered by the affection clouding his judgment.

“I love you,” she whispered into his scalp, placing one last kiss before climbing off of his lap.

He hissed at the last stroke of her cunt but helped her lay down, using his t-shirt to prop her head up.

“I love you,” he said before kissing her head.

“You should drink some water.”

As soon as she said that, he felt the itchiness in his dry throat. He grabbed water from the table a few feet away and chugged as much as his stomach could handle.

“Will you bring me the joint and a lighter?”

Joel fulfilled her request and sat the water next to her, immediately looking back at his work in progress while she got herself situated.

A few moments passed before she spoke again. “Are you coming down?”

Confused, he looked down at her but saw that the colors weren’t so loud anymore. “Think so…”

“Take a few hits. It’ll help.”

He hesitated but sat down and did as she told him. 

“Thank you,” he said after briefly coughing and handing the joint back to her. “I think whatever that… Pill was actually helped.”

“If it wasn't the pill, it must’ve been the sex,” she teased, earning a laugh from him. She tapped his shoulder and pointed her head towards his mural.

ᝰ

A rough pounding woke Joel up from his slumber. He groaned, pressing the meat of his palm to his forehead and slowly sitting up before remembering the girl was still next to him.

He watched her sleep soundly, mouth slightly parted and a gentle snore creaking from her throat. The memories of last night flooded his mind, and while they were somewhat fuzzy, he remembered clear as day how it felt.

He felt most of his questions had been answered by something more complex than communication. It was frightening yet calming at the same time.

Her body stirring regained his focus, and he knew she must have been feeling the same tension headache as he was when she groaned before her eyes fluttered open. She squirmed from the cold air and looked up at the hungover man, smiling as she remembered the night before.

“Morning, Joel,” she said with a playful tilt.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said. “Your head hurtin’?”

“Yep,” she grunted while sitting up. “Ever been to that café on thirty-fourth street?”

He shook his head.

“I’ll take you there for some coffee and breakfast. My treat,” she told him.

Her eyes landed on the big, dull wall that had been taunting Joel for weeks, only to find it was a brightened, complete piece of art.

She admired the woman's beauty and asked him without looking away, “S’that me?”

Joel smirked and reached for his boxers, standing to put them on.

“She’s beautiful, ain’t she?” Joel kissed her head and walked away, leaving the woman alone to admire his masterpiece…

Her.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #tlou smut #joel tlou #tlou #tortured artist!joel

[tsams-and-co-memes]

LAES Earth Canon Info

Updated - 5/11/24

Earth's likes:

Pink

Barbie movies

Nature

Animals

Tiny things

Love stories

Princesses

Storybooks/fairytales

Phantom of the Opera

Broadway shows/musicals

Beaches

Lilac flowers

The Powerpuff Girls

Wicked

Hair accessories and makeup

Tim Allen

Aquariums

Anime

Tea

PB&J's and grilled cheese sandwiches

Playing with makeup sometimes

Mac n cheese

Soap Operas

Learning other languages

Chinese dramas

Lethal Company, even though it scares her

Garlic bread

Geese

Skyrim

Fries

Earth's dislikes:

Violence

Bloodmoon (based on the way she acts towards/with them)

Eclipse (also based on how she speaks to/acts towards him. She gave him chances to be better than he was currently being, and instead of trying, he opted to keep being a jerk) ((This is subject to change))

Driving

Dora the explorer

Sleeping while shrunk down (it feels restrictive to her)

Miscellaneous:

Snapple

Sad movies/shows

Unlike Sun and Moon, Earth is capable of eating food (partial retcon. Sun and Moon have apparently started eating food)

She used to prepare food for the creator and have dinner with him

She primarily works with children who have disabilities, and children who require more one one one attention

She has a system/database thing in her head that’s loaded with nothing but puns and jokes

She prefers baths over showers

Earth is a silent rage sort of person when she gets angry

Earth has ADHD

She uses a lot of emojis when texting

Her comfort/coping mechanism is saying “pretty ballerina” and/or singing Barbie Girl

She has 5 journals that she's written in as a coping mechanism

Earth starts her days off with morning yoga (the yoga involves screaming), then from there, she goes to work at the daycare. After she's done for the day, she cleans up the daycare, then goes home and cleans every square inch of her room/Monty’s house. After that, it's bedtime, but if she wakes up in the middle of the night, she may go cook an entire meal

She's a clean freak like Sun, and she needs to start her day off by screaming like Lunar

She's pansexual. Maybe demisexual. We're not sure about the specifics yet. She's more drawn to a person's personality than their gender or appearance (according to info in a video, she doesn’t really identify as anything and is more or less unlabeled)

Earth has very good balance

Earth has been ice skating

She watches Bluey

#laes earth #tlaes earth #lunar and earth show earth #the lunar and earth show earth #the lunar and earth show #lunar and earth show #laes #tlaes #canon info

[queeraroace]

coming out in ten christmases

The first Christmas 

I have an inkling of my gender

My boyfriend brings me home to his family

We drive an hour in the snow to buy Pokemon X and Y on Boxing day

I introduce him to my grandparents down the road

It’s the last time I will see them alive

In a quiet voice, in an even quieter house

I ask if he would date me, if I came out as a man

He says he wouldn’t

I don’t believe him

He keeps his word

Next year, 

my family knows

The aunt who tells me the next generation may get this “transgender stuff”

Buys me a shawl from the women’s section

My jock brother says it’ll make a nice housecoat

And wears it for our family photo.

It’s the last one I will be in

Next year, 

my friend takes me in

Her family gives me small gifts,

Hidden sad smiles at the table 

And never get my pronouns wrong

It is my first introduction to feeling like an alien

Posing as a lost cousin at a family reunion

Next year,

I try friendmas

I get everything I could think to ask for

And a few I couldn’t

The tradition doesn’t stick

Neither do the friends

It’s more of the same next year,

My mom asks me to come home for Christmas

Asking me to patch things up with my dad

I ask why that’s my job

She keeps me in the car after Chinese food,

Driving around our old neighborhood to look at the lights,

No matter how much I beg to go back to my apartment

I scream at her until I can’t speak anymore

We don’t speak for the rest of the year

Next year,

I fly halfway across the country 

to spend Christmas with my favorite aunt

She gets me everything my heart desires

Doesn’t ask why I spend all my mornings in bed

And gets me winter socks from the men’s section.

She hands me the phone on the 25th, 

asking if I want to speak to her brother,

My father

I will never get to spend Christmas with her again

Next year,

My best friend introduces me to her family

I get a vegetarian meal all to myself

I accidentally eat the wax

Coating the outside of their fancy cheese

We watch Jim Carrey’s Grinch,

Reciting the lines from memory,

And it almost feels like home

Next year,

My roommate and I are trapped inside

The pandemic has struck

And we don’t talk about the fact 

Neither of us would be seeing our families

Even if the whole world was well

Next year

Covid roars on

Either way,

I am not invited to family dinner

I shave my head on Christmas Day

Just to feel lighter

Last Christmas,

Both my grandparents have died

And I was not at their funerals

My cousin reaches out,

to bring me home for the holidays,

I say yes.

The invitation is revoked by her mother,

As I’m getting dressed to go to their second home.

This Christmas,

My best friend is staying in her apartment,

To keep her family alive

And I stay home, away from my family,

To keep myself alive

We will spend it together,

Keeping each other alive

It will always be like this

I feel as distant from the twinkling lights,

And season’s greetings

As I do from being proudly called a daughter

Christmas is an open wound

It cannot close,

Because Christmas is never over

#poetry #christmas #trans #transgender #holidays #grief #freeform #poem

[blackbat05]

At my side

Fred Weasley x Reader

Plot: When you start to show cracks, a concerned Fred wants to intervene.

Genre: Angst/Comfort, PG-13

A/N: Haven’t been writing as much but when I do the trauma really shows?🤡 But in all seriousness, if you’re going through a tough time, I hope this piece can comfort you slightly. May there be better days.

Fred hears the door unlock, followed by the sound of you removing your shoes and coat. A loud groan emits from that rickety old chair at the dining table and Fred finds you slumped on the furniture, hand clasping a bottle of Butterbeer.

“Tough day?”

You give a wan smile and take a swig of the drink. Your head was still buzzing from the day’s events and you didn’t want to bring any troubles back.

“Dinner?” You asked, hoping to deflect the question. Fred tells you that Molly had sent over basil rice with tomato soup earlier in the day and had saved some for you. You notice that he’s still looking at you. Not wanting to crack under his gaze, you excuse yourself to wash up.

Alone in the bathroom, you find yourself heaving a sigh of relief. You go through the motion quietly and despite being clean, all you want to do is to curl up in bed and sleep the weekend away.

“Hullo love.” Fred appears at the doorway and you already dread where this is going. You have to act normal so you nod nonchalantly. Fred gets beside you.

“Everything okay? You seem sad.” Fred makes an astute observation.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just tired that’s all.” Your voice is a little too high pitched. You don’t want to tell him how you overheard malicious gossip at your temporary job as a healer assistant. Somewhere along the lines of how Fred was a successful, self-made entrepreneur and you were just there for the ride. It hurt even more because it was true.

“Sorry, Fred.” You interrupt. “I’m rather beat, I’ll go to sleep first.”

Before Fred can get another word in, you slip under the sheets and turn away from him. You’ve cried enough. You don’t want to make yourself weak in front of him.

***

Fred stops in front of the closed shop and leans naturally on the glass panel. Arriving at St Mungo’s, he’s greeted by staff and families buzzing around the reception area.

Holding a bag of food from your favorite Chinese restaurant, Fred sets off to find you. He gets off the third floor, and makes his way to the staff room where he’s sure to find you.

“She’s not going to move anywhere else! Not when she has that gorgeous ginger to provide for her.” A nasty voice emits from the room. Fred halts in his tracks and inches a little closer.

“I wish I could have her life,” another voice whines. “I would never have to worry about bills and have tea after passing time.”

Fred could smell the sarcasm from a mile away. The chorus of laughter only made his blood boil because he was no idiot, he knew that they were talking about you. So that’s why you were so gloomy yesterday. Fred has the urge to burst in there and give them a piece of his mind when-

“Fred?”

He turns around and you’re standing there holding a clipboard looking pale and shell-shocked. How much did he overhear from your nasty colleagues?

You manage to snap out of it and grab him by the wrist, pulling Fred to the lobby and out of earshot from curious eyes and ears.

“What was that? Was that why you were so sad?” Fred interrogates. “Tell me!”

You flinch at his accusatory tone. No. You will not be spoken to this way. The past couple of months had been hard on you. The passing of your grandmother coupled with the inability to get a stable job had took a toll on you. You were trying so hard to keep it together but sometimes, all you need is just a spark to start an inferno.

“Will you stop harassing me!” You snarl and Fred genuinely looks shocked at your sudden outburst. This wasn’t you. You were always bright and sunny despite whatever challenges that were thrown your way. The person that was in front of him was… downtrodden and beaten.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Your hands are tightly balled into fist. “I’m trying so hard to feel some sort of worth at a job where my colleagues think I’m a rich skank mooching off her boyfriend and that I’m doing this job to simply pass time.” You find your shoes very interesting at this point in time. “So if you have nothing useful to say, please leave.”

As the words tumble out of your mouth, a part of you cannot believe what you’ve just said. You’re a horrible bastard. You can’t bear to look at the expression on Fred’s face so you turn and stalk back to the ward where your “beloved” colleagues were probably wondering where you ran off to.

***

You apparated a few feet outside of your shared apartment, letting out a sigh. You weren’t looking forward to the conversation to be honest.

Be a big girl.

You open the door to silence and for a moment you think that Fred is still at the shop.

“Hey.”

Crap.

You turn around to see Fred at the kitchen, holding two mugs. “Can we talk?” He asks gently. You nod and wordlessly make your way to the dining table.

“Thanks.” You accept the mug of hot chocolate and are pleasantly comforted by the warmth gushing down your throat.

“About just now,” Fred starts. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have turned up unannounced.” He fiddles with his hands, a sign that he still has more to say. “And I shouldn’t have been that hard on you.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. If anything, it’s me.” You blurt out. “I know you were concerned. I didn’t want to tell you because you’ve been really busy with the shop and honestly, I thought I could handle it on my own. Those nosy witches, they’re more bark than bite.” Your insult brings a small smile on your face and this humors Fred as well.

As you let your guard down, suddenly the weight of the world falls off your shoulders and your cheeks start to feel wet.

“Oh,” you summon a handkerchief, “I’m being ridiculous.”

“You’ve been too hard on yourself.” Fred frowns. “You’ve been through a lot. I wished I could have carried some of it for you.”

“You already have.” You hold his hand, thinking about how he insisted to be there for you when your grandmother passed away and never left your side once. As the tears rolled down your face, you realize one thing.

“You were there and I always want you to be by my side.”

You think about how if Fred was never there, you would have fought everything on your own. It wasn’t any easier now, but at least it wasn’t rock bottom.

Fred gives you a tight hug.

“Always.”

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #weasley fanfiction #weasley twins

[ruggiezz]

hii i would like headcanons for jamil, kalim, vil, rook and malleus reacting to their mc fem dancing "classical chinese dance" plss (it's such a beautiful, delicate and elegant dance, highly recommended <3) that would be all, thanks have a good day ^^

— CLASSICAL CHINESE DANCE : twisted wonderland

[synopsis] they find out you can dance classical chinese dances. reader is yuu

[characters] jamil, kalim, rook, malleus

[extra] i'm so sorry anon, but i don't write for vil (I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW TO I'M SORRY), but i hope you enjoy the rest. also thank you for introducing me to this type of dance, i enjoyed watching videos and researching about it a lot. i hope i met your expectations 😭

JAMIL VIPER was on the way to your room with some food left overs he had from the dinner he made Kalim. It was pretty late, so he was just planning to leave it on the refrigerator and just leave, but something told him to go to your room and give it to you in person.

The door was open and he heard music coming from it, which was weird because he couldn't recognize the language, was it from your world? Now he was really curious.

He was a dancer himself, but there was something so eye-catching in the way you moved, Jamil wondered how much you must have trained to be able to perform with such grace.

Your movements were precise, he could tell you were putting a lot of effort to make them look that way, it was stunning. Jamil admired you before for being able to go through 8 overblots, but he sure admired you even more now, knowing you were so talented.

He hadn't realized he had stood there in silence until you looked back and noticed him standing there, with a, now cold, container of food in his hands.

"Have you eaten dinner yet? Tell me more about your dancing while you eat."

KALIM AL-ASIM entered Ramshackle while humming a popular song from the Scalding Sands, one of his siblings had texted him earlier talking about how good it was, and since then he hadn't be able to get it out of his head. He took his shoes off and while he grabbed the pair of slippers he had bought for himself just to wear in Ramshackle, he noticed two other pair of slippers were missing. He wondered if Ace and Deuce were there with you, and he soon confirmed his suspicions when he peeked from the corner that lead to the lounge.

Contrary to Jamil, he couldn't keep quiet when he saw you dancing, you just looked so beautiful! He entered the lounge excitedly, asking a million questions: What dance was that? Since when could you dance like that? How were you so graceful? Could you teach him?

Ace and Deuce had to physically separate him from you so you could continue dancing. As he sat on the couch with the two of them, he observed carefully the way your facial expressions matched the story the dance was trying to convey, and how you moved according to the music. He probably won't be able to get the song you were dancing to out of his head now.

"That was amazing! Why don't you come to Scarabia tomorrow? I'll have Jamil prepare food for us and you can teach me. It will be so much fun!"

ROOK HUNT has the biggest smile on his face. He's smiling so hard, Vil is worried it may give him wrinkles. You were in Pomefiore's lounge performing with music you had saved from your old phone that you used to practice with back in your world. How you ended up there was the housewarden and vicehousewarden's fault, Rook had heard Epel talk about your dancing with the other first years, and he had told Vil, which had led to this.

The combination of the music, the way you leaped and spinned with such grace and beauty! Oh! What a performance, he is completely entranced with this demonstration of elegance, with the music filling his ears, and the very coordinated moves you make.

Rook not only values the elegance of your moves, but also how you show the emotions you're trying to convey in your dancing.

When you finish, he stands up excitedly and claps. If he had a bouquet of roses, he would have given them to you without doubt.

"Beauté! What an enchanting performance! I feel as if I have been poisoned with the fruits of your hardwork and elegance. Marvelous, this is truly spectacular, Trickster."

MALLEUS DRACONIA sits through your perfomance silently, mesmerized by your moves. There's no way he is taking his eyes off you, a meteorite could fall right behind him and he wouldn't even dare to look, just because he can't stand the thought of missing even a second of your dancing. You had invited him to Ramshackle after promising him to teach him more about your world, and he had agreed without a second thought. Spending time with his favorite human AND learning more about where you came from? Count him in.

He hasn't had the opportunity of seeing other dances that weren't traditional to Briar Valley, since this was his first time out of his own country, but he definitely wasn't dissapointed. He can hear your breath change when you enter different parts of the song, is as if you know exactly when to breath a certain way and when not to while dancing. He examines every part of the dance, refusing to miss anything. You must have practiced so much to deliver such a graceful performance, he finds that admirable. Malleus is sure he could spend the rest of his life watching you spin and flip without getting tired.

"Thank you Child of Man, I throughly enjoyed your performance. I'm intrigued to know more about your world and customs, I would feel honored to learn more if you allowed me."

#jamil viper x reader #kalim al-asim x reader #rook hunt x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil x reader #kalim x reader #malleus x reader #rook x reader #twisted wonderland

[oyesmendes]

heartbreak anniversary

a/n: just saying, i may break your heart... and this has barely anything to do with the song...

masterlist

pierre is laying flat on his back, eyes tracing the wallpaper lined on the ceiling. he never thought wallpapers should be put up there, but that wasn't what you thought. the intricate details of the slightly reflective material curving the white background reminded him of stars in the sky, the shining light in darkness. he remembers the exact day you picked this out, lugging the entire roll through the front door.

-

"mon amour, what are you doing?" pierre asked worriedly, helping you to pull the roll through the door.

"wallpaper! thought it'd look good on the ceiling." your forehead was covered in sweat, but you still grinned at him lovingly.

"wallpaper on the ceiling? what for? our walls are painted just fine."

"oh just wait till i stick it up there."

"careful, mon ange." he warns.

you look down at him smiling, "i'll be okay, pierre."

the door bell rings, and that's pierre's cue to snap back to reality. he trudged to the front door, opening it to reveal charles, holding a case of beers and takeout.

"i'm really not in the mood, charles." pierre tells him as he walks straight into the house.

charles chucks the beer in the fridge, "well, i honestly couldn't care. you need to get out of this foul mood you've been in for the last month."

"i broke up with her, don't expect me to be popping champagne." pierre mumbles.

"yeah, you made a mistake. mourn, then get over it."

mistake. yeah, he made a grave mistake. pierre plops himself on the couch while charles pulls out plates for the both of them, piling each one with food. he hands one of them to pierre - chinese takeout from your favourite restaurant. but he couldn't blame charles, the boy wouldn't have known a mere chao mien could bring up unwanted memories.

charles takes a seat next to him, "she's in milan, yknow. walking for dior and versace next week."

pierre nearly drops his chopsticks, but he turns to look at charles.

"how did you know?" his friend looks at him sympathetically, but turns back to his plate.

"i had dinner with her and charlotte a couple of days ago. she was in monaco."

pierre doesn't respond, a silence falling between them. he thinks to the time they went on double dates, travelling the world together, doing the things they loved. they made a great friend group, if only he didn't fuck up.

"she's doing okay, pierre." charles finally says. pierre hums in response.

"you fucked up, but she's doing okay. she's moving on, maybe you should too."

fucked up. that was the understatement of the year. he more than royally fucked up, pierre knew he broke the one good thing he had going on in his life just because of a bad night.

-

"i can't believe you, pierre gasly. i can't fucking believe you." you pace the walls of the room, anger boiling in your chest.

"we had one bad argument, then you get on the plane without me - fly home and find some chick?!" you shouted, almost screamed at him. pierre sat on the couch with his head in his hands. he hasn't seen you this angry in the two years he's known you.

"i'm sorry, mon ange. i'm sorry, i'm so sorry." he shakes his head, repeating the words over and over again.

"what were you thinking? do you still want to do this?" your voice cracks, and god knows you're trying so hard not to cry. pierre's head shoots up at your words, and he grabs your wrist.

"don't leave, mon amour. i still want us, i still want you."

you pull away from him, crossing your arms in front of you, "i don't think you do, pierre."

"i do, i really do." the pain in his voice was unbearable to you, and the tears started to fall.

"then why did you do that, why did you even bring her to see your mom? how could you do such a thing?"

"i-i didn't, you have to trust me on this, mon ange. we were at a cafe, and saw my mom- and i- we-" pierre had tears in his eyes, he was choking on every emotion he was feeling in his body. he wanted to scream at those damned paparazzi, following his every move; if the pictures didn't leak, maybe none of this would've happened.

"i don't know if i can trust you anymore." although it was sort of a relief, hearing that he didn't exactly mean for his mother to see that woman, you still felt so stuck, so in pain that the one person you trusted with your whole life had betrayed you, just like that.

"please, mon ange." he begged.

"i''m sorry, pierre."

-

"it's our third anniversary tomorrow." pierre finally says.

charles looks at pierre, and he can't quite decipher his emotions - was it sadness, pain or anger? he squeezes his best friend's shoulder, "it'll be okay, you will get through this."

will he though? no one actually knew. not pierre, not charles, not even the gods above. charles gathers both their plates - his empty, pierre's barely touched, and puts them in the dishwasher. he contemplates getting a beer for both of them, but decides against it as he watches his best friend stare into empty space.

charles sighs, "i'm gonna let you have the space. i'll see you next week, pierre."

"thank you for dinner." was all that pierre managed to say. his friend smiles at him, "it's the least i could do."

midnight strikes and pierre is still laying on the couch, tear stains on his cheeks, and his ragged breathing returning to normal. he picks up his phone to check the time, and the dreadful notification is on the top of his screen.

💕third anniversary!!💕

he doesn't know why he needed to set up a god damn calendar notification, because everyone knew that was the one day in the year no one could touch. he almost throws his phone to the ground in anger but he stops himself, unlocking the screen and going straight to your name. your contact was saved with a picture of you in his helmet at the very first race you were invited to, your eyes were glistening with joy. it was one of his favourite pictures, though he could barely see your face, he could feel the happiness even through the screen. he taps on the keypad carefully, making sure there were no typos, no mistakes.

joyeux troisième anniversaire, mon amour. tu me manque.

happy third anniversary, my love. i miss you. hit send. the deed was done. he couldn't turn back now. the screen dims for a moment, then lights up, three hopeful dots changes the mood in the room immediately. he watches the text bubble move, then disappear; move, then disappear.

it takes an hour, whole sixty minutes before his phone vibrates again. immediately pierre grabs his phone, fumbling with the screen to get to your message. it's only one sentence, but he didn't expect it to break his heart all over again.

j'espère que tu vas bien Pierre

i hope you are doing well, pierre. nothing more, nothing less. and it hurts. like a knife to his chest, it hurts like hell. pierre pushes his phone onto the coffee table, dragging his body through the house and into the room. he practically throws himself on to his unmade bed, burying his head in his pillow.

he was defeated, and he felt in his heart that this was the end. there was no return for you and him. this was goodbye, he thought to himself. this was the sign he needed to move on.

but the phone buzzes once more.

tu me manques aussi

i miss you too.

-

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#pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly #pierre gasly fluff #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 #formula one #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine

[rongzhi]

Wawa, hi~ Whenever I watch a movie or a tiktok where people eat out, it seems like people eat an extreme amount of food, without any complaint. I guess it could be used for exaggeration in movies, but have I just misjudged how much people are eating when they go out?

Ohhh you mean like in Chinese movies?? People at Chinese restaurants?? (lol I stared at this ask for a while)

I guess it also depends on the situation. If you're going out to eat in a group, there's a good chance you'll be ordering for the whole table because in that context, it's a get-together and a special occasion and everyone is sharing dishes rather the typical Western entree-per-person model. So there might be like 10 dishes on the table, but if there's several people sharing it, that changes things. Of course, if you're eating out more casually/just for yourself, you might not order that much, but when it's a get-together, people order a lot for the sake of the atmosphere. Chinese food (in China) is also often pretty cheap in comparison to food in the West so you can order large quantities without worrying about the prices in many cases. To be honest, a lot of the dishes Chinese people eat are usually vegetables and soups/stews, which you can demolish pretty easily, especially because the vegetables are usually like bok choy or Chinese cabbage or Chinese spinach, etc, not necessarily filling vegetables like broccoli or cauliflower. I feel like.... protein is also pretty easy to eat a lot of (if you're used to it). It's really the rice that'll get you. Another thing is, when Chinese people get together to eat, they may be sitting at that table for several hours, so the longer you sit there chatting, the longer you have to eat.

Anyway, I'm just spitballing here at this point because I'm still not sure what "extreme" amount is. One person's extreme may be another person's average. Like, my dad is in charge of cooking if he's home and he usually cooks 4 sauteed vegetables (1 might be tofu of some kind), 1 meat dish (pork or chicken), and a pot with broth/stew of some kind. Usually there's only some leftovers of the least popular vegetable lol. So to me that seems like a casual familiar dinner for 4 people but maybe for other people that's like, an Occasion. If no one is complaining, then to them, I suppose it's probably just a normal amount of food.

What else? Hmm.... I suppose I really don't think people are going to complain about a large amount of food unless it's expensive, at the end of the day. In scrolling douyin, I don't think I've ever seen an example of an extreme amount of food, barring instances where it's one person doing a travel/food vlog who orders everything off the menu to give it a try. Actually, in many of those cases, after they finish filming, they have friends/crew in the background who well then help them finish eating what they ordered, or they bag it up and give it to friends later.

#does this answer the question lol #i spaced out several times during so apologies if not #answered ask #text

[nevernonline]

✧.* grow as we go; svt smau.

entry #6 quit!

synopsis: over the past ten years you’ve fallen in love many times. one day someone happens to stumble across your journal sitting out on your nightstand and started posting your entries online. after all of your secrets are leaked it’s clear things would ever be the same again.

𐦍 paring: svt members x afab! reader.

𐦍 feat: non-idol! svt, (g)-idle minnie&soyeon, oc’s

𐦍 genre/s: reader is super angsty low-key, fluffy, sexual themes.

𐦍 content: swearing, bullying, crazy ex’s, mentions of sexual , reader talks about parental death, sexual relations, some drinking& mary jane 🍃

word count: 2.8k

masterlist ▸ 5. 005. chronic memory keeper ▸ 007. snake in the grass

Stepping into her kitchen was the most relaxing feeling ever, it had been a while since y/n had the chance to dine in with a recipe she carefully put together or found on pinterest and craft something nice. Spending hours on end not thinking about her own problems and just focusing on a hobby she enjoys. 

After her overly embarrassing text messages hinting to Minghao that she slightly hoped he was single had her desperately wishing they wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass. 

Cleaning out the insides of the chicken and placing them in a bowl saved for her next soup stock, she massages pads of butter or seasoning onto it’s skin and placed it in her hot oven, before moving onto the thinly silenced potatoes and root vegetables she had prepped that morning, boiling and simmering them. 

A chime from her doorbell stole her away from her stress free time in the kitchen. She was excited to see Minghao but it wasn’t him who was waiting at her threshold. opening it to reveal a small package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a matching twine bow. 

No note was attached on the outer side revealing who may have left the wrapped item for her to find. So she decided to ignore it, just for now at least and get back to preparing her meal for a friend. 

An hour had passed since the last time someone was ringing the doorbell and left waiting for her to quickly wash her hands. 

“Y/n?” 

Minghao. 

“Sorry, one second I just need to wash my hands.” 

She yelled, leaving the water running and rushing herself to the guest bathroom next to the door, making sure she looked alright and didn’t miss an out of place hair or swipe of flour on her face. 

Opening her front door, she revealed Mingaho standing with a paper bag in his hand as well as a bouquet of her favorite flowers, Hydrangeas swinging to his side. 

She looked him up and down forgetting she invited him here and still not inviting him in. He was dressed in a perfectly ripped pair of jeans and matching long denim coat, underneath she caught a glimpse of a white button down top missing the clasps of the top three buttons revealing his chest. He looked incredible. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Yes, please.” 

“This is for you, some wine and snacks for after dinner. I picked them up from the chinese market near my gallery.” 

“That’s so thoughtful of you, thank you. The flowers are beautiful, how did you know I liked hydrangeas?” 

“I saw on Seokmin’s instagram that he took you to a flower farm last year, I just assumed.” 

“Ah. Well you assumed right, they’re really gorgeous.” 

“What are you making? It smells so good.” 

“Roast chicken and root veggies, with some wild rice and my mom’s very special, very secret recipe sauce. 

Minghao was amazed watching y/n move around the kitchen with ease, seemingly like she was dancing around the marble floor. 

“I have to admit, I really thought you were joking when you told me you could cook. I almost expected you to order food and make it look like you were the chef.” 

“Ouch. That hurts my pride a little bit. Actually, my dad was a chef. He used to own a restaurant. I spent a lot of time there as a kid helping him.” 

“Was? What happened if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“He passed away when I was a teenager. It’s a long story.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It’s okay, I miss him, but cooking helps me feel close to him.” 

“Now I’m very sorry I ever doubted your skill.” 

Your laugh made Minghao happy, he knew he probably struck a chord in you but it was nice that even when you were sad you could still find humor in anything. 

“Need my help with anything?” 

“Just for you to either open that bottle of wine or make me a cocktail, dealer's choice.” 

“Got it.” 

Y/n’s dining partner strode off to the chrome bar cart and twiddled his fingers around the various bottles of liquor, some full and some half empty, giving him an indication of the things she chose for herself. 

“Here you are, chef.” 

“Wow, thank you bartender. What is it?” 

“Try it and find out.” 

Y/n took a sip from the slightly pink cocktail glass, swishing it in her mouth for dramatic effect. 

“Okay, so.. Gin, Campari, a splash of grapefruit bitters, and lemon?” 

“Wow, are you like a weird super taster or something? What the fuck.” 

“No, just a girl who loves gin old fashioneds.” 

“You are one surprising specimen.” 

“Shut up. Come on, let's eat.” 

After basically finishing every edible thing on the plate, Minghao offered to clean up for you as a thank you for the efforts of you cooking him one of the best dinners he’s had the pleasure of eating. 

Y/n switched into her role as bartender and opened a beautiful bottle of red wine for the pair to sip on as their night continued on. 

“Thank you for cleaning. I’m sorry again about the whole weird ass texts I was sending you. I was way too drunk to be alone with my thoughts and access to the internet.” 

“I told you it’s alright. I actually found it sort of cute.” 

“Cute? Maybe you are crazier than I thought you were.” 

“No, come on. You know you’re cute. Everyone tells you all the time, I agree with them.” 

“Shut up, THE Xu Minghao thinks I’M cute? I’m so flattered.” 

Minghao playfully slapped y/n’s hand off of her chest, knocking the red liquid around in her cup, causing it to fall onto the white fabric of her pants. 

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s ok, I can just go throw them in the wash. One second.” 

Y/n departed into her room, changing into a pair of pink pajama bottoms, not removing her corseted tank top in the process, fleeing quickly into the laundry room at the end of the hall to wash the stain out. 

Minghao in the meantime caught a glimpse of the twine wrapped package on her coffee table and went over to see what it could possibly be. In the time he spent inspecting it he didn’t notice his female counterpart entering back into the room. 

“Someone left that for me at my door. Weird right?” 

“Yeah, sort of. Should we open it?” 

“I’m kind of scared to be honest.” 

“Okay, I have an idea.” 

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.” 

“Trust me?” 

“Maybe.” 

Minghao stepped back to the now familiar bar cart and grabbed a bottle of whiskey that had been left unopened until this night, placing two shot glasses in front of them both. 

“What does taking shots have to do with us opening the package?” 

“What doesn’t it have to do with the package? It’s brown, similar to the wrapping. It’s sealed, maybe because you don’t like it or it’s not something you’re sure of. And it’s interesting. So we take two shots, then we open it, then regardless of what it is, we play a game. The game selfishly is for me to get to know you deeper. I feel like I’ve spent so much time with you and I don’t know that much about you, other than what was exposed. So, you in?” 

“Yes.” 

Y/n and Minghao cheered to their now growing connection and he placed the small package in her lap, holding onto her knee, getting the feeling that she needed moral support based on mutual gut feelings. 

“Okay.” 

“I’m sure it’s not bad.” 

As y/ns hands ripped apart the brown paper and untied the rope around the mysterious box, it revealed a soft purple journal, now torn apart, pages basically falling out from end to end all over the couch between them. 

“My journal.” 

Her voice shifted, she was no longer happy or full of anticipation, she was confused and slightly disappointed as her precious and private life fell out in front of her, photos, entries, and shards of her life. 

“Oh, y/n. I-” 

“No. Don’t say sorry, please.” 

“Why the fuck do people care? Just like why am I someone's target? Especially if it’s someone I know, what is so bad that you can’t just fucking talk to me about it? Sorry, I don’t know if that makes sense at all, but I just don’t get it.” 

“I think some people are just scared of genuine conflict, so instead of asking they make things about themselves and take the other person's feelings out of the equation to feed their own.” 

“Why give it back now? Am I expected to just ignore my privacy being invaded and be like well it’s over good? This makes me feel even more uneasy.” 

“Maybe they left you a clue or something by giving this back?” 

Minghao collected the various contents that were left as ashes for you, feeding you more alcohol and not talking while he did so. 

“y/n? Here.” 

A small envelope, matching the shade of purple of the cover of your journal was tapped inside the cover, inside a typed note. 

‘Just because it comes back to you, doesn’t mean it’ll always stay the same. See you soon. Xo.’

“What the fuck does that even mean?” 

“I guess they’re trying to tell you more will come out? And that they have no purpose for keeping the evidence anymore.” 

“Can we.. maybe, just for the rest of the night ignore this? I cannot focus on this anymore and it’s ruining my chance to have fun with you.” 

“Please. Let me distract you.” 

“Do you want to change? Or need clothes? I know Seokmin and Joshua left some stuff here in case they ever stayed over.” 

“They wouldn’t mind?” 

“No, of course not. I’ll be right back.” 

Y/n ran back into her room, gathering various styles of t-shirts and sweatpants to make Minghao more comfortable. 

“Here, there's some options. I know you care a lot about your style, so pick what you want.” 

Mingaho grabbed a black t-shirt with a logo from Joshua’s coffee shop on the front and an odd pair of Seokmin’s disney character pajama pants, just to make the air go back to it’s lighthearted space. 

“Oh my god, you look amazing.” 

“ I just wanted you to smile.” 

“Mission accomplished, Mickyhao.” 

“That is an awful nickname.” 

“Shut up, don’t be a dick.” 

“Got it. Okay, so let’s play a little game, y/n. I’ll ask you some questions, if you don’t want to answer you can drink and you can do the same for me. Got it?” 

“Got it. You go first.” 

“Okay, so what stops you from going after the things you want?” 

“Hmm, I’m shy, I guess? I don’t want to risk changing how things already are any more than they have changed on their own. I think confessions and love declarations are unnerving, I could ruin something good just for a single chance. Not knowing shit freaks me out.” 

“So you’re a control freak, got it.” 

“No. Not a control freak, just a loser.” 

“That’s accurate.” 

“You’re stupid. Okay, Minghao. What made you want to pursue art?” 

“I guess it was just always something I was good at? I loved being able to tell the truth about stuff without having to say it outloud, people can perceive anything they want, but I know how I truly feel and nobody can take it away from me. The truth, I mean.” 

“How are you so certain that its the truth?” 

“Well, it's my truth.” 

“Touche” 

“Why didn’t you tell Minnie about Seungcheol? Were you ever going to?” 

“Yikes. I guess, I didn’t feel like it was important. We hooked up way before they ever dated, he was just helping me out with something that scared me, which I didn’t think was a big deal. I knew she liked him, but she told me she’d never confess. I guess I didn’t think it was as big of a problem until it was. Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah it does, how did it happen?” 

“No, no, no. One question at a time. How did it happen for you?” 

“My virginity? I was at a party, junior year before college and I met a girl. She was nice, really pretty, and she seemed to enjoy my company. I guess I just asked her if she wanted to fuck and she agreed, but after she told me she had a boyfriend and that was that.” 

“So she cheated on her boyfriend just to fuck you? Alright, good for you I guess. Bad for the boyfriend.” 

“Have you ever cheated on someone?” 

“Me? God no. I haven’t even had the chance to be with anyone that seriously considers sleeping around cheating. I don’t think I could do that. Why? Have you?” 

“Nope, but I guess I’ve been the person someone used to cheat, so it feels sort of like cheating.” 

“Since we seem to be two overly honest people for this game, want to drink just for fun as well?” 

“Please. Cheers.” 

“Okay y/n, I have a question.” 

“Yes?” 

“What was it about Joshua or Mingyu that attracted you to them?” 

“With Shua it was how kind he was, everyone knows it and can see that. It just sort of radiates around him. I mean he’s beautiful, they both are. In such different ways. I’ll probably always view him as that first boy I loved, he’s really special to me. As for Mingyu, I guess I never knew why at first. He was just my hot friend that I hooked up with sometimes, but the more and more we hung out the more I realized how smart he was and how intriguing his character is.” 

“Do you still have feelings for them?” 

“I’m not sure what my feelings are for anyone at this moment, no.” 

“What about me?” 

“What about you?” 

“Would you ever consider me the way you consider them?” 

“Can I take a shot?” 

“Sure, but you still have to answer the question. Come on.” 

“Yeah, I would. I like getting to know you, I appreciate how fiercely committed you are to riding for the people you love. I like that you’re artistic like me, that we can laugh about wild stuff, but also be honest and talk about anything and everything in between. You’ve really made me happy even in the short time of knowing you. And to say that I’d have to think about considering you is silly, because I definitely already have. Seokmin and Jun think I have a crush on you.” 

“You don’t?” 

“Nobody needs to know.” 

“I do.” 

“You do what? Need to know if I like you?” 

“No, like you.” 

“Wait.” 

“A lot actually. More than I ever considered I would. I think you’re actually a really spectacular person despite everything.” 

“Oh. Thank you.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yeah. You can.” 

The smell of whiskey on Minghao’s breath made the hair on Y/N’s arms stand up as she fell into his touch, the kiss exploded into more and more touching and exploration of the pair's bodies. And continued on through the night, more than once. 

The next morning y/n woke up with a headache, checking the clock on her phone revealing it was almost time for Joshua to come and whisk her away from her new found bliss in bed next to Minghao. 

“Going somewhere?” 

“What?” 

“You have a suitcase in the corner and you keep checking your phone, is everything alright? I wasn’t that bad was I?” 

“No, but I’m going to see my mom this weekend with Joshua, I almost forgot. He’s on his way.” 

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing. I’ll just shower quickly and sneak out. You can stay as long as you need, I have an extra key in the blue jar next to my door, just lock it up for me?” 

“Sure, but come here quickly.” 

Minghao pulled y/n in for a long sweet kiss, before she ran into the warm water of her shower. 

Minghao propped himself up in her bed, collecting himself before making an attempt at a small getaway. Coming face to face with the unlocking door of the same apartment he spent his night in before. 

“Y/n, hey can I- Oh, Minghao. Hey.” 

“Joshua, Hi. Sorry I was just leaving.” 

“Without saying goodbye?” 

“What?” 

“To y/n, she’s in the shower, you’re just leaving?” 

“I don’t need to explain myself to you, for your information we already said a very thorough goodbye. Have fun on your trip, take care of her.” 

“Hah. Alright.” 

“I’m serious. Make sure she knows I’ll miss her.” 

“I’ll be sure to do that.” 

Minghao grabbed his jacket and slid out of her front door, looking behind him before walking away from y/n already feeling jealous she’d be spending her weekend with Joshua and not him, but he had things he couldn't tell her. Not yet.

"Oh, Joshua. I didn't think you were coming yet. Sorry, let me just grab my stuff."

"No it's fine, I just wanted to grab some snacks, hope that's okay?"

"Of course, take whatever you want. Give my five?"

"I saw your overnight guest on his way out."

"Yeah, he stayed over. I made him dinner, we just got drunk I didn't want him to have to drive home like that. Unsafe, you know."

"Right, well I'll meet you in the car."

"No need, I'm ready. I cannot wait to have the Boston Creme Pie from Boi's, I'm literally salivating thinking about it."

"We should go when we get into town and order an entire one."

"I see why we're friends now. Come on."

Joshua grabbed y/ns luggage, waiting for her to lock up her apartment and the pair headed to his car waiting outside.

bonus:

note/s: y/n love triangle era starting fr. srry this took a second and is a lil chaotic, I've been a lil busy. but!! I already have the next part on hand and will be posting v soon, some shit will be going down at minghaos show, but I didn't tell u that. xoxoxo. ily.

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