#but uh.. ta-da...

[kopivie]

trick-or-treat.

# — pairing: spidey!kazuha x gn!reader

# — characters: gender neutral reader, spider-man!kazuha

# — warnings: a little suggestive.

# — tags: fluff, kisses (bc who am i if not a madman for kisses), mild hurt/comfort, BANTER YIPPEE!!, this is zuzu's way of making up for the fact that he all but forgot kazuha's birthday, apology fic

# — notes: (PLEASE READ!!) this is... not at all what i intended to do. it's 1:30 am and i just came down from a much needed high. as my head cleared, i noticed that this fic was like, riddled with flaws, but i feel too good about this to second guess it and feel bad. anyways, this is heavily inspired by this fic that 🎻 anon sent in my asks, as well as a follow-up to this fic i wrote on @awlumii last year on kazuha's birthday. i hope you enjoy and please do let me know what you think! i could really use some feedback.

✦ — 🎃 — ✦

There's a knock on your door. You stare at the entry to your apartment and think: "How mean would it be if I ignored them right now?"

In your defense, you've been giving out candy all day. All. Day. You figured that there would at least have been a lull in the early afternoon since children had school to attend, but no — you've been giving out candy to all ages from as early as 10:30 this morning. It's a good thing you stocked up on candy late last month, otherwise you would've had to ruin the days of some very enthusiastic trick-or-treaters. So after setting aside a bucket full of your favorites and giving out the leftovers until about 10 at night, you finally thought yourself ready to curl up on your bed with your softest blanket. You were halfway to dreamland when some monster started pounding on your door.

(So maybe you're exaggerating a little. But who could blame you? You're tired and you want to sleep.)

And so, here you sit, your legs half-tangled in your weighted fleece blanket as you glare at your door and hope that your unwanted visitor is telepathic and gets the message that you want them to leave. Scram! you think. You raise your voice in your head. Get out of here. Shoo! Begone!

…They knock again. (Kind of a dick move if they can read minds.)

The groan you let out is obnoxiously loud and is most definitely heard by whoever is on the other side of the door. You hoist yourself to your feet and trudge to the door, but you don't open it quite yet. Judging by the fact that this person has yet to say anything, you figure that they're old enough to know when their presence is not welcome and left.

Wrong. You're too optimistic. They knock again.

You sigh and once again, hope that the sound carries through the door. "Who is it?" You try to make yourself sound as unfriendly as possible. Considering how cranky you are, you don't have to try very hard.

"Trick-or-treat..?" The voice on the other side is muffled by the door, but also by something else. Fabric, probably. All you know is that their voice is deep enough to be an adult's.

You click your tongue. "Trick." You almost snicker. It's a little refreshing not doling out treats for once. "Go home."

"Can I at least give you a treat?" The person asks.

You blink. They didn't leave? "Pretty sure that's not how it works," you reply. "I give you treats and you… I dunno, TP my house or something."

"Yeah, well," the person at the door chuckles, "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to say 'trick', either. Since you're breaking the rules, it's only fair that it's my turn, right?"

Well… Shit. They have a point.

Impressed by the stranger's reasoning, you hum. "Fine. Let me find my costume." You turn to gather your costume and notice that you can't find the full thing. You were so eager to get to bed that you didn't hesitate to drop the thing in the wash. Not wanting to make the stranger wait too long, you improvise. You blindly grab the mask and the blue throw blanket you have folded up on your couch and tie it around your shoulder like a cape. It's a shitty excuse for a costume, but you reason that your exhaustion is a good excuse. You swing open the door and cross your arms over your chest. "Alright, what do you got for-- Oh."

Standing on the other side of your door is none other than Spider-Man himself. The two of you stand in silence as you take in each other's appearances. Then, after what feels like forever, he speaks. "So… a cape, huh?"

You don't hesitate — you grab your door and swing the thing shut as fast as you can, but Spider-Man is faster, catching the door in his gloved hand. You turn your back to him. The mask is obscuring his face, but you already know what expression he has underneath. "Don't say a word." You warn him.

Spider-Man pays you no mind. You can feel him lifting your 'cape' as he inspects it. "Hmm… capes are kinda aerodynamic, but considering how dirty my enemies fight, I don't think that's a very good design choice." You can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. "I'll give it a five out of ten."

"I said shut it!" You snatch your blanket out of his hands and march further into your apartment with Spider-Man's laughter following at your back. He walks inside and the door shuts behind the two of you. "Get the fuck out, webhead," you seethe. Your voice trembles with shame. "I didn't invite you in."

Spider-Man just walks around you to look you in the eye. "Come now, lovebug," he tilts your chin up with a finger, "you look cute wearing my mask."

You grumble and push his hand away as you struggle for words. You want to say something like, "this isn't what it looks like!" to try and save face, but there's no point in trying. This is exactly what it looks like.

Because the mask you'd been wearing for Halloween -- and the mask you haphazardly thrown on moments ago -- was none other than Spider-Man's mask.

To be fair, these things were a dime a dozen. The people of this city adore the vigilante. It was only natural that kids and adults alike would want to pretend to be him for a day, even if they had no powers like him. You're not exactly one of those people — you've seen firsthand just how brutal Spider-Man's job can be. You wouldn't trade your life for his even if you were offered money. But as you stared at the costume while shopping, you couldn't help yourself. There were obviously cooler, much more interesting costumes to choose from but this one just… called to you.

Hindsight is 20/20, after all. You should've ignored that calling.

Spider-Man takes your chin in his fingers and shakes your head side to side. "I never knew you liked me so much, lovebug. I'm touched."

You scoff. "Don't be."

"Y'know, if you wanted to wear my mask so badly, you could've just asked." Spider-Man leans in and presses a clothed kiss to your cheek. You consider yourself lucky; he can't possibly feel the burn of your cheeks through all that fabric.

You stammer. "Ha-ha. Very funny."

"What? I'm sure I have a back up somewhere." He eyes you for a moment. "You'd look good in it."

Against your will, you wonder if he's saying that he wants you to wear his clothes. Would he ever actually loan you clothes that he's worn? The thought makes your face burn hotter. "Why are you here?" You ask. Anything to change the topic.

Spider-Man chuckles, but plays along. "I haven't swung by in a few days," he says, "so I figured I'd try and surprise you as a trick-or-treater." He shrugs. "I wanted to do some reverse psychology thing where I could trick you into thinking I was just some guy in a costume so you would give me candy."

You process his words for a second. "Okay, first of all, you already are a guy in a costume."

He visibly deflates and places a hand over his chest. "Ouch, lovebug. What if you hurt my feelings?"

"Second of all," you continue, "do you have any idea how many Spider-Men I've seen today?"

"...Is that a serious question?"

"Don't be a smart ass."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess twelve."

You pause. You actually aren't even sure if that's the right number or not. You lost count after three hours of giving out candy to cute kids.

"Am I right?" He asks.

"Who knows?"

Spider-Man huffs. "If there's that many of us around, then what am I even here for?" You giggle at his petulant behavior, and he makes another breathy sound, reminiscent of a stifled laugh. "Did you treat them the same way you treat me?"

"What?" His question takes you off-guard for a moment. You chortle. "Oh, definitely."

"You gave them band-aids and kicked them out, too?"

"Mhm." You cross your arms. "Just slapped a few on some pretend wounds and told them to get the fuck off my property."

The two of you laugh together for a moment. Once the laughter dies down, Spider-Man tugs at your cheek for a brief second. You let him get away with it for now. "You're so cute." He sighs and you can hear something somber enter his tone. "I was worried about you. It's been a week since I've seen you."

It has been a week, hasn't it? You may have been swamped with work at the hospital, but there was never a night that you didn't find yourself waiting on your balcony like an idiot in this chilly weather. You had faith that he was okay — the Daily Bugle printed something new about the "masked menace" every day this past week — but that didn't stop you from longing for his presence. Stories can't compare to the real thing, after all. You're far more taken with the masked vigilante than you'd care to admit to yourself.

You hum. "About time someone else did the worrying for once," you mumble jokingly. "It gets tiring worrying all by myself."

Spider-Man stays quiet. "I've been okay. A little worse for the wear for the past two days, but okay otherwise."

You reach for him instinctively. "Lingering pain isn't like you," you say, already in doctor-mode, "did something happen?"

"No, not like that. I've just been… sad. I guess." His confession is soft as he takes your outstretched hands in his own. He's been more vulnerable around you lately and you're not sure if that's good or bad. "It's been a rough couple of days, that's all."

You rack your brain. What could possibly be paining him that you don't know of? He's already told you that he tells you everything (within reason), so maybe it's something that you already know of? You furrow your brows as you dive deeper into your memory. Deeper, deeper… until you happen across a memory from just about a year ago.

The kiss you shared on your balcony close to midnight.

"Oh my God." You voice your incredulity aloud. "Oh my God! I missed your birthday!"

Spider-Man straightens his posture as he inhales sharply.

How could you have forgotten? He confessed to you on his birthday last year that you were the only person he had left in his life since he hated his birthday so much. October 29th was such a painful day for him — to think that you didn't stop for a second to wonder if he was okay that day. It's not like you would've been able to contact him of course, but what if he swung by after you'd fallen asleep? You should've at least left him a note or something.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, lovebug." The confidence is starting to bleed out of him, you notice. Spider-Man walks over to your couch and sits on the floor in front of it. "I'll be okay. It's not like I was going to celebrate or anything."

You move to the couch and adjust yourself so that the vigilante is between your legs. You two often assume this position when you're finished patching him up and too tired to goof around until he leaves. You would place your hands on his head and press your fingers into the fabric of his mask. Spider-Man told you once that the action was soothing, but you have yet to admit to him that it's your way of trying to conjure up an image of what his hair must look like underneath.

Like always, he gets himself into position, draping his arms across your legs. This time, however, he's looking up at you. You're not sure what expression he might be wearing.

"I wasn't saying that we should've celebrated," you say softly. "I'm just upset that you had to be alone. Are you sure you're okay?" You ask as you massage your fingers across the crown of his head.

He hums. "I am now. I promise."

"If you're ever feeling down, you know you can come and see me." Your words surprise the both of you, but you don't regret them at all. He always seems to be around when you need his company the most, so why shouldn't you do the same for him? Who else would? your mind unhelpfully supplies. "I may not be the best company in the world, but at least you won't be alone, right?"

Spider-Man moves so that he's on his knees facing you. He's so close to your face like this; you inch backwards to preserve your sanity. "You're the only company I need." He says it with so much conviction that you shiver. "But does this mean I'm getting special treatment?"

"What--? You mean from the other Spider-Men?" When he nods, you snort. "Yeah, I guess you do get V.I.P privileges. You get extra treats unlike everyone else."

"Extra?" He tilts his head. "But you haven't given me any candy at all."

You raise a brow. "All that's left is the candy I'm hoarding for myself. And before you ask, no, I'm not sharing any. Why don't you try actually trick-or-treating? People would probably give the city hero the best of the best."

He sinks a little lower, seeming defeated. "...Would you believe me if I said I tried that already?"

"Did it work?"

He's silent.

"...It didn't work, did it?"

"...No. They thought I was just some superfan."

Peals of laughter burst out of you at his admission. "So this is how they repay you, huh?" You say between giggles. "No faith and no candy? That's rough, buddy." You get the distinct impression that he's glaring at you, but that only makes you laugh harder.

Fed up with your insistence on laughing at his misfortune, Spider-Man taps your leg. "Since I get special treatment from you, can I ask for a few wishes?"

You wipe a stray tear from your eye. "I'm dressed as a superhero, not a magic genie."

"Please?"

"Fine, fine." You finally catch your breath. "You get two wishes.

"Not three?"

"I'm not a genie. Don't push it."

Spider-Man puts his hands up in defense. "Alright, two it is. The first is… let me stay with you for the rest of the night."

You shrug. Wouldn't be the first time. He's usually gone by the time you wake up, anyhow. "Granted. Next one's your last — make it count, bug boy."

Spider-Man doesn't react to your nickname. Instead, he just stares at you. A familiar sensation tickles up your spine. He's watching you; you know that stare all too well. "I think you know what I'm going to ask for next." His voice is deeper, smoother than it was mere moments ago.

You nod and he eases himself closer to you. You feel your heart pick up an unsteady rhythm and rather than kiss him normally, you lean in close and press your masked lips to his. He makes a surprised noise before he laughs and melts into the "kiss" all the same. When you pull away, he's still laughing. A very welcome change from the bitter smile you're sure he was wearing when talking about his birthday. "Consider that a freebie," you mutter.

"You're too kind," he chuckles.

Soon, your fingers come to the base of his mask to raise it just above his lips when he suddenly stops you. He reaches for your face and you feel something tug at the base of your neck. Somehow, you completely forgot you were wearing that stupid mask. "It's kinda funny," he half-laughs, "having to unmask you for once."

"You... You can't tell anyone about my identity, okay?" You tease.

Spider-Man rolls your mask up just enough to expose your lips and you do the same to him. Neither of you are sure who leaned in first, but you meet in the middle in a kiss that has fireworks bursting behind your lids. The two of you are greedy, pouring a week's worth of longing into the kiss. The mutual yearning is palpable, so much so that you can hear his breath hitch when you sigh. He rises to the couch slowly and without breaking the kiss, doing his best not to part from you for even a second.

You missed him. Oh, how you missed him — you missed how he would wrap a strong arm around your waist and pull you closer like it was nothing; how he would whisper his adoration for you between breaths; how he would chase after your lips whenever you would tease him with barely-there kisses. You missed the exhilaration, the thrill of knowing that you were the only one Spider-Man would ever treat this way. That you were his and he was yours.

He moves from your lips to your jaw, trailing kisses up to your ear and down to your neck. His pace is unhurried, though he seems eager to pull a reaction out of you. You give him what he wants whether you intend to or not. You press yourself closer to him in a silent request for more and he indulges you; his kisses become little nips, and the nips turn to bites as he starts to leave marks on your neck. He eases you back so that you're laying on your couch and he's hovering over you. The two of you stare at each other for a moment.

"Can I use my next wish?" His voice is rough. When you nod, he leans in once more. His uncovered lips brush against your ear as he whispers. "Let me give you a treat."

Something foreign yet familiar makes you shudder as you nod.

Spider-Man attacks your neck once again. Clearly he was holding himself back earlier, because every mark he leaves stings. He makes them dark and obvious, completely disregarding any warnings you may have given him on other days. You normally would tell him to ease up, to hide the marks that he so desperately wanted to leave on you. But now you let him do as he pleases. You gave him an inch and as expected, he took the mile. He soothes each one with a kiss and muffles your whimpers with his lips.

It takes a while before he's satisfied with his handiwork. Kazuha raises himself up with a shaky breath. Your wrists are in his hands and pinned against the couch. Looking down at you now, all flushed absolutely covered in his marks, he feels something uncontrollable stir within him. He has half a mind to tell you to close your eyes so he can take his mask off, but he refrains.

That's all he ever does when it comes to you. You, the greatest test of his endurance that he will ever encounter in his lifetime. No supervillain with any amount of underground connections or otherworldly technology will ever test his patience and restraint quite like you. For years, Kazuha has weighed the pros and cons of telling you who he is. He always wonders if you would still allow this, if you would still treat him like a lover if you knew who he was — if you knew that he's been lying to you. Though your reaction may not be guaranteed, it's a risk he's more than willing to take.

But he doesn't. Not tonight. Maybe another day when the time is right.

For now, Kazuha releases your wrists and sits himself up. He fixes his mask while you take yours off. You sit up and he watches as you ghost your fingers over each of your fresh hickies. You wince a little when you brush the one on the left side of your collarbone, above your heart. The silence that hangs in the air is evident, but not uncomfortable.

Then, you mutter. "I was supposed to give you a treat."

Kazuha reaches out and touches a hickey left on your pulse point. A sensitive spot for you – you shudder in response. He admires the lingering haze in your eyss. "You did. Thank you, lovebug."

✧ my goodness. @perpetualcynicism look at what you've done. you've reawakened a monster in me.

✧ edit: btw, the dividers belong to @cafekitsune!! thanks so much for making such beautiful dividers!

[ficandkaboodle]

The Stroke of Midnight (Copia x Fem!Reader) - NSFW

A/N: Veteran smut-writers, y'all deserve a hillside of marigolds and picnics complete with pasta and endless breadsticks 🫡 (Seriously, though, thank you to all who've put up with me on this beast. It put me on life-support just long enough to finish it in time! Y'all deserve the pasta picnic and some cookie boxes with dope-ass cookies) It’s my first attempt at non-blurb smut so you’ve been warned… Banner Credit Goes to @saradika-graphics! Word Count: 5897. Shoot dang, almost made it to 5900! CW: Reader and Copia are buzzed so expect many, many references to alcohol and its consumption. And you know what happens when Copia gets buzzed . . .👀 So on that note . . . MDNI for sexy times while intoxicated!

Shady business and unfeasible expectations be damned (or perhaps blessed): the Satanic Church knew how to throw an actually good New Years Eve party. Of course, it would've been given enough if it relied solely on the expectation that alcohol flowed like water. But no: They went the extra mile and actually included food. Not dinky little cocktail wienies and room temperature hors d'oeuvres –  honest to Beelzebub food!

Now that was a commitment to making sure everyone in the congregation was having a good time, in your opinion. Everywhere you looked, there was some form of excitement: Siblings dancing; Clergy members opening party crackers while drunkenly cackling at the curse of glitter they'd inflicted on each other; ghouls challenging each other to shot-downing competitions; and everything in-between.

In short, it was a beautiful bacchanalia with which to welcome another year of spreading the Old One's word.

The only thing that could make it actual perfection, though? Perhaps if your boyfriend of a month and a half were actually by your side. Or, at the very least, within eye shot!

You weren't entirely shocked that he'd disappeared. Being Frater Imperator, it was only an expectation that he might get pulled away for some ass-kissing from residential and visiting eminences alike. But it had been almost half an hour, and your own friends had wandered off to makeout or have other types of fun with their own significant others at this point.

Far be it from you to consider yourself clingy – you liked your independence. But . . . Okay, maybe some sappy part of you still lingered inside, coloring your thoughts and expectations. Specifically, they were colored with the same black and pink of Copia's lips.

Part of you wondered what cheesy holiday romcom you were trying to replicate, holding out for something as cliche as a kiss on New Years. You’d even gotten dolled up in a cutesy mini dress like one you’d probably see in such a sappy flick!

But then again, Lilith and Eve sinned so that man could be born and kiss the way that he did. Deadline aside, getting one at anytime tonight would be the perfect assurance that you were truly entering a brand new era of your life.

So . . . It was probably understandable that you may have looked a little pouty to the sober-enough onlooker. Your eyes scanned the crowd, taking a sip of the cocktail you'd been nursing in order to pacify yourself. By now, you were starting to realize a burning hum in your ears and cheeks as the alcohol began to seep into your blood.

You were beginning to contemplate giving in and venturing to the snack table for some garlic-dipped pita chips (you'd been staring longingly at them since you first arrived, only holding off because of the coveted Kiss), when –

There! Finally! You knew that jacket! It's hard not to, considering it was a glittery gold. It caught so much light that it was frankly a wonder how you hadn't found his gilded disco ball ass sooner. Especially given how . . . awkward his movements are. Uneven, always moving too far left, then too far right before barely uprighting and –

Oh. Oh no.

At one point, he stumbled to a wobbly stop, head cocking and eyes squinting before flying open wide.

A smile grew on Copia’s face as his arms flew up in front of him, hollering out a notably slurred, "There she iiiisssss! Amore mio, la mia vita, la mia mela – " He paused to make a singular yet violent hiccup. "Mela alla cannelaaaaa!!"

You met him halfway in his path towards you, worried that he might collapse on the marble floor if you didn't at least try to catch him. Copia wasn't an especially heavy person but in his drunken state, he seemed to disregard the courtesy of not foisting his entire self onto you. Instead, he was far too focused on hugging you close, mushing his cheek against the top of your head.

"Ahhh, topina. I -hic- missed you!" Your nose wrinkled as a waft of a powerful alcohol flowed down to your nose. You had a bit of a buzz going yourself but at least you had a cute little cocktail to thank for it. Judging by your burning olefactories, Copia was on some of the harder stuff.

"I – ugh – I missed you, too," you responded carefully. It was an awkward act to try and balance the remainder of your drink while also getting Copia to balance flat on his own two feet but you somehow managed. Call that a New Year’s Eve Miracle. "Geez, what happened to you?"

You may as well have told a corny little joke with how he giggled.

"Some Clergy members gave me some shots of rum from Ja -hic-maica! Coconuts!" You couldn't tell what he was laughing at now: The fun time he was having, or the look of horror on your face. Harder stuff indeed.

Now you had an important decision to make: Either you found a seat, prayed that he sat still long enough for you to build up a plate of fried and greasy foods for him to sober up on; or you played the part of the boring old partner and marched him to his chambers for an early evening (well, as early as 11:18pm could be considered).

You heard a sigh slither into the middle of your thoughts as Copia's arms wrapped around you once more, nudging you back into him. The threat of him putting his weight back on you was enough for you to come to a quick decision: Sober him up just enough to where he could take ten steps without the threat of collapse, then take him to bed. With how he was standing, there was just no way you were going to be able to make your way to the other side of the Great Hall, never mind the other side of the building.

You felt confident with your choice just by the journey to a free chair and table alone.

"Okay, oookay," you grunted as you tried to angle his rump into the seat. Copia let out a disappointed sound too young for someone of his age as you gently de-tangled yourself from his embrace. Inconveniences aside, you had to fight back the desire to coo at how adorable he was being. Copia was always affectionate with you, but it appeared that alcohol added a whole different layer to that.

"Don't worry, Caro " you softly assured. "I'm just going to get you a little something to nosh on, okay? I'll be right back. But only if you stay put, alright? If you leave – even if it's just to go find me – I won't be able to find you. So can you be a good boy and do that for me? Stay put?"

When you saw his expression collapse into a somber pout, you wondered if perhaps he found your tone patronizing. Judging by the sulky "fine" he uttered, however, it was apparent that he was more upset by the fact you couldn't be fused at the hip forever.

You could work with that. It wouldn't be long anyway. Even when you returned with a flimsy red paper plate covered in tortilla chips, a scoop of veggie lo mein, and two egg rolls, you could tell that the look of joy on his face was only meant for you. He would've disregarded the little spread entirely and latched himself back on you if you didn't take the time to place both it and a cup of water before him with the gentle instruction that he tuck in.

"Carefully," you were sure to add. A tipsy gait was bad enough; if he ate himself sick, you'd be even further out of your depth than you were already beginning to feel.

To your relief, he listened, proceeding to nibble on an egg roll's crunchy wrapping. Good. Now all you had to do was sit and wait for his system to clear up a bit. Your back and feet cried with relief as you plopped yourself down on the seat next to him – your first and only real mistake of the evening.

In hindsight, you would compare it to being like a living lava lamp. Maybe there was some science to it or whatever, but you were becoming increasingly unable to apply logic. All you knew was that the longer you sat, the warmer your face began to feel and the more bubbly your brain seemed to become. The flare of alcohol was rising inside of you like a hot river, flowing upwards, into your chest, into your cheeks, and into your brain. You could practically feel your sensibilities flickering like a lightbulb threatening to go out.

Crap. Curse that cute cocktail, it had betrayed you after all! Your eyes fluttered as though that would do literally anything for you besides make you look frazzled.

"Wha’s the matter, Schricchio?" Copia sounded only slightly less slurred, though the fact that he was able to pin your shift in demeanor after only an egg roll and a half stood as a good sign. All the more reason for you to remain firm and stand your ground against the liquid possession threatening to take over your senses.

Copia needed you to be the sober one here, even if he didn't really know it. You shook your head and nudged your cocktail further away from the both of you.

"Bad aftertaste is starting to hit," you claimed. A part of you mourned that you would have to abandon it so soon. The dull pain was slightly remedied when Copia wordlessly offered you a bite from the remainder of his fried treat. It was nice to know that there were some things about Copia that not even alcohol could change.

"Are you mad at me?"

He sounded quiet. The sounds of the party grew softer and softer as you both walked further from the Great Hall. On occasion, you'd pass a couple making out or a Sister of Sin drunkenly sobbing over her phone while her equally sloshed friends warned her against texting "him" back.

Otherwise, though, most of the Abbey's residents and attendees were either back where the action was happening, or making some action happen in their rooms. Which was where you, as a Sibling yourself, would probably be heading to once you got Copia situated in his own quarters. As sweet on you as he was, your relationship was still new; you didn't feel it was right to impose and spend the night without his permission.

And even if you had it, you'd have to second guess if it was a situation where anyone was being taken advantage of. He seemed slightly better than he did nearly half an hour ago, no longer launching himself on top of you in an unsuccessful effort to fuse. Even his balance seemed somewhat improved. However, the rum was clearly still in his system, making his cheeks and nose run red and his sensitivities run tender.

That was probably why he sounded so nervous and shy when he'd asked you his strange question.

You knew he couldn't see the confusion on your face, not when he was trailing behind you, but you nonetheless wore it. "No? Why would you think that?"

You probably weren't convincing, given that you barely turned to glance back at him, but you needed to keep your purposeful stride going. Evidently, Copia had a better handle of his alcohol than you did, seeing as the bit of egg roll you'd eaten did virtually nothing for you.

If you broke the intense concentration it was taking for you to avoid wobbling, your barely concealed cover would be blown – and you'd probably faceplant and force a buzzed old man to drag you off somewhere to hide your shame. He’d probably throw out his back and then you’d both enter the new year with wounded bodies and wounded pride.

Copia worried his bottom lip. "For getting silly. And for making us leave the party early."

You nearly scoffed with amusement. Did he really think that that would be all it took to upset you? The poor dear, so darling and worried even when on the brink of being absolutely sauced.

You sighed, the fruity smell of your cocktail fluttering back at you. "Issa New Year's party, Co: Everyone is drunk."

Including me, you thought with guilt. You winced as you realized a bit of slur was beginning to drip into your speech but carried on. "But I dun really care about everyone; I care about you. And a little while ago, I was worried our dear Frater was going to get himself hurt, y'know?"

"I know . . ." he mumbled. The hushed tone of his voice implied a guilt of his own, and it hurt your heart to hear him like that.

You knew good and well that Copia's onstage persona was more confident and bombastic than who he really was offstage. But to see him question or be uncertain about something still tugged a saddening chord inside you. And the alcohol no doubt made it worse . . .

Fuck it. Your conviction to maintain speed was tossed out the nearest window as you slowed your pace until you were right alongside your glittery guy.

"Hey." You entwined your fingers with his, flesh meeting warm leather. At fifty-something years-old, Copia wore the expression of a young child experiencing the wonder of their crush talking to them. Even in your fizzling state, you adored it and hoped you'd remember it forever.

"I mean it."

You gave his hand an affirming squeeze. "I was worried about you, y'know?" The cocktail told you to lean in and burrow against his arm, and you found yourself obliging. The sequins of his coat weren't the most welcoming texture, but the fact that they were on him made them 100 times more bearable to you.

"I wan' take care of you . . . 'Cause you're mine." Welp. There went the goal of trying to bite back your slurring. But Copia didn't seem to mind. Far from it, if his response was anything to go by, in fact.

Returning the gentle squeeze, he sighed dreamily. "You're so nice . . ."

You lightly giggled either from the cocktail further encroaching your senses or from feeling your partner press a small kiss to your hair. "You're not so bad yourself, Frater."

You felt him nuzzle his nose against the spot a kiss had previously been place, then a flutter of a deep inhale and respective exhale. "'Smell nice, too . . ." You almost wanted to make a sarcastic comment about how sure, the residual smells of debauchery from the party definitely made for an intoxicating bouquet. But as his hand released yours, only to wander to your waist, you couldn't help but feel that might've actually been apt in this moment.

A gasp popped from your lips, followed by a light squeal of delight and ticklishness as he gave the tender flesh a teasing squeeze. Your reflexive wiggling only stopped when his other hand crept further up your back. As he drew your bodies closer, you couldn't help but notice how his personal heat felt . . . more intense. Even in the drafty halls of the old structure, Copia was more than enough to set your cheeks on fire.

Well, that, and the intoxication wafting from him.

The gleam of his left eye pierced through the darkness like the stare of a predator on prey. And even in the haze of euphoria, there was a steadiness in them that made sure to lock in on you and only you.

"You feel nice . . ." The low rumble of his voice made a shudder run through you.

Oh, yeah: That Jamaican rum was still there. And no amount of food or water was going to hold it back from taking control of your Copia. Like a devil lying in wait, it struck at the perfect time: A barely-lit corridor, no Siblings or Ghouls or Clergy patrolling, far enough away so that the sounds of the party were just barely above a loud whisper.

Even a more sober you wouldn't have stood a chance. Petrified with lust and intrigue, you were the perfect kill. The rough kiss he pressed to your lips came easily, and you could only welcome it with a heady moan.

The tastes of cocktails and hard rum mingled together between your tongues, overpowering any other taste including your own. In your increasingly buzzed state, you were beginning to understand why perhaps Copia bothered to drink more than one shot of rum: At least when coming from him, it tasted diabolically divine.

A soft whimper for more filled the space between your separated lips, then muffled and obliged when they wetly reunited once more.

Uncoordinated and stumbling footsteps echoed through the corridor as you felt Copia gently but insistingly ushering you backwards until your back found purchase against the wall of an alcove.

There was a stark juxtaposition in that moment, where the cold and uneven stone biting into your bare back urged you even closer against the burning, soft hold of your beloved. The contrast had a dizzying effect, and you weren't sure which temperature made your nipples pebble beneath your clothing more as you released a trembling sigh.

Your thighs twitched out of reflex but that was all the rum demon needed to secure yet another opportunity to take and take. A low, spicy, coconut-scented moan was coupled with gloved hands removing themselves from the curve of your waist and back before returning to your body – with one traveling upwards to your chest and its twin sloping downward to grip at the meat of your hip.

In the short time you'd been an official couple, Copia had made many things clear: That he was the sort to treasure the one he loved, and that he had a fondness for breasts of all shapes and sizes had been but a few of them. And given how he gently cupped yours, relishing in its weight and warmth against his palm, it was apparent that this held even through the haze of inebriation. Not even the ambitions of the rum could blind him to the want of cherishing your body.

If he'd only remained fondling you, you would have been plenty happy. Both parties were enjoying themselves as Copia's thumb glided back and forth over your nipple as though it had found a new toy to play with; and the bead itself seemed to crave his stimulation even through the material of your dress, bending to his touch and tickling your senses.

But with a hardening grip, you were reminded of where his other hand had gone. It pinned your hip as close to the wall as possible, not allowing for even the slightest wriggle away.

"Amore." A single word made uneven by laborious panting. But even then, you knew what he intended: He needed you to stay put, to not move an inch. All the easier for him to position his hips against yours.

Even though your dress made the contact somewhat awkward, Copia's reaction portrayed utter bliss. It was just enough for his hardening dick to become aware of even the slightest softness of your mound. That was all it took for his head to tilt back to release a sound that combined a whine of pleasure with a groan of hunger.

He gave the connection a tentative movement, pressing himself against a slot only the barrier of clothing prevented him from fully entering. The friction proved to be all he needed to give your warmth a few more, testing thrusts before giving way to more frequent, eager, and harder ones.

When his hardness finally found the tenderness of your awakening clit (as evidenced by the full-body jolt and hiccuped, "Oh!" you gave), he knew he'd finally found the angle he wanted.

In the nanoseconds between his hips pulling back and rushing forward, you found yourself just sober enough to remember something. You had never paid mind to because it appeared to just be rumors from ghouls and slander from the Ministry's former director.

But as Copia's hips began to dig into yours, accompanied by hot pants that fanned against your face, you had confirmation: The Frater, when just drunk enough, loved a good frottage.

You squeaked with warm delight as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, forcing your abdomens closer as your lower bodies began to meld together in one humping blur. He, of course, accepted the embrace, shakily endearing you as "Schricchina" as your cute little noises continued.

What probably had once housed something as insignificant as a potted plant was quickly becoming the world’s smallest shrine to lust. The liturgy came in the form of whimpers and moans, your prayers coming from slurred utterings of "please"s and "fuck"s and garbled Italian he had yet to teach you the meanings of.

When it wasn't being attacked with sloppy, tonguing kisses, your mouth hung open, puffing out small pants and tiny "oh"s. You didn't care how you must have looked as drool threatened to fall from your lips; all you cared about was getting Copia to nudge at your swelling clit again and again and again and so on until you grew tired. (Which, of course, would be never.)

The glittery sequins of his jacket bit into your fingers as they gripped against his back and shoulders, but you felt none of it. Nor did you feel the grit of the alcove wall against your back as Copia's feverish movements caused your body to rock against it.

If it wasn't the feel of his hands squeezing and playing with you; his mouth nipping and sucking and licking at whatever flesh he could reach; or the enthusiastic thrust of his dick searching for your wet warmth, then you weren't physically or mentally able to pay it any mind.

Copia himself didn't seem to know what to do with himself; caught in a stupor of his own desires, he wanted to do it all, taste it all, and feel it all. His forehead would press against the junction of your neck, only for him to raise almost immediately so that he could carve his teeth there before applying wet suckles there to salve the reddening spot. His hands would leave their positions, only to instantly regret it and miss the bounce of your breast and the twitching of your hips with every thrust he gave.

He was delirious in a concoction of his own drunkenness, lust, and greed, and he only wanted it more. Unfortunately, this current position, with how your dress lay over your thighs, wasn't going to cut it! A growl rumbled from deep within his heaving chest as he roughly gripped your thigh before hoisting it up to rest against his hip. Your body would have slipped from the position if not for his own thick thigh coming up to seat half your jiggling ass against.

The change in positioning was awkward only for the amount of time it took for him to assure you were situated into place. Otherwise? The blast of pleasure was immediate. With your thighs now properly spread, so, too, did your lips, causing your wetness an easier escape to be collected by your panties. Every thrust against them smeared your slick and created a sticky sound that only seemed to spur Copia on once he realized it lay beneath the rustling of your clothing and your collective noises.

Gritting his teeth did nothing to sharpen the oozing, rasping purrs of "Yes"s. The mantra almost sounded as though he were even thanking you; for what, you were in no headspace to determine. All you knew (or cared to know) was that the feelings were mutual.

"A-Amore," he managed to wantonly string together. "A-are you cl-close? You gonna cum with me?"

His voice had gone husky by now, but even the roughened edges couldn’t take away from how pleading he sounded. The effect it had on you was almost shameful as you could feel your walls clenching, grasping desperately for a dick that wasn’t even inside it yet. A moan, the loudest you’d uttered yet, burst forward from your awaiting lips.

"Yes, yes, yes! Please! Right there, Co, right there –!!" All you could do was murmur mindlessly, begging, pleading for him to just. Keep. Going. There! And ever the dutiful lover, your Frater was more than happy to oblige.

Through eyes fluttering through wave after wave of sensation, you could make out how your lover’s expression began to tighten. His eyes screwed shut and his teeth wore into his kiss-swollen lip. It was as though he were concentrating. And judging by the increase in tempo and form, he very well may have been.

Thrusts that had been straight forward until now began to curve and rotate, not at all unlike the effortless hip movements he would perform during his frontman days. The devilish thrusts that just watching footage of would send your pussy salivating and craving him. Feeling them on you, experiencing how direct they were, how thoroughly they hit all the sweet spots on such a small target –

You could've broken into sobs with how good the friction felt. How every streak of his cock left a trail of blissful fire lapping at your needy little clit. Your hips would trail after his own, desperately trying to mimic his movements and catch each rut his body applied to yours.

Your breaths pitched higher and higher as words melted into incoherent, single syllable sounds. If any more direction for what you needed to get off were required, you would have to fight to give them form. It was perhaps by sheer luck (or the interference of Asmodeus himself) that all Copia needed was to listen to your whimpers, your screeches that only vaguely resembled cries for more, and note how your hands struggled to commit to one place to know precisely what his good girl needed.

You'd long since stopped caring who all heard you – all that mattered was that you came, even if it was only on Copia's clothed cock. And you would have only been able to hear the sounds of your dry humping session, if not for the collective sounds of the Abbey raising in unison.

It rippled from back where the party was at, came from behind muffled doors, was cried out into the night from the rooftops outside:

"TWENTY . . . NINETEEN . . . EIGHTEEN . . . SEVENTEEN . . ."

The numbers were sharp and sobering. The countdown! The New Year!

"C-Copia," you gulped. You tried to reorient your grasp on the man but the continued rolling of his hips made doing so difficult. Your body continued to bounce, threatening your semblance of mind. Worse still, your body continued to gobble up every sensation and threatened to render you no better than a dumb animal once more.

"Copia, the countdown – " You could feel your thighs beginning to quiver, your stomach beginning to do that telltale clench. Your clit popped demandingly as your petals fluttered in their mess. Without thinking, your hand flew to the back of Copia’s head and snagged at the hair.

The shriek this man made! Not only that, but the hold he had on you: Your tugging had clearly registered to his poor brain that this was a demand – he had to go all out. N o w.

". . . ELEVEN . . . TEN! NINE!"

"C-Cara, amore mio, tesoro mio," he practically choked before his words dissolved into a puddle of Italian and English and a third language you couldn't place. The final time he regained any semblance of coherency, it was only to demand one thing:

"Cum."

It was not rugged in any sense. It was husky, rickety. Desperate. For you and only you.

The leg that had been hoisted instinctively curled around Copia’s tensing backside in an effort to pull him in close and keep him in place. His hips stilled in a frozen thrust, tiny quakes shaking between the both of you in the spot you connected most. A white-hot flood overtook his senses, robbing him of the ability to even utter of moan of completion.

But for you, you still experienced everything in one overwhelming blanket: Stars and fireworks unlike those you'd ever seen on New Years flooded your vision. The final rut of his cock striking against your tender nub was all you could feel shocking your entire body, tingling your fingers and toes to the point of numbness. All you could smell was Copia's cologne mingling with the perfume you'd no doubt mostly sweat away. All you could taste was, yet again, the addicting taste you and Copia had created, as his tongue once again swirled into your mouth with an animalistic groan.

And all you heard was a cluttered chorus:

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"

The whistling and booming of fireworks roared into the night as distant sounds of cheers and party horns and pots banging pans went off.

They weren't even the first thing you noticed as the waves of your orgasm began to ebb. In fact, even as the familiar sounds and smells of the new year began to wisp into the hallway from windows and passageways alike, all that filled your senses was . . . Copia.

The feel of his warm body slouching against yours, the impact of his orgasm rattling him weary. It was welcoming compared to the sloshed mess he’d been earlier; he hovered as much as himself above you as possible, as though putting his full weight on you in such a state might break you. You noted how his aftershocks caused his hips to reflexively twitch, as though even while overstimulated, his cock still longed to be with you. He grunted softly, quietly every time. The cute little noises and reactions tickled your own sensitive arousal, making your aftershocks vibrate your shivering thighs.

Perhaps egg rolls and party foods weren't what was necessary to sober either party up; perhaps a good old orgasm was exactly what you both needed.

The unfortunate cost, however, was that you now realized the position you both were in. Thank Satan nobody had been in the hallway at any given time. Otherwise, they would've been treated to the image of their dear old Frater Imperator madly humping away in an alcove, cumming at the stroke of midnight, then separating from a fierce tonguing while leaving a strand of spit between both his lips and the lips of his lover.

. . . Wait.

You gulped down some air, trying to even out your still heaving breast. You'd gotten your New Year's Kiss! Sure, it wasn’t the cute, romantic Hallmark movie-style you’d always imagined. But clearly your imagination sucked because this was legions better than anything you could have ever concocted! The absurdity of it all managed to make it through the still evaporating fuzz of your mind. You couldn't help but giggle breathlessly, causing your tired old man to look at you nervously.

"W-what? Is – Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?" he asked, his sobering up giving way to nerves and insecurity.

You tried to catch your breath to form the right words, but Copia couldn't help but babble on even through burning lungs.

"I'm so sorry! I – I was being stupid and horny and – "

"H-happy," you paused to gulp, "new year. Amore mio."

You inhaled just enough to soothe your lungs before leaning in for a kiss. It had much less tongue than most of the ones you'd shared this evening, but it was filled with passion regardless.

You didn't see how his eyes widened with shock, given that your own drooped shut, but you could feel how he quickly got over it just in time to return it. He even trailed after your lips as they separated. You would have gladly met him halfway once more, but you really needed to breathe. Even if the once crisp air had since turned hot and stinking of alcohol and sweat. And faintly of slick.

. . . Y’all really needed to get out of this nook.

You grunted lightly as you moved your thigh down from its perch over Copia's own. While the position had been blissful in the moment, you knew you were probably going to need to sleep on a heating pad tonight. But even before that . . . you were going to need a shower. The slick in your panties was cooling fast in the chilly January air, creating an uncomfortable feeling that squished against your thighs with every movement. Really, a bath was more preferable for such a mess but the communal bathrooms offered no such option.

You winced as you realized how wobbly you now stood even with the wall of the alcove supporting you from falling backwards. That shower was going to be difficult . . .

"U-uh." Your eyes flew up to a now sheepish-looking Copia. The redness on his face and ears no longer came from the rum demon possessing him, but clearly from that cute, almost schoolboyish nature he tended to have whenever it concerned you.

". . . Yes?"

"W-well. If it's okay with you, I – The Imperator Suite!" He paused, realizing he'd probably been a bit too loud. "I mean. The Imperator Suite: It – there is a bathtub. It’s really nice. Gets the best water and. And seeing as we both –  Er, I made us both a mess, I think it's only fair if . . . If –  And only if you're okay with it – If you'd like to maybe clean up . . . with . . . me? And then we can relax and cuddle and . . . "

His voice trailed. He cringed. Eyes screwing shut and all. As though he hadn't just dry humped the bejesus out of you in a hallway where you could've easily been caught.

Damn this adorable man.

You hummed adoringly as you placed a hand to his warm cheek, prompting him to look at your post-orgasmic haze.

"I would really like that, Frater," you assured.

You could have collapsed right then and there was his gloved hand overtook your own in a loving hold before bringing it to his lips for its own kiss.

No, really. You absolutely could have: The final wisps of sexual adrenaline had begun to give dissipate, leaving the full aches and pains of grinding at such an awkward angle (and with your back pressed against a stone wall, no less) to truly kick in. Copia, too, for all that limber hip action was worth, began to feel a dull soreness heat up in the bones.

It was going to be a long trek to the Imperator Suite, you both realized.

But between the hisses of discomfort from wet undergarments, the quiet "ouch"s, and assurances of how he had a stash of Tylenol back in his nightstand drawer, you were still glad for the experience.

Hand in hand, you weren't hobbling into the new year alone.

[raycatz]

I have a headcanon (one of many possible pieces that can be moved around) for LU Hyrule that I like but I also have a feeling that it's maybe something some would have strong opinions on. How quickly do you think folks would block me 'xD if I were to say that the speculation that the healing houses in Zelda 2 are brothels is something that like- I've integrated into my headcanons for LU Hyrule's backstory. OKAY HEAR ME OUT. (no, they're probably not meant to be brothels. It's a nintendo game. It could be a place of worship, or a hospital, or a kind villager. (I also haven't played Zelda 2,,) BUT! If they are brothels- there are various ways to add this into a story which I think works well for Hyrule. No, he's not working- stay with me)

More background, I'm a fan of Terry Pratchet's Discworld, especially the Night Watch series in the city of Ankh Moorpork. The city has various guilds, some of which being the assassins' guild, thieves guild, etc. These are jobs that are going to be done regardless, so the idea is that by being recognized by the city as guilds, there can be rules and regulations protecting the workers and also making sure what they do abides to guild standards. Thieves in the guild can't kill, for example, because that's the assassins' guild's job and would require an extraordinary amount of paperwork to sort out. Another guild is the seamstresses guild which is a guild for, ya know

From the discworld wiki:

The Seamstresses' Guild does not have a formal school, most of the training being, so to speak, on the job. Some Seamstresses are based in houses of negotiable affection or, in older language, houses of ill-repute, although these houses are often highly spoken of. The head of the guild is Mrs. Rosemary Palm; "Mrs" indicating seniority rather than marital status. The guild enforcers are the Agony Aunts, Sadie and Dotsie, prim, silent old ladies who will always catch up with a client that has behaved badly toward the Seamstresses. A punished client who is able to complain to the City Watch afterwards is considered to have gotten off lightly. [...] The Seamstresses regulate their own behaviours like other good guilds. For instance, the Guild prides itself that a customer may safely enjoy the services it provides, and will only end up battered, bereft of money and clothing, and otherwise ill-abused, in an alley in The Shades at midnight, if his personal tastes were to run that way.

The second piece of background information is the book series Bloody Jack which I listened to on audiobook as a kid. It's about Jacky Faber, an orphan girl who disguises herself as a boy to serve aboard the Dolphin, a man of war ship tasked with hunting pirates, set in 1801. I've seen posts on tumblr where the following trope is disliked (but to be fair there's probably posts like that for all tropes under the sun and I like how it was used in Bloody Jack, so), but Jacky gets her period on the ship, has no idea what it is, and thinks she's dying. She can't ask any of the men on board about it but she does have an idea of somewhere she might get answers. She's put together what sex is, and the sailors often talk about visiting brothels, and the ladies working there would probably have answers for her if she's dying of some disease or something. So, when the ship next docks she visits a brothel and asks them if she's dying. She's very kindly given the sex-ed and period talk and great! She's not dying and they're not going to out her as a girl to the crew, thank goodness! She thanks the lady and goes back to the Dolphin much relieved.

OKKIE DOKIE! Now we take both of those and a ftm trans headcanon and apply it to LU Hyrule! ~13-15 y/o LU Hyrule in the middle of Zelda 2 gets his period and thinks he's dying. (it also works with the headcanon that Hyrule isn't getting proper nutrition so maybe his period came late.) He's recently learned how Ganon can be revived with the hero's blood and Hyrule's like, I'm cursed ohhhh shit! He looks for answers and takes the same route as Jacky. After that, I think he starts a rapport with the brothels. He's never asked to work or offered services (and if he was, it would be unless that is something he would want (and pay for), but nah he's not interested and after expressing that he's not asked again.) He's adopted as a little brother and is welcomed in the houses as a rest point.

There are headcanons where Hyrule isn't welcome in his towns because Ganon's minions are after him. I've read many variations: the townsfolk like him but he and they know he can't stay long--to him being shunned and unwelcome. With either case, I think the healing houses would be adamant that Hyrule will always have a place to stay. He is grateful, but if Ganon's minions are following him, then he doesn't want to stay in any place long, especially when it might put them in danger.

Also going back to Discworld's Seamstresses, I think Hyrule would take on the role of the Agony Aunts- if a client has behaved badly towards a seamstress, Hyrule will make sure they have hell to pay.

Hyrule has another safe place to stay and the seamstresses have another person looking out for them.

The seamstresses are very supportive of Hyrule being trans. They joke with him with tips on how to present more masculine. They have suggestions for packing if that's something he's interested in. Safe binding. Proper menstrual care and access to needed materials, remedies for cramps, etc.

I really like the idea of the majority of the role models in Hyrule's life being women. He has the seamstresses, the Zeldas, Impa, and the fairies of which he is a brother to as well.

I also like to think that Hyrule is very sex positive! It works with the aroace headcanon (though I think Hyrule being with whichever of his Zeldas he gets shipped with is cute, too. Enjoying various headcanons is fun and cool! but shipping aside,) Even though sex is something Hyrule isn't interested in himself, I do think he's supportive of it. He's the ultimate wingman. Talking about sex or reproductive health might make others in the chain squeamish but for Hyrule it's something completely normal. He's a strong advocate for sex education, safe sex, and fantasy contraception! 👏 He's also fantasy pro-choice! 👏

Thank you for reading my TED Talk on Hyrule!

[mudandmire]

wanna cut out both your eyes

….I should not be held responsible for what happens when I listen to Glass Animals.

So. There ya go. A firefighter, a boxer - one pulls the punches and pays the price.

...

The boxing ring exchanges hands when the sun goes down. A slip of marigold satin on the horizon, the final blink of the suns round eye before it disappears completely. Eris watches it from the floor to ceiling windows in the third floor of the gym. Each descending shade of indigo, painted on the blank stares of the office buildings across the street.

There's still a sticky trace of sweat along his back and face. He's sure the ring behind him remains secretly streaked with the culmination of his and his opponents earlier fights.

All he'd done to soothe the agitating itch of it was rub a wet towel over his body. It had to be enough, there was no point in showering—he wasn't yet done tonight.

Eris wraps his hands. Methodical and practiced to the point of perfection. He doesn't even glance at his slowly clearing reflection in front of him.

As the last breaths of day sink, and an encroaching dusk comes to share it's space, Eris' eyes lock onto a figure on the sidewalk below.

A mere silhouette under the fluorescent spotlight of the streetlamp, carrying a duffle bag at his side. Eris can only see the top of his head; dark, before he disappears inside the building. The gym is practically deserted now, and the top floor stays empty. Yet Eris cannot help but think that for this, even the walls grow ears.

If it were cold out, Eris' shuddering exhale would fog onto the window. His wrapped hands tense at his sides, mimicking the tension lining his shoulders under the thin hoodie he wears. Despite continuing to face the window, he turns every sense toward the door behind him. He knows how long—in seconds, in feet, in the rapid, anxious knocking of his pulse—it takes for someone to get from ground level to the third floor of the gym.

Specifically; how long it takes Azriel.

Even though he's been there for hours now, Eris feels the change as soon as the fluorescents overheard become the primary source of light. It's his ring, his stage, when the sun is up. As if asking for one last confirmation that it'll return to him tomorrow, Eris taps one of his wrapped knuckles against the window.

When the sun sets, and the ring is empty apart from the one lonely soul that haunts it—it belongs to Azriel.

A shiver rolls down his spine like beads of sweat at the sound of footsteps down the hall. Then, right in front of the door when it opens.

"I'm on call." Azriel says, and it may as well have been the first hit thrown between them.

Eris pinches at his taped hands, "you can spare me an hour," he says.

The itch of his skin beneath the wraps is unpleasant with dried sweat and a tender soreness growing from the joints like roots.

The duffle bag drops at his feet, the only sound between them before Azriel says lowly. "I'd give you the whole night," and then pauses, even the sound of his rifling through the gym bag stops. "Ask me to."

Azriel asks because he knows Eris won't answer—not that one.

It takes him a deep inhale before he's ready to turn around.

Back to the window, to the night shuttered city that crawls out of view of his reflection, Eris' eyes find him.

Every time, he wishes it was easier.

Azriel's shirt is halfway off, rising up the expanse of bronzed skin. The flex of his arms when it comes away from him completely makes Eris' stomach plunge. Every part of Azriel is hewn, hand carved with the kind of underlying strength that comes from hard work. Eris thinks if they ended up locked in this room, he wouldn't even break a sweat with worry. The breadth of his shoulders are enough to make the thick wooden door with a thin slit for a window look like soft clay.

Indulging in his trailing thoughts, Eris' eyes fall to Azriel's hands—scarred horribly from a fire long ago. It's not the kind of scarring one can easily look away from, it demands attention. Every ridge whitened and tight, a mottled patchwork of scraped and clumsily chiseled marble.

He still finds it ironic—a completely different kind of illness—that Azriel turned to firefighting in the face of it.

Maybe that's what some people call courage, bravery in the face of challenge.

Eris calls it madness. Not even the good kind.

Azriel begins to wrap his hands, a diligent silence taking over the two of them as he twines and tucks with single-minded focus that proves how much he's done this. The muscles in his exposed forearms flex as he works—Eris looks away quickly, keeping his gaze fixed on the empty ring.

It's a near dangerous thing, watching Azriel work. Eris has found his attention pried up by the roots again and again just to focus on him.

The fabric is between Azriel's teeth as he tugs it taut on his hands. Eris finds the skin of his bottom lip pinched between two fingers as he catches Azriel's dark eyes from under the fan of his sooty lashes. A direct contrast to the bearing of his teeth: pearl white, sharp points at his canines—Eris hopes he draws blood tonight.

He walks forward, ducking under the boxing ropes and padding barefoot onto the canvas. Shaking out his fingers, he doesn't glance over his shoulder where Azriel is. The charge pulses through him, from the non-slip canvas to the windows and back—body attentive to where Azriel is. It's a magnetic forcefield, how Eris' bends apart when Azriel's bends forward, the opposite draw addicting as it is frustrating.

This is ritual; this place, this time, this silence.

Until Azriel, as always, breaks it.

He levers the boundary ropes up, the underside of his arms tensing. Eris strips off his thin hoodie, heat building under the surface of his skin like a fever.

"You pulling punches today, Vanserra?" Azriel's stance is low. Balanced and ready even as his shoulders stay loose and his dark eyes glint with the hint of a fight coming on the wind—a storm brewing on the horizon.

Eris scoffs. "Don't count on it."

Banter has no room in his head. The ring's turned over it's hand, it belongs to Azriel now and Eris is going to have to work twice as hard to keep his feet beneath him tonight. A pleasant buzz hums through his worked muscles, biting at the bit for a challenge.

Eris raises his hands, positioning them in a way so innate he does it without thinking.

"Come here," he says, and then his mouth goes dry. Eris swallows hard, trying to find words to follow up with what sounds like an invitation, a plea, yet comes up empty.

Azriel doesn't give him time to, anyway. He's on call, the stopwatch had already started. The ring belongs to him in the meantime.

There's a flash of a grin, tucked behind raised fists, near feral. Eris is given a minute to appreciate the fall of his raven hair over his forehead before Azriel strikes.

Strike is a good word for it: cleaving from heaven to ground in a split second.

Eris molds his body effortlessly into a slip. Turning his head and shoulders away to dodge it quickly, but is back up, coming around with his left arm for a swing at Azriel's side.

Though he absorbs it, his arms coming up to shell the sensitive muscle and skin of the side of his abdomen. Azriel shoots him one, quick flicker of a grin, before it disappears behind the shutter of his concentration.

From there, it devolves. Eris had learned over the years, and many, many won fights, that he strikes like a snake. Quick and decisive, unpredictable unless his opponents eyes are keen enough to spot the tells. His fist lashes out, body coming in for a follow-through, and a poisonous pain sinks into every sensitive, tender part of the skin he makes contact with.

Planning his steps comes easy when he can debilitate someone's lungs with a well-placed blow—leave them gasping, leave him circling like a vulture.

With Azriel, it is entirely different. If he is a snake, then Azriel is a wolf. Wild with the way he strikes out, the force behind him something that would snap Eris' bones if he wasn't experienced. He does not keep his arms to his body, does not mind if tender, vulnerable places are hit—just continues to advance, teeth bared, snarl on his face and a bloodlust in his eyes that Eris is ashamed to find time and again, leaves a firm impression in his shorts.

Eris manages to block one of Azriel's blows, but it rattles up the bone in his arm. He grimaces through it, coming back up to roll into his next punch, keeping most of the force on his back leg instead of letting it power through his swing.

Azriel parries easily, eyes narrowing into a glare even as he pants hard through his mouth.

"Don't," he grunts, arms coming to cover up his face in the second of rest, the muscles in his lower abdomen tightening. "Give it to me, Vanserra."

"Christ." Eris' breath leaves him in a rush of strength as he aims low and punches hard. His chest is heaving, slick with sweat. The only consolation is that Azriel seems to be just as out-of-breath as he is. The dew of exhaustion on his bronze skin glints like gemstones. It should not be as attractive, distracting, as it is.

The next breath between them is used up entirely in a quick series of movements. A force of push and pull where Eris has Azriel on the defense, until a well-timed slip leads him to grasp at his throbbing ribs.

It must be anger, or something deeper that burns low in his stomach, flushing his cheeks bright. Eris strikes out, sure and strong, grunting low with effort as he catches Azriel in the chin through a feint. The throb of his knuckles irrelevant in the face of Azriel's gleaming, dark eyes.

One of his hands leaves position guarding his chest, and reaches up to thumb away a drop of blood beading at the cut on his slack mouth.

"There," he says. Eris stumbles a step when the thumb and the droplet disappears between his lips.

He tries to regain control over his breathing, the tightening at the base of his spine. Tries not to think of where else Azriel could say that—how else. The brush of a split lip on the shell of his ear, Azriel's hard-won pants of air pooling warm in the hollow of his gleaming collarbones.

Azriel's head tips, stomach swelling with each breath he takes, and through his parted mouth he clicks his tongue.

"Head," he grunts as he swings, Eris barely managing to dodge it, "in the ring."

It shakes him enough to grit down on the rising tide of coal-hot desire, seamlessly falling into a series of movements so quick he could've missed one for the other if he didn't know Azriel so well. Every time he moves, it's with a pained breath of effort. The spot on his side that Azriel had so expertly targeted and won with it's yellow and green blooms of bruises, aches and stings against his ribs.

He must've stumbled, or gotten distracted by the sharp twist of the tender skin at his side. Eris doesn't know what he had faltered on, feet or hands or head. Next thing he knows Azriel has two large, hot palms on the back of his thighs, feet no longer touching the floor. His face is close for a second, features nearer than they have been the whole night. Azriel's eyes are glazed when he looks at him through the pinch of his dark eyebrows and bared teeth.

The ground meets Eris' back with a sound like thunder. Every breath, every inch of air looses from his lungs with a hollow gasp and his wrapped hands digging his nails into the sweat-slicked skin of Azriel's back. The pain doesn't register, not before the all-consuming feeling of suffocation that molds him in between his empty lungs and Azriel's heavy, hot, looming weight.

Knuckles red, raw, he digs his fingers in further to the muscle of Azriel's shoulder blades and relishes the hiss that slips from his pink lips. A dull ache spreads up from his spine to his shoulders and down to his tailbone. Eris' head tips back, features crumpled in what may have looked like pain if he weren't burning alive, skin stuck to the canvas floor.

The spread of Azriel's shoulders between his pale thighs sends his pulse into a furious thrum. Bronze and glazed like pottery, every crease of muscle and skin wears like the finest finish and Eris finds himself struggling to swallow.

When he does get his breath back, it's to glare straight up into Azriel's hazel eyes and heave out a breathless, "cheater."

Azriel's mouth tightens, dark brows furrowed into a shadow over his lidded eyes. The molten press of his palms, even through the wraps, says everything about his disappointment Eris couldn't see through his shuttered gaze. They follow a pre-determined path; one stays on his side, the bruised one, where his fingers rest in between the slots of his heaving rib cage. The other wanders, a teasing brush here and there, down the sweat-slick skin of his stomach, the sensitive strip above the waistline of his shorts, when it finally stops to rest at his hip. Pressing down slightly in warning.

"What did I say, Eris?" He asks, looming closer until his thighs are stuck to the backs of Eris'.

Eris finally finds use for his hands. Where they had dug trenches into Azriel's back, they take a particular kind of vengeance in the damp locks of his raven hair.

"You brute," he says, a scratch in his voice, "you must get tired of repeating your braindead demands." His fingers had curled into the hair at the base of his neck, where he tugs hard enough to send a tendon feathering in Azriel's dewy jaw.

Silence rings in place of it, but Azriel's hand moves quickly further down on his ribs until the weight of his palm presses hard on the blossoming, tender bruise on his side.

Eris holds in a whine, his fingers going limp then tightening in the span of the hard kick of his heart against his chest.

"I—" a whimper slips out of the loosening iron control over his mouth, "go to hell."

The pressure on the contusion increases, Eris' lungs working hard to take short, shallow breaths.

His hands fly away from the safety of Azriel's hair, mussed and carded like he had been fucked well. They land like startled birds at his shoulder, the flexed muscle of his bicep as he presses down.

"I could do this until I get called into the station." He says easily, head tipping to watch Eris writhe. "But then we'd both go home losers tonight. It's really up to you."

Eris gasps, mouth wet and parted even as he grits out, "maybe I wouldn't mind that, seeing as I could nullify your victory—"

"No, Eris, this isn't my victory."

The pressure lessens slightly, the heartbeat of the tender ache crying out in relief as Azriel pulls back just enough for Eris' to breathe fully. His lids blink heavily up at him, dazed and stinging.

A calloused, scarred thumb rubs gentle circles on the soft skin of his hip. "Now, what did I say?" He asks again.

Through the fire in his belly, the smoke in his head, Eris finds it in himself to arch wildly into Azriel's solid frame. Making every effort to dislodge him even as his cheeks flush a rosy pink up to his ears.

"Oh, absolutely fuck you." He spits, nails digging crescents into the meat of his shoulders.

Azriel doesn't dignify him with a response. Instead he bends in closer and Eris' thighs are forced wider from it—it distracts him enough that he doesn't notice when the hand on his hip comes to circle his neck. Heavy like a marble necklace, but Azriel's skin is rough, warm, and then the pressure returns to the contusion on his side and Eris' head falls back hard enough he can hear the noise of it echo in his skull.

The fingers don't tighten, but the threat of them has heat spilling down the line of his spine, pooling at the base of it.

"What did I say?" Azriel's demand is stone in the face of Eris' disobedience. His eyes dark with the pupil expanded wide enough Eris can barely make out the lingering ring of hazel around it. Despite his cool features, barely a wince passing across his face even as Eris' nails mark him bloody. Eris watches the controlled heave of his chest, his stomach, and finds that he wants the barely leashed power pressed against him.

"You, fuck," it comes out breathless, rushed, as pain licks along his warming side. "You said don't hold my punches back."

Azriel leans more weight onto the hand against his ribs. "Exact words." He says quietly.

"I—Azriel, God, wait—you said," he wets his lips, panting, a hand circling Azriel's wrist though making no effort to move it. "You said to give it to you."

He hums approvingly, shifting his knees where they're red pressed to the canvas floor. "Could've had me on my ass three times by now, but you didn't. Wanna know why?"

"Why?" He croaks, a wetness gathering in his eyes he doesn't want to investigate.

"Because you don't listen, do you sweetheart?" His head dips, face parallel to Eris' to the point where he can't choose one eye to focus on—so his gaze falls to his lips instead. A shaking, raw hand coming up to thumb at the bottom lip.

Azriel's breath falls over the touch, warm, shuddering.

"Azriel," the name comes from the very base of his stomach where the urge to taste his mouth comes roiling up his spine with a vengeance.

A sharp ringing cuts through the haze in his head. So loud he thinks at first he's imagining it, or it's a siren from outside.

It's only when Azriel's whole body tenses, and his head falls to rest on Eris' chest that he understands what it is.

"Shit." Azriel swears into the dip between his pectorals quietly, but with no less vehemence.

"That wasn't—" Eris' trembling hand falls to his hair. "That's not an hour."

"Yeah, well, tell my boss." Azriel grunts as he begins to move away. Peeling the heated press of his weight and presence from Eris' own body like a horribly stuck band-aid. He keeps a whine tucked behind his teeth even as the corners of his brows pinch upwards.

Azriel's shoulders duck out and away from in between his thighs, and his eyes near wet with frustration as the air conditioned cold of the room seeps into his warmed skin. His legs fold without him there, pressing together as if that will restore the heat lost. It's then, almost an accident, that Eris discovers the culmination of every touch and word from Azriel as a firm afterthought in his gym shorts.

The outline of it rankles him. The fact that it's his hand and not Azriel's that sweeps down the plane of his abdomen, sweat-cooled and tacky.

Azriel had crawled out from under the boundary ropes to look at his pager—at least that's what Eris thought.

A harsh, scarred hand grabs his before it can reach the hem of his shorts. Eris' eyes snap open, darting to meet Azriel's crooked mouth and dark eyes.

He ducks low so his lips brush against his ear, halfway out of the ring. "If you touch yourself, I'll make sure to fracture a rib tomorrow." He says.

Unbidden but by the sound of Azriel's voice, the heat seeping into his skin around his wrist, Eris' arches his back with a shameless whine.

His cheeks go pink. "Wait, but—Azriel."

Azriel's hand falls away from his wrist, ducking back out of the ring with a teasing nip to his earlobe.

Dazed, lingering in the sweat gathered on his back and the tender pulsing ache on his side, he watches as Azriel scoops up the handle to his duffle bag, pager in hand.

Eris' brows furrow slightly when he stops before the door.

"And to think," he says, gazing over his shoulder at Eris through the dark soot of his lashes, "we could've both been winners tonight." His grin is sharp, slicing through Eris and burying it's blade in his core.

The door closes with a soft snick behind him, and Eris is left entirely alone again.

An arm comes up to sling over his face as it burns through the heated pulse of arousal under his shorts.

As much as his fingers itch to slip under, find the heat that's been missing since Azriel left, he stops himself.

How would he know?

Eris' head tips back till he faces the ceiling. Black and white patterns and fluorescent lights blinking hollowed images in the back of his eyes.

The answer comes to him easily; as innate as wrapping his hands or slipping into that first stance of a fight.

I would tell him. He thinks.

Again, his head tips back, throat bared and cold in the unforgiving, dry gym air. "Fuck," he says quietly, unable to bring himself to move.

He may just stay here, stuck to the canvas floor in a concoction of lust, shame, and sweat. He may just wait until the sun rises, lightening in soft ribbons over the floor until it hits the boxing ring and Eris knows for certain he can stand on his own. Once the ring turns its hand over to him.

He'll spend the whole day waiting, wishing, for darkness to come quicker so he and the ring can belong to Azriel again.

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, he finds one of his hands pressing against the thundercloud bruise on his side. The hitch in his lungs is half pain, half remembrance.

Nightfall can't come soon enough.

...

This devolved very quickly and I'm not entirely sure where it came from??

But also Glass Animals has the magic juice that makes me write feral things. So maybe it's not entirely out of the blue. Anywayyy hope you enjoyed!!

Also, the song is 'Wonderful Nothing' by Glass Animals 🤌

[cepheusgalaxy]

Hmmmmm

[scare-ard--sleigh]

anyway when colin farrell said he wouldn't miss the oz voice, well, i took that a little personally on account of it turning me on so much thanks

[heaven-hotel-au]

OK. Gotta know what was Lucifers former life like in heaven?

First, sorry to be answering these late! I've been offline for a while. Very happy to have some questions though!

Well, Lucifer was created not long before Earth was, and spent most of his early life admiring it, along with its inhabitants. He was a seraph along with Sera (Imelda was created later, as his replacement) and at the time, most of his role was supervising new creations, including Earth!

Heaven had a very strict hierarchy, and creation/innovation was something restricted to very few angels. Lucifer's first misdemeanours against Heaven for trying to create or help with creation. In his (relatively) short time in Heaven, he was often put down and demeaned, and felt very lonely. His memories of Heaven and the life he lived there are bad ones, and because of that he tried to make Hell as different as possible.

[alientitty]

finally saw the finale of game of thrones yeah i understand why everyone hated it. like if these developments were temporary it'd almost be ok but to end it all that way...smh

[vulpixelates]

vg critical in the tags - protect your peace

[steveseddie]

my cards are on the table

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: family dinner and @steddiebingo prompt: matchmaker | rating: t | cw: 999 | tags: different first meeting, pre season 4, matchmaker wayne munson, soft boys

read on ao3

Christmas at the Munson’s consists of early dinner on Christmas Eve and opening presents on Christmas morning once Wayne comes back from work.

It’s been that way since Eddie moved in so when Wayne opens Eddie’s door to tell him to wash up before dinner and casually says he invited someone, Eddie is puzzled.

“You– what?”

“Kid, you gotta stop listening to your music so loud,” Wayne says gruffly, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“And you need to explain why you invited someone to dinner!” Eddie demands, narrowing his eyes. “Is it a woman? Are you seeing someone, old man?”

“Not a woman, son, just a kid who does deliveries to the plant sometimes. His folks ain’t gonna be around for Christmas so I invited him over.”

Eddie’s lips press into a thin line. He’s known his uncle is a good man since he took him in. He loves him for it. He just wishes it didn’t mean he has to spend Christmas with a stranger.

“Fine, but I’m not dressing up just because someone is coming over!”

“Suit yourself, son, but I think you might wanna.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Why?” Wayne just shrugs and leaves. “Why?” He repeats but gets no response.

Thirty minutes later there’s a knock on the door, and after whining about how this is Wayne’s guest so he should be the one to get the door, Eddie sighs and opens it to reveal–

“Steve Harrington?” Eddie shakes off the shock and flashes him a mocking grin. “Well, well, well, what are you doing on the wrong side of town, Your Highness? Did you get lost?”

The title makes Steve’s nose wrinkle but he lets it slide. “Actually, your uncle invited me.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. “You’re our guest?”

With a shrug, Steve makes a ta-da! gesture. Eddie stares blankly at him.

“Um, are you gonna let me in, Munson, or–” he trails off, hanging a hand from his neck.

“Ed? Is that the Harrington boy?” Wayne asks, snapping Eddie out of it.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, come in, man.”

Steve gives him an awkward smile and steps inside.

After shaking Wayne’s hand, he politely asks if he can help and Wayne instructs him to fill three glasses with water. The sight of King Steve with his fancy green sweater and his perfect hair rummaging around their kitchen is so shocking that Eddie wonders if he fell into some alternate dimension. He’s glad that, despite his claim, he put on a red flannel and decent jeans instead of just sweatpants and a shirt with holes in it like he planned.

Still, Wayne could’ve done a better job warning him.

Not that Eddie wants to look good for Harrington or anything.

“Ed, get a chair for Steve,” Wayne says and Eddie dutifully brings the chair they almost never use to the table.

“Thanks,” Steve says, smiling softly.

Eddie isn’t used to pretty boys being nice to him so that’s the only reason why he falters, mumbling a you’re welcome and grabbing the seat furthest from Steve. Considering their table is small, it’s not far enough.

Dinner goes- surprisingly well, actually. Steve and Wayne talk about sports while Eddie rolls his eyes and makes comments about sport culture and conformity. He expects Steve to act annoyed like jocks do when he starts ranting, but he smiles amusedly instead.

And no, that doesn’t make Eddie’s stomach flutter.

After the sports talk, Wayne asks Eddie about his band. He expects Steve to tune him out since he probably doesn’t care what a freak like him does in his free time but he perks up, eyes going wide.

“A band? That’s cool, man!” He says and then starts throwing questions at him about the band’s name and the type of music they play. He even says he’d love to see them play someday.

Wayne’s knowing smile when Eddie blushes thankfully goes unnoticed by Steve.

When they’re done eating, Steve goes to his car to grab something while Wayne and Eddie clean up.

“Really? You couldn’t mention that our guest was Steve?”

“So you could lock yourself in your room? You’re the reason I invited him, boy.”

Eddie gasps. “This was a set up!”

“About time you brought a boy home.”

“Except I didn’t!” Eddie sputters. “You did.”

“You’re welcome.”

Steve comes back then, clearing his throat. “I know you do presents in the morning, but I still wanted to bring something.”

He gives Wayne a bottle of whiskey that probably costs more than his van and a small bag to Eddie. Inside, there’s a Beholder miniature.

“How did you–”

Steve starts rambling. “I know that you run that nerd club and this kid I know is obsessed with that game so I asked him what would be a nice gift for someone like you. He probably thought I was getting it for him and might be disappointed but–”

“Thanks, Steve,” Eddie interrupts once he finally finds his words.

Steve gives him a shy smile. And maybe this one makes his heart stutter.

When all they do is stare at each other, Wayne clears his throat.

Flustered, Steve announces he’s heading out. “Thanks for inviting me. I haven’t had a Christmas dinner in years.”

“You’re welcome, kid,” Wayne says. “Ed, will you see him out? Gotta get ready for my shift.”

“Sure, old man.”

At the door, Steve hesitates. “Sorry I crashed your Christmas dinner. Your uncle wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Eddie snorts, fiddling with the figurine. “He’s a stubborn old man.”

“Not that I didn’t have fun,” he quickly adds, “I did.”

“Yeah, uh, me too.”

Steve’s pink tongue darts out along his bottom lip.

“Like, enough fun that I could do it again.”

Eddie stops fidgeting and blinks at him. “Hang out with me and my uncle?”

“Or just you,” Steve says and he looks– almost nervous.

Oh.

There’s no denying the butterflies in his stomach this time. “Yeah,” Eddie says, watching Steve start to smile. “I’d like that.”

[femd-archive]

Please more on sub Kenji PLEASEEEEEEE😭😭

why of course (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

BIRTHDAY BOY

pairing: ultraman: rising — kenji sato x fem!reader

word counting: 2.4k

content warning: not proofreader | sub!kenji | maybe an occ kenji but who cares | pegging | use of toys (strap-on) | fingering (male recieving) | dumbification (kenji wants to get pregnant woops) | mention of pregnancy | breeding kink | hands-free cumming | maybe too cheesy. i just love this man TT lots of kisses and praises | aftercare and maybe other content that i'm forgetting about :/

summary: after discussing about pegging with kenji, he purchases something on his birthday. a strap-on!

side note: english is not my first lenguage, so i apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes

"Ta-da!"

[Name] glances at the gift-wrapped box that Kenji had just placed on her lap before looking up again, finding her boyfriend's excited face looking at her right back.

"A gift? For me? But it's your birthday" she reminds him, taking the box and starting to tear the paper anyways.

"Uh-huh. It's a gift for you, but technically it's still something that will be used on me" Kenji explains, making [Name] look up again, confused, before looking back at the already unwrapped box. She looks at the object with a surprised face.

'Sexy fantasy. Silicone strap-on' was what the box said, showing a picture of the product inside.

To be completely honest, it wasn't a surprise at all. For almost a month now, [Name] herself had brought the topic of pegging to the table with Kenji, excited to try it out, but also understanding if it was something he wasn't comfortable with. From Kenji's face, she could tell that he was scared, maybe even a little bit upset? But two days after he had said that he was going to think about it, one night before going to sleep, Kenji had said yes when he was already in dreamland.

After confirming it again the next day -becuase [Name] thought that he was just talking in his sleep- they began with small sessions to prepare Kenji. The first one was full of nerves.

"Is it going to hurt?" Kenji asks as he watches his girlfriend climb onto the bed after bringing the bottle of lube from the bathroom.

"Maybe a little, but I'm going to do my best so it doesn't hurt too much. I promise" she reassures him, caressing her arm as she looks into his eyes with her pupils dilated with love. "Besides" she continued, "we'll stop if you want to, just say the word. We don't have to finish this in one day. So if you feel uncomfortable, just say it, okay?"

"Won't you be angry?" he asks again, taking his girlfriend's hand in his, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.

"Of course not" she responds quickly. [Name] cradles Kenji's face between both of her hands, making him look into her eyes. "This is to make you feel good, okay? I don't want any more than that, and if you don't feel good about this now, we'll stop, okay? No problem" she nods her head at him and then leans in to leave a kiss on his forehead.

After a few more moments of reassurance, they finally began. Kenji's underwear was discarded somewhere in the room, leaving him at the mercy of his girlfriend who only looked at him with adoring eyes.

"You look very pretty, Kenji" she praised him, placing a kiss on his inner thigh. Kenji breathes raggedly, feeling the sensations of his girlfriend's caresses with every fiber of his body.

The insertion of [Name]'s index finger was slow. She looked up all the time, analyzing the gestures on her boyfriend's face while her finger sank deeper and deeper into him.

"It's all in" she announced when it really was, taking her boyfriend's hand with her free hand. She gave it a small squeeze and moved it to heer lips to place a kiss on his knuckles. "How do you feel? Did it hurt?"

Kenji lifts his head from the fluffy pillows to look at his girlfriend with dizzy eyes. "I'm fine, I'm fine" he reassures, "it only stung a little, but it was fine"

[Name] smiles, caressing his knuckles lovingly. "Okay, I'm going to stop for a bit until you get used to it and then I'll move, okay?" she watched as Kenji nodded his head. "Words, baby"

"Yeah, yeah… okay" Kenji responds, giving his girlfriend a small smile.

For his first session, Kenji managed to take 2 fingers quite well. After that, the next sessions became looser and Kenji became more vocal about the places he liked to be touched. He even almost came without hands!

So yes, the subject about pegging was nothing strange for the couple, but [Name] never thought that Kenji would buy a strap-on on his own. She looks back at her boyfriend.

"Are you sure you want to do it today?" she asks, feeling a little nervous.

"What better day than today?" Kenji asked with a teasing tone. Noticing his girlfriend's nerves, his eyes softened and he walked over to sit next to her. "Hey" he calls, cupping her face with both hands, "I trust you, okay? And I trust that you'll not hurt me and you'll make me feel good, like you always do" he reassures, smiling at her. He kisses her lips softly, condoning all of their love in that kiss. "I love you" he whispered against her lips after breaking away from the kiss.

[Name] smiles, placing another small kiss on Kenji's lips. "I love you too" she whispers. "Now come on, I have to make the birthday boy feel good" she stands with the box in her hands, and Kenji is quick to follow her with a smile.

"Wooow!" he cheers with is arms uo, before hugging his girlfriend from behind and walking together to the bedroom.

Kenji spreads kisses all over his girlfriend's abdomen, hips and thighs, while she tries to fasten the strap-on on her hips.

"Excited?" she asks with a teasing tone. Kenji rests his chin on her stomach, hugging her legs.

"Yup" he replies, placing another kiss next to [Name]'s navel. "I can't wait to have you inside me" he purrs, watching her from below with half-lidded eyes.

[Name] was about to say something, until her words were trapped in her mouth when she saw how her boyfriend took that silicone dick and began to caress it as if it were a real one.

Leaving kisses along the toy, Ken looks up again, making eye contact with his girlfriend as he runs his tongue from the base to the tip of the fake dick, making [Name] shudder

"Shit, baby…" she reaches out her hand, running her fingers through Kenji's hair.

Placing another kiss on his girlfriend's hip, Kenji speaks again as he masturbates the silicone cock. "I learned a thing or two while you were away" he declares, before -much to [Name]'s surprise- taking the entire length of the toy into his mouth.

"Ken- Oh dear. Kenji" she cups his cheek, looking at him with admiration as he begins to bob his head. "You never cease to amaze me"

"Please, baby" Kenji begged between licks and kisses, "fuck me good" he whispered, looking at her with begging eyes. [Name] smiles, amazed at how bold Kenji could become.

"That I'll do" she whispers, bending down to catch Kenji's lips on a feverish kiss. They fall into the sheets, [Name] on top on Kenji as she takes his briefs off without looking, freeing Kenji's hard cock into the cold air.

He keeps on spreading kisses on [Name]'s body as she stretchs to grab the lube bottle from the night stand. She kisses his lips once again. "How do you wanna do it, birthday boy?" she asks, uncapping the bottle and squeezing some of the lub on the plastic dick, spreading it with her hand on a jerking motion.

"I wanna see your face" he says, propping on his elbows to see her better.

"Then we'll stay like this" she shrugs, smiling at Ken.

[Name] slips three fingers with ease inside of Kenji, thrusting them in and drawing moans from his lips. "I forgot how good they feel" Ken sighs, moving his hips to slightly ride your fingers.

"Yeah? Do you like them more than my cock?" [Name] teases.

"I'll have to try it first to figure that out" he teases back.

They share a wet kiss as [Name] takes her fingers out and position herself between Ken's legs again. Aligning the dildo with Kenji's hole, she looks up at him. "Are you ready?" she asks, concern back in her eyes.

Ken props in his elbows once again, pulling [Name] closer with a hand behind her neck. "I've been ready since I said yes" he reassures, leaving a short kiss on her lips, "now please, put it in?" he reaches out his hand, taking the dildo and putting it back on its rightful place. [Name] cooperates and moves her hips to push it in, slowly. Ken throws his head back, hitting the pillows. "Mmh" he mumbles, looking up at his girlfriend with adoring eyes.

[Name] bottoms out, and her hands run up and down against Kenji's long legs, caressing them to bring some comfort at the strange intruding sensation. She moves her hands all up Ken's body, bending down to litter his stomach and chest with kisses, finally reaching his lips and kissing him softly.

"You're so pretty Ken. So good for me" praises fall from her lips as she follows her kisses on his shoulder, caressing his hips with her thumbs.

After a few moments being cuddled up, Ken kisses [Name]'s cheek to gain her attention. "You can move now" he whispers, smiling softly at her.

Without wanting to make him wait more, [Name] obeys and start moving her hips slowly, eyes fixated in the way Ken throws his head back in the pillows and moans softly at the movement inside of him. Soon, she starts picking up her pace, going faster and faster.

Ken's mouth opens, moaning without shame. He grabs [Name]'s arms that are on each side of his hips, searching for support in the sea of pleasure he just jumped in.

"Does it feels good?" [Name] asks between whispers, erratic breathing due the constant thrusting.

"So good, baby, nnngh- Please! Faster, fuck me faster!" he whines, getting a hold of his girlfriend and hugging her from her shoulders.

[Name] took a grasp of Ken's hips and did as he asked, fucking him faster. The bed moved below them, hitting on the wall softly, but who cared about that now? Definitely not Kenji, who's eyes were way back as he hugged his girlfriend, strong body easily bouncing on her hips.

The room was filled with his moans and the sound of skin slapping. His harden cock, poorly neglected, was rubbing in between their bodies, pre sprouting from the tip and making it more slippery.

After so many position changes, [Name] had finally found Kenji's prostate. He had gone silence, hugging one of the pillows as the tip of the toy hitted that spot again and again on a loop.

"You close, baby?" [Name] asks with a kiss on his shoulder, her hips never stopping.

"Yes" he drags the last letter. Ken makes an effort to prop on his elbows to look back, looking at his girlfriend with pleading eyes. "Please..." he whines, "please fill me up, nngh ~ fill me up with your babies. Please..." he keeps on begging, even reaching for [Name]'s wrist to hold onto, looking at her with those pleading puppy eyes.

[Name] gets shocked for a second, and with that, her movements also halt, making Kenji whine. "Baby, you know I can't do that-" another of Kenji's cries interrupt her.

"You can, I know you can!" he whines. "Only you can breed me...please...stuff me with your cum. I promise I'll be a good mama...please?" he babbles, tears already falling from his pretty eyes and moving down on his cheeks.

[Name] stares at him in awe. Something inside of her also changing. All of a sudden, the idea of Kenji bearing her children wasn't so bad. She smiles, resuming her thrusts back on her boyfriend as she hovers over him. "Yeah? You want my cum so bad?"

Ken nods desperately, pouting. "Yeah"

"You'll be a good mama, Ken, I'm sure you will be" she assures, hips moving faster and harder, making Ken fall into the pillows once again. He calls out his girlfriend's name between cries, hugging on the pillow like it was gonna save him from the immense pleasure he was feeling and he couldn't control it.

"Cummin'...nngh, 'm cumming" he mumbles.

"Let's cum together, hmm?" she leaves a kiss on his neck.

Ken moans out loud as he shots his cum into the sheets, dirtying them with ropes and ropes of thick cum. [Name] makes the last thrusts a lot harder, grunting in Kenji's ear, as she had just emptied herself inside him. And Ken could feel it, he swear he could! His girlfriend's hot semen filling him up, it was only a question of time for him to be swollen with her babies! He can't help but smile at the simple thought.

She falls on top of Ken, on his back, and they stay like that for a good couple of minutes before [Name] decides to get up and start cleaning up. She leaves a kiss on Ken's back and neck, whispering lots of praises and "I love you"s.

"You feeling good?" she asks, smiling once Ken had moved onto his back on his own. He smiles up at her, resting a hand on his stomach.

"Better than ever" he replies, looking up at her with adoring eyes as she cleans him up with some wet wipes. "Thank you...for all of this" he suddenly speaks, making [Name] look up at him, finding Ken already looking at her like she's his world -and she, indeed, is-. "You made this the best birthday ever. I love you"

[Name]'s heart swells with love. Bending over, she peppers his face with lots of kisses, making Kenji gigle, and finally, she leaves one on his lip, but Ken grabs her from the neck and kisses her back, slowly and softly. They pull apart, and [Name] is also looking at him like he hangs stars in the night sky. "I love you more, and I'm glad you enjoyed yourself; I loved seeing you like that. We can do it any other day, if you want"

"Uh, yeah?" Ken scoffs. "That was mind-blowing, of course I wanna do it again!" he speaks with enthusiasm, and with a lot of energy for somebody that's been fucked for an hour.

"The neccesary amount of times that it would take me to get you pregnant?" she asks with a teasing tone, laughing her head off when she sees Kenji's expression.

"Oh my god...what did I say?"

After cleaning up the bed, the bath time was filled with laughter and embarrassed grunts from Kenji's part, his cheeks and ears red because of how embarrassed he was at the replays of what he had said. Though, he had to admit...it sounded hot.

[brunchable]

How I met your Father. | Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Themes: Getting noticed by your crush. Pining from Reader.

Summary: You work at the cafe Bucky always goes to and you've had a crush on him for MONTHS.

A/N: Conntected with How's Retirement, Bucky? and Ouch, my face.

The bell above the door jingles as the early morning rush dwindles down, leaving only the occasional customer trickling in. You’re wiping down the counter, lost in thought, when your coworker, Emma, elbows you hard enough to make you stumble.

“Ow, what—” You shoot her a glare, but her eyes are wide, and she nods her head toward the door with a smirk.

“Guess who just walked in,” she whispers conspiratorially, her grin widening. “Mr. Grumpy Pants himself.”

Your heart does an involuntary flip, and your eyes dart to the entrance. Sure enough, there he is, all dark and brooding with that permanent scowl on his face. Bucky Barnes, the man who you’ve secretly—and very stupidly—had a crush on for the past three months.

“Oh my God, stop calling him that,” you hiss, but your voice is a pitch too high, giving you away instantly. You try to ignore the fact that your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

Emma just chuckles and nudges you again, her voice teasing. “Come on, Y/N, everyone knows you’ve got it bad for him. You literally beam like a sunflower whenever he’s around.”

Another coworker, Lily, pokes her head out from behind the espresso machine and joins in. “Yeah, it’s like you’re part of some weird ‘grumpy guy fan club’ or something. He never even smiles, and you’re over here trying to win him over with puns and pastries.”

“Y’all are the worst,” you mutter, willing yourself to calm down. “And it’s not a fan club. It’s called being friendly.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Emma drawls, winking. “Being friendly. That’s why you spend extra time drawing hearts in his latte foam.”

“I do not!” You glare at her, scandalized. “He doesn’t even order lattes!”

“Okay, but if he did,” she teases, “you’d find a way.”

“Shut up, he’s coming over,” you say under your breath, hurriedly pushing Emma and Lily away as you straighten up, forcing yourself to look composed and nonchalant.

Bucky walks up to the counter, his usual stoic expression firmly in place. He gives you a nod of acknowledgment, but not much more.

“Morning,” he grumbles.

“Good morning!” you chirp, and damn it, there’s that stupid sunflower smile on your face again. You catch Emma and Lily exchanging knowing looks behind the counter and pointedly ignore them. “Usual today?”

“Yeah, iced americano,” he replies, his voice that familiar low rumble.

You ring him up, trying to suppress the fluttery feeling in your chest. As you grab a cup and scribble his name on it (which you definitely didn’t write just a little fancier than everyone else’s), you decide to take a chance. You shoot him a playful look.

“Hey, did you hear about the coffee that got arrested?”

He blinks at you, his brows furrowing slightly. “No. Why?”

“It got mugged,” you say brightly, giving the punchline your best delivery, complete with a little ta-da gesture.

Silence. Bucky just stares at you, his expression unreadable. It’s like talking to a statue. You can practically feel Emma and Lily holding their breaths, waiting for his reaction.

“...Right,” he mutters finally, nodding slowly. “Mugged.”

You wilt a little but keep your smile plastered on. “Tough crowd, huh?”

“Yeah,” he replies, and for a second—just a split second—you think you see a flicker of something in his eyes, like amusement. Or maybe you’re imagining things.

You finish making his coffee, and as you hand it to him, Emma stage-whispers from behind the counter. “Come on, Mr. Barnes! Give her a break. She’s been working on those jokes all week.”

“Emma!” you hiss, mortified. Your eyes dart to Bucky’s, your heart hammering.

But instead of looking annoyed, he tilts his head, regarding you with a sort of curious intensity. “All week, huh?”

“Uh, yeah,” you admit sheepishly, clutching the edge of the counter. “I mean, not just for you or anything—”

“Yes, just for you,” Emma interjects, grinning wickedly. Lily nods enthusiastically, her eyes wide and teasing.

You shoot them both a murderous glare, and Bucky’s gaze flickers between the three of you. Then, to your complete and utter shock, he makes a sound. It’s barely audible—more of a huff than a laugh—but you catch it. Your eyes widen.

“Did you—” You lean forward, grinning uncontrollably. “Did you just laugh?”

“No.” He denies it immediately, shaking his head, but his lips twitch like he’s fighting off a smile.

“You did!” You point at him accusingly. “I heard it!”

“Keep dreaming, Y/N,” he mutters, but there’s something softer in his tone now. He glances down at his coffee cup, where your careful handwriting spells out ‘Bucky :)’ with a little smiley face beside it, it’s almost mocking his stubborn scowl.

He sighs—one of those heavy, put-upon sighs that he’s so good at—and looks back at you. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“You have no idea,” you say with a grin. “And one of these days, I’m gonna make you smile for real. Just you wait.”

“Uh-huh.” He nods, raising an eyebrow as if to say I’d like to see you try. “Good luck.”

With that, he turns to leave, but just as he’s about to reach the door, he pauses. You’re still watching him, breathless and grinning like an idiot. He glances around the café, his eyes flicking to the stereo speakers mounted on the walls.

You follow his gaze, and that’s when you hear it: the soft, melodic intro to Sunflower by Post Malone. The lyrics drift through the air, the singer crooning about being left in the dust, a sunflower, and you feel a pang of embarrassment. Of course this song would start playing now.

Bucky’s gaze shifts back to you, and something changes in his expression. He looks at you—really looks at you—as if he’s putting together a puzzle that’s been right in front of him this whole time.

“See you tomorrow, sunflower,” he says, his voice lower, gentler.

You freeze, sure you’ve misheard him. “Wait—what?”

But he just smirks—smirks, like he knows something you don’t—and nods at the speakers. “You beam like one of those. Didn’t even need the song to tell me.”

He turns away, and you’re left standing there, staring at his retreating back as the door swings shut behind him. The café falls silent except for the soft chorus of the song. Emma and Lily stare at you, jaws practically on the floor.

“Did he just—”

“Yeah,” you breathe, still staring at the door. “He called me sunflower.”

Emma lets out a whoop, and Lily clutches her heart dramatically.

“Oh my God, Y/N, he’s so into you,” Emma squeals. “You broke Mr. Grumpy Pants! You did it!”

———

The door swings shut behind him, he makes it a few steps down the sidewalk before he slows to a stop, his coffee cup in his hand. He glances back over his shoulder, through the glass windows, where you’re still standing behind the counter, wide-eyed and speechless.

For a moment, he just stands there, watching you laugh as your coworkers swarm around, teasing you. You’re always like that—smiling, bright, never wavering in your ridiculous attempts to make him laugh. Even when he gives you nothing but deadpan responses and stony glares.

“Sunflower,” he murmurs under his breath, shaking his head. The word tastes strange on his tongue—soft, unfamiliar—but not unpleasant. He lets out a slow breath, and before he can stop himself, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Damn,” he mutters to himself, turning away before anyone can catch him grinning like an idiot. “Persistent little thing.”

He takes another step, his smile growing. Maybe tomorrow, he’ll linger a little longer. See what other terrible jokes you’ve got up your sleeve.

After all, it’s not like he’s in a rush to go anywhere else.

[maybanksbaby]

warnings: none really

summary: jj really loves his new boat and shows it off to his girlfriend

a/n: he looked so cute in the comercial, i love him so much. please let him be happy this season 🙏🙏

⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

JJ Maybank was practically vibrating with excitement as he waited on the dock, a wide grin plastered across his face. His brand-new—well, new to him—boat was tied up right behind him, and he couldn’t wait to show it off to her. His pretty girlfriend and number one fan, the one who made everything in his life feel like it was coated in sugar and wrapped in a pink bow.

The sound of soft footsteps on the weathered wooden planks jolted him from his thoughts, and he whipped around to see his girlfriend, the absolute light of his life, making her way toward him. She looked as cute as ever, dressed in one of those sweet knitted tops she always wore, paired with a short skirt that twirled with each step. Her hair was bouncing with the sea breeze, and she had her usual pink gloss that smelled like strawberries, making him weak in the knees before she even said a word.

"J!" she called out, her voice making his already sky-high excitement bubble over.

Before she could even finish her next breath, JJ was already running toward her, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her down the dock. "You’re here, you’re here, you’re here! Okay, close your eyes!"

She blinked, giggling at his enthusiasm. "JJ, what are you—JJ!” she squealed, letting out an adorable little laugh when his hands covered her eyes from behind, her body relaxing into his. “What are you doing?”

“You trust me, right?”

“I do, yeah…”

“Then close your eyes,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, which instantly sent her into a new fit of giggles.

She sighs, her shoulders slumping down. “Can i at least get a hint of what it is?”

“Nope! Eyes closed, no peeking! This is a surprise!” He placed his other hand over her eyes too for extra insurance.

She let out a playful sigh but complied, trusting him as he eagerly led her down the last stretch of the dock. “Okay, okay! I’m closing them!”

JJ could barely contain himself as he guided her close to the boat, careful not to let her trip. “Alright… three… two… one—ta-da!” He whipped his hands away from her eyes and bounced on his heels as she finally saw it.

The messy panting, that if you narrowed your eyes read 'MAYBANK'S' on the right side, didn't let much to the imagination. Now, she understood.

Her eyes widened, and she let out a surprised gasp, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. "Oh my gosh, JJ! Is–Woah. Is this… this boat is yours?"

“Yup!” he said, puffing out his chest and throwing his hands up proudly.

Her gaze swept over the boat—a charming, beat-up thing, but it was perfect for JJ. The paint was chipped, and the motor looked like it had seen better days, but it had a certain rugged charm, just like him. “JJ, it’s—”

“Beautiful? Amazing? The best thing you’ve ever seen?” He interrupted, unable to contain his excitement.

She giggles, nodding along. “Yeah! How did you even manage this? We're... literally broke right now.”

JJ let out a short awkward chuckle, scratching his wrinkled eyebrows, “Uh, well... that's not really important. What is important though, is that she's all mine–Ours! It's not really new but, with a couple of technical adjustments, a little more of my girl's style right here and—boom! Meet 'The Maybank!”

She stared at him for a moment, eyes twinkling, before bursting into giggles. “The Maybank?”

“Okay, okay, it’s a work in progress, name-wise” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “But who cares about the name? Check this out! Come on, come on!" He grabbed her hand again and practically sprinted to the back of the boat, pulling her along with him like an overexcited puppy.

“JJ!” she laughed, trying to keep up with his energy.

“Look at this beauty of a motor!” he exclaimed, leaning over to pat the engine like it was some prized race car. “She purrs like a kitten! Well, kinda more like a sick kitten, but once I fix her up—purring.”

She smiled warmly, her heart swelling at how proud and happy he looked. JJ had been through so much, more than most people could handle, and yet here he was, smiling like a little kid on Christmas morning, showing her the boat he’d worked so hard to get. “A sick kitten? Oh, it's... Yeah, probably fixable. Without any more costs...”

“Oh, it is, princess!” JJ said, completely missing the uneasy tone. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet! Come here!”

He tugged her to the front of the boat, showing off the seats with grand gestures, talking a mile a minute. “These seats? Top-tier comfort. I mean, okay, there’s a rip or two, but it’s vintage, y’know? Character! Like–Like you say. Aesthetic.... And this right here—” He pointed to the tiny built-in cooler. “Boom! Cooler for all our drinks. You, me, the Pogues? Ice-cold sodas, beers, whatever we want. Fancy, huh?”

“Very fancy,” she giggled, nodding along.

“And wait, wait, there’s more!” He led her to the very front of the boat, practically skipping at this point. “See this space? Perfect for you to lay out and tan while I drive. Like a little sunbathing queen. Plus, I can park us in all the secret spots around OBX.”

She couldn’t stop laughing at how eager he was, and her heart swelled as she watched him ramble on. “You’re really proud of this, huh?”

He stopped mid-gesture and turned to her, his grin softening for a moment. “Yeah. I mean… it’s not much, but it’s mine. I can finally take you out on adventures, like we always talked about.”

Her heart melted at his words, and she reached up, cupping his cheek with her hand. “JJ, it’s perfect. I love it. I’m so proud of you.”

He leaned into her touch, his heart thudding in his chest. But before the moment could get too soft, his energy snapped back, and he grabbed her hand again. “Come on, I haven’t shown you the captain’s seat yet!”

He practically dragged her over to the helm, hopping into the driver’s seat and patting the spot next to him like an excited puppy. “Check it out! You wanna drive? You totally gotta drive.”

She shook her head, laughing again, but took a seat next to him, watching as he fiddled with the controls like a seasoned pro. “I don’t think I’m ready to drive a boat just yet, JJ. Can't even drive the HMS Pogue”

“Pfft, you’ve got me! I’m a captain now, baby. I’ll teach you everything. Plus, there’s not much to it—steering, not hitting rocks, easy peasy. You got it.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe next time, Captain Maybank.”

“Next time, I’ll hold you to that,” he smirked, turning to plant a quick kiss on her forehead.

With one swift movement, JJ started up the boat, and they pulled away from the dock, the boat chugging forward at a steady pace. The wind whipped through her hair, and JJ was practically glowing beside her, his smile as wide as the ocean they were heading toward.

“See? Easy!” JJ exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear as they coasted along the water. “This is just the start. I’m gonna take you everywhere, baby—secret beaches, hidden coves, the works. We’ll go places no one else even knows about. And just then, we'll be traveling all over the world. Like pirates”

She watched him, her heart practically melting as he rambled on, his energy so infectious that it made her feel like they were the only two people in the world. His joy was her joy, and she couldn’t help but beam at how proud and excited he was. “JJ, this is… amazing.”

He shot her a playful smirk. “I'm telling you, just wait until I fix the motor. Then we’ll be flying across the water, like those fancy Kooky boats. But better.”

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as the boat slowed to a gentle stop in the middle of the water, the sound of the engine fading away to leave just the soft lapping of the waves. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the sky in a beautiful mix of orange, pink, and purple. It was serene, and perfect.

As they glided over the water, JJ kept up his constant narration, pointing out every little thing about the boat, from the condition of the steering wheel to a small patch he’d made on the deck with duct tape. She soaked it all in, giggling at his over-the-top enthusiasm, and her heart swelled at how happy and free he seemed.

After a while, JJ slowed the boat to a stop in a quiet, serene spot with a perfect view of the setting sun. The water around them was calm, reflecting the orange and pink hues of the sky.

“And here we are,” JJ announced, throwing his arm over her shoulders as if he’d just revealed a million-dollar mansion. “Not bad for a first trip, huh?”

She snuggled into his side, her fingers tracing little patterns on his arm. “Not bad at all. I think I could get used to this.”

JJ grinned, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “You'll see, pretty girl. ”

She laughed, tipping her head up to kiss him on the cheek. “I can’t wait, Captain Maybank.”

JJ wrapped both arms around her, pulling her close as they watched the sunset together. His excitement from earlier had finally settled into a comfortable warmth, and for the first time in a while, he felt like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. He places his chin on his shoulder, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh,” she teased, gentely tilting her head go look at him. “That’s never good.”

“Hey!” he laughed, then shook his head. “Nah, but seriously. You, know, the name of the boat? ‘The Maybank's’?" The way he pronounced it, slowly and with a twich of his eyebrows, managed to get a giggle from her. "It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

"Mhm, yeah. Really... characterized"

His grin softened into something a little more serious but no less JJ—playful yet full of warmth. He stepped closer, the arms around her waist gentely tighting. “Well, I was thinking… It’s perfect for when we get married too, you know? You’re gonna be a Maybank one day. Well, if you want. You can keep your last name though, not sure how it all works up these days, but... I wouldn't mind to share, you know? Just saying”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt her cheeks flush as his words settled in. Instead of being flustered, she melted into him, her smile only growing wider, softer, and so full of love. “No–I... You really think so?” she whispered, gazing up at him with that sweet, adoring look she saved just for him.

Her breath caught, the realization washing over her in a wave of warmth. They both knew it, had known it for a while now. The thought of marrying JJ felt like the most natural thing in the world, like it was already written in the stars.

“Of course! You’re my girl,” he said, his voice steady, almost serious, as if he was laying down the law. “When we get married, it’s going to be you and me, officially. Just picture it: ‘Captain and Mrs. Maybank’—how cool is that?”

A dreamy smile spread across her face, and she bit her lip, feeling giddy at the thought. “Mhm, sounds amazing, Jayj. Like a dream.”

His eyes lit up, and he pulled her closer, their bodies practically melting into one another. “See? It’s meant to be. I’ll show you the ropes on this boat, and then we can plan our future adventures as a married couple. Our honeymoon even” He flashed that goofy grin that always made her heart race. “You’ll make the best wife ever.”

Her cheeks flushed at the sincerity in his words, and she felt her heart swell with love. “I would love to be your wife, Mr. Maybank,” she said earnestly, her voice a soft melody. “I can’t imagine anything better.”

“Mhm. You, me, and this boat—just sailing off into the sunset. It’s perfect.” He pointed to the sea vaguely, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And, hey, we can even practice the whole captain and first mate thing. We'll be the king and queen of these waters”

Her heart is about go explode in her chest, her eyes hurting from how much love they're holding while looking at him.

“Do you think we can take it out soon?” she asked, turning around in his arms to be face to face with him.

“Oh, absolutely. I already imagine us cruising around the island, just the two of us,” he said, a dreamy look crossing his face. “And then, in a few years, we’ll be out here with our kids, teaching them how to sail. It’ll be perfect.”

Her heart swelled at the thought, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest. “I can’t wait for that, JJ. You make everything sound so fun and exciting.”

“Because it is! Especially with you!” He grinned down at her, and she could see the love and enthusiasm shining in his eyes. “You and me, forever, right?”

“Forever,” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper, but filled with all the certainty in the world. As they stood there together, she knew without a doubt that one day, they’d be sailing through life as Mr. and Mrs. Maybank, and nothing could be more perfect than that.

With her by his side and the open water ahead of them, JJ Maybank couldn’t imagine life getting any better.

[dizzybizz]

KAEYA BIRTHDAY ??? ?? i love you mr alberich sir i love you oh so so so much.

uh dialogue for this one but more legible under the cut (and a messy ragbros page)

Klee: Kaeya! Come down here! Kaeya: Oh? heh. What is it, Spark Knight?

Klee: Happy Birthday! It is today? Right? I even double-checked with Albedo and everything but I don't know... Klee: It's a Calla Lily! You like those, right? Kaeya: I certainly do! Thank y- Klee: Oh. Klee: OK OK OK- Kaeya: Hm? Klee: Kaeya you have to promise to not tell Master Jean about this one! Kaeya: You can count on me to keep my lips sealed.

Klee: OK! Close your eyes- eye- and hold out your hands! Kaeya: Mhm! Klee: OK! You can open them! TA-DA~!

Klee: I made a bomb for you! It even has an eyepatch! He can look after you when I'm somewhere else. Take good care of him! Oh yeah- He explodes if you- Kaeya?

Kaeya: Thank you Klee! Thank you very much! Klee: You're VERY welcome Kaeya!

a lil ragbros too.... kaeya and his red siblings amirite (bursts into tears).. also i am so obsessed with chibi diluc saying "bring em in..."

[pandapetals]

Gift Wrapped

A RETROSABERS X PANDAPETALS DOUBLE FEATURE

Logan got you a special gift this Christmas...himself.

logan howlett x fem!gf reader - established relationship, christmas vibes, no reader description, no y/n used, steamy, implied smut, fluff, teasing banter, sweetheart/darling/gorgeous pet names, i imagined origins logan, kissing, fingering, orgasm withholding, slight praising, good girl used once, begging

a/n: collab with the amazing @retrosabers, thank you so much for asking me to do this. check out their post. it's way better than mine tbh. the theme is “unwrapping”. why not unwrap logan since he wasn't under my tree.

divider credit: @bernardsbendystraws

“Are your eyes closed, sweetheart?” Logan’s voice was low and a little shaky, the kind of tone that made you both suspicious and intrigued. You sat cross-legged on the sofa, the warmth of the fireplace curling through the air, the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights flickering red and gold behind your closed lids.

“Yes,” you said, drawing out the word with mock caution. “Though I’m starting to think I should be worried. What did you do?” A teasing laugh slipped from your lips, the kind of laugh that had gotten Logan into trouble—and out of it—more times than he could count.

Logan exhaled, rolling his eyes even though you couldn’t see him. He raked a hand through his messy hair, the sound of crinkling wrapping paper accompanying his nervous shuffle. His bare feet padded softly against the wooden floor as he exited the bedroom. “What am I doing?” he muttered under his breath. His plan had seemed funny—brilliant, even—when it had first popped into his head. Now, standing half-naked in the living room, most of his body swaddled in sloppily taped wrapping paper, he wasn’t so sure.

“Well?” you prompted, your fingers drumming lightly against your knees. The slight quiver in your voice wasn’t exactly fear, but curiosity laced with a hint of concern. “Logan? Why are you so quiet? You’re starting to freak me out.”

Logan paused mid-step, the flush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. He was suddenly very aware of how ridiculous he looked—strips of shiny red wrapping paper crisscrossed over his chest, held together by haphazard loops of tape, his plaid boxers peeking out from underneath like the world’s laziest Christmas outfit. His abs were more on display than he’d planned, and let’s not even get started on the oversized gold bow stuck to his hip.

“Okay, uh...maybe this was a bad idea,” Logan mumbled, taking a half-step back toward the bedroom. He tugged at the edge of the paper, wincing as it tore slightly. “You know what, forget it. I—”

“Logan,” you interrupted your tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. “What are you doing? You sound...weird.”

He froze. His heart thudded in his chest as you cracked one eye open, just a sliver at first, and then both flew wide. You were silent for a moment, your mouth slightly ajar as your gaze swept over him, taking in the sight of your six-foot-tall boyfriend wrapped like a naughty Christmas present.

“...Oh my god,” you whispered, your voice catching on a laugh you couldn’t hold back. Your hands flew to your mouth as your eyes sparkled, flickering between disbelief and glee. “Logan, what—what are you—” You broke off into full-blown laughter, clutching your stomach as you tried to catch your breath.

Logan groaned, his cheeks burning hotter than the fireplace behind you. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered, crossing his arms—or trying to as the stiff wrapping paper crinkled and refused to cooperate. “This is the last time I try to be creative.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, the laughter dying into soft giggles. “No, no, stop, it’s just—oh my god, Logan, are you...wrapped in wrapping paper?”

“Obviously.” He arched a brow, his lips twitching like he wanted to be annoyed but couldn’t quite manage it. “You said you wanted a surprise, so...ta-da. Surprise.”

You tilted your head, your laughter fading as you let your gaze linger on him. The glow of the tree lights danced across his skin, catching on the sharp lines of his jaw and the faint flush dusting his chest. You bit your lip, a slow grin spreading across your face. “You know,” you said, your voice taking on a sultry edge, “this is probably the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Hands down.”

Logan perked up, his confidence flickering back to life as he caught the gleam in your eye. “Yeah?” He smirked, taking a step closer, his voice dropping an octave. “You like what you see, gorgeous?”

You leaned back against the sofa, your lips curling playfully as your gaze wandered over him again, lingering just enough to make his pulse spike. “Well,” you said thoughtfully, tapping a finger against your chin, “the bow’s a little crooked. And the tape job? Honestly, it’s a mess.”

Logan rolled his eyes but couldn’t hold back his laugh. “Really? That’s your takeaway?”

“But,” you continued, your tone softening as you met his eyes, “it’s still...pretty perfect.”

Logan grinned, stepping closer until he stood right before you, his knees brushing yours. “Damn right, it is.” He leaned down, his voice dropping to a murmur as he added, “But I think the best part is unwrapping me. Don’t you?”

You felt your cheeks heat, your breath hitching slightly as his hand brushed your knee, the heat of his skin seeping through your flannel pajamas. “I don’t know,” you teased, your voice dipping low. “I might just keep you wrapped up like this. You’d make a great centerpiece.”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned in closer, his lips grazing your ear. “Good luck with that,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Because this gift has plans, darlin’. And they don’t involve staying wrapped.”

Your pulse quickened, a shiver rolling down your spine as his fingers trailed lightly over your knee. “Oh yeah?” you murmured, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “Guess we’ll see who’s really in charge of this gift, won’t we?”

Logan’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with challenge. “I guess we will,” he said, his lips brushing yours as his hand slipped to your waist.

You tugged him closer to you, the paper giving away a bit with a satisfying rip that echoed through the cozy living room. Logan froze for a second, his eyes widening in mock horror as he glanced at the ruined wrapping. “Oh no,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching. “You’ve destroyed my masterpiece.”

You grinned up at him, your teeth catching your bottom lip as your fingers brushed the newly exposed skin at his hip. His gaze darkened as he leaned in, his hands tightening on your waist as his lips finally claimed yours. The kiss was soft before you slid your fingers through his hair, deepening it.

Logan’s fingers slid under your flannel top, brushing over the bare skin of your waist, and you gasped against his mouth as warmth bloomed in your chest and core. 

“Hmm,” you murmured, tilting your head as though inspecting a piece of art. “You know, Logan, I think you’re right. The wrapping paper is kind of in the way.” Your hands slid to his chest, fingers grazing the exposed skin there, and you grinned as you added, “I think it’s time to finish unwrapping my present.”

Logan let out a low laugh, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “Don’t let me stop you, darlin’. But just so you know...” His teeth grazed your earlobe.“Once you’re done unwrapping, I’m going to make sure you know exactly how good of a gift I am.”

Your cheeks burned, heat pooling in every inch of your body as his words sank in. The tension between you crackled like the lights on the tree. The rest of the world faded away. All that mattered was Logan, his hands on you, his lips teasing yours, and the delicious anticipation thrumming between you like a pulse.

You leaned in close, your breath warm against his ear, your smile curling into something wicked. “Merry Christmas to me, indeed,” you whispered.

Logan barely had time to smirk before the last shred of wrapping paper hit the floor, pooling around his feet in a heap of crumpled red and gold. Now there was nothing left between you but the glow of the tree lights and the thin barrier of his plaid boxers, clinging low on his hips.

His hand slid to your waist, tugging you forward with an easy, practiced confidence. “Well,” he drawled, his voice rich and dripping with amusement, “I’d say this makes me the best damn gift you’ve ever unwrapped.” His grin turned devilish as his fingers teased the edge of your pajama top. “And if I’m wrong… you’re going to have a hell of a time convincing me otherwise.”

You laughed, the sound vibrating through the small living room. “Oh, don’t worry. I have no complaints so far,” you teased, trailing a finger lightly down the hard plane of his chest, the heat of his skin seeping into your touch. “But I am starting to wonder how much more unwrapping there is to do…”

Logan arched a brow, the glint in his eye a perfect match for your mischievous grin. “Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dipping to a near growl. “You might end up on Santa’s naughty list for saying things like that.”

Your laughter turned breathy as he leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was slow at first, just enough to tease, to make you ache for more. Before you could lose yourself completely, he pulled back, his gaze locking with yours as his hands slid to your waist. With a single, fluid motion, he guided you back against the couch, the plush cushions cradling you as he followed, his body hovering just above yours.

“You’re not getting away that easily,” you murmured, catching his wrist before he could settle his weight. Your fingers curled around his forearm as you shifted beneath him, pulling him closer until the heat of his skin pressed firmly against you. “If you’re the gift, Logan, I intend to enjoy every second of unwrapping you.”

He let out a low laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest as he braced himself above you. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he said, his voice rough with promise. Then, his lips were on yours again, harder this time, deeper, the kiss unraveling the last threads of restraint between you.

You sighed into him, your fingers sliding up to tangle in his hair, the soft strands curling around your touch as his hands skimmed over your sides. The flannel fabric of your pajama shirt bunched under his palms as he tugged at the hem, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. His lips broke from yours, only to find the sensitive skin of your neck, and you let your head fall back, giving him better access as he trailed slow, deliberate kisses down the column of your throat.

“Logan,” you murmured, your voice hitching slightly when his teeth grazed your pulse point. He hummed against your skin in response, the sound vibrating through you and setting your nerves alight.

Your hands moved instinctively, tugging at the hem of your shirt, but Logan beat you to it, his fingers sliding underneath the fabric to help you peel it off. The cool air hit your skin for only a moment before his mouth returned, warm and demanding, as he kissed his way across your collarbone. His hands followed, mapping every curve, every line as if he couldn’t get enough of touching you.

“Hmm,” Logan murmured against your skin, his lips brushing just below your ear. “I have to say, sweetheart…” His voice was low, teasing, but there was a raw edge to it now, a hunger that made your stomach tighten. “You look better out of flannel than in it.”

A soft laugh escaped you as your fingers drifted over the taut muscles of Logan’s back. His skin was warm beneath your touch, flexing ever so slightly under your fingertips as he pressed his body firmly against yours. The heat between you was electric, crackling like the embers in the fireplace, and it only intensified when his lips found their way lower, tracing a slow, deliberate path down your chest.

Your breathing hitched as he paused just above the waistband of your flannel pants, his mouth hovering, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin. His warm and steady hands rested on either side of your hips, his thumbs teasing light, maddening circles against your skin.

“Logan…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but its plea was unmistakable. You tilted your head against the cushions, your eyes fluttering closed as a soft whimper escaped your lips. “Please. Keep going.”

That was all it took. Logan let out a low, gravelly moan that sent a shiver racing through you. His lips curled into a smirk against your skin, and you felt the vibration of his chuckle as he murmured, “You’re so pretty when you beg.”

The words sent a flush of heat through you, and when you opened your eyes, his gaze was locked on yours, dark and hooded. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged his teeth lightly over the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your pants, making your whole body tense in response.

Your breath caught as his fingers dipped beneath the fabric, his touch teasing and confident. He moved with purpose, and in one smooth motion, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and slid the flannel down, baring you to him inch by excruciating inch. The fabric pooled at your ankles, forgotten, as his eyes raked over you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

“Perfect,” he murmured as though the sight of you left him completely undone. His hands trailed back up your thighs, the roughness of his palms a delicious contrast to the softness of your skin, and you arched into his touch, your body instinctively seeking more.

The room felt smaller now, the glow of the Christmas tree casting a warm, intimate light over the two of you. Logan leaned forward, his lips brushing your knee, then your thigh, his kisses slow and deliberate, each one igniting a new spark of heat beneath your skin. He was taking his time, savoring you.

“I need you,” you breathed, your voice trembling as you threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. He looked up at you through his lashes, his expression equal parts mischief and raw hunger. “Please…”

He smirked, his hands tightening slightly on your thighs as he murmured, “Patience, gorgeous. Good things come to those who wait.” But his teasing tone was betrayed by the way his breath was coming faster now, his self-control fraying at the edges.

Logan’s lips traveled lower, leaving a trail of heat across your skin as he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, then down to the swell of your chest. Each touch of his lips sent tiny shockwaves rippling through you, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven bursts. His hands followed the curve of your body, rough yet deliberate, their slow descent sparking a fire that bloomed deep in your core.

When his hand slipped between your thighs, your whole body tensed, your breath catching in your throat. His palm was warm, and steady, as it rested there for a teasing moment, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the sensitive skin, just enough to make you squirm beneath him.

The vibration sent shivers skittering through you. Your fingers curled into the muscles of his shoulders as his lips moved again, dipping lower and brushing just above where your nipple was. His kisses were unhurried and deliberate, as though he were memorizing your shape and taste.

And then, finally, his fingers moved. A gasp slipped from you as he began to explore, his touch achingly slow, maddeningly gentle. He stroked through your folds with deliberate precision, testing, teasing, his movements guided by the quiet, involuntary sounds spilling from your lips. You could feel the smile forming against your skin as he paused, his breath hot and uneven as it fanned over your chest.

“You’re already so ready for me,” he murmured, his voice husky, the rough edge of his words sending another jolt of heat racing through you. His fingers worked in rhythm now, the pressure of his touch steadily building, coaxing soft, breathy whimpers from your throat.

You arched against him, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging lightly in a way that made him groan against your skin. “Logan…it feels so good,” you breathed, your voice trembling, your body aching for more.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark, half-lidded gaze locking with yours. The intensity in his eyes left you breathless, your heart thundering in your chest. “I love the way you say my name like that,” he murmured, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “Like you can’t help yourself.”

You shivered under his touch, his words unraveling something deep inside you, and you met his gaze with your own, your lips parting to reply—but then his fingers dipped just right, stealing the breath from your lungs and leaving you gasping instead.

Logan chuckled softly, the sound low and indulgent as he leaned in to press his lips against yours. The kiss was slow at first, teasing, a perfect match for the rhythm of his touch, but it quickly deepened as the tension between you snapped like a taut wire. He kissed you like he wanted to consume you, to devour every inch of you, and you found yourself clinging to him, your fingers sliding from his hair to the firm muscles of his back as he pressed closer.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost reverent. “You’re driving me crazy.”

His fingers moved again, coaxing another broken whimper from your throat, and his mouth found its way back to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that made your whole body arch into him. The heat between you was nearly unbearable now, a steady hum of desire that blurred the edges of the world around you, leaving only the two of you tangled together, breathless and wanting.

And then Logan paused, his lips brushing your ear, his breath warm and heavy as he whispered, “Tell me what you want.” His voice was teasing, almost smug, but there was an edge of need beneath it, a rawness that mirrored the ache building in your chest.

Your lips parted, and when you spoke, your voice trembled, soft but sure. “You, Logan. I just want you.”

His growl rumbled low in his chest, the sound alone sending a thrill spiraling through you. A delicious shiver coursed down your spine as Logan’s mouth claimed yours again, his kiss demanding and possessive, as though he couldn’t get enough. The weight of his body pressed you into the cushions even as his touch had you floating somewhere far beyond reason.

“Hold it,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and edged with a command that made your pulse stutter. His fingers didn’t stop their maddening rhythm between your thighs, every slow, deliberate stroke sending heat pooling low in your belly. His breath was hot, uneven as it brushed your cheek, but his control over you—and himself—was unnervingly steady. “Not yet. Don’t you dare cum until I say.”

You barely managed a breathless laugh, your head tipping back as his lips left yours to trail down your jaw, the scrape of his teeth against your skin making your whole body tense beneath him. “I thought you were my gift,” you managed to say, your voice breaking on a soft moan as he worked his fingers with excruciating precision. “Shouldn’t I have control over when I get to…”

Logan paused for a fraction of a second as the words died in your throat. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes were burning with hunger and amusement, and the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. “Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice deep and slow. “You do have control… but only if I give it to you.”

The words sent a rush of heat cascading through you, leaving you trembling in his arms. His lips dipped lower, brushing the curve of your throat, and he chuckled softly when your breath hitched. “But if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his voice a teasing whisper as his fingers slowed their pace, barely brushing over your most sensitive spot, “just say the word.”

“Logan…” you gasped, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders as your hips shifted instinctively beneath him, desperate for more. You felt his grin against your skin, wicked and far too self-satisfied, and it only made you want to wipe it off his face or make him lose that careful control he clung to so tightly.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmured as his lips grazed the hollow of your throat. “Every little sound you make, every little shiver…” His fingers pressed just right, and your soft cry was answer enough to him. “It’s like your body was made for me.”

The tension in your body built higher and higher, every nerve alight, your skin hypersensitive to every small movement of his hand, every press of his lips. You could feel the ache growing, the edge creeping closer, and your breaths came faster, sharper, as the coil inside you tightened to the breaking point.

“Logan, I can’t—” Your voice broke, your hands sliding from his shoulders to his hair, gripping tight as you struggled to hold back. He lifted his head, his expression dark and heated as he watched you come undone beneath him.

“Yes, you can,” he said softly, his voice like velvet, soothing and commanding all at once. His lips brushed your ear, his breath warm and teasing as he added, “You’re going to hold it for me, sweetheart. You’re going to let me take you exactly where I want you to go.”

A frustrated whimper escaped you, your back arching beneath him, and his low chuckle made your skin flush even hotter. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, a touch so gentle it was almost infuriating, and whispered, “Because when I finally let you, it’s going to feel so damn good, you won’t even remember your name.”

You trembled beneath him, his words unraveling what little control you had left. The tension between you was electric, the air thick with heat and want, and you could do nothing but hold on to him, your breaths coming in shallow, ragged bursts as his touch pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Logan, please,” you gasped, your voice breaking on his name, your body trembling with the effort of restraint.

He smiled against your skin, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Good girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with praise, his touch steady and relentless. “Just a little longer.”

Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable as he teased you with maddening precision. You didn’t know how much longer you could hold on, but you trusted him and surrendered completely to the intoxicating rhythm he set.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take another second, just when you were about to beg again, his fingers slowed, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft that it left you breathless.

“Now,” he whispered against your lips, his voice low and rough, his fingers pressing just right. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The world blurred as his words shattered the last of your restraint, your body unraveling beneath him in a rush of heat and pleasure so intense it left you gasping. Logan held you through it, his hand never faltering, his lips peppering soft kisses across your skin as you rode out every wave, your body trembling in his arms.

When the storm finally began to subside, you melted into him, boneless and dazed, your breaths coming in soft, uneven gasps. Logan’s hands moved gently now, smoothing over your thighs and waist as though grounding you, his touch still laced with reverence and care.

“Merry Christmas to me,” he murmured with a satisfied grin, his lips brushing your temple.

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers sliding into his hair as you pulled him into a slow, lingering kiss. “You’re so full of yourself,” you teased, your voice soft and playful despite your exhaustion.

Logan smirked, his hands tightening gently on your hips as he leaned down to murmur against your lips, “Can you blame me, sweetheart? You look at me like I’m the only thing that matters.”

[h8aaz]

⭒birthday boy.

sum. its sam's birthday and you made him breakfast.

cw. fluff . est. relationship . not proofread!! .

"sam. when are you gonna get out of that damn car?" you huffed. you were stood next to the driver's seat of the impala, arms crossed and foot tapping on the pavement.

sam was sitting on the phone with dean, having been let the day off for his birthday. which dean wasn't too keen on doing, considering you three were actively on a case, but you threatened convinced him as he had done the same on his own birthday.

so dean took on today's research of the case alone. without his car. because he wouldn't have let sam go back to you.

sam glanced up at you, lips twitching into a smile at your impatience. "dean, just go check out the morgue then see if there were any other witnesses. local, but not bar local." he told his brother after turning off the impala.

you reached through the window and grabbed sam's phone. "you're in your thirties, dean, you can figure it out." you grumbled before hanging up, half of the older winchester's excuse being cut off.

you tossed your boyfriend's phone back into his lap, "c'mon!" you rushed to the motel door. sam chuckled at your childish excitement. he quickly grabbed the keys and stuffed his phone into his pocket as he got out of the car and followed you. the aroma of . . . waffles? filled his nose.

he closed the door as you walked out with heart-shaped waffles on a plate, already topped with syrup and the minimal amount of butter he liked, because he's always careful with what he eats. a single candle was poked into the stack, freshly lit.

"ta-da! happy birthday, babe!" you grinned as you held the plate out to him, watching him physically stutter before blowing the flame out. you set the plate on the table that you moved near the beds. you took the candle out and discarded it in the kitchen, coming back to a frozen sam by the door.

"what's wrong? are you okay?" your voice was full of worry. did you do something wrong?

sam blinked rapidly and shook his head. "no, uh, nothing's wrong, baby. just-" he huffed a smile, "just didn't think you'd do this for me? how'd you even-"

"don't look in the kitchen." you cut his question off, making him put his pointing finger down from the direction of his breakfast.

"okay, baby," he laughed. he pulled you into a hug, his arms completely swallowing you. he was warm. so warm. and you smiled into his chest, snuggling your face into him. you then pulled your head away. "let's eat before they get cold, yeah?" you spoke softly, looking up at him as your chin rested against his chest.

"yeah," he nodded. his voice was somehow softer than yours, his eyes matching his tone. he just couldn't believe you were real. that you had done this for him. truly, he was in absolute awe of you.

the two of you sat down to eat, the tv being turned on towards the end of your meal so you could watch some of his childhood-favorite cartoons. you cleaned everything up, insisting on it despite his adamancy. once the table was moved back and the kitchen was rid of most of your chaos, you sat next to him on the bed.

you brushed the fallen strands of his hair out of his face as he admired you. "you didn't have to do this for me," he whispered. "yes i did," you countered. "you deserve it." you leaned up to kiss the angle of his jaw. "do you want your present now or later?" you questioned, breath fanning on his ear.

sam practically quirked up. "now. now, please." he said quickly. you laughed at his eagerness before pressing your lips to his, gentle and sweet, yet still filled with passion.

his hands landed on your waist, pulling you closer and onto his lap. his lips were different than yours, moving with intensity. yet they still slotted against yours perfectly. nearly like puzzel pieces.

best. birthday. ever.

gabs yaps. happy sammy day!! cooked this up super quick bc i wanted to do something for him, i hope yall liked it :3 if there's any mistakes, no there isn't.

tags. @starzify @sunsbaby @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bruisedfig @littlesoulshine @bluemerakis @ultravi0lence14 @legalmente-loca @sacr1ficialang3l @j2archives @mahi-wayy @emeraldcrs @liiiilsss @s4samwinchesterswife

dm me or send an ask to be added to/taken off my taglist !!

⭒divider by me!!⭒