#trying to say so much here without explicitly saying it

[browniefox]

Sephiroth stands before the metal doors of the Modeoheim laboratory. Angeal is in his arms, where he is safe. When Sephiroth had existed within the lifestream, all mako at his disposal, the need for materia was nonexistent. Now, though, no matter how much he way wish to, he does not have the ability to cast a curaga, to heal the wounds that Angeal had sustained. All the more reason, then, for Sephiroth to re-enter the cold building. Many there care for Angeal; they would tend to his injuries. If not, then Sephiroth himself would take the supplies and bandage Angeal himself. 

And yet, standing here, Sephiroth finds himself reluctant to move forwards. 

Mindlessly, Sephiroth brushes a hair out of Angeal’s face, only for the wind to push it back over. Sephiroth breaths slowly, carefully. 

He is cold. 

Sephiroth looks behind him. The snow of the blizzard makes it hard to see, and night has begun to set in, making the world only colder and darker. 

A life time ago, Sephiroth did not come here. He sent Zack Fair in his stead. Orders to kill his two friends, orders that Sephritoh knew he could not carry out. 

There is something wrong with him. 

The thought is barely allowed to exist in his own mind. Weakness is not something that can be tolerated. Shinra never allowed weakness (yet Lazard allowed Sephiroth to refuse the Modeoheim mission). With Mother, Sephiroth was above weakness. He was perfection in a way that none could understand. 

But there is something wrong with Sephiroth right now. 

Sephiroth places Angeal down right outside the metal doors. Again, he makes a futile effort to clear the hair from Angeal’s face. 

The last mission Sephiroth ever did on Shinra’s orders was the Nibelheim mission. He’d requested Zack to come with him; even then, befor ehe’d konwn his lineage, Sephiroth had known that he may not return to Shinra. What was there for him? He also knew that he would not be the one to leave someone behind. The two infantry who had come along had been unimportant. Infantry were fodder. They were disposable. 

The P0 SOLDIERs were considered disposable, too. 

Sephiroth raises his hand in a fist and brings it down on the metal door, pounding for someone to open it. He does not wait for it to be opened, however; he’s already turned around. 

Zack had pulled him off to the side after the bridge collapsed, after the raging river had carried one of the infantry away. 

“Hey, Seph,” Zack had said, “Are you feeling alright? We… We should at least look for the missing guy, right?” 

Zack’s words had meant little at the time. Sephiroth kept looking up the mountain, towards the Nibelheim Reactor. Never had a mission meant somuch to him. Yet, it was a mission he hadn’t even been sure he would finish carrying out. 

The words, the concern, now echo in Sephiroth’s head, combined with Angeal’s pleas earlier. 

There is something wrong with Sephiroth. 

And he’s not sure how long it’s been wrong.

[paigepithetics]

While I'm here I want to talk about how Epic characterises Odysseus, and why criticisms that Jay “gives him a conscience” misunderstand both the Odyssey and what Epic is actually doing.

First: the claim that Homer’s Odysseus didn’t feel guilt or grief just isn’t true. He does express regret, sorrow, even shame, just rarely in the moment, and rarely in overt ways. But the man weeps constantly. He breaks down when hearing songs of Troy. He mourns his fallen men. He carries the weight of what he’s done, even if he couches it in calculation and cleverness.

And when people say Jay’s version of Odysseus is somehow "softer" or overly moralized, they’re not only flattening Homer’s character — they’re missing the thematic project of the musical entirely.

Jay isn't writing a story where Odysseus learns "to be ruthless and let go of mercy." That’s one thread. But if we take it as the core arc, then yes, you might reasonably ask: why does he hesitate to kill now, when the Iliad Odysseus did far worse without flinching?

The answer lies in "Just a Man," the linchpin of the musical and a crucial catalyst for Odysseus’ internal arc. In it, he’s asked to kill an innocent child, and he does. But not before hesitating, asking: "Will these actions haunt my days? / Every man I've slain / Is the price I pay endless pain?"

The killing of the infant, possibly the darkest moment in the musical, comes as he says, “I’m just a man,” right after asking, “When does a man become a monster?” He drops the baby as he says it. We’re not meant to believe he’s not a monster. We’re meant to see that he doesn’t want to believe it.

That moment haunts the rest of the show. He didn't become ruthless when he dropped the baby, he already was; war changed him so completely that at the end of it, he was able to kill a baby that looked just like the son he left 10 years prior, and that terrifies him.

And the fear doesn’t go away. In "Open Arms," Polites is essentially telling him that war has changed him, and he carries it with him even now, after it's over. That truth unsettles Odysseus so deeply (who in the song prior is literally running "full speed ahead" away from his actions, away from war, convinced he can just get home and leave it all behind) that a goddess has to intervene to steady him.

When he faces the Cyclops, he tries to justify the violence: "It's just one life to take / And when we kill him, then our journey’s over." But the tone is clear: this is self-reassurance.

And Odysseus does this a lot in Epic! There’s a pattern of him trying to reassure himself and his crew that they’re almost there, that if they can just get through this trial, they’ll be home. He insists that their journey is nearly over again and again, that their families are still waiting, that everything will be fine, that they can still make it home.

But these aren’t promises, they’re hopes dressed as certainty. He has no real reason to believe any of it. It doesn’t matter. He says it anyway. Because if he stops believing it, even for a moment, the weight of what he's done, and what he's become, might crush him (we see this play out explicitly in both "The Underworld" and "Love in Paradise"). These aren’t just reassurances. They’re quiet, desperate lies. Mostly to himself.

Even delirious with exhaustion, he clings to this idea: "So much has changed / But I'm the same, yes, I’m the same."

But he isn’t. And he knows it. Odysseus is afraid the war will never end, not because of geography or gods, but because he’s afraid the war has already changed him beyond return. And that is one of the major ideas we can take from the Odyssey. As Emily Wilson observed, the long journey home is not just physical, it’s existential. The question isn’t just can he return, but who will return if he does.

So when Odysseus later embraces brutality, when he says, "Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves / And deep down I know this well," it’s not a turning point. It’s a confession. He’s admitting that this capacity for violence has always been there. And it’s Penelope’s danger that makes him stop pretending otherwise.

That’s the true arc: not from man to monster, but from denial to acknowledgment. Not the loss of conscience, but the unbearable weight of it.

And that’s why it matters that it’s Penelope who is in danger when he finally stops clinging to who he used to be. It’s for her sake that he embraces what he’s become. And in that moment, he knows she might not love him anymore. He chooses the path that will lead him home no matter what anyway.

[luxiomahariel]

I admit that seeing the whole Talia Bhatt bullshit has been both kind of funny but also really making me realize how much TRFs have lost their common sense. I've seen so many of the big names who platformed Talia without an ounce of shame suddenly pretending they all knew this was going to happen. Which, a lot of people had mentioned already (her love for detrans women is explicitly brought up in her book- In a way that's really creepy at that). But these people were called hysterical transandrobros for daring to oppose her.

Now people are saying "wow I knew she was bad news, you couldn't ever try to reclaim radfeminism as a transfeminist thing" and things like that. And like, they had no issue with that a week ago. They're not even really talking about how horrifying is that she's happy to platform detrans people who vouch for gatekeeping transition, because they do literally think it's a positive thing IF it only affects transmascs. Their major gripes are about the fact they consider detrans women need to stay in their place as TMEs and that they can't ever try to compare their experiences to TMAs.

I'm sure there's going to be few people who are more on the fringes of this discourse who will realize that transradfeminism is really just unsalvageable, but there's also some TRFs that are kinda doubling down on how they just don't think there's an issue with platforming detrans grifters who think society makes it too easy to transition, specially with all the talks about how "all trans men are waiting to detransition and become hitlerites" or whatever crap they wanna say. And like, I don't think they'll realize this at this point, but vouching to make it hard for trans men to transition can't really be separated from making it also harder for trans women to transition. It's almost as if legislations that affect trans men also affect trans women. If one side is going down, so is the other.

But they're going to go through hoops and loops to find how much they can pretend there's no shared trans experience amidst trans people, I guess. And I think this latest discovery is really gonna just make it more evident which ones do truly believe this.

just to bring this point home, heres an excerpt from her book where she talks about Stone Butch Blues and how ~transfeminist~ it is that the main character Jess detranitioned:

this is the supposed future that trans(rad)feminists want? where the only gender is woman and they will justify detransitioning trans men/mascs and nonbinary people in order to do so?

trans radical feminism is as trans exclusionary as the radical feminism before it, but trfs dont care because its only targeting everyone thats not a woman 🙃

[luvst4rc0r3]

oh vi should def catch reader and jinx kissing like its late and reader snuck in id love to see that

I LOVE THIS REQUEST!!!!

----

You weren’t supposed to be here. Like, at all.

Jinx had explicitly said her sister would be home late, plenty of time for the two of you to do whatever you wanted—mainly, making out in her dimly lit bedroom, her fingers tangled in your hair, her breath hot against your lips as she pulled you closer.

Breaking into Jinx’s place wasn’t exactly breaking in—you knew where she kept the spare key (under a very suspiciously placed rubber duck on the windowsill). Besides, you were basically invited… just, y’know, in the most Jinx way possible.

"If you can sneak in without me noticing, you win. If I catch you first, I win. Either way, we make out. Deal?"

A bet was a bet.

So here you were, sneaking into her room like some wannabe cat burglar, heart hammering as you crept past the clutter of gadgets, paint-splattered hoodies, and an absurd number of mismatched socks.

Jinx was sitting at her desk, headphones on, bobbing her head to whatever chaotic playlist she had on shuffle. Perfect.

You tiptoed closer, leaned in, lips brushing her ear—

"Boo."

She yelped, nearly knocking over a cup full of paint brushes before spinning in her chair, wild blue eyes locking onto yours. A second later, her wicked grin appeared.

“You little—”

Whatever she was about to say was cut off when you crashed your lips against hers. She made a muffled sound of surprise before melting into it, fingers curling into your shirt as she yanked you forward.

It started soft—warm, teasing, her lips moving against yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. Then she nipped at your bottom lip, just enough to make you gasp, and suddenly it wasn’t soft anymore.

Jinx always kissed like she was trying to steal something—your breath, your self-control, maybe even your damn soul. And honestly?Jinx pulled you into her lap, hands gripping your waist, and you barely had time to adjust before she was kissing you like she had something to prove. Like she was devouring you.

You buried your fingers in her hair, tugging lightly, and she let out a breathy little noise that made your brain short-circuit. Her hands slid under your shirt, fingertips tracing patterns against your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Mm, sneaky little thing,” she murmured between kisses, lips brushing against yours. “Gotta admit, wasn’t expecting you to win the bet, but—” she cut herself off with another kiss, deeper this time, making you sigh into her mouth—“I love a surprise.”

“You talk too much,” you whispered, breathless.

Jinx smirked. “Yeah? Make me shut up then.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

She let out a soft, pleased hum as you tilted your head, kissing her slow, deep, like you had all the time in the world. Her arms wrapped around you, tugging you closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between you. The room, the world, everything faded away until all you could feel was her—her lips, her hands, her warmth—

The door creaked open.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You froze.

Jinx froze.

Slowly—painfully slowly—you both turned your heads.

"What the hell am I looking at?"

Jinx was still half-straddling you, lips parted, her blue eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. You turned your head slowly, dread pooling in your stomach as you locked eyes with Vi, who stood in the doorway with crossed arms and the expression of an older sibling who had seen too much and was not having it.

Jinx let out a sharp laugh, like she wasn’t the one about to get murdered. "Oh, hey, Vi! Didn’t see ya there!"

Vi’s gaze flicked between the two of you, her eyebrow twitching. "Yeah, clearly. So, which one of you is explaining this?"

You opened your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe to beg for mercy—but Jinx, being Jinx, only grinned wider.

"Well, y’see, big sis, you rudely interrupted our very important bonding time—"

Vi groaned, rubbing her temples. "I don’t need to hear this, Jinx."

"You asked!"

"I regret asking!"

You, still lying there with Jinx half on top of you, were contemplating whether disappearing into the void was a viable option.

Vi sighed deeply, like she was going to have to burn this entire memory from her brain later. "I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t see anything. But if I come home and hear anything, I’m kicking both your asses out."

With that, she turned on her heel and shut the door behind her.

Silence.

Then Jinx flopped onto you dramatically, still laughing. "So, that went well, huh?"

You groaned. "Jinx."

The door slammed behind her. Silence.

Then Jinx snorted. “Sooo… round two?”

You groaned, hiding your burning face in her shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Liar.”

And she kissed you again.

MY WHOLE FAMILY IS SICK EXCEPT ME!!

I want sleep

[kooqitas]

#pairing: bf!wonwoo x friend!scoups, vernon, mingyu x reader ♡ smut [18+ mdni], pwp ♡ #important warnings: rough sex, degradation, spitting, slapping, humiliation, free use, unprotected sex, aftercare

you knew what would happen on this trip since the first suitcase was put in the car. i mean, you and wonwoo have always had a very... creative relationship, you felt good and free with each other, you were always willing to try new things, be it a recipe, a series, a sexual position, or a fetish...

and it was in one of the thousand conversations you had that he commented on how hot his friends thought you were, and well, he didn't judge them, you really are hot as hell. in that conversation, you asked him how he felt, and that's when you discovered that wonwoo wouldn't mind 'sharing' you with his friends, in fact he would like to, well, in reality he even wanted to...

so a few days later, when he said that vernon had invited you to a beach house, and that 'you' referred to you and him, scoups and mingyu only, you understood what your boyfriend was proposing. you never talked explicitly about what would happen at the beach house, but it was obvious, and you were calm, you trusted your boyfriend.

you don't know what your boyfriend told his friends, but damn, from the first moment they looked at you like a piece of meat, and well, you didn't complain, you liked it a lot, and you didn't mind parading around with only your boyfriend's t-shirt that covered almost nothing of your body.

you got out of the shower, applying moisturizer and combing your hair while the boys prepared dinner, you had spent the whole day at the beach, and of course, you definitely noticed the dirty looks they both had on you, you could even swear you heard vernon say that he wanted to be wonwoo so he could fuck you on that beach, but you pretended not to listen... but you liked the idea.

downstairs, the boys were making dinner, seungcheol was cooking something you had no idea about, but it smelled really good, vernon was smoking weed, wonwoo was messing with something in the fridge and mingyu... well, mingyu was fixated on you.

okay, you knew exactly what you were doing when you chose tiny shorts and a thin blouse without any bra underneath, but mingyu's look almost made you give up on the whole idea because that man made it clear that he wanted and would devour you.

you walked down the stairs trembling, going towards your boyfriend and standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, wonwoo smiled, squeezing your ass right there in front of your friends, leaving a loud slap that made you squeal softly.

vernon was still smoking weed.

you walked over to him, the youngest of the four there, stopping in front of him as he let out a smoke, smiling mischievously afterwards, ready to make him lose his mind... and you saw that it would be easy.

your boyfriend finally left the fridge, appearing with a bottle of wine in his hand... son of a bitch, he knew exactly what he was doing.

"is cheol cooking?" you joked, receiving a smile of agreement from him. "i believe everyone here is really looking forward to eating."

and he was, but it wasn't dinner...

a few hours later, there you were, sharing a couch while some bad movie was playing on tv, wine on everyone's mind (except hansol's, he was high on weed). you were starting to get anxious but also disappointed. what the hell was this? it was the last day in that damn house and you couldn't even give them a handjob? you looked at wonwoo, and your boyfriend knew you so well that he knew what you wanted right away. wonwoo kissed your cheek, only to start complaining about the movie and grab the tv remote. "we should watch something better, something that really interests all of us." and he put it on the porn channel the next second. damn. you felt everyone there swallow hard, and even you, wonwoo seemed to have chosen that thing meticulously: a woman, surrounded by four guys, being treated like a toy while she felt so much pleasure that she could barely moan.

"what the fuck?" mingyu was the first to question, coming out of his own trance. "are we teenagers now?"

"what's up, gyu? don't you like porn? what's up? are you going to get turned on watching it?" wonwoo teased.

but the teasing was cut off by a low moan from hansol, who had his hand inside his pants, masturbating slowly while alternating between staring at the tv and you...

"what the fuck-" seungcheol questioned when he saw his friend like that, the woman in the video still moaning loudly and being fucked by the four guys, taking everyone in that room out of their minds.

"is that what you want, wonwoo? for us to take our dicks out and masturbate while watching some ridiculous porn while your girlfriend is right next to us?"

"what? no! of course not!" he laughed. "i want you to take advantage of my willingness to share, and stop acting like dogs in heat after her... come on, it's pathetic, if you wanna fuck her so bad, just ask... you know i'm not the selfish type, i know how to share very well!"

"did the weed get me high? or are you literally offering your girlfriend for us to fuck?" vernon asked, completely shocked.

"well, if you think that's so absurd, i'll take her to the bedroom and do everything myself..."

"no!" seungcheol interrupted you. "if you want us to share this cheap little slut, we'll do it with the greatest pleasure... at least i will... just don't whine later when she comes to sit on my dick again because she misses me."

"if she wants, i'll love watching..."

mingyu turned off the television, taking off his own shirt at the same time...

"okay, just listen to me." wonwoo said authoritatively. "don't mark her, she's not yours, she's ok with degradation, but when this shit is over she's still my girlfriend and you're gonna continue to respect her and my relationship."

"okay!" they said in unison.

"only i can hit her face, the rest of the body is free, she has a habit of saying 'too much' 'slow' don't take it seriously, she never really cares. the fucking aftercare is mine, i don't want you thinking about bathing or taking care of my girlfriend. and lastly, no pee or anything other than cum, saliva and sweat."

the conversation was short, but enough, and you trusted your boyfriend, you knew he would never let his friends touch you if they weren't people he trusted.

vernon walked over to you, quickly taking off your shirt, staring at your pointy nipples as soon as they appeared, while seungcheol and mingyu still seemed to be thinking, the younger one just put his mouth there, making you let out a slow moan, wonwoo laughed. "someone was faster than you... and they say that weed makes you slow."

mingyu joined vernon, leaving a slobbery kiss on your lips before going down to your free tits, massaging it, biting and sucking the nipple. you only felt scoups join in because someone bit the inside of your thigh, making you jump on the couch, which made everyone else there laugh. no one noticed wonwoo organizing the living room carpet, they only noticed when he called you over, ordering you to take off your shorts and soaked panties, your pussy completely exposed to them. "you're acting like virgins, damn it, am i gonna have to teach you everything?"

"i can-" mingyu spoke up.

"we don't question whores, mingyu, we just do what we want. that's what they're for."

your mind went out of orbit the moment mingyu's finger entered you, while seungcheol patted your clit and vernon continued to enjoy himself on your tits, you moaned in a pathetic way, and wonwoo liked what he was watching.

"you get so stupid for so little, crazy to receive cum in your pussy, you are so disgusting, wanting four men to just use you as a toy. pathetic slut." and wonwoo hit you, slapped you so hard that it echoed in the room, and your response was to laugh, laugh asking for more because that was exactly what you wanted, mingyu felt you contract on his finger.

"she gets even more excited if you treat her like trash, damn wonwoo, where did you get a slut like that?"

cheol pinched your clit, making you whimper in pleasure, it was pathetic how fast you would cum with all that.

wonwoo put a pillow on your head, letting you think for half a second about how cute and careful he was in those moments, but it didn't last long, since in the next second you felt mingyu inside you, and damn, he was big.

"aren't you ashamed of being completely wet just because of that? look how my dick is sliding inside that slut's pussy!"

and when you opened your mouth to answer, you felt vernon's dick enter your throat, making you cough and choke in reflex, they laughed in pure humiliation.

"you made us think she was good for something, wonwoo! but she's nothing more than a useless and cheap whore"

cheol was the one who was alternating between rubbing your clit and your tits, but in the end he ended up joining vernon and taking off his own pants while rubbing himself on you, it was pathetic, you couldn't properly suck either of them, they just rubbed themselves on your face while humiliating you in ways you never even imagined.

"wonwoo got us a slut who's no good even to be a sperm deposit."

"i feel sorry for him, he has to fuck her every week."

you looked at your boyfriend, and he laughed as he rubbed his thumb hard on your clitoris, you moaning in the dirtiest way possible while he laughed.

"shut the fuck up, your moaning is disgusting me," mingyu said as he continued to thrust hard into you, his hand squeezing your waist tightly.

you just stopped feeling his hand on your clitoris, but soon you felt your boyfriend's hand forcing you against the two dicks in front of you. you didn't even think, you didn't understand what was happening anymore, you just accepted it.

you also just accepted it when mingyu came inside you, the hot and sticky liquid making you feel even dirtier, but not in a bad way, you loved it. the way mingyu came out of you a little wobbly contrasted with vernon's desperation, because he soon stuck himself in your pussy, fucking you like a rabbit, at a speed you never imagined possible, seungcheol's dick still in your mouth preventing you from moaning loudly, and now you felt mingyu slapping your breasts hard. "bitch. useless. fucking delicious pussy." he moaned uncontrollably, and you knew he was going to cum, the extremely pornographic sound of mingyu's cum still inside you being expelled out with each rough thrust of vernon. and when cheol forced his dick down your throat you moaned loudly, your body shaking announcing the strong orgasm you had. vernon couldn't take it anymore, cumming right after while his whole body was still shaking.

cheol looked at wonwoo, like a silent question, and received a nod, he soon entered, you completely dirty, your thighs with cum from you barely know who! mingyu and vernon still beating you, sticking their fingers in your mouth, squeezing your nipple, pulling your hair, spitting on your face...

"disgusting bitch"

fuck, vernon spat on your face, the hot saliva running down your cheek as he pulled your hair making you face him, it was too much, your legs were shaking from the recent orgasm and you couldn't even speak or keep your eyes open.

"t-too much."

mingyu was the one who laughed, remembering wonwoo's phrase from earlier.

"stop whining, accept it and don't be a useless whore!" he said, sticking two fingers down your throat while his dick rubbed against your body.

"cheollie~ please~ slow down~"

"what kind of useless slut are you that can't handle this? shut up, you're annoying me!" cheol spat in your face before thrusting again.

you smiled, feeling exactly how you wanted from the beginning, a sperm deposit for all those men.

vernon approached, putting his finger inside you, still with cheol's dick there, and that was enough for you to cum again, this time even harder, crying and shaking like a real little slut. cheol couldn't hold back, cumming inside you too.

"it's my turn!" your boyfriend announced, making you tremble. no matter who or how many you have sex with, no one would do it like him.

"wonunie~ i'm tired~ i can't do it anymore." you pretended to be naughty to him, but he knew you well enough to respond with just a hard slap to your face.

"ride me, bimbo, and do it right, don't forget you have an audience."

you sat on his dick, your legs shaking, unable to move properly and whimpering from your recent orgasm, it was too much, and the first tear fell.

"are you gonna cry? are you gonna cry, bimbo? get off me then, damn it, if you're not going to use that pussy of yours for something, get out of my sight."

"wonunie~" you moaned, trying to move, trying to support yourself on your boyfriend's thighs, but your vision was blurred, everything was shaking, you wanted more and more but you simply couldn't keep going.

and he hit you.

"useless bitch, you're not even good enough to be a cum-slut! ride this shit or get off me"

you struggled, crying due to overstimulation, you would never get out of there, you wanted it, you wanted more and more, you wanted to keep crying and cumming until your mind went black.

you felt someone push you, and when you looked back, fuck, mingyu was pushing your waist up and down, making you bounce on wonwoo's dick.

"t-thank you" you mumbled, and the answer you got was vernon entering your mouth again, his dick leaking cum, eager to fill you in another hole, and then there was cheol, slapping your breasts with his hands and his own dick.

you couldn't hear anything anymore, but you knew they were both insulting you, calling you a bitch, useless, slut, you knew they were bragging about how dirty and open your pussy was.

you had one of the strongest orgasms of your life, your body shaking on top of wonwoo in a way he had never seen before, you screamed something incoherent trying to get your orgasm out in other ways.

and then you passed out.

you woke up minutes later lying in bed, wearing your boyfriend's t-shirt while he rubbed cream on you.

"hi, honey, are you okay?" you nodded. "fuck, you passed out after you came... i gave you a bath, and now i'm here rubbing cream, fuck, they ruined you."

"and... i liked it." you said, still fragile.

"of course you liked it." he laughed. "but now you're going to rest, okay?" wonwoo kissed the top of your head, placing the cream on the table next to the bed. "i love you! fuck, i'm going to be the happiest man in the world when i marry you!"

and then you fell asleep again, smiling!

[kerosenee-kisses]

Friend You Can Keep | Zayne

summary: while preparing for final exams, you ask Zayne if he can help you brush up on your knowledge of human anatomy

cw: 18+, mdni, college au, afab reader, loss of virginity, oral sex (receiving), vaginal sex, fingering, lots of kissing, this is literally just self-indulgent love-making

wc: 3.7k

a/n: I started playing lads a few weeks ago after a lot of resistance (I'm afraid of spending money on them!!) I started playing for Sylus but Zayne really came out of nowhere and assumed the role of my husband. I'm obsessed with him!!

In my mind, I wrote this with a five-ish year age gap between Zayne and reader (reader a freshman/sophmore in college, Zayne in the first years of med school). That isn't explicitly stated here so choose your own adventure. I'm also of the opinion that Zayne would make sweet, sweet love to you to the soundtrack of true yearner R&B. Just me?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Songs from your favorite R&B playlist emanate from your roommate’s speaker. You thought listening to the calm crooning from the nest of pillows and blankets that is your bed would help you study. But the music is more effective at lulling you to sleep, as are the sparkling fairy lights strung around the room’s perimeter. Maybe you should suck it up and turn the horrendous, overhead fluorescent lights on for this. Because the words in your textbook swim together the longer you try to focus on retaining them.  

You rub your eyes hard; flashes of color undulate in the darkness of your closed eyelids beneath the pressure of your fingertips. When you open them again, somehow, the words rearrange themselves even more chaotically. It’s like looking for a prophecy in a bowl of alphabet soup. 

“Is it possible I have late-stage dyslexia? Is that a thing?” you ask. 

Zayne chuckles from his place at your desk. “I believe that’s an indication that you need a short break. And right on time, too.” 

The timer on his phone goes off then, which he shuts off before it can complete one full blare of sound. He opens the desk drawer and takes out two candies. One for each of you.  

“A reward for our diligence,” he says as he deposits a sweet into your hand.  

“What? Where did these come from?” you ask as you unravel the foil wrapper. Candy didn’t survive in your dorm room long enough for you to have a stash to dip into for emergencies like today. 

You have two more finals to study for before you can officially begin a much-deserved winter break. Your roommate had been your study buddy up until her first and only final yesterday. She left for home immediately after she’d submitted her exam, having decided that the papers assigned could easily be completed from the comfort of her own home. And while you were so happy for her and not at all jealous, it meant you were short a study buddy.  

But Zayne, always dependable, offered to swing by and study with you when you’d met him for lunch earlier and bemoaned the fact that you would have to stay focused all by yourself. A herculean task if there ever was one.  

“I managed to hide them while you were fiddling with the speaker. Otherwise, I doubt they would have survived more than ten minutes had you seen them.” 

“Don’t be a hypocrite. Your sweet tooth can be just as bad,” you say. 

You observe Zayne as he delicately pops his candy into his mouth, pushes his glasses back up, and continues to study through your break. He has some biochem final to prepare for. While he had told you he felt more than prepared for it before your complaints about being abandoned, he’s sitting here reviewing alongside you all the same. Your heart warms at how thoughtful he is. Sure, he loves to help everyone, but he always goes out of his way for you. Does he go out of his way for anyone other than you? You're too curious.  

So curious, in fact, that you ask without thinking, “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Or someone you’re kinda into?” 

Zayne blinks at you, slow and deliberate like a house cat, then shakes his head. Embarrassment and relief coalesce in your stomach. In an ideal world, you would shut the fuck up and go back to studying too. 

But like the glutton for punishment that you are, you sit up on your knees and keep talking. 

"Oh, ok. Good. Well, not good as in you should die alone but good in the sense that...well...You know what, can I ask you something without you freaking out? Like, you have to promise not to.” 

Zayne swivels in the desk chair. A gift from him to you actually. Ergonomic and expensive, he’d replaced the standard rocking chair that the room was originally furnished with since he was concerned about the health of your spine as your future primary care physician.  

Once he’s facing you completely, he says, “I would prefer not to promise something if I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to follow through. That would not be fair to you.” 

“You know what, you’re right. I’m sorry. You're always calm anyway so I have nothing to worry about. I think.” 

Zayne watches you expectantly as you reach for a plushie to hold. Your mouth feels dry now that his attention’s on you. You’re not sure why you feel so nervous, he normally goes along with your schemes. This won’t be so different, right?” 

“So, I was wondering if maybe you’d be...willing to have sex with me?” The words leave you in one breath. 

Zayne stares at you blankly. You might have successfully broken the most collected person you know.  

“Zayne? Did you hear me? I said would you–” 

“I heard you the first time,” he says. His expression hardly betrays anything, but color spreads across his face, up his ears. If he didn’t have a turtleneck on you imagine his neck would be just as pink. “I apologize. I’m a bit taken aback. I certainly didn’t expect that to be your question.” 

“It’s just feels like everyone my age has lost their virginity already. Obviously, I don’t need to have sex, but I’m intrigued, I guess.  And I don’t want to do it with just anyone. And you’re not just anyone so–” 

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I want to make absolute sure I’m understanding you correctly.” He clears his throat before asking, “You want me to take your virginity?” 

You hug the plushie for dear life. “Well, yeah. You would be my first.”  

Zayne takes a deep breath. You begin to worry about the state of his heart the longer you sit in silence. Because your own is pumping so hard you fear you’ll succumb to cardiac arrest if you’re lucky. Or maybe the earth will miraculously swallow you whole before that happens. You’ll even accept death by wanderer if it means escaping this conversation. 

“May I ask why you wish to lose your virginity to me?”  

Not a flat-out rejection. You can shelf the death wishes for now. 

“Since you’re basically a doctor you know all about anatomy; safe to assume you know how it goes. And you’re hot so...why not?” 

Zayne averts his gaze at your blunt assessment, and you can’t help but tease him a little.  

“I thought we were working on accepting compliments.” 

Zayne smiles faintly but still refuses to face you, “I have to say when it comes to accepting compliments, I’m not very good in front of you. But I suppose there’s a chance for you to teach me.” 

“First lesson starts now. All you have to do is say ‘thank you’ or something.” 

Your breath hitches when his eyes meet yours again. He’s caught you in his gentle yet captivating green gaze. In it, you see acknowledgment of what your relationship to each other could be. A desire to explore a new dimension of intimacy, one that goes beyond childhood friendship. 

“I accept your compliment,” Zayne murmurs. His eyes drift to your slightly parted lips and you feel your skin prickle. 

“This will be an opportunity to learn each other’s bodies together,” he says, almost distracted. He plucks the plushie from your grasp and carefully places it on the back-killing rocking chair beside your desk. “I only hope I can measure up to your expectations." 

“Oh. Ok,” you manage to whisper. You didn’t think he would say no per say, but considering his immediate response you expected a little more resistance to the idea than this. And now you feel nervous, more than you had anticipated. This was your idea after all. 

You go to remove your pajama bottoms, a seemingly imperceptible shake in your hands. But of course, nothing gets past Zayne. He stops you with a reassuring squeeze on your thigh.  

“There’s no rush. This requires ample preparation. I would never want to hurt you,” he says, caresses the hinge of your knee. “Just, let me kiss you for a bit. Like this.” 

Zayne brings the chair up to the edge of your twin xl and gives you a sweet peck. He gives you a few more before he brushes his lips against yours. You follow his lead, revel in the plush feel of his mouth as he kisses you. He rubs his palms along your thighs, squeezing them every so often. His tender touches embolden you as much as they relax you. You hesitantly touch your tongue to his bottom lip and Zayne moans into your mouth. The vibrations of such a gentle yet erotic sound travel through your whole body. You cup his cheeks to pull him closer, and Zayne gladly follows. He rises to his feet and crowds you into the corner of the bed until you’re on your back. He kisses you so thoroughly that you can taste the lingering sweetness of candy on his tongue when he licks into your mouth.  

You slip one hand under his sweater, trace the ridges of his tight abdomen, no doubt the result of all those pull ups he does on the rare occasion you work out together. Zayne’s breath shudders against your mouth and you shiver in response. His receptiveness to your touch makes you desperate to feel even more of him. You grab the hem of his turtleneck and yank it upwards. He pulls away, reluctantly you think, grabs the shirt from between his shoulder blades and tugs it off. The action leaves his glasses askew and you remove them from his face with a giggle. 

“I hope they’re not messed up now,” you say as you carefully put the lenses on yourself. They blur your vision some, but you clearly see Zayne swallow thickly when you smile up at him.  

“I have an extra pair,” he says breathlessly before he removes them and goes right back to kiss you. More of his warmth seeps into you now that he removed his sweater. He presses his thundering chest against yours, and the delicious weight of him renders you pliant beneath him. You smooth your hands along the muscled plains of his back and moan. You can’t think straight in the face of such overwhelming affection. He hasn’t even touched you yet, really, and you already feel so ready for more.  

But for some reason, a pang of guilt lances through your gut. Did you pressure Zayne into this? Are you taking advantage of his goodness, his kindness? You said it yourself, he goes above and beyond for you in all things. You would never forgive yourself if you ever made him do something he didn’t want to.  

“Wait,” you say, and weakly push at his chest.  A gossamer thread of your saliva stretches between both your lips, and your thoughts empty out of your head for a moment. Zayne’s eyes are as unfocused as yours as he looks down at you, cushioned in your fluffy pillows. 

“Are you sure you’re cool with this?” you ask quietly. 

Zayne takes hold of one of your wrists to drop a kiss to your palm that you feel all the way down to your clit. Does he want to kill you? 

“Why don’t you touch me and find out.” 

He most certainly does.  

You gasp when he guides your hand to his hardened length. The fact that you could do this to him with just a few kisses turns you on immensely, makes you feel powerful. You squeeze him gently and he groans. You flick the button of his pants free, but he stops your second attempt at undressing before you can even yank his zipper down. 

“Let me take what I desire first,” he says.  

Zayne carefully unbuttons your pajama top, until your chest is fully exposed to him. You sit up slightly to remove it, and no sooner is it off than Zayne starts to knead and kiss at your breasts. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and you arch into him, mewling at the spike of pleasure that zings through you. He licks and teases it into a stiffened peak while he pinches and rolls the other between his fingers.  

Once your nipples are wet and taut from his ministrations, Zayne trails deep kisses down the center of your spasming stomach. He grasps the waistband of your pants and tugs them down along with your underwear.  

While most guys would look at you with lust clouding their gaze, Zayne looks at your naked body like he loves it. It’s enough to make you feel sheepish.  

Zayne fits his broad shoulders beneath your slightly spread thighs and puts his mouth to your dripping core. You’re so stunned by the sight of his head between your legs that your brain goes fuzzy. Obviously, no one has kissed you here before. But you’d still be inclined to say that even if the opposite were true. Zayne full on makes out with your pussy. He licks and sucks at your clit with the sole purpose of making you cum hard. And your entire body sings with ecstasy.  

He eases his index finger inside of your wet heat and you whimper at the intrusion. He searches for that spongy patch inside of you that has your back surging upward. Zayne coaxes more of your arousal out of you with his tongue on your clit and his finger massaging the soft walls of your cunt. You feel strange, like you need release, but you’re almost terrified. Your thighs close around Zayne’s head and he groans into your sex. The sound vibrates through you until you’re a quivering mess. 

Zayne blindly reaches for one of your hands and squeezes. He licks and kisses you as you cum on his beautiful face with a loud cry of his name. He laps up as much of your essence as he can, and you twitch and whine all the while. 

Your back falls onto the mattress once you come down from your high, the first orgasm that someone else has ever given you. You lift yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. He kisses your thighs, your hip bones, back up along your stomach so earnestly. 

 Zayne settles himself over you again and now pumps two of his long, elegant fingers inside of you. They curl against your sweet spot with the skill and precision of a surgeon, and you moan his name. When his thumb swipes at your clit you cum for him again, still so sensitive from your last climax. He kisses you through it. The taste of yourself is a little strange, but you don’t hate it. You deepen the kiss as you cum around his fingers. You didn’t think you could cum again so quickly, but Zayne is nothing if not efficient.  

He removes his fingers from you so he can lay in between your twitching thighs. He rolls his clothed hips into your bare ones, and you meet his thrusts readily. The friction of his pants against your clit makes you feel delirious. Enough to remember what you had first asked of him.  

“Zayne,” you sigh as he moves to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “Do you have a condom?” 

He exhales against your ear; you just barely hold in a whimper. 

“No, unfortunately. I haven’t had a need for them before now…I suppose we’ll have to reschedule,” he says, but makes no move to pull away from you.  

“No! It’s ok!” You wince at your frantic tone. Way to go, Desperate. “I, um, grabbed a handful from the resource center before you came here. They’re in my bag.” 

While he had thoughtfully replenished your stash of candy, you had shoveled way too many condoms into your backpack only an hour after your lunch date with him. Now he’ll probably think you're some sex-crazed degenerate or something. How embarrassing. 

Regardless, you feel a teeny, tiny thrill at the knowledge that he doesn’t have any on him.  

Zayne nods, presses one lingering kiss to your lips and goes to retrieve a condom from your backpack. You feel even more embarrassed when he returns with one embossed with a heart and the words ‘wrap it before you tap it.’ He doesn’t seem to pay much attention to that, however. Zayne removes his pants and his boxer briefs. His hard cock springs up against his abs and your mouth waters at the sight of it. Long and flushed and too pretty, you think. He settles back into bed, kneels in between your spread legs and tears the wrapper open.  

You watch, wide eyed, as he rolls the latex over the glistening head and down the length of his cock. He lines himself up with your stretched entrance and makes eye contact with you. Despite the heat pulsing through your veins, you shiver. This does not go unnoticed.  

“Anxious?” Zayne asks. He runs his fingers up and down your arm. Slow touches that soothe your frayed nerves. A reassurance, a reminder that he won’t let you feel anything you wouldn’t absolutely enjoy.   

“Only a little,” you admit, “but I trust you more than anyone, so I think I’m more excited than anything.” 

Zayne smiles down at you, small and sweet. You feel even more shy now.  

“You know we can stop at any time,” he says even though his cock is straining against the condom. “You need only tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” 

You place a hand on his smooth cheek and smile up at him. His breath leaves him on a shaky exhale.  

“I know that Zayne. Thank you. But I think I’m ready now.”  

There’s a slight discomfort. A foreign pressure, a pinch, that he lets you acclimate to. There’s so much tension in his body as a result. You can’t help but feel endeared by how considerate he is of you always. Especially now.  

He places his palm on your belly, and you jolt.  

“Try to relax your muscles,” he says. 

You slow your breaths, try to do as he says until the fullness of his cock feels less invasive, almost comforting. You focus on the intimacy of this moment, of your bodies connecting. Of him being the first person to ever give you pleasure of any kind.  

“Mmm, good, just like that,” he groans. Who knew a voice could get you so hot. And not just his voice, those green eyes of his. He stares down at you so intensely you feel like you’ll melt into a puddle. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask meekly.  

“You’re beautiful,” he states as certainly as he would a fact.  

You hide your face behind your hands and whine for him to stop. Zayne laughs lowly and pulls your hands away. 

“You helped me accept a compliment earlier,” he says, kisses one wrist. “And even teased me for being nervous.” A kiss to the other. He rests them on the back of his neck and regards you with an almost mischievous smile. 

“Now it’s my turn to return the favor. Say ‘thank you’.” 

Your chest is heaving. You can’t believe how seductive he’s being. And so effortlessly, too. Where did this side of him come from?  

He lowers his face into your neck and all the air in the room vanishes when he kisses it.   

“Won’t you accept my compliment? Or should I continue to tell you how lovely I find you? Say that your beauty is beyond measure? That you are my greatest treasure.”  

Zayne lightly sucks on your pulse point. How does he expect you to speak? You can hardly function as is. 

“I’m not nearly as patient as you think I am.” He nips at your neck, and you tense up.  

“Thank you!” you yelp. 

You feel his lips pull into a grin. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Or should I give you more compliments so you can practice?” 

“Y-you can move now!”  

Zayne kisses under your ear before he pulls his hips back and slowly grinds into you. His pelvis meets your sticky clit every time your bodies meet. He thrusts into you until your moans and sighs fill the humid air between you both. 

You experimentally squeeze around his cock as he pulls away from you and he moans in concert with you.  

“Did you want to see my like this?” he asks, voice hoarse as his cock pushes deeper into you. You arch up against him, your nipples grazing his chest. Zayne dips his head to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth again, sucking and biting at it affectionately. You wrap your legs around his trim waist and try to pull him even closer to you. He’s making you feel so good that you can hardly stand it. All you can focus on is Zayne. The way he fits so perfectly between your legs, the feel of his biceps under your hands. His crisp, clean scent sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You want even more of him.  

You bury your hands in his hair, thick silk between your fingers, and tug. Zayne pulls off your breast with a wet pop and kisses you. He plasters his chest to yours as he rolls his hips into you. Your walls tighten up around him and he grits out your name. He wraps his arms around your waist tight and fucks into you so deep that you swear you see stars. So bright that you clench your eyes shut as pleasure takes hold of your whole body. It’s an ecstasy like no other.  

“I love you, Zayne. I love you,” you babble mindlessly as you cum harder than before. 

Zayne moans and ruts into your body erratically, desperately, until he seizes up and cums with you. Maybe you’re too caught up in the romantic atmosphere you accidentally created– sultry love ballads and low lighting–but you almost wish he had painted your walls instead of the condom.  

He looks ethereal as pleasure contorts and relaxes his features, his muscles. Zayne takes your face between his hands and kisses you hungrily. Like he’ll never have another opportunity to. You’ll make damn sure that’s not the case.  

"I adore you,” he says before he steals another kiss and your breath along with it. You both grip and pull at the other as if you could get any closer. You want to nestle in the marrow of his bones, dwell in the cavern of his heart. 

“I want you to be mine. Only mine,” you whisper between kisses. 

“I have always been yours. Only ever yours.” 

[glassbxttless]

Hi there! 👋🏽😊 As promised I have made it here to your little sandwich shop!

I would like salami and provolone on rustic sourdough, with mustard and why not make it a combo with hush puppies!

Excited to see what you whip up 😍

Much love,

- T🌙

Dinner for Two

older!eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 4.9k+

summary: Sandwich Shop Request from 28bohemianmoons | when your car breaks down and the very handsome mechanic that promises to fix it invites you over for dinner, he gets a little more than he bargained for.

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, smut, bit of an age gap, eddie’s 46, reader’s in her 20’s (i picture her as late 20’s but it’s never explicitly stated. so it’s up to you), oral f receiving, pinv

notes: Order up for T! Thanks for coming by and checking out the sandwich shop 🫶🏻 There’s some parts of this I feel like I could’ve elaborated more on, but it’s already almost 5k and these fics were supposed to stay under 2k lmao (I’m also just a bit tired of fussing with it). So I hope you enjoy! Big thanks to @prettycalla & @keeryhours for reading this over and as always, the biggest thanks to @peachyproserpina for editing! I’m a mess without her.

Your engine coughs once. Then it sputters. Then it fucking dies completely.

You coast to the shoulder of the road with a sinking feeling in your stomach. Your hazard lights blinking uselessly in the evening dusk. You’re not far from town, but far enough to know this is going to be a pain in the ass. You sit behind the wheel in silence for a few seconds, trying to will the car back to life as you turn the key again. No turn over. Of course, just your luck. You should’ve taken your friend’s offer to borrow their car while yours was “being weird”. But no. You had to prove that your own car wasn’t possessed by Satan.

The irony is strong when you hear the low rumble of a motorcycle approaching behind you. You glance in the rearview mirror and catch a glimpse of it— black, sleek, and loud. It’s pulling in behind your stalled car like some kind of metal savior. The guy gets off it in one smooth motion, worn in denim and soft leather with wild curls, and to top it all off, rings glinting as he pushes his hair out of his face.

 “Hey,” he calls as he jogs up beside your window, ducking down slightly with one hand pressed to the top of your car. “You okay in there?”

You roll the window down halfway and blink up at him. He looks like he walked out of a hot biker calendar. Except, you know, a bit more real. His jeans are grease stained, you could see a homemade faded Corroded Coffin T-shirt that looked like it had seen better days since the 90’s, hair greying slightly, and a pair of wide brown eyes that seem way too gentle for someone built like a God.

“Car died,” you say softly, suddenly a little sheepish under his gaze. “Pretty sure it hates me.”

He grins, standing up a bit straighter, “Let me take a look, yeah? I speak fluent piece-of-shit car.”

You stare at him through your half opened window, unsure of what to make of him, “You a mechanic or just… good with insults?”

“Both.” He winks at you, then adds with the most charming smile you’ve ever seen a man wear, “Name’s Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

Of course it is. A perfect name for a dreamy man. 

You pop the hood, and open the car door to slide out of it. He slides off his jacket, placing it out of the way and then he leans over, poking around while you stand back. You watch him mutter to himself as he checks connections, pokes at belts, and scowls at your battery. That faded grey t-shirt had a few holes in the hemline and it was riding up his back to show just a sliver of skin above the waist of his jeans. If you look close enough you could even see a bit of his soft belly. You flick your eyes up, taking in the set of his jaw. He was focused, wound tight as he tries to locate the problem, there’s a few wrinkles by his eyes, laugh lines settling close to his mouth. You smile. He’s one of the most handsome men you’ve had walk into your life. After a few more minutes of your silent gawking, he slams the hood down again— it’s not hard, just enough to snap your attention back to the present. He wipes his hands on his jeans as he turns to you.

“She’s gonna need some love. Maybe a sacrifice or two,” he says with a chuckle. “Starter’s shot, and your alternator isn’t looking too friendly either.”

“Awesome,” you mutter. “You have tow trucks too? or do you just deliver bad news on the side of the road?”

He laughs and shakes his head, already pulling out his phone. “No, but I’ve got a buddy at the shop who can come grab it. We’ll get it to my garage, fix it up cheap. No dealership shit. I swear on my Iron Maiden collection.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and look him over again. “And you’re not just saying that to lure me into your mechanic lair?”

Eddie grins wider, those laugh lines and dimples on full display, like he appreciates the sass you’re shooting at him. “Hey, you’re welcome to keep your guard up.” He chuckles, sending a text out, as he shakes his head. He might as well give it a shot, “I do have a lair. It just also happens to have a killer lasagna and a very patient dog.”

“…You cook?”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says softly, cocking an eyebrow up as he tests the waters. “Could come by sometime. I promise not to kill you. Unless you’re allergic to good conversation and metal records. Then maybe I’ll have to make a sacrifice… you know, for the car.”

You roll your eyes and let out a laugh, pulling up the contacts in your phone just to humor him. “I’ll think about it.” He flashed you a grin at that. He leaves you with his number and a promise that your car will be better than it was brand new— or at least newer than it looks now. 

You don’t mean to text him. Really, you don’t. But a few nights later, after a really long day at work, a too-long shower, and a look in your fridge at the leftovers from the night before— you find yourself in your bed. Aimlessly scrolling through social media, that man and his greying curls heavy on your mind. You bite your lip as you think of his arms, splattered with dark ink. You think of that little bit of skin you saw as he leaned over your car. And you let out a breath, opening up your contacts app. You think about it a moment, really weighing your options. It’s just dinner, yeah? If it turned into more you’d be okay with that. He was funny, not too bad on the eyes, certainly one night of a lapsed judgement wouldn’t kill you. But he’s double your age. And you shake your head, scrolling past his number in your phone. But then you pause and scroll back.

Hey. That dinner still on the table?

You half expect him to ignore the message, it’d been days and the last time you spoke was about your car. But he responds shortly after..

Hell yes. Tonight? Come hungry.

When you pull up to his house— a small place outside of town with a beat-up mailbox with MUNSON scrawled across the side, you can see an old blue Chevy in the garage through the open door, right next to that pretty metal savior from the week before. His neighbors are close enough to almost share walls. But the porch light is on and you knock gently. Hearing shuffling around on the other side of the door for a moment, you wait, holding your bag to your chest. The door creaks open and there he is. He’s got an apron on, a shirt with the sleeves cut off showing each of the intricate tattoos adorning his skin. His hair is pulled back in a bun messily underneath a bandana to keep back the flyaways. His face a little flushed and red from the heat of the kitchen.

“You came,” he says softly, clearly shocked to see you standing at the door.

“Of course I did,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “You said to come hungry… and I wanted to meet the dog.”

The dog is a sleepy little border collie named Ozzy, who’s spread out on the couch not paying any mind to the new visitor in his home. “He’s a real killer, can’t you tell?” Eddie jokes softly as he steps back to let you step in. He shuts the door behind you and makes his way back over to the kitchen with you close on his heels. He hands you a glass of red wine and says it’s “the cheap kind, on sale.”

The lasagna he whipped up is genuinely amazing. So is the music— a vinyl spinning in the background, something heavy that makes him close his eyes and nod along like he’s feeling it in his bones. You think you’ve hit the jackpot of men; handsome, a great cook, and has a great taste in music? You ask him about his band when he mentions it in an offhand comment— he still plays sometimes, mostly local gigs. You ask about the shop— he owns half of it now. You ask about the rings— he shrugs and says he’s always had em, “Sweetheart, these fingers were born for flair.”

By the time you finish with dinner, you’re laughing way more than you had planned to. You rest your elbows against the table top, watching as he leans back in his chair. He’s looking at you with a smile that’s almost shy.

“What?” you ask softly, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish yourself.

“Nothing,” he chuckles a bit. “I just…didn’t think you’d actually show. Let alone stick around… I really can’t believe it.” He shakes his head a bit, the bandana holding back midnight colored curls from his face. 

You tilt your head, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Why not?”

He shrugs, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. Bashful. “People don’t usually stick around this long.” He says it like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop with you. But there’s something in his voice— something that makes you want to lean closer, so you do.

“You’re not as scary as you look, Munson.”

He smirks, that playful confidence you’d caught more glimpses of than the coyness he’s been exhibiting tonight.

 “Careful. I’ve got a reputation to protect.” He pushes back from the table to stand, so you follow suit. And then there’s that moment— the pause that stretches quietly. A question that hangs in the air between two people who are both wondering the same thing; Are you going to kiss me? He steps closer just as the thought crosses your mind and you don’t move back.

“You want to see the garage?” he murmurs, bringing a hand up to scratch the back of his neck. His voice is low, a little rough, nothing like before. The apron he’d been wearing before dinner was long discarded, showing the front of the cutoff Dio shirt he’d been in. He reaches up, tugging the bandana from his head, the bun still keeping most of his hair contained. 

You grin, biting the inside of your cheek. “That code for something?”

His laugh is quiet now. He’s nervous, that blush that had graced his cheeks earlier is back, plastered across his nose— mixing with the freckles that peppered his skin. As embarrassed as he may be, he holds your gaze. He bites the inside of his cheek and lets out a breath, whispering, “Only if you want it to be.”

You nod. You do. You so desperately want it to be.

And he moves closer in a blink of an eye. He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it since the moment he saw your broken-down car on the highway. His hands are tentative at first, one sliding up your back so gently you barely notice it’s there. And when you melt into him, your front pressing up against his body, he moves more confidently. The hand that wasn’t occupied by holding you close to him slides up and tangles in your hair. The pressure makes you gasp into his mouth. And he presses you up against the kitchen wall right between his dining table and countertop. The warmth of his chest is seeping through your shirt, his rings cold where they skim your waist.

You break the kiss just long enough to whisper, lips brushing against his as you do, “So, is this part of the tune-up package?”

He laughs again, cheeks redder than before and a bit more breathless now. “Oh, sweetheart. This is way more than the tune-up package… this is the extended warranty.”

You laugh, still pinned to the wall when he kisses you again. He’s slower this time, taking his time. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, like he’s memorizing the way you taste for when you’re inevitably gone again. His hands settle at your waist, his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt and press in against your skin just enough to make you lean into him, instinctive. You’re needy and you both know it.

“God, you feel good,” he mutters against your lips before he’s dragging his mouth across your jaw, down your neck. He doesn’t stop until his teeth graze the spot just under your ear. “Can I—? Shit. I didn’t think you’d actually come, and now I’m two seconds from ruining my chances at a second date completely.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, Ed,” you breathe out softly. Your hands brushing over his shoulders. “You’re doing great, actually.”

He huffs a laugh as he shakes his head. Hair working its way out of his bun. You feel the rumble of his chest more than you hear it— his breath hot against your skin, his chest is rising against yours. And then he gets quieter, “Tell me to stop and I will.”

You reach down between your bodies and grab the hem of your own shirt, whispering, “Help me get this off before I change my mind.”

For him? That’s all it takes.

He tugs your shirt over your head and tosses it somewhere behind him. He scans your newly revealed skin so slowly it almost hurts him. His eyes are glinting in the dimmed light of his kitchen, words stuck on his tongue like he’s in the presence of something so holy that he can’t believe he gets to touch it— that look makes heat coil deep in your stomach. He kisses your chest so gently, you barely even feel the press of his lips. Then he’s trailing his fingers over your hip, up your side. He settles on your ribs, thumb brushing over your skin— he’s not in a rush, he can savor his time with you. He dips his head down again, stubbled chin scratching against your chest as he presses another kiss against your shoulder. His nose brushing against your neck as he slides up to press another kiss below your ear, against your jaw, and then finally your lips. He kisses you like he’s starved for it. His hands are warm and a little rough as they slide up your sides. One reaches back to settle on the clasp of your bra, greedy. You gasp into his mouth when he presses his hips into yours, he’s already hard, straining against his jeans. 

It’s good. So good. So good you almost don’t notice when he adjusts his grip on you, trying to work the clasp loose (he’s been out of practice for longer than he’d like to admit), his free hand knocks something off the counter. You both flinch, breaking from the kiss, as a metal mixing bowl hits the kitchen tile with a clang that rings through the room like a damn alarm bell.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, lifting his head to look you in the eyes. He’s breathless, cheeks flushed and lips kiss bitten. “That was… expensive-sounding.”

You lean forward resting your forehead against his jaw as you laugh softly. “That’s what you get for trying to fuck me next to your Gran’s stand mixer.”

You’re still catching your breath when you catch his eyes flick toward the back of the house. “You know,” he says slowly, voice dropping to a raspy whisper, “there’s a lot less cookware out in the garage.”

You lift a brow, that’s the second time he’s mentioned the damn place. “That supposed to be your version of romance?”

“It’s where I’m my truest self,” he says solemnly, nuzzling his nose against your hair, lips pressing a kiss against your temple. “Surrounded by tools, loud music, and we have absolutely zero chance of knocking over my Nana’s cornbread tin and denting it beyond repair.”

You narrow your eyes as he speaks. “If you’re just trying to get me out there so I’ll see your stupid truck, you left the door open and on my way in, I already—”

“No arguing, sweetheart,” he says with a tut, already tugging you toward the door. He reaches up and presses a button, until you can hear the tell tale sign of the garage door closing. “You’ve questioned the sanctity of my second favorite place in this entire house. Now you have to come see it, and that isn’t code for anything.”

You let him lead you with all his golden retriever enthusiasm— one hand in his, the other folded across your chest to keep your bra in place. You’re still half-laughing, that spark between you hasn’t dimmed in the slightest— it’s just waiting, simmering, threatening to boil over the second you get your lips back on his. He opens the door, helping you carefully down the two steps until you hit the cool concrete floor. The garage is warm and faintly smells like gasoline, it’s lit by a few overhead bulbs and the sliver of moonlight pouring through the window. You hadn’t realized it was this late. His tools are organized along the back wall in a way that only he would know where anything was. The blue chevy truck’s parked square in the middle, just as you had seen it earlier. His bike parked next to it. Windows rolled down and the hood closed. 

“Wow,” you say, mock impressed as you look around the room. You take in the posters along the wall, worn in and incredibly obvious he’d saved them from his teenage years. “A whole garage dedicated to metal bands. You trying to marry me or something?” You joke softly, feeling hot as soon as Eddie turns his gaze back to you. 

He tuts softly with a roll of his eyes, backing you up until your body is pressed between him and the front of his truck. “Careful, sweetheart. This truck’s seen a lot of action.”

“Uh-huh. Bet it’s jealous.”

“Oh, it will be in a minute.” He dips his head down letting his lips hover above yours. His breath is hot, his eyes are flicking from yours, down to where he’d like to be. He presses his hands against the hood of the truck on each side of your hips, leaning in until he can close the distance between the two of you in a kiss. It’s deeper this time, all of the teasing now burned away by the low throb of tension that’s been building since you stepped through his front door. He shifts his hips closer, until he’s flush against you— one hand leaving the hood to settle on your hip, like he’s finally letting himself have you. He slides it beneath your waistband, toying at the hem of your panties as he lets out the lowest groan you’ve ever heard a man make. 

Your own hands snake upwards, resting on his shoulders. Your fingers brushing along taught muscle before you’re tugging the bun he was wearing loose, a shy little smile on your face. He shakes his hair free, letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder. His breath against your skin ragged as you grind your hips towards him— the bulge in his jeans growing by the second. He swears so much blood is running downwards, his knees may buckle. And before you can even catch your breath, he turns you around— your back to his front— and bends you forward over the cold metal hood of his truck. He leans his body over your own, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades, his mouth at your ear as he finally unsnaps the clasp of your bra. “You okay with this?” he asks softly, his voice a little hoarse, from want, from need. 

You nod, letting your own forehead rest against the metal. Your breath hitches in your throat, “More than okay, Eds.”

He laughs. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about doing this since the second you popped your damn hood up on the side of the road.”

His hands slide the straps of your bra down off your shoulders, and he carefully tugs it out from under your body, tossing it over the mirror of the truck. He lets one hand trail forward, cupping your tit before giving it a squeeze. He presses another kiss against your shoulder, moving his hands back down to your hips. He thrusts against your ass, fully clothed. You gasp, a little dazed by the sudden shift in energy. He’s not teasing you anymore. He’s hungry, he’s greedy. And he wants you so badly. 

You barely have time to register that his hands have left your body and he’s no longer pressed up behind you. You glance over your shoulder, gasping softly at the sight. He’s on his knees behind you, letting himself look up at you through those pretty eyelashes before his hands are back on you, parting your thighs with an ease you hadn’t seen him display before. “Are you—”

“Yeah,” he says softly, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. He lets his hands drift to your front, unbuttoning your pants and dragging the zipper down so slowly. When he’s finally got it, he makes a big deal of slowly tugging your pants down. He’s deliberate, letting himself get worked up by every inch of cotton that’s revealed to him. “I fuckin’ am.”

He runs a palm over the swell of your ass with an appreciative hum. Then he dips his head lower, pushing your thighs a bit further apart. He presses his mouth to the inside of your thigh, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses up, up, up— until he’s right where you want him. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his breath hot over your clothed core, his eyes flick up to watch you, pressed over the hood. “You cold or just impatient?”

“Eddie, pl—”

He doesn’t make you say it. He really doesn’t need to. Not with the way your panties are sopping wet for him already. One hand settles on your hip as the other drags the soiled cotton down to join where your jeans are bunched around your feet. Dipping his head down once again, he slides his tongue over you, so slowly. You nearly collapse forward at the sensation. His grip is firm on you, keeping you steady, holding you there— his mouth is relentless, tongue plunging into your cunt before alternating to lick a fat stripe through your folds. He’s focused, intentional in a way that makes your toes curl with each prod of that muscle against you, with each nudge of his nose. He groans into your pussy when you moan his name, like he’s getting off on the sound of it. Like he could live here between your thighs forever. And it sends a shockwave of vibrations through your spine. That white hot coil in your belly starts to build oh-so-slowly. 

You press your forehead to the truck, your eyes fluttering shut. You rock your hips back into his face, desperate for more. Desperate for him to let you cum. 

“Fuck, you taste good,” he pulls away to press another kiss against your thigh, muttering softly. “How the hell am I supposed to let you leave after this?” And if those words didn’t make you keen, the flat of his tongue surely did when it runs up your thigh, almost to where you’d like him to be. 

Your laugh stutters out halfway into a gasp, fingers curling into fists where they had been pressed against the truck. “Who said I wanted to leave?”

That earns you a sharp nip of his teeth, followed by a kiss right over the bite— so gentle it almost makes your head spin. And then just like how he’d gotten down there, with no warning at all, he pulls away.

“Eddie—” you breathe out, standing on the edge of what may be the best orgasm of your life.

He’s already standing, his own chest heaving— sweat clinging to his bangs and plastering his curls to his forehead. His eyes, blown wide as he unbuckles his belt— tugging his own jeans down just enough to free himself. “You still good?” he asks again, waiting for you to pack it up. Tell him you don’t fuck the town freaks. Even in his forties, Eddie’s scared of letting anyone in. 

You nod, turning your head slightly to rest your cheek against the metal. “Fuck. Yeah. Please.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs. He wraps a hand around his cock, thumbing the base to line himself up with your pretty cunt. He’s so hard he can barely stand it, so he sinks into you with one smooth, steady, hard thrust that knocks the air completely out of your lungs. You gasp, bracing yourself on the hood. Your knees are already trembling. “Jesus Christ,” Eddie breathes behind you, both hands tight on your hips. His thumb rubbing circles into your skin. “You feel— fuck. You feel like a dream.” It’d been too long since he’d been here, balls deep inside a pretty girl. Let alone one probably half his age. 

You try to respond to him, but the words in your head die in your throat before you even have a chance to speak them. He pulls back out until there’s nothing but an inch or so of his cock left inside of you, and then thrusts in again, harder this time. That stupid blue chevy rocks beneath you. You moan loud, unable to hold it in— and that’s when his hand snakes up from your hip, covering your mouth from behind as he leans over your body once again. 

“Shh,” His lips are brushing against the shell of your ear. “You gotta be quiet, sweetheart. I’ve got neighbors.”

You whimper against his palm, letting your eyes close as he grinds his hips deeper inside of you. The hair growing back in at the base of his dick scratching against your skin burns in a way you’ll know you’ll feel it tomorrow. And he groans, letting himself get an eyeful of you. Fuck, you’re so pretty like this— bent over his truck, desperate and begging with just the rock of your hips. Taking everything he lets you have. He rocks his hips hard, steady, pushing deeper each time like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else. His pace is unrelenting as you clench around his cock. One of his hands slips down the front of your body and between your legs, deft fingers finding your clit. He starts working against that little bundle of nerves in tight little circles, and it’s enough to make you start seeing stars. The pressure in your stomach growing more taut by the second “That’s it, baby.” he grits out between his teeth. “Let me feel you cum. You’re squeezin me. I know you’re close.”

And that band finally snaps with a particular hard thrust of his hips, dragging against that spongy front wall of yours. You cum with a choked out cry against his hand, in which he just presses harder against your lips. Your body is clenching around him so hard he nearly follows you into euphoria right then and there. He drops his head to your shoulder, the hand on your hip sliding around your waist to hold you as close as he can. His thrusts are slowing, getting a little sloppier. There’s another slip of your name, and two more thrusts, before he buries himself deep inside of you one final time. He squeezes his eyes shut, burying his nose against the nape of your neck as he spills inside of you. Cumming hard. 

You stay pressed against one another there for a second— both of you panting, trembling, bodies still resting over the hood of his stupid truck. After another minute passes, he pulls his head up and presses a kiss to your shoulder. He’s a little shaky and a little pussy-drunk. “Well,” he chuckles a bit. “This service is definitely going in an ad for the shop. Imagine the business boom.”

You laugh breathlessly, turning your head just enough to catch a flash of his smile. “You put this in an ad and I’m keying your truck and the bike.”

He grins, curls falling every which way as he gives a gentle shake of his head. “Fair.” 

He tugs you upright as he pulls out. And then he’s tugging your clothes— at least your panties and jeans— gently back into place, pressing soft kisses to your neck like he’s trying to soothe the bruises he left behind. And then he’s stepping back, grabbing your bra from the side mirror to help slide it back up your arms. “Next time,” he says softly, turning you to work the clasp closed. He smiles as he reaches down, tugging his own jeans up and zipping them with a little hiss, “I’ll show you the actual bedroom.”

You arch a brow, teasing him. “Next time, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, grinning like he’s already planning it and knowing you aren’t going to object, “you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

tags ;; @peachyproserpina @missjadesfics @iheartgrayson @meetmeatyourworst @punkrockmlchael @prettycalla @getaapologist

[iamthatonefangirl]

awoken - nsfw winter soldier

so the other day I broke y'all (and my own) hearts with disconnect. WELL now we're feeling horny as fuck so here is my olive branch to y'all.

disclaimer: fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. pre-established relationship. dark themes. read at your own discretion.

~~~

you slowly grumbled in your sleep, bringing a hand to rub at your eyes as your body ever so slowly began to rouse. your eyes were puffy from your slumber as you tried to blink them open. you laid on your side, trying to get your bearings as you woke.

you took a deep breath and felt his body heat seeping into your skin, his weight pressing against you from behind, an arm wrapped around your waist...

...and a hand buried in your underwear.

you groan as your mind catches up with the physical sensations encompassing your figure, noticing your leg hitched up over his to spread you just enough for him.

"finally," he hisses from behind you, pulling three soaked fingers out of your already dripping hole to yank your underwear down to your knees.

you take in a raspy inhale when he's suddenly fucking himself into you from behind with no warning at all. your brain short-circuits, not nearly awake enough for this.

you don't care.

you let out a content sigh as he grips your hips with wet fingers, holding you in place for him to take you as he pleases. you shut your eyes, still half asleep, and lean your head back on his shoulder. you hear his rough grunting and hissing in your ear, each sound matching up with each thrust, his grip on your hip tightening every time he pushes back in.

"good morning," you say hoarsely. your voice is still wrecked from having just woken up, desperately in need of water, while also having your breath pushed from your lungs with every movement he makes.

you're teasing, finding it amusing that he couldn't wait any longer, that he so easily succumbed to the needs of his dick.

"you're such a needy little thing even in your sleep," he says, his voice just as wrecked as yours, except he's much more worked up, physically exerting himself doing all the work.

you’re the needy one? you'd let out a laugh if you physically could right now.

"fucking getting wet when I touch you and you're not even awake," he continues, his tone mocking as he speaks to you. it doesn't bother you in the slightest, you're too perfectly content right now. you'll probably go back to sleep after this, get some more rest. thank god it's Saturday, you think.

you let him mindlessly fuck you for a while, unconcerned with anything else in your haze. you might even go back to sleep now.

he must notice your eyes staying shut the whole time, your body lax in his grip. "little cockslut even lettting me fuck her while she sleeps," he whispers into your ear, "just laying there and taking it."

you just hum in content approval once more.

he eventually tires himself out, and moves his hand from your hip to instead wrap his arm around your waist, holding you right up against him. you open your eyes, rousing with the adjustment as he puts pressure on your abdomen. you direct your gaze downwards, even though your vision is blurry, to where you two meet. his rhythm begins to falter and his breathing turns whiny in your ear.

he fills you up with an accompanying grunt in your ear, and lays there for a few minutes without pulling out, holding you in place as he begins to fall back asleep.

you're both basically dead to the world when his fingers begin working over your clit, unsatisfied without feeling you squeeze him so tightly like you always do.

it doesn't take long, your own orgasm far less desperate and much softer than his. your body releases its tension while you bear down on him, a few low whines escaping your throat.

you're both exhausted once more.

"next time, wake me up with your dick down my throat," you whisper to him. he gives your waist a squeeze to acknowledge he heard you, and then you're both out like a light.

~~~

I really hope this isn't my last post for the next few weeks. I'm going out of town but I'll try to feed y'all if I can

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[mycroftrh]

People do always love to be like “oh Anakin was so stupid, keeping secrets for no reason, he should’ve just told the Jedi about Padme and everything would’ve been fine, doesn't he know Ki-Adi-Mundi was given an exception for survival of the species to have wives in Legends”

And when rewatching RotS I was forcibly reminded: he wanted to. He wasn’t actually the problem there. It was Padme.

Padme: Wait, not here. Anakin: Yes, here. I’m tired of all this deception. I don’t care if they know we’re married. Padme: Anakin, don’t say things like that.

A few scenes later, it’s Padme, again, not Anakin, who says:

Padme: If the Council discovers you’re the father, you’ll be expelled.

And Anakin who’s like “don’t freak out about that now, just enjoy that we’re about to have a baby”.

Back in Attack of the Clones, it was technically Anakin who offered the idea of a secret relationship first, but it was in response to Padme being insistent that he would be expelled from the Order:

Padme: You listen. We live in the real world. You come back to it. You’re a Jedi Knight…. Jedi aren’t allowed to marry. You swore an oath, remember? You’d be expelled from the Order. I will not let you give up your responsibilities, your future, for me. … Anakin: It wouldn’t have to be that way. We could keep it a secret. Padme: …Could you live like that? Anakin: No.

And then it was Padme who first introduced the idea of lying to Obi-Wan:

Padme: Ani, I told you I wouldn’t let you give up your future for me… Anakin: What about Master Obi-Wan? Padme: I guess we won’t tell him, will we?

And also Anakin, rather importantly, as you may have noted in the conversation a bit above, actually believed that a secret relationship was a bad idea in the first place, to the point that he stopped making advances on Padme because of it, until suddenly she started making advances on him:

Anakin: You love me?! I thought we decided not to fall in love. That we would be forced to live a lie.

And the thing is. Like. Anakin’s number one source of stress in Revenge of the Sith is that he does not want to be keeping secrets, and everyone around him is trying to force him to. From Obi-Wan to Palpatine to Mace and Yoda to, yes, very much Padme, as we saw in the very first quote above.

The Jedi are trying to make him keep secrets from Palpatine, which he very openly hates; Palpatine’s trying to make him keep secrets from the Jedi, which he also expresses extensive upset about and eventually refuses to do any longer; Padme’s making him keep their relationship secret when he explicitly doesn’t want to.

And he actually takes every possible opportunity to tell someone the truth about something, for the first three quarters of the movie!

He’s considering keeping the dreams secret from Padme for about three seconds before she’s like “Be honest with me” and he immediately tells her, honestly, without minimization or deflection. And then the very next scene, probably less than five minutes of screentime after the vision itself, is him telling Yoda, in as much detail as Padme’s rules will let him.

He doesn’t tell Palpatine about the Jedi Council’s plans because he’s trying so hard to be good and obedient towards everyone at the same time, but he’s so visibly upset about it that Palpatine deduces. (I firmly believe Palpatine had him put on the Council specifically so they would tell him to spy on Palpatine and thus break his trust in them, but that’s a side point.) Anakin dutifully ferries all information he’s given back to the Jedi Council without, as far as I can see, filtering it at all.

And the big one, of course - he learns Palpatine’s the Sith and immediately runs to tell Mace Windu.

(And Mace proceeds to only half-believe him, which, frankly, doesn’t make sense? He says “If what you told me is true, you will have gained my trust” but like. Mace’s primary concern about Anakin’s loyalties seems to be that he thinks Anakin’s loyal to Palpatine over the Jedi, in which case… what kind of next-level Machiavellian reverse-psychology triple-agent plan did he think Anakin had, that involved lying to Mace about Palpatine being MORE of a threat than they had believed and suggesting Mace go arrest and/or execute him, advising maximum force? It turns out Anakin is, in some ways, playing into Palpatine’s plans by doing this, but like… that’s because Anakin is telling the truth, and the truth is the problem here, and if he had been lying, things would’ve been fine for the Jedi. But that’s somewhat beside the point.)

Like. It’s been established since Phantom Menace that Mace and Yoda both tend to not be… friendly, let alone understanding, towards Anakin, and that continues to be the case in Revenge of the Sith, and yet still his first response is to run to them with any big truth he has, because they’re the Proper Authorities, and he hates secrecy, and he’s reaching out for any life-raft he can find.

Anakin is, in the end, the one who killed the younglings, yeah. But the secrecy? That was never his problem.

In conclusion - behold, Anakin’s synthesis:

[frvnkcastles]

I PRAY YOU LOVE ME STILL ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You lose your temper at Frank and he tries to mediate.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, reader hits herself (briefly), reader has (implied) BPD, language, implied female reader

Word count: 1.8k

Author’s note: May is Borderline Personality Disorder Awareness Month and so I wanted to do something in honor of it because it is majorly important to me as someone who is impacted by this disorder on a daily basis. It’s not explicitly said in the fic so anyone who struggles with anger can read this but this is very much about the experience of splitting. It’s actually hell and no matter how much you love someone, it still happens. But I think Frank would 100% help me (and all the other BPD baddies out there) regulate emotions :) See y’all next month for PTSD awareness lol <3

The air in your apartment had never been quite so tense, so full of something uncomfortable and unresolved. It wasn’t easy to rattle Frank, but right now, as he was carrying his bags from the front door to the bedroom, his shoulders were drawn tight and his jaw clenching incessantly.

He wasn’t angry — he was uneasy and full of guilt, because he knew you were upset with him. You had pleaded him to stay with you tonight, to not go on that recon mission because you had had a bad day and you could really use some company. And against his better judgment, he had gone and left, anyway. Now that he was back home, he had half-expected to find you asleep already, but instead, he had found you curled up in the corner of the couch with the TV still on, as if to punish him with the reminder that you couldn’t sleep without him. He could tell you were mad and hurt, not just from your body language, but because you had tilted your head away from his kiss and barely acknowledged his return.

It was growing difficult to stomach. He couldn’t stand the lack of resolution, the wound of your argument still open and bleeding. He wasn’t good with these kinds of situations, and he knew that he needed to act. His first instinct was to tell you to cut the attitude, but he knew he was in the wrong tonight and he needed to do some groveling.

”You need anythin’, sweetheart? Something to drink?” he called out to you from the kitchen, a peace offering. His boots were untied, his bags unloaded, his vest hidden in the back of the closet. He was ready to shift back into boyfriend-mode, and to extend an olive branch, but you more or less snapped it in half.

”Since when do you care about what I want or need?” you snapped from the living room, your voice quiet but venomous. His eyes widened, and his lips parted to say something in return but before he could, his gaze fell on your form. As he assessed you, he could tell that this wasn’t just being bratty — you had those days, too, but now… The way you were clenching your fists, practically vibrating with angry energy, your teeth gnawing on your bottom lip to stop yourself from saying anything else.

Oh. It was one of those times.

”Hey, hey, sweetheart”, he started, his tone concerned and not at all offended by your words, not anymore. ”You need your space, that it? Need a moment?” he asked, trying to understand what you needed as he approached the living room, maintaining a respectful distance. This had happened once or twice in the past, and you had tried to give him guidelines to helping you, but the truth was, you were still trying to figure it out yourself.

You finally looked at him, huffing. Your jaw ticked, and he could tell you were straining with the effort to not lash out at him. ”You don’t have to baby me”, you said in a warning tone, gathering your pillow from the couch as you stood up. ”I’m just gonna go to bed, Frank, it’s whatever”, you continued, but he was quick to act.

”Hey, uh, you don’t have to do that. Yeah? If that’s what you want, I’mma let you but if you just wanna sit here and watch your show, I ain’t gonna force you out. I’m more than happy to get in bed and let you be, huh?” he stepped closer to you, eyes narrowed as they still scanned every inch of you. He was good at that part; analyzing you and figuring out what only ticked you off more. But at his proposal, you stopped, slowed down even. It seemed to appeal to you.

He suspected you didn’t want to admit that it was a good idea, though. ”Aight, hey, I gotchu. There ain’t no rush”, he continued, padding past you. He ached to stop and hold you, to kiss the top of your head, anything — but he knew better, knew you didn’t want that right now. He weaved past you, and once at the door of the bedroom, he turned back to you. ”Lemme know if you need anything, yeah? ’Cause I… I do care.”

With that, he slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind him. You sighed heavily and returned to the couch, trying to sink back into the show, to distract yourself. But the more you sat there, the worse you felt. At first, it was anger at him — your brain spewing hate at him, telling you he was the worst person in the world who hated you, too. He didn’t care. He just wanted to hurt you. Why couldn’t he understand? Why couldn’t he do what you asked, what you needed?

But then, your thoughts shifted and you started to feel bad. You probably scared him away for good now. He saw what an ugly, awful person you really are. You hurt his feelings, so why would he stay? He could never love someone like that. Someone so mean and vicious, someone who can’t even control themselves. He was probably laying in bed thinking of ways he could leave you. He wasn’t the worst, you were.

Your eyes burned with tears and you no longer wanted to be alone. Reluctantly, with your tail between your legs, you shut off the TV and slid into the bedroom, praying Frank would already be asleep.

He wasn’t.

The sight of him looking at you so expectantly made you cry, the regret and guilt overwhelming. You hugged your pillow as you stood in the doorway, and Frank swore you had never looked more vulnerable and small than you did in that moment. You breathed raggedly, trying to find the right words, but in the end you went with your first instinct.

”I’m sorry.” Your voice was weak and faint, and he could hear the waver in every word. Sighing sympathetically, he nodded at the empty space next to him in your shared bed, and with a sniffle, you trailed to your side before climbing in with him.

”C’mere.” He gathered you into his arms right away, closing you against his bare chest, so warm and firm, both of you sitting against the headboard. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing but you felt embarrassed about it — why were you crying? God, this was so manipulative of you. Hurt him, then cry to get out of trouble. You hated yourself in that moment.

”I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m so sorry”, you whispered, trying to contain your sobs, ”I shouldn’t have—I didn’t—I know you care, Frank, I know you do. You care more than anyone, I don’t know why I would say something like that.” He tried to shush you softly, caressing your shoulder as he hugged you, but you just kept going.

”I don’t deserve you, really, I’m such a fucking bitch”, you continued, smacking the heel of your palm against your forehead. You didn’t get to do it more than twice when Frank was quickly grabbing your wrist, gentle but firm.

”Hey, hey, stop that. None of that, baby, hear me?” he spoke sternly but with love and care. He tilted his head down at you, his grip on your wrist loosening just so he could move to wipe your tears. His dark eyes were full of concern as he observed your flushed face, his heart aching for you.

”You ain’t a bitch, sweetheart, I don’t even like hearin’ that. And there ain’t a single thing wrong with you, yeah? You just…”, he swallowed, trying to find the right thing to say. ”You’re just someone who struggles with certain things. Just like everyone else struggles with somethin’. It sure as shit don’t make you bad, in fact I think you’re fuckin’ brave”, he went on, praising you, stroking your cheek softly.

You chuckled dryly, shaking your head. ”You shouldn’t be saying that, Frankie. You shouldn’t be comforting me. I was the one who was mean and hurt your feelings, so it-it’s not fair that I’m making you make me feel better”, you hiccup, sniffling. You drop your head on his broad shoulder, feeling sick to your stomach as you sit in the guilt.

”Darlin’, you ain’t makin’ me do anythin’. And you couldn’t hurt my feelings if you tried. And I guess you did try, huh? I’m perfectly fine, peachy even. I ain’t scared of you”, he chuckled softly, a small smile on his lips as he looked down into your eyes. ”Besides, I was an asshole for leavin’. You asked me not to and I disrespected that. Way I see it, I deserved a lil’ feedback”, he continued, making you giggle softly.

”You’re too good to me, Frankie”, you whispered, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. ”I feel like an awful person and an even worse girlfriend.”

He shook his head, kissing the top of your head like he had longed to do earlier. ”Nah, that doesn’t sound like my girl at all. You’re all good, baby, I promise. We’re all good”, he murmured, winding his arm around you and caressing your shoulder.

You sighed in relief, closing your eyes to just breathe him in. It grounded you, his scent in your nose and his warmth spreading across your limbs. His breathing helped you pace your own, and his gently drawn patterns on your skin made your heart happy. The guilt wasn’t all gone, but it felt like it could be okay. You felt at peace in the bed, in his arms, his defined body right at your fingertips and his soft reassurance in your ears.

You sat in the silence for a while, just enjoying his calming presence, but eventually he spoke up, that gruff voice sending a shudder down your spine.

”I, uh… I dunno if this is crossing some kinda boundary but uh, I guess I tried looking up some ways to help before you came in”, he cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head nervously. ”Found some ideas if you want me to keep ’em in mind for next time. Like, uh, I guess icy water and a quick exercise might help? There’s-there’s others too if that sounds like bullshit to you.”

You looked up at him, eyes blinking in disbelief and amazement. He looked cautious, almost sheepish, but you broke into a smile and it alleviated some of his nervousness. ”Baby, that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me. You tried using the Internet for me?” you asked with a goofy smile, earning a snort from him.

”Yeah, yeah, alright. It’s like that, huh?” he huffed, making you giggle.

”But seriously, Frank… That’s really nice. It’s hard for me to remember all those tips and skills when I’m really in it so if you can look out for me… I’d really like that. Only if that’s okay”, you exhaled, a soft smile on your lips.

Frank returned the smile, kissing your forehead. ”Kiddin’ me? Of course I’ll look out for you, sweetheart. Always will.”

[grimmsbride]

HABITS [ curly / reader ]

when it comes to picking coworkers, curly isn’t the most dependable. but.. the same could be said about keeping his feelings in check.

tags / ex - friends with benefits to lovers(?) | bittersweet | oral sex ( fem. receiving ) | slight praise kink | porn without plot | canon-divergence | chubby coded reader | curly isn’t 100% accurate & i am sorry this is my first time writing for him | curly is lowkey a liar but it’s okay | curly is big ( based off fanart mostly but also game ) | pet names | etc. if i forgot something please alert me.

notes / it has been like.. months since i last posted on tumblr. but i am slowly getting my spark back. this has also been cross posted on archive so if you see it there do not be alarmed. my writing is rusty, so please be nice with criticisms i’m quite sensitive 😭 but please do enjoy <3

“You look like shit.” You murmured softly, eyes carrying up the man’s form. You hadn’t expected anyone to be awake at this hour, let alone outside of their quarters. But whether to your dismay or pleasure someone had joined your little excursion, that someone being your beloved Captain; Curly.

Who looked to be teetering between the land of the dead and living. Bags lined those pretty eyes, a little red— surely from strain. When was the last time he got enough sleep? Was a thought that quickly passed your mind. Regardless you decided against asking, seeing as you were positive he wouldn’t have an answer for you anyway.

The Captain— Curly, allowed the corner of his mouth to lift; a humorous sigh escaping him. “Do I? Hadn’t noticed..”

“And here I thought Mr. Handsome prided himself on his vanity and dignity.”

The man shook his head at your usual flirty remarks, glancing about your own form. He took in the makeshift wrap of blankets you held around your pajama-clad body, noticing your feet covered in slippers. Not the proper attire obviously, but reprimanding you just didn’t seem worth it at the moment.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged, eyes shifting away to glance at a wall. “More like didn’t want to. With so much work to be done I rarely get any time to my thoughts.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“For you.. maybe. I quite enjoy my mind.”

You smiled at the soft chuckle that escaped him, taking the moment to move just a bit closer. Again, your eyes landed upon those dreaded bags; hand rising slowly to his face. You watched as his eyes focused quite quickly, clearly puzzled by your sudden attention. Regardless he didn’t move, instead allowing your palm to press against his cheek— your thumb then moving to trace a bag.

“I’m serious though. It looks like you haven’t gotten sleep in days. Is something wrong?”

A flicker.. just a slight glint, drifted through his gaze. An emotion you couldn’t quite place but didn’t like regardless. You stood silently, watching as his hand rose before your own. Gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your hand down his cheek — the abrasion of his facial hair tickling your palm — before pulling it away from him.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about [Name].”

Curly spoke, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. But you knew him. All, too, well. The man could hold water but there were times it spilled over just a little. Even if he didn’t explicitly say it, you knew his concern was something big— something that definitely affected you.

“Captain stuff, huh?” You said slowly, hand pulling away from his own in a dejected fashion. You couldn’t help but feel that way, eyes drifting away almost stubbornly.

“I thought our relationship was above such titles.”

“[Name]—“

You shook your head, Curly clamming up in response. Times like these were exactly why you regretted taking the man up on his offer. The promise of lines not being crossed was a discussion made in the same breath, yet here you were; questioning why exactly your past relations meant little to his decision to be secretive.

But it was just relations.. right? Just sex, a way to blow off steam. People that sleep together with no love shouldn’t act like this anyway.

Your eyes finally lifted from its stubborn gaze on the wall and back to the blonde before you, attempting to seem unfazed by the intense stare he was delivering you.

You forced a smile. “I’m just messing with you, Captain. Lighten up a bit.”

Curly continued to stare before coming close, a single footstep that pressed against the metal beneath the two of you. You nearly forgot how large the male was; broad and tall, staring down at you with those bag lined.. beautiful eyes. He reached over, fingers ghosting the back of your hand for a moment before grabbing it.

This caused you to shiver, eyes widening slowly as you watched the man bring it back to its previous place; right at his cheek. He used his own appendage to assure you cupped his face.

“I know you well enough to know when you’re joking or not, [Name].” Curly spoke lowly, eyes flickering between multiple spots on your face. “Right now.. I don’t want to worry you. It’s something I’ll figure out, but I will let you know soon.. I promise.”

That’s what you hated most about Curly. Even if you were clearly worried about him, he just loved to spin it so he could worry about you. All while easing such worries with the prettiest words. a master of the tongue. In more ways than one.

The flush of warmth that broached your cheeks was hard to ignore, eyes fluttering to the ground as his gaze grew intense. You allowed your thumb to trace his skin, teeth grazing the inside of your cheek. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let such thoughts or feelings resurface. Strictly professional was your own personal mantra.

Yet here you were, holding the cheek of the man you’ve been pining for— desperately wanting to touch more.

And that you did.

Against better judgement, head clear of thinking— you pressed forward, allowing your lips to brush against his own. You felt his breath stutter, body growing still at your bold action. This allowed your eyes to rise, batting thick eyelashes at the man as you spoke:

“Then.. until then, why don’t I take your mind off of it?”

You solidified your words in a single kiss, free hand clutching your blanket that threatened to slip. You felt the hand on your own slowly fall, clearly from shock. You couldn’t blame him. This was going against everything the two of you decided on. Everything the two of you have built since being onboard of this ship.

Even so, you didn’t mind destroying it— nor did your beloved captain.

Large hands slid under your blanket, finding the small of your back. With a pull you were flush against his form, the kiss deepening. Soft lips collided in a gentle battle, that slowly became fierce as time passed. Feelings buried deep began to bubble over, creating that haze that left you breathless. You could only moan as his tongue slid across your lips, effectively parting them. There, Curly took his time to claim your mouth as his once again, coating each and every inch with his saliva.

Your hand slid from his cheek to a large shoulder, gripping him so tightly as your knees began to buckle. Any longer and you were sure you would topple over right then and there.

Desperate for air Curly reluctantly pulled away, staring at that little string that connected the two of you. Heavy breaths escaped you, causing the want developing deep in his stomach to just burn even more. His eyes lifted away from you for a moment, an inner turmoil playing behind his eyes.

He was the Captain. He didn’t have time to play hooky and hook up with an old fling. Curly had duties.. responsibilities and expectations. And yet, as his flicked back to your form; so wanton and palpable— any thought of being the revered Captain of Tulpar escaped quite quickly.

Leaving behind Curly. A man who couldn’t quite help his desires. And a man who wasn’t the best at picking his coworkers.

“Come here.” Curly spoke softly, tugging you close before leaning; slipping his hands under your legs and lifting you easily.

The butterflies in your stomach tumbled and tumbled, threatening to spill from your mouth the moment he stepped towards his room. Effortlessly, as if your body meant completely nothing. Oh how you loved whenever he showed off his strength.

The door slid open routinely, revealing the simple quarters. A bed, desk, and dresser— surely filled with underwear and extra uniforms. The air was cool, perfect yet you couldn’t help but shiver the moment the man laid you across his sheets. A breath caught in your throat as he climbed over you, a hulking mass covering your line of vision only allowing you to see him.

Curly’s hands pressed against the mattress beneath you, leaning down to steal your lips once again. His light beard brushed against your skin, a feeling that caused you to chuckle, a feeling you missed.. feeling. Your hands rose, collecting his face into your palms as you deepened the kiss. Soft smacks of passion passed throughout the room as lips tangled in a secret conversation.

A hand rose from the mattress, treading down your plump form to find the edge of your shirt. His fingers, ever so gentle, slid under the fabric to spread across the span of your warm stomach. You sighed into his mouth, reeling into his touch as it grew higher and higher— soon skimming the bottom of your breasts.

“Curly..don’t tease.” You pulled back to speak, eyes focused on his features. You couldn’t help the pulse between your thighs the moment an impish smile crossed his features.

“I’m not, just.. remembering.”

With his soft murmur Curly was lifting your shirt off your body, placing it somewhere on the bed. Lowering, his breath fanned across your warm skin, gentle kisses pressing against your neck.

You hissed, eyes pinching closed, as your hands lowered to grasp his arms. Your lips parted as a large hand soon covered one of your breasts, gently squeezing whilst his thumb brushed against your hardening nipple.

As much as you wished to beg for more you knew better than to do so. Curly wasn’t a person that rushed when it came to these things. He enjoyed taking his time, building your pleasure bit by bit so when the main event happened you were completely lost in ecstasy. And as annoying as it was to admit, you couldn’t help but love his attention to detail.

The kisses lowered to the valley of your chest, tongue gliding across the hot skin, sliding to your untouched nipple. The man mumbled against your flesh, licking and sucking; delivering such sweet attention you couldn’t help the bated breaths beginning to form.

Should you be worried? The others weren’t close but weren’t far. And you highly doubt any of them would want to be waken by your less than professional “activities”.

Unfortunately, as Curly’s other hand traveled low concern for their sleep slowly drifted away.

You whimpered softly as his hand breached your pants and panties, fingers gliding across your slick slit for a moment before using two to spread you gently. Fuck.. was the simple sigh that escaped you as his middle finger easily found your swelling bud, rubbing it into slow circles.

“Fu..fuck Curly, I’m supposed to be taking your mind off work.”

Curly lifted from your breast, nipple red and slick from his constant attention. “Oh don’t worry, you are.” The man confirmed, allowing a finger to slide lower— pressing against your entrance. With ease it was slipping in, velvety walls swallowing the thick digit greedily.

“Now all I can think about is you, your body, your reactions.. how much I missed when you’d…—“ As another finger of his slid in, the Captain curled them ever so slightly, watching intently as your lips parted wider, a breathy moan escaping your throat.

“— did that.”

His lips curled, clearly delighted. Would it be cocky to admit he loved the way you didn’t change? How he still remembered every single button to press? It was if.. you were made perfectly, just for him.

That, or Curly ruined you for every other man.

The man released your breast for a moment to tug your bottoms down, allowing him to watch his fingers appear and disappear into your wet snatch. Soft plaps escaped from between your pretty thighs, arousal trickling down his appendages and surely to your taint.

His mouth couldn’t help but water, and without thinking the man was lowering closer. Curly’s lips parted above your cunt, breath fanning across the wet heat for a moment before covering your sweet little bud. His free hand quickly came to rest on your lower stomach, only to then decide to hold you down with his forearm.

There; unable to move, his lips sucked your swollen clit, beard brushing across you so deliciously.

A swear dropped from your lips, hands flying to your mouth to cover more sounds that threatened to spill. Your legs fluttered, a warmth brewing deep in your tummy— one you haven’t felt in months. Sure, when you could you rubbed one out — unfortunately without your beloved vibrator that hadn’t made it on Tulpar with you — but this was different. A feeling you couldn’t quite replicate with your own fingers or imagination.

His fingers were just so much longer, bigger; filling and stretching you perfectly. Pushing against your warm walls, curling to press against spots you couldn’t achieve. And even as your clit began to sting at the sensitivity, the pleasure was far more overwhelming.

Tears sprung at your eyes and through a glossy gaze you were taking Curly in. His own eyes were closed, heated breaths and groans fanning against your cunt as he devoured you effortlessly. Such a fucking messy eater. And you loved it.

As the pleasure brewed, forming into a band bound to snap you allowed a hand to lower to his hair, fluffy blonde locks sliding through the gaps of your fingers as you clung to him. Your legs shook, body arching off the bed as your other hand held your mouth so harshly you were sure there were scratches on your cheek.

“Fuck..!” Slammed against your palm in a muffled cry, body clenching as you came undone. You heard an all too familiar groan of pure delight as Curly gently lapped you up, withdrawing his fingers but refusing to remove his arm.

Whimpers of overstimulation did nothing to him, the man continuing to clean you up until he was satisfied. And when he finally was, he rose, the bottom half of his face coated with your mess.

Your hand lowered from your mouth, soft pants escaping. “I hate you.”

“Do you?” Curly was quick to answer, moving his arm to instead grasp your thighs. He lifted you a bit, pulling your bottom closer to him. Once you nodded the man chuckled, thumbs gliding across the marks that were painted across your hips.

“I don’t believe that. Not one bit.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but was left silently searching for snarky banter as you watched the captain’s hands move towards his slacks. There, his thumbs caught the waist band of his bottoms, tugging them down to reveal that sharp v-line and much more. Curly was a large man, everywhere. His length was thick, a round tip— bulging red with an angry vein traveling down his pale shaft.

You wondered if a pillow would be better than your hands at this point.

“Thought you were gonna say something..”

Curly teased, pulling his bottoms down the rest of the way and tossing them with your pile of clothes. He could only chuckle as you shook your head, crawling over your form to hover a breath’s away from you.

“Good.”

The man was smart to capture your lips as the moment you felt his length prod and push, you couldn’t help the little cry escaping you— perfectly muffled by his own mouth.

The stretch burned, burned so damn good you could have came again just from that. Curly was a gentleman of course, pushing in slowly, allowing you to grow accustomed to his size after so many months.

About halfway you were pulling away from his lips, head pressed against the pillow beneath you as sharp pants escaped you. Curly’s hand brushed your hip whilst the other cradled your face.

“That’s good.. breathe, you can take it all— can’t you?” His voice was sweet, soothing as his hips continued to push— plunging deep inside of you.

Your eyes were struggling to stay open, pretty groans falling from your tongue, easing into a sigh the moment you felt his hips stop; now fully seated within you. The feeling was mildly uncomfortable, even with his loving preparation, but you could make do.

You have before.

Curly leaned down, pressing his lips to your face, peppering them across his skin. Your forehead, under your eye, your nose, lips, and chin— everywhere he could reach. Attempting to soothe you even more.

Your hands rose gliding under his shirt to instead press against his broad, muscular back. Your finger tips traced little shapes across his skin, soon curling to allow your nails to scrape the moment he moved his hips.

Curly began to pull them back slowly, allowing only the tip inside before pushing forward. A single motion that caused the both of you to shudder, pleasure quickly brewing once more.

Soon enough with little restraint, Curly started a gentle pace. Back and forth, a hand on your waist whilst the other kept him upright. His length pressed into you deeply, pushing against a spongy spot that caused stars to invade your vision.

Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth lax as whimpers of passion escaped you sharply. Your nails dug and dragged into his back, an ache forming in your hips as his simple thrust became drills.

Curly couldn’t help himself at this point. He’s been holding back for far too long. Every interaction, every playful banter, every secret exchange of the eyes— played within in his mind. The man was smart enough to acknowledge how stupid he was. Playing with yours and his feelings, pretending your past didn’t matter; that coworkers were a status that you could achieve.

But no. He was fooling himself. There’s no way in hell, especially after this, was the man going to be able to go back to just being coworkers.

“Curly.. fuck, fuck— they’re gonna hear—!” You cried, legs shaky and wrapped tight around his waist. In the midst of his haze had suddenly increased his speed, ferocity; placing nearly his entire weight behind each thrust. Your eyes were rolling back at this point, nearly lost to the pleasure if it wasn’t for the sudden banging of the bed against the wall.

That fear of being discovered nearly killed your high.

Fortunately, Curly heeded your concerns, his hand lifting from the bed to instead grip the metal railing. You nearly gushed on the spot, watching his eyebrows pressed close, focusing so intently on your pleasure. His grip on your hip nearly mirrored the bed, refusing to release you. Every thrust you took, pushing you deep into the mattress as your breath threatened to leave.

“Mi..missed you.. I missed you so much.” Curly huffed, pants escaping his open mouth as his thrusts never faltered. The wet sounds of skin on skin filled the room, a steady rhythm to accompany his thrusts.

You tugged him closer by his back, shoving your face into his neck with your mouth directly against his ear. You wished to reply, expressing you felt the same exact way— even more. But of course you were left to only moan and gasp, his name coming out in struggled cries that only stirred him up even more.

Moments of your intense passion continued until your peaks grew closer, the two of you struggling even harder to keep your voices level. Maybe you two truly didn’t give a damn who heard.

“Curly!—“ His lips were colliding with yours in moments, sealing the deal as you came undone for the second time that night. You gushed around him, coating his dick with your thick essence— trickling to his sheets.

The man, releasing a final groan right into your mouth, pushing deep; releasing inside of you. Filling you to the brim.

The captain’s hips slowly settled, yet his lips continued to cover your own; moving slowly and lovingly. Curly released the bed frame to instead cup your face, cool fingers an ease to your hot skin.

Soon enough the two of you pulled away, a soft groan escaping you as the man slowly slid out of you. You tried to ignore the rather unpleasant feeling of his release slowly trickling out of you, instead focusing on the man above you— who was currently smiling.

Your swollen lips flattened into a pout, hands rising from his back to instead rising to his face.

“Don’t smile at me, Captain.”

Curly chuckled, hands sliding under you to lift whilst he sat up. Pulling you onto his lap, the man cradled your waist, thumbs brushing across your skin.

“It’s habit at this point, my love.”

You couldn’t help your own smile, arms wrapping around his neck, leaning to give him a small peck.

“Mhm..” You only hummed, eyes closing in a blissful manner as his forehead pressed against your own.

“No matter what, I’ll always be here to support. You know that, right?”

“I know, [Name]. I know.”

[narxcisse]

★ — General yandere Viktor headcanons

Yandere!Viktor x GN!Reader

CW: Obsession and yandere behaviors, surveillance and control, manipulation, forced proximity, Vik pretends to depend on you occasionally, isolation(?), takes place in s1

English isn't my native language

Viktor’s analytical nature extends to his obsession. Once he’s fixated on someone, they become the center of his world, overshadowing even his work.

He memorizes every detail about you—your habits, preferences, quirks, and routines. This knowledge is meticulously stored and analyzed to "understand" you better.

Rationalizes his possessiveness as care. He believes he’s the only one who can protect you, especially from the chaos of Zaun and Piltover.

He subtly manipulates circumstances to keep you away from others, framing it as concern for your safety.

Any perceived threat to you triggers his protective instincts. He can be dangerously calculating when dealing with rivals or anyone who might harm you.

He uses his Hextech knowledge to develop devices that monitor or safeguard you—tracking bracelets, automated sentinels, or surveillance systems disguised as gifts.

Viktor uses his calm demeanor to guilt-trip you into compliance. He’ll lament how much he sacrifices for you, subtly steering your choices.

He’ll portray himself as overworked or burdened, implying that your support and closeness are the only things keeping him going.

Viktor impresses you with his intelligence, subtly reinforcing the idea that he’s irreplaceable.

He ensures you rely on him emotionally or practically, making it difficult for you to leave.

He might push himself to the point of exhaustion and subtly blame you for not being there to stop him, saying things like, "If I had you by my side, perhaps I wouldn't push myself this far."

If you ever try to distance yourself, he may consider using his technology to "fix" you, claiming it’s for your benefit.

Viktor’s obsession is methodical. He won’t lash out irrationally but will quietly remove obstacles or manipulate situations to keep you close.

Around you, Viktor shows a softer side that no one else sees (Maybe Jayce sees it sometimes too), making it hard to view him as a threat.

Viktor may mark his territory with small, easily overlooked gestures—insisting you wear a scarf he gave you or leaving his inventions in your home.

Don't underestimate his cane, if you try to run away, he will easily knock you out with it.

If pushed too far, Viktor can become dangerously unhinged. In rare moments of desperation, his calm facade may crack, revealing just how far he’ll go to keep you.

It starts innocently enough—or so it seems. Viktor’s health has been deteriorating more visibly over the past few days. You notice the way he winces when he moves, the increasing reliance on his cane, the exhaustion written across his face.

He brushes off your concern at first, but one night, you find him sitting in his chair, his head resting heavily in his hand, looking utterly defeated.

"I thought I could endure this alone," he says quietly, his voice hoarse with fatigue. "But... I fear I cannot."

You freeze. Viktor has always been stoic, resilient, unwilling to admit weakness. To see him like this sends a pang through your chest.

"I didn’t want to burden you," he continues, his amber eyes meeting yours, glassy with an emotion you can’t quite place. "But it’s becoming harder... to keep going without someone to rely on. Without you."

He doesn’t explicitly ask for anything, but his words hang heavy in the air. You feel his unspoken plea.

"Perhaps it’s selfish," he murmurs, leaning back in his chair as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. "But... your presence eases the pain. When you’re near, I feel... stronger."

The way he looks at you—so "vulnerable", so "dependent"—makes it impossible to say no.

"Stay tonight," he says after a pause, his voice almost a whisper. "Just for a while. I need to know you're here."

You hesitate, but his hand reaches out, brushing yours lightly. His touch is cold but steady, grounding in a way that feels both comforting and suffocating.

"Please," he adds softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I... don’t want to be alone tonight."

Against your better judgment, you agree. He guides you to sit beside him, his arm brushing against yours. For a while, it’s quiet. Then, almost tentatively, he leans closer, his head resting against your shoulder.

---

After some time, he shifts, feigning discomfort. "Forgive me," he murmurs, his voice strained. "The pain... it’s worse tonight. Would you... hold me? Just for a moment?"

You blink in surprise, but before you can respond, he adds, "I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t unbearable. I just... need to feel that someone cares."

You reluctantly oblige, wrapping your arms around him. He lets out a soft sigh, almost as if in relief, and his own arms tentatively encircle you.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "You have no idea what this means to me."

Even as you sit there, his hold tightens subtly, possessively, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

As the night wears on, you start to feel a creeping realization that this might not have been as innocent as it seemed. Viktor, however, seems content, his gaze soft but calculating as he holds you close.

"Perhaps... you could stay again tomorrow?" he murmurs, the faintest smile playing on his lips. "For my recovery, of course."

[kkoffin]

aside from your harmful transphobic views, what did kink ever do to you 😭

literally let me choke my boyfriend if hes into it lmao

to me personally, kink fucking ruined my relationship with sex and affection. people such as yourself always seem to assume i’m just some sheltered prude who thinks “anything other than missionary is the devil’s lust taking over!!”, but i was probably just as deep, if not deeper in it than yourself, and i’m still recovering from it, after years of trying to fix things.

sex was a performance, an act on both parts. sex wasnt a matter of what felt nice, and caring for my partner, wanting to share something, and be intimate. i felt exhausted after the act - sometimes it felt awkward returning to daily life. sex wasn’t really sex. it wasn’t intimate, it wasn’t loving, it was performing. I don’t know how to be intimate anymore. i can’t turn back time, and get my first times back, and recreate them as loving, and explorative. i was reliant on porn and kink, and now i’ve lacked any libido for years. I’m afraid to be intimate with anyone. I know that if i were still dating, many people i’d partner up with and have sex with would start choking me or hitting me without asking, or even if i explicitly told them not to.

it had much worse consequences too. sometimes, or eventually, it isn’t an act. sometimes it becomes real. you can’t act like one partner is superior, and the other is indebted or lesser-than without it seeping outside the bedroom. one starts always feeling like they owe the other, they must be obedient to the other, not question them. even when the other partner doesn’t intend this at all, and even where you might not notice it. after long enough of this, i spiraled into self-hatred, and complete reliance on my partner for any affirmation of my worth.

kink affected me before i’d even had sex, too. it was popular at my school, or maybe just amongst my group of friends, to take that “bdsm test” online. from the get-go, it wasn’t “cool” to be “vanilla”. before i had ever had sex, before i ever got to explore my own sexuality, what i liked and what i didn’t, i expected my partner to hit me, degrade me, etc, because that’s what was “cool”. it’s cool for women to let their boyfriend hit them. it makes the boys like you more, it makes you more fuckable. sometimes boys were the ones being hit too, or girls would be the ones degrading others, but either way, it certainly wasn’t cool to be a “vanilla wife”. i was maybe 13 when this started.

so that’s what kink did to me specifically, but that’s not the only reason i’m against it. refer to pavlov’s dog here: do you think it’s a good idea to condition yourself to be turned on when someone’s in pain, or when you hurt someone? look at the faces of many “submissives” in porn, see the fact that “painanal” is a hugely popular category - those faces are not happy, or in pleasure, or intimate and loving, or even aroused. they’re suffering. they even cry, or the video emphasises their pain. maybe they don’t say “no” or “stop”, but there’s a reason the video takes place in a situation they can’t escape from. that’s why “stuck in the washing machine” is such a popular category. it’s so they can’t escape. it’s an unsaid “no”. do you think it’s a good idea to condition yourself to be aroused when others suffer? hint: majority of misogynistic serial killers did just that. same with majority of serial rapists.

it is like a drug - you look for the next high, or the next taboo. whatever’s bigger and badder. i believe that’s scientifically proven; that porn addicts and people who engage with kink content always end up getting more and more extreme. it doesn’t stop at choking, or light “spanking”. it ends with CP and/or murder and/or rape etc. the only thing that really ends it is a prison sentence, or giving it up. vast majority of older men in the kink community have some sort of abuse or SA allegation against them. there’s a huge portion of men in prison for possession of CP who aren’t pedophiles, it was just their next taboo.

there’s so so so so so much more to address, and if you’re truly interested i can recommend books, but this post has gotten personal enough. i doubt you truly wanted to know “what kink did to me”, but that’s a peek into it. besides me, it’s worth note that kink has killed plenty people. choking can kill much easier than one would think - you can damage veins in the neck and die days after, just as one example

[mr-payjay]

Salt's Sexual Harassment of OJ in Inanimate Insanity

this essay aims to prove salt is sexually harassing oj and that the show and the fandom take it much too lightly. it shows proof of her harassment and arguments as to why it is that, and why we should take it seriously.

table of contents

• proof of harassment

• “it's just unrequited flirting”

• “oj never says no”

• “salt is just a lesbian with comphet”

• “inanimate insanity doesn't have anything sexual in it/the harassment isn't sexual”

• “it's just a cartoon/it's just a joke”

proof of harassment

how is this sexual harassment? isn't it just unrequited flirting? there's nothing actually sexual about it, is there? well, I'm here to clear that up.

flirting is okay when it is welcome and wanted. if consent is removed or never given, and the person continues to repeatedly flirt with the other, it becomes sexual harassment. trying to force someone to date you over and over is sexual harassment. insisting someone is dating you and telling everyone that they are, when they are not, is sexual harassment. it is one-sided, forced, repetitive, and uncomfortable, which is what makes it sexual harassment. so let's see some examples of this behavior with salt.

semi descriptive video transcript:

the snowdown: salt implies that walking across the ice with oj is romantic, and he reacts with visible shock and discomfort. salt tells oj he's smart, then starts leaning towards him with mistletoe in her hand as he leans away with an uncomfortable expression. salt holds onto oj on the sled ride and he looks visibly uncomfortable, leaning away. once they reach the end, he looks upset but quiet. salt grabs him for a hug and he reacts with shock.

double digit desert: salt is unable to participate in the challenge, and oj is relieved, saying that her flirting makes him sick.

the great escape: salt sneaks up on oj while he's doing the challenge and grabs him in a hug, where he begins to panic and flail to try and get away.

breaking the ice: salt tells oj they can fix up the hotel together and drags him off as he literally yells “no”.

through no choice of your own: salt claims oj (who is dead and cannot say anything about this) is her boyfriend, gets upset when paper says he's not, then insists he's her ex at least.

objects in mirror: salt walks up to paper and oj and yells at them as they reunite. both of them react with anger and exasperation, oj explicitly telling her to please leave them alone. she is angry while being dragged away.

i also want to acknowledge some extra content here.

in the inanimate comic “complaints”, we see more evidence of her harassing oj, a LOT. all of these advances have been rejected, as she says herself, yet she persists.

and in the inanimate comic “everything's about-oj”, you can see oj's (and paper's) exasperation with salt as she shows up. she's wearing an oj shirt she apparently made herself, assumedly without permission (creepy). and there's an addition from brian to this comic.

this also has some proof of fan stalking oj, but this essay is about salt. knowing oj's “favourite hour to sleep” implies salt is quite literally stalking oj as he sleeps. the rest of the things she (and fan) know about oj are strange and unnecessary.

and here's a photo that exists in-canon where oj is physically pushing her away as she runs towards him and tries to forcibly touch him.

so let's look at some arguments.

“it's just unrequited flirting”

as explained earlier, flirting becomes sexual harassment when it is one-sided, non-consensual, and repetitive. oj is uncomfortable with salt's flirting and salt continues to flirt with him anyway for years on end, no matter how many times he rejects her advances. therefore, it is harassment.

“oj never says no”

oj does say no in breaking the ice. he also rejects her advances multiple times as salt mentions in the inanimate comic “complaints”. however, even if oj DIDN'T say no, that still doesn't mean this behavior is okay. he is showing signs of visible discomfort, he is not consenting, and he is frustrated. silence isn't consent. a lack of a no isn't consent. people can be scared to decline flirting, especially if they might be put in danger! and male victims can be afraid just like female victims are.

“salt is just a lesbian with comphet”

first of all, this is a headcanon, not canon. second, this doesn't excuse her behavior. no matter if it's comphet, psychosis, a program—she's still hurting oj. she is still sexually harassing him, no matter her intentions. whether salt is a lesbian or not, that does not excuse her harmful actions and how they cause pain and fear to oj.

“inanimate insanity doesn't have anything sexual in it/the harassment isn't sexual”

in the proof of harassment i gave earlier, you can see that salt forcibly touches oj without his consent (including when he pushes her away, leans away, or even outright says “no”), tries to force him to date her, and nearly initiates a kiss with him even as he's visibly uncomfortable and pulling away. this type of harassment IS sexually themed. non sexual harassment would be something like calling oj names, gossiping about him, typical bullying, etc. but this is specifically about dating, kissing, and touching him, and that is why it's sexual harassment.

“it's just a cartoon/it's just a joke”

why does this matter? because this is a show for children. no matter your age, this show is a cartoon aimed at kids (many, many people at the osc meetups are children or teenagers, in fact!). i, personally, have seen so many people say what salt does isn't sexual harassment, that it's funny to them, that it's just comphet, that it's just flirting, that it's okay. these are the lessons the show is teaching. it's hard to accept that something IS such a big deal, but what salt does is consistent, harmful sexual harassment, played as a joke. it's disrespectful towards real victims of sa and sexual harassment, and it makes it much harder for fans of the show to recognize when it may be happening in real life, either to them, a friend, or anybody else.

[flightyalrighty]

Not trying to be rude, but, despite his rude speech.

the scrappered person, unfortunately, has a point.

tails has many escape routes, he is smart, he can fly, and You didn’t exactly include a “child death” content warning.

plus, sonic could think tails is dead(many ways how, such as a bloodbath when he returns, but doesn’t investigate past an orange fox dead), but he isn’t, which resolves the issue, and I can rewrite anything if you want me to, so you don’t have to worry about improving the plot!

plus, you could suggest to the audience he died without showing it explicitly(or even faking it)

yeah, and tails’ grief on discovering sonic is this beast now, and maybe even having extreme thoughts, now THAT’S something I’d want to see, rather than killing him off the bat!

feel free to say no, it is your story, but I’m supporting the “tails is alive and has grief” movement, and can rewrite easily if you want me to.

(yes, I’m that bored I’d rewrite this willingly, and quickly, )

ps, pretend to disagree or actually disagree, don’t give anything away if you do decide on the plot twist, but my Discord is here if you want me to rewrite. Trust me though; I won’t let you down:

https://discord.gg/v7Bu6f2B

Don’t worry, I won’t press too hard for this and will shut up if requested, but I do prefer that we still chat on discord, even if you disagree anyways(I like talking, and you definitely have a lot to chat about), and we both(that means I will also)respectfully argue.

this is not sent out of spite, I just believe that your comic would greatly benefit from survivors of the parasite attacks, such as sonic’s closest friend. And it would also make a good plot twist.

To everyone reading this: do NOT message this person on discord to harass them.

Now to answer: What the fuck? Lmao?

Anyway since "Child Endangerment" + "Major Character Death" isn't too much of a red flag, fine, I've added "Child Death" to the warnings page.

You have absolutely no idea what my intent is with the story, so how can you possibly offer to rewrite it? You're so hellbent on making sure that Tails lives that you fail to understand the many times I have made clear that this death is the single most important event in the story. It is THE event, which is extremely important not just to Infested, but it's SEQUEL as well.

And you want to change that? You wanna change that so so so bad that you're offering to "quickly" rewrite it? I am not messaging you on Discord. I am not going to waste my time sitting you down and spoiling the entirety of Infested (and it's sequel) to you just so that you, personally, can have a clear understanding of my exact intent, and the importance of Tails's death. Get a fucking grip.

[neiptune]

is it casual now?

cw: 2.7k wc, NSFT, f!reader, reader wears a dress + makeup, suggestive, vaginal fingering, you're absolutely certain the man you're seeing isn't the jealous type but perhaps his friend knows better...

“Wait, ‘Tsumu, stop moving”, you grumble as you take his face in your hands and gently rub your thumbs over his lower eyelids, “it’s all smudged, why’d you let your teammate do it?”.

“He said I’d look hot”, he pouts, leaning into your hold. You roll your eyes.

“It does suit you but next time please pick a waterproof eyeliner”.

As you keep carefully cleaning the stubborn black blotches, Atsumu’s eyes dart to a spot behind you. Whatever he sees, makes him snicker.

“I said don’t move”, you roughly keep his face in place when he attempts to peek over your shoulder even further.

“Your man’s upset”, he asserts, amusement dripping from every syllabe. You furrow your brows in confusion and follow his gaze for a second. Sure enough, you meet Shoyo’s eyes right away. He simply smiles back but there’s something simmering underneath it, something that makes the corners of his mouth a little tense.

While you’re happy to be at a fun housewarming party, Inunaki’s new apartment is a million degrees and you’ve never been more grateful for your choice of makeup. When he approached the little chatty group as you were being introduced to Alexandre, lips pursed and a desperate plea to fix his face, Atsumu looked like a mess.

“He’s not my man”, you mutter, thumb rubbing a little more hashly to remove the last remaining smudges.

“Does he know?”.

“We’re just seein’ each other. Plus, he’s not the jealous type”.

“Man”, Atsumu chuckles, “you really don’t know Shoyo”. He kinda gets off to the fact that even his friend doesn’t seem to know himself well enough, always far too busy being the nice guy. But that facade can sometimes waver, especially when others start relying a bit too much on how much of a nice dude he is.

You flick Atsumu’s forehead before letting go of his face, the petulant oww! making you laugh. And then you’re far too engrossed in the warmth rising from your neck to your cheeks as the familiar weight of a muscular arm suddenly settles over your shoulders, to notice your friend’s pleased smirk. Oh, Bokuto is so going to lose the bet.

“Hey, what are you guys doin’?”, Shoyo’s tone is light. Neither of you is big on PDA and frankly you’re not even a couple but the heat radiating from his body is so comforting, you can’t help but melt into his side a little. He pulls you closer, calloused fingertips faintly brushing against your neck.

“I needed some help with my eyeliner”, Atsumu flashes his usual million dollar smile.

“That so?”, Hinata’s eyes slightly crinkle at the corners, “I told Kotaro that brand was the wrong choice”.

“Thank god someone was here to fix it. I look good now, right?”, the question is explicitly directed at you and the implication of what he’s trying to do makes you giggle.

“You do, ‘Tsumu”.

“Why, thank you! Although not nearly as good as you, where’d ya even get that dress?”.

“I picked it”, Shoyo is still nonchalant, just a normal answer to a regular question, but his old teammate knows better. “I think Sakusa was looking for you”.

Atsumu tilts his head to the side, tongue in cheek. “Really?”.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he was wandering ‘round asking about you. Don’t let us keep you”, Hinata smiles, the hand holding a flute of champagne rises to vaguely indicate the kitchen.

The older Miya hums, reassuring, waves goodbye with the promise of finding you later. You watch him scurry away with a weird skip in his step and can’t help but laugh again: he hasn’t changed at all.

“Having fun?”, Shoyo lifts his arm from your shoulders but keeps a warm hand sprawled on your back.

“Yes”, you smile, “everyone’s really nice, thank you for inviting me”.

“I wouldn’t fully enjoy it without you here”, he beams, “Shion says you’re the only one who can get ‘Tsumu to shut up”.

A timid giggle, for his ears only at last. “You guys simply don’t try hard enough”.

Shoyo moves his hand down until it rests on the small of your back, big and comforting as his touch always is. The warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your dress makes something in your chest flutter with need.

“Come, you didn’t meet Akaashi yet”.

The next hour is a blur of introductions, pleasant conversations, familiar faces and new ones cordially welcoming you in a way that never once made you feel nervous about a setting where everyone already knows each other.

It’s the first time Shoyo’s officially asked if you wanted to hang out with his friends, the first time in a social setting where it’s not just the two of you. Does that mean he’s inclined to take the next step, maybe ask if the dating can become less casual? Something exclusive? Not that you’ve been seeing anyone else ever since meeting him. As if that could’ve been possible, even if you wanted to.

You remember that night out in Osaka, casually running into an old friend in a crowded bar, right by the counter. You couldn’t believe he was still sporting the same ridiculous bottle blond hair. After a few minutes of pleasantries Atsumu wasted no time in diverting his attention, the idea of your cute friend feeling left out a possibility his generous heart simply couldn’t handle. And so, as the two (much to your horror) hit it off, you were left awkwardly standing to the side, eyes scanning the packed tables to keep yourself busy until someone with a deep, kind voice invited you to sit next to him.

Hinata looked nothing short of gorgeous underneath the red-yellow lights, confident smile and charming, hazel eyes inviting as ever. You were lured in right away. You both briefly joked about having been brutally left out but he didn’t seem to mind really, not as he got to buy you a drink and ask questions about how you and Atsumu knew each other. Neither of you noticed when he left with your friend, far too absorbed in a conversation that effortlessly went on and on for what felt like five minutes but was instead an hour. It was like a dream: your thigh pressed to his, fingers closed around cold glasses casually brushing against each other.

When he offered to walk you home, you wouldn’t dream of refusing. You still remember how you’d both melt in giggles when the questions overlapped, your curiosity revolving around his career in a foreign country and interests fiercely rivaled by his eagerness to unravel every mystery you held. Asking if he felt like having another drink at yours was a temptation you couldn’t resist, but Shoyo politely refused right by your apartment, lopsided grin exuding a magnetism you felt desperately attracted to.

I’d like to take you out on a real date first.

You remember the smile stretching your lips, the panic that followed upon realizing that your phone was long forgotten in your friend’s purse. You remember Shoyo’s fingers gently wrapping around your wrist as he jotted down his number on your palm, murmuring something about the traditional way being more fun. It had been forever since a man had given you his number and, with that, the freedom to choose whether to text him or not. Hinata really felt different from the very start.

He’s just the guy you’ve been seeing for the past month and a half. The man you wish to be exclusive with, the mere idea of calling him your boyfriend stirring a storm of butterflies in your core.

Neither of you is big on PDA and yet his hands get increasingly bold, always decent but unable to stay away from your body. Shoyo’s always touching you somehow: a gentle hold on your hip, fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your arm, one hand on your back guiding you across the living room. You decide to get bold too. After he excitedly brings you a plate of puff pastries filled with chocolate cream, while he distractedly details the training program his team is going to have to resume in Brazil, your thumb reaches up to his mouth and gently skims over the corner of his lips, to collect the excess of chocolate cream. Shoyo stops mid sentence, lips parted as he watches you bring that same thumb to your mouth with a coy smile.

“Hey guys”, Atsumu’s voice startles you but not him, still so intently focused on you and nothing else, “Samu has a few questions about the next tournament, Sho, the sponsorship…”.

Hinata offers his friend a smile and his plate of pastries. “Let’s talk about this later, ‘Tsumu”.

The setter blinks, a knowing smile slowly finding its way onto his lips.

“Sure”, he then redirects his attention to you, “having a good time? Man, did I tell ya how pretty ya look tonight? Like, really p—”

For the first time throughout the evening, Shoyo’s hand daringly takes yours, palm warm and solid against your own. “Sorry, kinda busy at the moment. Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure to pass the message”, he grins warmly at his friend, who’s left nearly as dumbfounded as you when Hinata slips his fingers in between yours and pulls you away with him, deaf to whoever calls after him as you trail behind, passing by small groups of guests who look at you funny while you stumble all the way up the stars in a fit of laughter.

“What’s going on?”, although amused, you can barely keep up with his bold strides. He’s so quick you don’t quite understand how it happens when he bursts into the bathroom, rapidly closes the door and presses you up against it with the utmost urgency. Shoyo only relaxes when your noses are finally brushing, his broad hands finding their designated place on your hips, lightly pushing the skirt of your dress up in the process. You feel the relief in his exhale and chuckle, nudge the tip of his nose with yours.

“Hi”, he murmurs, the ghost of a smile teasing plush lips.

“Hi”, you whisper back, amused. Shoyo cocks his head a little, mouth almost touching yours but not quite, the scent of his cologne making your head spin.

“Missed you”.

“I’ve been here the whole time?”.

“Yeah”, he breathes, “but I couldn’t do this”, the kiss is tentative at first, sweet, but Shoyo soon can’t help himself. Not when you wrap your arms around his neck, one hand messily carding through his hair and tugging lightly at the strands. The way he likes it.

With a soft groan, he urges you to further part your lips with a needy skirt of the tongue along their seam and you’re happy to comply, allow him to deepen the kiss even if your lungs pose the risk of collapsing from the lack of oxygen. You can’t bring yourself to care as Shoyo roughly feels the back of your thighs and then squeezes, a silent demand. Once more, you yield easily and jump, a strong arm wraps around your middle as he catches you with close to no effort and a boyish grin, your legs tight around his waist as he shuffles to the marble countertop. You refuse to let him go even after he gently rests you on it, legs still wrapped around his hips as you take his face between your palms and kiss him some more, until Shoyo’s the one who has to pull back with a soft gasp for air.

“To what do I owe the honor?”, you ask, chest heaving, lips swollen and sleek with spit. He smiles, one thumb gently rubbing at the skin underneath your bottom lip, in a useless attempt at clearing up some of the drastically smudged lipstick.

“What? I can’t kiss my girl?”.

My girl. The way he can make those two simple words sound makes your stomach churn.

“Besides”, Shoyo starts sponging kisses over the juncture between your shoulder and neck and a content sigh slips past your lips, “Atsumu was being severely belittling. Pretty”, he clicks his tongue in disapproval, “you look breathtaking tonight”. As if to underline his point, rough palms slide up your exposed thighs and start rubbing comforting circles by your hips, the skirt of your dress pretty much completely lifted now as he starts tracing your neck with lips that are dangerously skilled.

“Shoyo”, it’s meant to be a warning but it comes out weaker. A plea.

“Can I show you? How beautiful I think you are?”, his voice is gravelly now, serious in its reverence. Traitorous desire licks at your core when his knuckles brush against the cotton of your panties, gut already tight in anticipation.

“What if, ah... someone comes in?”, the single ounce of reason left in your brain puts on a good fight but is inevitably flickering like a candle. Hinata disrupts your prudence the same way air flowing around a flame shatters its balance of oxygen supply.

“Then they’ll know too”, he sounds way too pleased with himself and you’re about to protest, you really are, but he’s suddenly mouthing at the spot below the corner of your jaw and it’s harsher than usual. When Shoyo sinks his teeth into your soft skin you gasp and subconsciously roll your hips against him, the twinge of pain soon soothed by the warmth of his tongue.

This is so unlike him. Not the passion, nor the eagerness, but the greed. It feels like he’s trying to consume you whole and you’re too drunk on the sensation to realize that maybe, just maybe, Atsumu had a point. Hinata’s not the jealous type but could it be that he might just be the possessive kind instead?

One of his fingers catches in the waistband of your underwear and you istinctively loosen the hold of your legs around his waist, parting them instead to open yourself up for him. It’s still not enough of an authorization in his book.

“Can I touch you?”, he whispers and his breath fans hot over the wet, sore spot of your neck.

“Please”, you breathe and he kisses you again with a satisfied hum, slow, deliberate. The coldness of a metal ring presses to your heat, already so slick with aching arousal, as two fingers easily slide through. It’s crazy, the effect his touch has on your body, every nerve ending catching fire as soon as he so much as grazes it. Did a man ever make you feel the same way? You don’t remember, you can hardly even think as you produce the softest moans against his mouth, hips rocking to meet the steady motion of his fingers, damp forehead pressing to yours just as desperately. The way he's panting only turns you on more.

When he abruptly removes his hand, way before you have the chance to come undone at the mercy of his skilled touch, the outright obscene wail you let out makes him chuckle.

“See?”, he murmurs, breathless, glossy fingers lifted high and carefully inspected in the brightly illuminated bathroom, much to your embarrassment. “Beautiful”.

Shoyo is not poking fun at you, quite the opposite: he’s dead serious. It’s his pure devotion that does it each time for you, the way he conveys how devastatingly attracted he is to you. Maybe it’s the need burning hot in your abdomen, the treacherous pleasure still pulsating in your limbs, but suddenly you’re eager to let him know too. Your fingers impulsively close around his wrist and stop his hand from reaching his mouth, head inching forward to capture his tanned fingers with your lips instead.

Shoyo’s pupils blow. The way his jaw tenses sends a shudder down your spine. It’s with a disbelieving groan that he presses down onto your tongue, warm and so wet around him as you carefully suck to the knuckle. His other hand catches your cheek, roughly cups it but is attentive in tilting your head back, to get a better view.

“Fuck”, he mutters, “how did I get so lucky?”.

He keeps his eyes on you as he easily slips out of your grip, with a wet pop. You want to tell him that you’re the lucky one, still in disbelief at how or why a man who looks like that, with a heart so big, is choosing to stay by your side. But Shoyo takes your face in his hands with a faint smile, gently angles it to inspect the prominent shadow forming underneath your jaw.

“This”, his thumb fondly strokes the tender skin, “is for them”. He kisses your lips once, then gently unclasps your fingers from his white button down as he gets down on both knees without ever breaking eye contact.

“This”, your breath catches when he further parts your knees, nibbles softly at your inner thigh before kissing it tenderly. The way he deeply breathes your scent in after tugging your panties aside sends a wave of fresh arousal rippling through your veins. “This is for me”.