#Stub end Type A

[anandsteelsblogs]

Which Type of Stub End is Suitable for High-Pressure Applications?

In excessive-stress piping structures, selecting the ideal fittings is essential to make certain efficiency, protection, and toughness. Among the vital fittings are stub ends, which play a pivotal function in connecting pipes and facilitating fluid float. Stub ends are available different sorts, each designed for precise packages and running conditions. In this blog publish, we will delve into the various varieties of stub ends and discuss which of them are suitable for high-stress packages.

Concentric Reducer:

Concentric reducers are a sort of stub end generally used to connect pipes of different sizes in a straight line. They function a conical shape, with one end large in diameter than the alternative, taking into account a easy transition of fluid flow. Concentric reducers are suitable for packages in which maintaining the centerline of the pipe is vital, including in pipelines sporting liquids or gases at high pressures.

Eccentric Reducer:

Eccentric reducers, alternatively, are just like concentric reducers however characteristic an offset centerline. This layout permits for the slow discount of pipe size whilst simultaneously diverting fluid far from the centerline. Eccentric reducers are best for applications where averting air or vapor accumulation is critical, making them suitable for excessive-strain structures working beneath stressful conditions.

Stub End Type A:

Stub end Type A is one of the most usually used forms of stub results in excessive-strain packages. It capabilities a flat face and a quick period, making it best for welding at once to the pipe or flange. Stub end Type A is desired in situations wherein area constraints or alignment troubles are present, supplying a compact and green answer for joining pipes in excessive-stress environments.

Stub End Type B:

Stub end Type B differs from Type A in that it has a barely longer duration and a raised face. This layout lets in for higher alignment and sealing when connecting pipes or flanges in excessive-stress systems. Stub end Type B is appropriate for programs wherein a steady and leak-free connection is paramount, imparting greater reliability and overall performance under excessive strain situations.

Stub End Type C:

Stub end Type C is characterised with the aid of its complete lap joint and serrated face, which enhance grip and save you slippage throughout meeting. This type of stub end is usually utilized in high-stress piping structures in which vibration or movement is anticipated, because the serrated face allows preserve a decent seal underneath dynamic conditions. Stub end Type C gives exceptional resistance to loosening and leakage, making it a dependable choice for critical programs requiring utmost safety and sturdiness.

Cross:

In addition to concentric reducers and eccentric reducers and distinct kinds of stub ends, crosses are some other form of fitting typically used in excessive-pressure piping systems. Crosses feature 4 connection points organized in a perpendicular configuration, bearing in mind the branching of pipes in multiple directions. Crosses are essential for developing complex pipe layouts and dispensing fluid flow efficiently in high-stress packages.

When it comes to deciding on the proper stub end for excessive-strain packages, numerous elements must be considered, which include operating situations, machine requirements, and compatibility with different components. Concentric and kooky reducers, together with diverse styles of stub ends together with Type A, Type B, and Type C, offer wonderful advantages depending on the unique wishes of the application.

In conclusion, selecting the perfect stub end is essential for making sure the integrity and overall performance of high-strain piping systems. Whether it is maintaining alignment, preventing leakage, or withstanding dynamic conditions, choosing the right sort of stub end is vital for reliable and efficient operation. For wonderful stainless steel fittings and expert advice on selecting the proper additives to your utility, contact Anand Steel. With their good sized variety of products and commitment to consumer pride, Anand Steel is your depended on companion for all your stainless-steel desires.

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

Warnings: Language, past trauma, mentions wounds, ptsd, anxiety, panic, fluff, mentions hurt/comfort, and smut. Plus sized reader. NSFW!

A/N: I missed Eddie. I’m feeling quite down on my body type, so I kind of wrote this with my own body size in mind ❤️

~*~

Eddie Munson always said he didn’t care. Didn’t want to be a boyfriend. Wasn’t pissed off if girls didn’t cling onto him after their brief time together (usually late nights, quiet places). If they don’t want the freak, why would the freaky freak want them? Fuck love, it’s just a facade.

At least, that’s what he used to say until he met you in the Spring of 86. You were involved in Henderson’s little banded family unit, constantly being talked about even before Eddie saw you. He was a bit perturbed already. If you were close to Wheeler and Harrington, you were probably a snob. Quite the contrary, as Eddie remembers clearly, watching you quiet from the sidelines as he’d been told monsters were real, but not cool dragons or slayers — just a teenage girl with mind powers.

Gentle, but rough. You dove in before Wheeler to save Harrington, you jumped back into that disgusting hole in the floor to try and help wake Nancy up, and when it came down to battle? You wore your outfit without fear, and silently had reached for Eddie’s hand on the way to everyone’s stations, squeezing. He’d seen that face before, your vacant expression, a false smile you attempted when you were not in thought. You weren’t okay, but you had been trying to make it that way for everyone else.

And it wasn’t, not for a long time. Not after you lost, he died, Carver died, and Mayfield went into a coma. A fight occurred in Hawkins before he was brought back, one that Eddie still sees in your eyes when the sun goes down and it’s quiet in the trailer, sans the beeping of the smoke alarm. Sometimes you just bring him impossibly closer, that he isn’t sure whose body heat is causing him to perspire. And others, you wake up in his arms, pulling him on top, clinging to his neck, your lips panting pleas into his mouth that ask for help.

Mutual scars, tragedy, blame, regrets, trauma, you helping his recovery, his process, even when he wasn’t so nice, that he wished he’d stayed gone. It’s all there, things that he feels safe only sharing with you. His marked body, one he is comfortable letting only you feel, see. He isn’t sure when it happened, really. But he knows now, especially looking at you beside him, your necklaces hanging around your neck, their charms dangling between your breasts, one leg propped, the other flat, lying open, evidence of the previous half hour shining between your thighs, and he’s propped on his palm, blowing out the last of his cigarette smoke, stubbing out the end.

You’re reading a piece of his work in progress fantasy novel, one based off of things that have happened. You’re lost in his vivid descriptions, captivated by his words, led by the hand that holds his pen. And his enriching, dark eyes, they caving into blown pupils, his ring clad finger trailing down your shoulder, following the curvature into your elbow’s inside. You’re already smiling by the time that he reaches your neck, sucking the flesh into his mouth, trailing wet kisses over your jugular. His arm elongates, easing his creation from your grip to throw aside.

You pretend to huff, and he catches your mouth in a kiss. It’s sloppy, tastes of smoke, but it’s precise, it’s familiar, it’s Eddie. Your fingers slide through his curls, freshly washed, yet frizzed from previous humidity. You tug on his blood stained pick, and he knows your implications, follows your soft look. He has to tilt your chin, shaking his head. “Remember that I’m right here, sweetheart. All of me but one nipple.”

He treasures you by bestowing that trademark Munson smirk, making your brief panic ebb away to pleasure. And you cave you into him, permitting his fingers to slide against your cunt, cupping. It’s a whine in his mouth that gets him to slide an ankle beneath yours, pulling you open for more availability. You could have anyone, you could’ve had something going on with Steve. But it’s Eddie you go to bed with every night, it’s he that you spend hours talking to on the phone when you’re not together, it’s him who holds you when you have a nightmare, and it’s Eddie Munson that you’ve already given your heart to, unbeknownst to him.

He’s falling into your grip, trying to situate himself, amused as he asks. “Already? Can you take it —“

And he goes head over ass, world Olympics type shit when you manage to maneuver him onto his back, unafraid, sat on top him in all over your glory. Your curves overflow, breasts sitting heavy, begging to be touched. You reach behind you, taking him in your hand. He’s nodding like an eager ass, little nerdy beaver. He could giggle right now. Your pupils are blown to the brim of your irises, a look of lavish possessiveness sweeping across him, and holy fuck does he feel sexy.

He doesn’t have to verbalize his consent, his brazen ‘take me now’ appears in the form of his hands reaching for your tits. You groan upon him getting a handful (and Christ, they still won’t fit). It’s a burning stretch, but you slide down his cock in moments, ones that Eddie holds his breath for, only able to gasp when you’re seated fully, sticky and spread around him.

He cares. He cares so much.

You grasp onto his wrists, clenching around him as he gives you two words, “Go, baby.” And then your hands are dropping to dig into his chest, thumbs beneath his chain, in newly grown out hair along his sternum, making scars feel like warrior wounds he’s proud to own.

You look at, leveling off his hands before they can drop from your breasts, pressing down so that he gets the message to grip tighter.

Fuck. He’s in love. He’s in love with you.

[reiderwriter]

I’d love if you could do a very fluffy-smut with Spencer, like you had a tough case and the day after he calls asking you to go to his apartment and you see he has made food & made a fort to watch movies with fairy lights and just everything really romantic & it ending with very slow/soft sex🩵

A/N: I loved writing this one! Spencer is absolutely the type to build a perfectly engineered pillow fort just because you're having a bad day 😭😭 I hope you enjoy it!!

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, soft sex, oral sex (f receiving), slow/ gentle sex, multiple orgasms, implied creampie/ no contraception mentioned :) tee hee

There was something about the cases that took you to the other side of the country that sunk the ache into your bones just that little bit more. 

It didn't matter if you were going for a kidnapping or a serial or a spree, you always returned more weary than before. The weeks work that you endured was never as tough as returning home to your empty apartment, to the cold floor and the lonely bed. 

This time, your case had a happy ending. You weren't sure how many more of them you were going to be able to live through before the bad endings rendered them null and void. It didn't matter how many people you saved some days because your brain was crowded with the names and faces of the ones you didn't. 

The drive home from Quantico was unsurprisingly quiet. Having landed in the dead of night, there were never going to be too many people on the roads to your apartment. 

You weren't sure if it was fate, or the fact that you hadn't eaten anything in the last 18 hours that made you pull over to the side of the road to pick something up from the 24 hour drive thru, but in the end you were glad you did. 

The second you pulled your car off the road, taking a breather and deciding to stretch your legs a bit before going in to order, your phone screen lit up. 

“Spencer,” you answered the phone, “what's up?” 

“Y/N, hey, I just got home. Listen, remember last month I was talking to you about that one indie film that I couldn't find anywhere? Well, a friend of mine from college just sent me a file entitled ‘the movie.’” 

You weren't sure if it was Spencer’s enthusiasm or just the way you were always ready to drop anything to do something with him that had you giggling and nodding along. You didn't remember the discussion, let alone the movie he meant, but you liked hearing him talk about the things he was passionate about. 

“So I was thinking, we're both probably not going to get much sleep anyway since we clocked out only 23 minutes ago - movie night?” 

“You couldn't have called at a better time, Spencer. I'm grabbing food, text me your order and I'll see you in 15.”

-X-

The drive to Spencer’s apartment was clear, but the hum in the air was lighter than  the silence of before. By the time you pulled onto his street, your mood had already brightened significantly.

You trudged up to his apartment softly so as not to cause any complaints and sent him a text to let him know you were waiting outside. 

You knew instantly that he'd received and read it - the garbled sound of the large man tripping over his feet in his attempt to rush to the door were the same every time you arrived. Stubbing his toe on some pile of books or the other was practically ritual. 

“Hi,” he whispered, opening the door just a crack and giving you a bright smile. 

“Hi,” you smiled back. “I bought food.”

“Perfect. That's perfect. You're… come on in. It's cold, right?” He guided you into the small entryway in his apartment and let you drop your keys with his as if they were supposed to be tangled together. 

“I have a little surprise.” He said, suddenly sounding bashful as he grabbed for your hand in the dark - you hadn't realised as he'd led you in but there were no lights on in the small apartment on at all, as far as you could tell. 

“What? Spencer-” 

“You'll like it, I promise, you just have to trust me.” You relaxed as he wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you with him into his living space. His hand was warm as it settled against the small on your back, and his chest was surprisingly broad and firm as you brought up your hands to steady yourself against him. 

“Okay, now close your eyes.” 

“The apartment is pitch black. Why am I closing my eyes?” You giggled a little, surprised that your whole body felt so light and calm now, when it had felt so terrible only half an hour before. 

“Trust me,” he said, and you did. Truth be told, your eyes were already shut before the words had even left his mouth. 

“Okay, you can open them now.” 

He must have flipped a light switch the second you opened your eyes because your vision was blurred by the dazzling light when you did. 

Blinking through the adjustment, you started making out shapes and couldn't stop the small tears that pricked the corners of your eyes. 

He hadn't just invited you around for a movie night - he'd built a fort. Held up by a few chairs and piles of books, he'd managed to prop up at least three layers of blanket to surround the most comfortable looking floor you'd ever seen. 

You didn't even know he owned this many pillows, but when he tugged your hand down as he began to move into the fort, you didn't need to care. 

Not with his fingers gently laced with yours and the fairy lights he'd surrounded everything with, giving his skin a golden glow. You didn't need any explanation. You just needed him to hold you. 

“Spencer this is beautiful,” you whispered, sound dampened by the lump in your throat that you tried to swallow, to no relief. “This must've taken so much time. How did you even-”

“PhD in Engineering. I don't get much use out of it these days, but it certainly comes in handy.” 

You couldn't help the laugh that burst from you, the tears finally flowing as tears of joy. 

“Spencer, what is all this for?” 

“It's just because. You looked like you had a hard day, and I enjoy spending time with you.” 

They weren't the most romantic words in the world. They probably didn't come close to some quotes he could recite as easily as breathing. But they hit you hard and fast. 

You knew you were in love with Spencer Reid long before this moment, but there was no holding back the flood after hearing the sincerity in his voice. 

You slowly stretched your neck up and pressed your lips against his. It was fleeting, a small moment that if this didn't pan out, you could brush off as a friendly show of appreciation. 

You pulled away to gauge his reaction, but you didn't get to. His hand on your neck had pulled you back to him for another slow, but deep kiss, and it was as if your entire body was on fire in those sheets. 

You weren't sure how long you spent breathing each other in, exploring each others lips softly. You just knew you were growing desperate for more. You didn't notice that you'd climbed into his lap until your eagerness knocked him onto his back, forcing you apart. 

Your chest lay atop his as you both gasped for air, legs tangled, eyes locked as both of you feared talking first. 

After almost too long without anything said or done, Spencer chose silence again, flipping your positions so you were the one on your back on the pillows as he hovered over you, lips meeting yours again. 

This time, you made the conscious decision to wrap your legs up around his waist, hand tangling in his hair as you smiled and giggled against his kisses, so obliviously happy to be there with him. 

“I love you,” you whispered between kisses, not even hesitating for a second to contemplate whether he felt the same. 

“I love you more,” he said as if it were a competition where you both won in the end. 

You became more talkative after that, responding to every touch, every kiss with praise and a confession, a moan as his fingers pushed under your shirt, a shaky breath as they unbuttoned your pants. 

“Fuck, Spencer, please touch me more,” you begged as his hand toyed with your nipple, having discarded your shirt and bra quickly after receiving permission to do so. 

“I will. I want to know all of you,” his voice was strong even in a whisper, as he dropped his head to your other nipple to begin suckling and teasing you. 

You always thought his hair would be soft, had been tempted on multiple occasions to tuck a strand behind his ear, or just run a hand through it, and now you held it firm, pushing him further into your chest as you arched into his mouth. 

“I want to feel m-more of you, Spencer.” 

He raised his gaze to you as he let go of your nipple with a pop and quietly complied with your will. Trailing his head lower, he kissed across the expanse of your stomach, biting and sucking here and there to leave a path of markings in his wake before arriving right where he wanted to be. 

He made quick work of your pants and panties both, surprised that a man who never failed to bump into things in his own living space could be so graceful when it came to divesting you of your clothing. 

You couldn't ponder for too long as he dived between your legs, spreading you open like a book he needed to read and memorise. His to guess hit your clit quickly, and a few twitches and moans here and there showed him how you liked it, where you needed him and his tongue. 

You again got to grasp his hair  pulling him further into your wet cunt as you chased your high, needing so desperately to ride out an orgasm against his face. 

When his two fingers stretched you open, you practically drowned him, thighs clamping shut as your brain emptied itself of stress. 

You calmed down and watched him come up for air, fingers still slowly and gently pumping inside of you, reminding you that this wasn't over. 

“You taste sweet.” 

“I know how much you like sweet things.” Your juices glistened on his lips and chin, a few drops running down his neck as you stared at him with pure desperation in your eyes. 

“Spencer, please, fuck-” his fingers picked up speed every time you tried again.

“Spencer, fuck me, please  just fuc-”

“As you wish, Y/N.” 

He didn't bother removing his own clothing, though you desperately wanted to see his entire length and explore him just as he had with you. 

But after cumming on his face already, you decided you'd let him go with whatever he wanted. 

Shifting up behind you as you laid there, he gently rolled your body onto its side as he pulled your back towards him, giving him better access to your cunt as you arched into him again. 

He sank in slowly, almost as if he was scared to break you, but didn't stop until he was almost fully inside of you, practically sheathed. 

He adjusted his hold on you, wrapping both arms around your waist and pulling your back flush against his chest as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your neck.

With deep, slow strokes, he made love to you. You weren't sure if it was the fairy lights, or if it was just that good, but you saw stars, saw them burnt into your eyes, watched them every time the pleasure felt too good and your eyes rolled back into your head. 

The second orgasm came slower than the first, but it was just as hot. 

“Y/N, look at me - you're so beautiful, I want to watch you cum.”

“Spencer, love- I love you, I love you, fuck, oh my god, I love you so much.” You reached for his lips but he pressed his forehead against yours as he whispered in your ear a final time: “cum for me now.” 

Your body wasn't one for taking your queues, but it responded to him as if he'd been the missing part you'd missed this entire time. 

Your cunt tightened around him, milking his cock as he moaned and released seconds after you did. 

You lay tangled in those blankets and pillows for hours after, and you weren't afraid or lonely anymore. 

[thatdeadaquarius]

Imagine a horribly clumsy creator in the sagau... like trips over their own feet, starts coughing due to choking on air randomly, knocking a vase off a table that was in the middle of the table somehow???? Silly goofy stuff like that (I pull these silly goofs often personally)

(obv goes w/o saying sorry for being so late to reply /gen) ;-;

clumsy reader is so me core idk why i didnt think of this lmao

(this gif is liek the modern equivalent of Charlotte posting ur embarrassing clumsy moments on insta Steambird acc lmao)

(so sometimes im lazy and dont include the ask stuff esp if its shorter like this, so here's at least the characters in this one: Fontaine ppl <3 along with a G for general audience, barring cuss words)

Navia would politely ask you to go the edge or whatever area ur in whenever she pulls out her cannons/guns LMAO

every time you and either Clorinde or Neuvillette are walking next to you, or doing rlly anything, its like night and day

ur out here finding all the cracks in the sidewalk, bumping everything that could even possibly have a liquid in it, and have constant bruises from hip checking/stubbing toes on mechas walking around

Clorinde is impressed at that point bc mechas are actively programmed to get out of your way, so how u managed to put them back into ur way rlly fascinates her 😭😭

Neuvillette would like to wrap u in fabric/bubble wrap equivalent for his old ass, in an attempt to desperately stop u from hurting urself lol

u get a new coat or new pants from him all the time, u just thought at first he was rlly into giving u Fontaine fashion until Furina pointed out that it was spring/summer and you wouldn't wear thick woolen pants and fur-lined coats everyday 💀

(poor dragon guy doesn't rlly get the practical side of clothes, he likes fashion, but he inadvertently subscribes to the "hoes don't get cold" philosophy by being an ancient dragon lord)

Wriothesley is unfortunately nice enough to constantly try and catch his poor god, which ends well for neither of you 50% of the time

its not even ur weight takes him down, he's buff as hell after all, and he's dealt with rowdy inmates, its just.. ur clumsiness spreads.

if ur tripping, and the poor Duke reaches out to catch you, ur reaching out at the same time to steady urself on a side table w/a vase full of water, which u then knock off, drenching ur back and his face at the same time LMAO

he doesn't learn, despite u literally begging him to stop trying to help u, then u try and compromise to just let u fall and help u afterward asdfghkl-

Wrio's too chivalrous tho, the most u can get him to do is always grab ur arm instead of trying to bodily catch you

if u think after the first like, ✌️ TWO times Lynette is willing to help you, u r so wrong lmao

she's seen her brothers clumsiness, she knows theres no saving u

she does comfort u after slipping (not even falling but just flailing dramatically) for the 5th time in the puddles around water fountains tho

Lyney and Freminet are lowkey legit convinced someones cursed their god atp 😰

Freminet always had bandaids for u, and Lyney keeps a supply of ur fav candy to cheer u up after embarrassing urself by falling ass backwards right into the Fountain of Lucine right in front of Opera house lmao

...

...Charlotte thinks this is all vv hilarious, no she has no respect for ur godliness, her archon was Furina like LMAO- IM SORRYYY

(she has started a small section in the steambird of a near daily- DAILY picture of u being clumsy 😭)

(u, not srsly, threaten to smite her and she just giggles)

(its ok they take it all in a cute/endearing trait type of way)

☆

again, sorry for lateness, when i reopen askbox (soon, FINALLY-)

ill try and stay more on top of it and try and sort whatre just chats/non-requests better too 😭😭

hope u guys are having a good week!! tysm for being patient and nice to me :')

Safe Travels Kai,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit / @chinuneko / @silvers-tongue

@kiyomi-uchiha777

<3

[the-s1lly-corner]

Slashers x reader who is clumsy and tends to get hurt

feels like its been a hot minute since ive done a non-solo post soooooo smirks... i promise requests are still open i just havent been getting much of anything and been on an alphabet prompt kick SOBS characters: jason, brahms, bubba, thomas notes: reader is gn cws: injury stuff but far more tame than what youd see in the sources

JASON

hes keeping his eyes glued onto you like a hawk, the second he realizes how often you drop things or fall over hes going to always keep himself nearby

not that he doesnt already do that given the cabin you stay in together is a little... run down... prompts him to start fixing it where he can so its safer for you

will step in to carry heavier stuff before you even get the chance to try to pick it up, tries not to make a big deal of it so he doesnt hurt your feelings

crushed when you eventually get hurt despite his efforts... so so gentle when hes wrapping bandages around you

sternly signs at you to be careful next time, and to come to him if you need help

BRAHMS

definitely the type to kick the table after you stub your toe on it- actually i can see him throwing the whole thing away

he thinks your clumsiness is a little endearing... pathetic, but nonetheless endearing

also makes him feel like you need him so you dont end up getting hurt or worse, and hes not afraid to show that he thinks of it like that- proud that he gets to protect you too

tries to smoothly take over a task if he feels the risk of you getting hurt is a little too high for his liking, not very.. not obvious about it though

despite the aforementioned pride he does get very worried when youre handling knives or hanging around stairs- he gets antsy, actually... does not like when you go out to work on the grounds outside because its harder to keep an eye on you

BUBBA

frets over you like youve just cracked your skull open, when in reality youve just sliced yourself while cutting something up

gently takes your hands in his to look over the wound, will stress out if theres any bleeding- even some tiny pinpricks is enough to make him lose it

not that hes afraid of blood of course, but your blood is supposed to stay inside you!

uses more than the needed amount of bandages for you, you may need to speak up and get him to calm down a bit... also he may or may not forget to actually clean the wound

exudes the energy of a nervous chihuahua while watching you work with something sharp, will take over the task for you

THOMAS

you may have to teach him how to actually clean and care for wounds outside of keeping them wrapped- he doesnt mean to forget its just he was never really taught

gives you enough space to do what you want and/or need to do but hes keeping an eye on you from the side to make sure everything is going smoothly

doesnt mess with shelves or stairs, though, if youre carrying something down the stairs hes taking what you have and doing it himself... or hes going to grab what you need from the shelves so it doesnt fall on you

the very last thing he wants is for you to feel small or helpless, so outside of that he gives you free range to do most of anything how you want and at your own pace

will carry you if you ever get a leg injury

[sorapricots]

My Yellow

Summary: Break up sucks. You thought you lost your yellow person when you broke up with your ex. Not until Logan pulled you to a hug and showed you your truly yellow person.

Pair: Logan Howlett x Mutant!AFAB!Reader 

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, fluff 

Warning: Curse words, Reader’s power inspired by Scarlett Witch or Wanda Maximoff, a messy break up, mental issues mentioned, blood mentioned, Suicide mentioned! Read it at your own risk, mention of smoking, reader have panic attack, non-sexual intimacy, a suggestive ending.

A/N: Very self indulgent because I just broke up with my partner a couple weeks ago and it kinda disturbs my daily routine. This fic is a bit inspired by my own yellow person. I hope you guys enjoy this. Also do you think I should add a mood board on each fic?

W.C: 3,8k 

You gasped as your eyes shot open. With a groan you quickly sit up as you try to calm yourself. Your mental states have been slowly deteriorating as the day you decided to break up with your ex keeps haunting you in your dreams. Your breath is uneven as things around your room start to shake. 

An angry grunt rumbling from your chest as you share at your palms that is covered by a subtle red glow. You blinked as tears and sweats gathered in your trembling palms. Stuff around your room starts to violently shake before someone swings your bedroom door open.

Logan was holding the door knob tightly. He let out a sigh of relief as he rushed to you. You watched in silence as he sat beside you and gently cupped your cheeks. His thumbs gently wiped your tears away as you dazedly blinked your eyes.

“You are okay, doll. Breathe with me.” your fingers circled around Logan’s wrists as your breath matches Logan’s calm breath. The red glow around the stuff in your room and your hands start to die down before fully disappearing. Logan let out a hum as he carefully helped you to lay down on your bed again.

“Don’t worry, bub. You know where to find me if you need me.” Logan gently caressed your cheek before he left your bedroom.

You blankly stared at the already closed door. Part of you wants to ask for Logan to stay but there’s an invincible line that the both of you are scared to overstep. Your friendship with Logan is always a hit or miss kind of friendship. There’s times like this, where you comfort each other like lovers do, but there’s time where you buttheads like mortal enemies. Your friendship is blanketed with this tension of wanting to be with each other but also don’t want to cross the boundary you both have as friends.

Especially you, your mind wandered to the time when you randomly asked Logan about his type of woman. To which he immediately answered with no second thought that his ideal woman is Jean. You close your eyes as you try to bite back your sobs. An imaginary cracking voice playing in your head when you feel your heart shattered to pieces as you push your body to sit up.

You lift your hand as the drawer from your desk opens. A lighter and a pack of cigarettes flew to your hand. Followed up by a black box. You quietly walk out from your room with a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and the black box in your hands.

Your feet bring you to the empty, cold and quiet yard. You exhale softly as you sit down on the grass, your lips carefully clamped the cigarette stub before you burn the other end of your cigarette. Gently you close your eyes as you draw a deep puff from the cigarette, letting the smoke gather in your lungs before you let out a gentle huff.

You eyed down the black box before carefully opening it. Inside the box there are multi-colored multi-shaped beads, thin metal rods, various sizes of chains and pliers. You let out a soft smile as your hands skillfully start to pick out a bunch of beads and arrange it. A soft sad tune flows softly from your mouth as your fingers work on the bracelet. A puff of cigarette smoke escapes from your lips every once in a while.

“How long have you been sitting here?” you jumped out and almost dropped the cigarette stub from your lips before you quickly caught it with your power. Logan sighed before he took a seat beside you. His eyes trained on the half done blue and yellow beads bracelet. Three small spikes neatly arranged in the middle caught his eyes.

“Looks familiar,” he teased. You let out a puff of cigarette smoke before you lifted the already finished bracelet with your power. A sad smile shows up on your face before you carefully store the bracelet in a small velvet box. You gently grab Logan’s hand before you drop the velvet box to his palm.

“It’s inspired by you. Give it to Jean, it will look good around her wrist.” your words laced with sadness as you looked intensely on the box. Little did you know Logan furrowed his eyebrows as he frowned at your words. The atmosphere around you falls to a comfortable silence as you tidy up the tools you use to make the bracelet.

“You know… your ex requested to meet me yesterday.” Logan’s words make you stop your movement. The new stub of cigarette stuck between your fingers as your eyes slowly moved to find Logan’s face. Giving him a silent request to continue his story. Logan chooses to stare back at your eyes.

“What did he want from you?” you asked as you lit up your cigarette. Logan grunted softly as he grabbed his own cigar. Your hand that is still holding your lighter quickly helps him to light up his cigar. Logan draws a long puff before he exhales the smoke from his lungs.

“Kid asked me to take you to the psychiatrist.” a soft snort escaped from his nose. Your eyes narrowed at your ex’s request. Carefully you turn your body to face him.

“Why?” you asked. Logan’s eyes linger a second too long on your lips before moving up to stare at your angry eyes.

“Said you were not in the right place of mind when you asked for a break up.” he answered in full honesty. You let out a soft curse as you harshly rubbed your face. Tears welling up as you draw an angry harsh puff from your cigarette. 

“Am I a joke or what?” you muttered angrily, voice dripped with venom before you let your body fall back harshly to the grass. Your brows furrowed as you felt something cushioned your head. Logan looked at you as he softly shook his head. His eyes narrowed at you as a silent warning. You rolled your eyes as you put your cigarette between your lips.

“Don’t you even try to hurt yourself, doll.” he warned you. You huffed out the cigarette smoke towards his face which he playfully rolled his eyes before he gently flicked your forehead. You hissed in pain as you softly rubbed your forehead.

“Dramatic,” he teased. You jabbed his ribs.

“Your bones are infused with metal. Obviously it hurts.” you retorted back as you pushed your body to sit up. Both of you and Logan quickly put out your own cigar and cigarette before you stand up.

You nervously gulp down when you feel the unspeakable tension between you start to creeped in as you stand chest-to-chest with Logan. An awkward cough escapes your throat as you give Logan an awkward pat on his bicep.

“Thanks for the company.” you gently whispered. Logan awkwardly nodded his head as his hand clutched to the velvet box you gave. You give him a gentle smile before you walk back to the mansion. Leaving Logan alone with his thoughts.

.

.

.

Your eyes shoot open as your body that is drenched in sweat shot up when you hear someone harshly slam your bedroom door open. A tired sigh of relief escaped your throat when you realized it was Rogue that barged in. Her face looked pissed as she silently took a seat on the corner of your bed. 

“Is it about Bobby and Kitty?” Rogue quickly snapped her head toward you as your question hit the bullseye. You softly smile at her as your hand grabs your coat and drapes it over her before you pull her to a hug.

“It’s okay, sweet girl.” Your voice is gentle as your hand rubs her back. Purposely avoid touching her skin as you know she is still uncomfortable and afraid with skin-to-skin contact due to her mutation. Even though you don’t really mind it.

“What’s going on?” Logan’s head popped in from the doorway when he heard a soft sob from your room. His expression softened at the sight of crying Rogue in your arms. Logan carefully sits down on the other side of Rogue, making the dual colored hair girl sit between him and you. His hand softly patted her head.

“Boys can be sucks sometimes.” your words earned a giggle from Rogue as Logan playfully rolled his eyes. You smile as you watch Rogue start to smile again before you let go of her and stand up. 

A groan was heard from your lips as you stretched your body. Logan’s eyes trained on you as he saw your shirt get lifted out, exposing your stomach. You walk to the bathroom, being oblivious with Logan’s stare. Logan’s grunt and Rogue’s giggle were the last thing you heard before you closed the bathroom door.

You stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Frown deepens as you look at your dark eyebags. Thoughts of how you will never be enough and will never be pretty enough for your ex and Logan start to cloud your brain. You slapped your cheek hard enough it left a red mark as you watched tears rolling down your cheeks.

You took a deep breath as you quickly set your shower to a hot temperature. Dazedly you peel off your clothes before jumping into the shower. You bite your lips as you feel the skin scalding boiling hot water run down your skin. Mindlessly your hand starts to grab shampoo and soap to clean your body as fog covering your whole bathroom.

.

.

.

“Holy shit. What the fuck did you do, bub?” Logan quickly rushed towards you when he saw your almost sun-burned state like skin. You shook your head softly as you put an arm-length distance between you and Logan. You quickly grab the fluffiest hoodie you have before you put it on. A hiss rolled from your lips as you felt the sting of your skin touch the hoodie material.

Logan helplessly watches you from the side as he lets out a huff of desperation. His hands can’t stop twitching as he has to hold back the urge you hold you and cradle you close to his chest. Your eyes softly moved towards his figures.

“I’m fine.” your voice is barely audible if Logan doesn't have his enhanced hearing. But he heard you. He shook his head in disapproval.

“You are not, princess.” your heart skips a beat at the nickname he has for you. Logan carefully walks closer to you. His eyes locked to yours. Gently and carefully Logan grabs your hand.

“Let’s bring you to Jean. She can help you ease the pain.” you mentally rolled your eyes as Logan mentioned Jean’s name. But you do nothing but nod your head. Let him guide you to the med bay where Jean usually stays.

Jean widened her eyes when she saw how red your skin is. She quickly ushered you to sit down on the bed as she started to grab meds for you. Logan decided to stay outside. Jean let out a frown as she helped you ease the burning pain from the hot water.

“You should take a break from the mission for a while.” Jean gently said as she examined the rest of your skin. You shook your head in disagreement. 

“Don’t wanna. I will go crazy if I just stay in the mansion doing nothing.” you answered as your eyes wandered to Jean’s wrist. Only to be confused when you realized Jean didn’t use the bracelet you made last night.

“But you really can’t go with this mental state. How many night terrors do you have already?” Jean voiced her concerns as she heard a couple times your room shaking violently. You let out a sigh as you smile softly. Your hand gently holds hers.

“I will be fine. I promised… I just need time to adjust. Two year relationship is not long but not relatively short either.” Jean sighs as she gives up making a mental note to herself to talk to Logan later about your stubbornness. She quickly cleans up as you put back your hoodie.

“Lunch, doll?” Logan suddenly showed up again. You softly smile at him before you nod your head. Slowly walking towards him. 

“Can we eat lunch in the yard?” you asked as you and Logan walked to the kitchen. Logan looked at you with a smirk before he nodded his head.

“Sure we can, sweet.” Logan said as you both quickly grab lunch and walk to the yard. The two of you sit in silence as you start eating your lunch. Your eyes once in a while will watch the kids play basketball before flickering back to Logan.

“Take a picture, sweetheart. It will last longer.” you choked on your food as Logan quickly helped you by giving his water to you. A chuckle rumbled from his chest as he watched your face getting red. Your face inches away from Logan when suddenly a cough makes you both pull away.

"Of course it's someone you told me not to worry about." Your eyes flickered in anger as you heard your ex's voice. Logan let out a groan as he looks like he's so done already.

"What do you want?" Logan's voice obviously is not welcoming as he propped his arm behind your small back. Your ex let out a huff before they rolled their eyes. Making Logan arched his eyebrow at the attitude.

"What is so good about being with an old man like him?" Your ex triggered something inside you as you stood up and walked to them. You quickly swing a punch to their face as your breath ragged.

Your ex looked at you full of surprise as they tried to regain their control over their body while you watched them unamused. You quickly grab a cigarette with your lips and light it up.

"You promised me, you are not gonna smoke! I told you before if you smoke we are pretty much done!" Your ex screamed in anger. You huffed out the smoke out of your lungs as you started to relax. Your ex coughed a bit as you directed the smoke towards their face.

"Fuck you and your promises and your manipulation! You ruined my life! I'm done being manipulated by you! I am tired dealing with the thought of wanting to die with a bullet through my head because I have spent the rest of my life becoming your plaything!" You huffed harshly as tears streamed down your face. Your nails dig deeper into your palms as adrenaline pumped through your veins. 

Your ex looked at you full of surprise which made you annoyed as you started to strangle them with your power. Your ex starts to struggle. Logan carefully walked towards you and softly reached your balled fist. 

"Princess… let them go. It's not worth it." Logan calloused hands carefully opening your palm pulling your fingers away from your bloodied palms. A grunt rumbled out from your chest followed by a frustrating scream from you. Logan let out a sigh as he gently caressed your bloodied palm.

"The more you hurt them the more it shows you are no different from them. Come on, sweet thing. Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you." Logan leaned in as he whispered against your ear. One of his hands is still holding your bloodied one, refusing to let your hands go. His other hand grabs the cigarette stub between your lips before throwing it to the ground and stepping on it.

Sobs escaped your lips as you fell on your knees. But Logan is quick enough to pull you towards him. Finally he chose to cross the invincible line you both created. His arms protectively circling around your small frame as his eyes narrowed at the sight of your ex staring at you both. 

Logan carefully helps you sit down to your previous spot as you start to hug your knees and wail. Logan's heart aches at the sounds of your cry. He quickly walked back to your ex. Harshly he grabbed their collar pulling them with him.

"You did not disrespect my princess like that. Ever again. If I smell you even 10 miles away from here, I'll cut you to pieces." Logan throws your ex harshly to the ground. A growl rumbling from his chest. While your ex scrambled away. If it's not because you are busy crying yourself out, you probably will be all flustered when Logan calls you his princess. 

"Sweets, it's okay. They left already." Logan's voice is gentle as he puts his warm hand on your back. You looked up to see his face. Logan softly smiled as he tucked the stray hair away from your face. You whimpered before you tackled him to a tight hug.

"I don't know what to do without you, Lo." Your voice is hoarse from all the screaming and crying. Purrs rumbling from Logan's chest as he pulled you to sit on his lap. His hands protectively circled around you as he rocked your body gently.

"I'm always here for you, baby. Not gonna go anywhere to leave you alone." His words were spoken with a gentle voice making you at ease. Logan gently puts his palms under your thighs before carefully standing up. Letting you cling to him like a koala.

"Let's clean you up and rest." You nodded at Logan’s words. Letting the rugged man bring you back to your room and take care of you. The walk back to your room was covered in comfortable silence as your mind started to wander back to the scene just now.

“We’re here.” You blinked a couple times as you realized Logan sat you down on the bathroom countertop. His stare is soft as his hands gently cup your cheeks. Carefully Logan starts to clean your face with your makeup remover. He frowned a little when he noticed how dark your eyebags are. Gently kiss your eyelids as his hands still securely hold your cheeks. His actions bring you to tears as you never feel like you have been taken care enough when you are with your ex before.

You choked on your sobs as hiccups erupted from your throat every once in a while. Logan, opting to keep quiet as you finally are able to cry your heart out. Your trembling hands weakly hold on his shoulders as his hands now protectively circled around your waist. So many memories of you and your ex start to rush into your mind as your breath becomes irregular. Your eyes flickered fastly as you felt a panic attack start to creeped into your system. 

“Doll, look at me.” Logan’s voice is calm and collected as he holds your cheek with one of his arms while the other slips under your shirt. You force yourself to look at his eyes as you try to regulate your breath. 

“Tell me 5 things you can see, princess.” you blinked the tears away as you tried to get a better view of the bathroom. With a trembling voice you told him you see the almost emptied shampoo bottle, some rubber ducks you have, your loofah, his eyes, and his lips. He hummed as a soft smile creeped out on his face.

“Good girl, now what 4 things you can touch, baby?” you closed your eyes as your hand gently cupped his cheek. His rough beard gently scratches your palm, you feel the coldness of the bathroom countertop, your back feels the warmth of Logan’s palm, and lastly you feel his pulse on his chest.

“Attagirl, 3 things you can hear?” a soft sigh escapes your lips as you open your eyes again as you let yourself drown in his deep and gentle gaze . His calming voice, the soft hum of the bathroom vent, and water dripping from the faucet. 

“Good job, darling. A bit more. 2 things you can smell?” Logan gently encourages you. Your bathroom refresher, and his own scent engulfing you. You lean your body closer to him as you start to calm down from your panic attack.

“One thing you can taste?” Logan whispered as his face was an inch away from yours. You gulped down as you leaned closer to him. Your lips are right in front of his.

“I want to taste you.” you whispered against his lips before you softly kissed him. Logan’s hands immediately cupped your cheeks as he slotted himself better between your legs. 

You let out a sigh of relief through your nose as you can taste Logan in your mouth. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth as you pulled him impossibly closer. Your hands immediately circled around his neck. A groan escaped from Logan’s throat when you tugged on his hair. His calloused hands are now actively gripping your thighs.

You quickly tapped Logan’s back as you pulled away. Your breath is ragged as your face is flushed red. Logan, equally ragged breath stares at you lovingly. His hands are busy grabbing something from his pocket as you try to control your breath and your very fast heartbeat.

“Fuck it. Be mine, doll. Spend the rest of your life with me. Please, I'm begging you.” His words are desperate as you furrow your brows. You stare at him confusedly as you gaslight yourself that Logan didn’t mean what he said.

“What about Jean?” you confusedly asked Logan. The rugged man rolled his eyes before he pulled you to a more hungrier kiss. You gasped as Logan tugged your hair making you expose your neck. He quickly nipped at your neck as you shut your eyes and tried to hold back your moan.

“It’s always been you that I want, princess. Always you and never Jean.” he said with his lips against your neck. You choked out a gasp as Logan bit your neck. Leaving a very obvious bite mark on your skin before he licks your neck to ease the pain. 

“Do you… mean it?” your words are dripping with doubt. Logan pulled away from your neck and cupped your face. His forehead is against yours. 

“I mean it. I’ve been waiting for a long time but you keep going out with stupid people and get yourself hurt. I can take care of you better than any of your exes. Let me take care of you pretty girl.” His words are soft and secured as he grabs one of your wrist and clipped the bracelet you made last night. He carefully pulls your hand towards his lips and kisses your knuckles. His eyes never leave yours.

“I am yours, Lo. Always been yours.” Logan smiled as he pulled you closer. His hands skilfully peel off your clothes as he brings you out from your bathroom and towards your bed. Gently he lay you down as he nestled himself between your legs. 

“Let me show you how precious you are in my eyes, sweet thing.” he roughly whispered against your ears before he nipped at your neck again. Leaving you breathless as you let him show how much he craves for you.

[hoeforhao]

hi !! if it's alright may i request svt with a fem/gn reader with massive tits? like just how would the boys react (nsf/w or sfw is upto you :D) to a reader with the big naturals, which if you do this request tysm!! :D

well well y'all will never see me again after this post, cuz am literally embarrassed asf!!! also me writing about something i don't have??makes me sad ;(

Masterlist

Seungcheol: This man is a huge sucker for asses. Like he lives to bend you over and fuxk you deep. But little do people know, boobs are his secret weakness, and having someone with big naturals? You just know that he'll be using them as stress balls, pumping them like his life depends on it,everytime he's stressed from work; bury his face deep down into the pillows and fall asleep on his personal plushies.

Jeonghan: I somehow feel like he'll be more into smaller breasts, but that doesn't mean he won't be relishing your mounds to the max while his dick is buried deep inside of you. He is of the type to circle your clothed nipples with his slick fingers as you cook, only to end up enjoying the view of them all perked up as he eats his meal.

Joshua: He's such a softie when it comes to sucking the life out of your breasts. Like he would literally worship you while saying things like "I've never seen such full and gorgeous boobs angel. Ydk how badly I wait everyday to come back home and adore them". Also I feel like shua will have a slight mommy kink only when it comes to your breasts and doze off on your bosom like a child, if he's too tired and snore like an absolute baby.

Junhui: Another huge tease. But unlike jeonghan, he would be totally showy of how much he loves your big tits, cupping them at every chance he gets, buying you all white lacey lingerie with several slits, so that he can keep on getting a show of your bouncy cream pies all throughout the day, while brushing his cold fingers against the perked up buds every once in a while.

Soonyoung: I've got only one thing to say. He would literally run home to rub his sweaty face all over your bust, as soon as he finishes the group dance lessons; latching onto your nipples the whole time while you make his post practice smoothie.

Wonwoo: He would have you seated on his lap the entire time while he plays his silly little online games with his friends, squeezing your boobs for emotional support and twisting the stubs everytime he is even slightly close to losing ; earning low muffled moans from you that in turn act as his fuel to win.

Jihoon: This man is not at all that soft as he appears to be. He would have a separate space in his studio where he would tie you up with button vibrators on your nipples ; setting them to the highest speed as he creates his new masterpiece with your ecstatic moans as the bgm. After finishing his demo, he would come to your limp body drained from cumming multiple times, and roam his pale digits over the overly sensitive stumps while nurturing them with soft kisses.

Minghao: You're his biggest muse. He would call you anytime he feels artblocked; lathering the paint all over your breasts as he presses them onto the canvas to paint his brand new piece. What's a brush???!! He doesn't consider buying brushes and sponges for his art supply!! Why would he even, when he has your big milky tits for a sponge and the two perks as his brush.

Mingyu: HE IS SIMPLY OBSESSED WITH YOUR BOOBS. THAT'S IT!! Filling up your closet with blazers two sizes smaller than your bust, only so that he can see your breats pressed tightly against in each other in nothing but the long blazers, forming the most ravishing cleavage anyone has ever seen; as he takes you on a home dinner date and sucks onto his personal pacifier as the dessert later.

Seokmin: Would be pretty shy to admit how he loves the sight your boobs bouncing up and down as he fuxks the life out of you every night. It would literally take him an entire year worth courage to ask to play with your butter soft breasts,for the times he is out of you and once you agree, he would latch onto your skin like a slug.

Seungkwan: Again, a very coy boy, absolutely terrified of letting you know how crazy he is driven by your big pillows. Would love to peek at them while you take a shower, the droplets gracefully dripping down the bumps, wishing that it was his tongue slowly gliding down your nipples, instead.

Vernon: If you ask me, I feel like he would have a huge mommy kink. Pining to suck onto your milky teats everytime y'all go out, having you rush home early only to let your big baby play with his favorite toy, is a compulsory routine for him.

Dino: Don't even get me started on how much Chan loves the fact that his s/o has such big naturals. People would die to have such supple, juicy tits to feast onto every night and he gets it for free? A gift he would cherish his entire life. He might treat you like a whore in bed, but your boobs?Well, they're only his to worship and making sure he paints them red every night, is his biggest duty!!!

[jensengirl83]

At First You Don't Succeed

Dean x reader

Word Count-827

Warnings- language

Summary- Dean forgets the reader's birthday and he tries to make it up to her. But nothing he tries seems to go his way.

Y/N sat at the table in the kitchen, sipping her coffee. She was the first one awake, giving her some time alone and time to think. Dean had gotten back to the bunker very late and crashed. It had been a rough hunt, and she knew how those always seemed to take a toll on him. But she was still a little hurt. Yesterday had been her birthday, and he’d forgotten. 

“Morning, babe,” Dean’s voice rang out in the empty room. 

“Morning,” she mumbled, trying to hide the hurt in her tone. 

“What’s up?” he asked, knowing something was wrong. She was never that short with him. Especially when he had just returned from being away for over a week. 

“Nothin’. I’m good. Did you sleep well?” 

He lifted his brow in concern and confusion. He knew she was lying him, but he didn’t know what, or who, had bothered her. That was until he glanced down at his phone after he had poured his coffee. 

“Fuck!” he grumbled under his breath. 

He’d missed her birthday. 

“What?” she asked, hearing him mumble something. 

“Huh? Oh, nothing, babe. Just stubbed my toe,” he answered quickly, hoping she didn’t know he was lying, “I, uh, I’m going to go clean my guns.” 

He hastily made his way out of the kitchen before she could say anything. He didn’t want to get caught in his lie or see the look of disappointment on her face he knew would surely be there. He hated to make her sad or hurt her feelings, and he had done both for sure. He was going to make it up to her, beg her forgiveness, and hope they could salvage the day. What he didn’t know was nothing he had planned would work out in his favor at all. 

He had tried running her bath after leaving the kitchen that morning, only to get distracted while looking something up on his phone and the entire bathroom flooded with the overdrawn tub. The second thing he’d tried that day was making her lunch and bringing it to her in bed. The lunch part had gone fine until he was three feet from the bed, dropping the plate and spilling the food all over the floor. The giggle that left Y/N had made him mad for a second, but he would keep trying. 

Trying once again, he’d gone to buy her flowers. They didn’t have her favorites, so he  grabbed a bouquet of ones he thought she would think was pretty. Yet again, that had blown up in his face when he brought them home to her, reaching from behind his back, a proud grin on his face, to learn that she was allergic to that type of flower. With a huff of defeat and annoyance, he left to try one more thing. 

Y/N walked into the kitchen that evening, her jaw dropping at the hurricane of ingredients and utensils strewn around the room. It was a complete mess, but she couldn’t help but smile. Standing in the middle of the chaos was Dean, holding the cake he had made her. A shy smile on his face. 

“Uh,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was nervous, “I know it’s not pretty and it probably tastes like shit, but I tried. Hopefully this isn’t going to end like everything else I tried today.”

“Dean,” she sighed happily, walking over and cupping his face in her hands, “It’s perfect.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say perfect. I just hope you like it, sweetheart. And I’m sorry I forgot your birthday. I was just so tired from the hunt, and I just wanted to get home to you and…” 

She interrupted him, crashing her lips to his, pulling away to look at him. Damn, how she loved this man. Yes, he forgot her birthday, but he always carried the world on his shoulders. She really couldn’t be mad that he forgot, considering he’d always remembered every other time. As she looked at him, the little smirk on his face, she began to laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” He huffed, a little miffed that she was laughing at his attempt to make her birthday up to her. 

“I’m sorry, but Dean, you have to admit, all the failed attempts today are a little funny.” 

“I don’t think it’s funny,” he groaned, “I really tried to make it up to you, and nothing would go right.” 

“Aww, babe. You did make it up to me. The fact that you tried that hard, whether it failed or not, shows me that you care. That’s all that matters to me.” 

“Well, shit. If I knew that, I would’ve given up a long time ago,” he laughed when she swatted his arm, “Now, let’s eat this fugly ass cake, and then I’ll show you my last idea of how I’m going to make it up to you.”

[sluttynfemme]

𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗠𝗘 𝗛𝗢𝗧, 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗬

playboy butch x overachiever femme (pov)

You and Miron have an unspoken arrangement for Thursday nights.

Word count -> 5.9k

Contains: praise kink, derogatory praise, fingering, some light masturbation, strap-ons, slight dom/sub, stone butch/pillow princess, femme receiving all, substance use (marijuana), slight overstimulation, butch is called ‘Sir’

DO NOT INTERACT:

MEN, TERFs, ZIONISTS, and MINORS

The joint you smoked with Miron makes everything soft and hazy. At some point, one of you stubs its smoldering remains out and you migrate from the balcony to her bedroom.

Miron has tacked up multi-colored string lights over her bed and they cast an indigo hue over the plain comforter and walls. You throw yourself onto her bed and hum at the rush of Miron that overwhelms you—smoke, fresh linen, and cologne. It’s so very masculine and butch, and you want to roll around in it like a kitten with catnip.

She chuckles behind you and you feel the graze of fingers on your back thigh. The touch is fleeting. “Make yourself comfortable, princess,” she says.

You’re glad it’s dark because the pet name, even after all this time, still makes you blush.

When you turn your head and peer through your mess of hair, a new source of light bathes the room in white. Miron is fiddling with the TV remote, flipping through movies and shows. Nothing catches her attention, not even the tried and true action movies you know she loves.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch her scroll for a few more moments.

“Here,” you say finally. “Give it to me. There’s this anime I’ve been meaning to show you.”

Miron raises a dark eyebrow at you. From this angle, the crookedness of her nose is apparent. Not that you mind. You’ve always thought it made her more handsome. One too many fights, is what she told you when you asked.

“An anime?” she repeats skeptically. Her stupid British accent makes your gut twist with attraction. You’re horny and it makes you stupid. You swallow.

“Yeah.” You push yourself up further, coming to rest on your knees. “You’ll like it. Pretty colors, fight scenes, a hot girl or two. It’s your type.”

Miron has always been able to manipulate you like soft putty in her hands—but she isn’t the only one. You’ve been so good at getting her to do what you want. You’ve known each other for almost 6 months now and you know Miron’s greatest weakness is a pretty girl. It takes some coaxing and pouting, an adjustment to the way you sit so she can admire the length of your legs, but she caves.

You know she only agrees because she doesn’t think she’ll actually be paying attention to the screen. You can tell by the hungry way she looks at you. Most late night hangouts like this end the same way—with the takeout and television abandoned and you naked in her bed.

That’s okay. You know this when you tempt her. You have plans for Miron Sikkari.

With the anime chosen, the two of you settle into her bed. Miron goes first, placing one arm behind her head and beckoning you in with the other. Settled into her side, the smell you’d appreciated earlier is only stronger; warmth blooms in your gut as you find yourself wholly surrounded by it. A shiver trickles down the length of your spine and you sink deeper into Miron when it passes. It’s so hard to relax but Miron’s arms around you and the haze of marijuana leaves you no choice.

You rest your head on her shoulder, leg swung over her tattooed thighs, and you feel warm and safe tucked into her side. A quick glance up reveals that Miron is intently watching the show you picked. This makes you bite your bottom lip, holding onto the mirth.

“So?”

Miron glances at you from the corner of her eye, her mouth tugging into the shape of amusement.

“So?” she mimics.

You elbow her. “So, what do you think?”

“S’alright. You’ve got a point about the colors.” Her eyes move to focus on you and she grins, a flash of white in the dark. The internal screaming in your head grows louder; you consider yourself thoroughly charmed.

“The episodes are only 20 minutes long,” you supply, ever so helpful.

She laughs and you feel it vibrate through her chest. It’s a wonderful sensation, one you greedily want to keep to yourself. You’re not naive enough to think you’re the only girl Miron pays attention to but you hope you’re the only one who makes her laugh.

“That they are. But y’know, I’m starting to think this supposed ‘bad guy’ may have some points… Doesn’t hurt he’s a good lookin’ guy. They’re just jealous he’s got game and they don’t.”

You scoff but scoot in closer. “You’re missing the point… Keep watching.” And she does.

But now that you’ve thought about Miron laying in this bed with other girls, you can’t stop. You wonder if she plays with their hair like she’s playing with yours or if her hand likes to find the sensitive spot on their ribs just under their breast and rub circles. Your mind churns with the possibilities.

The feelings that accompany those possibilities are complicated. You think of the likely candidates to have made it to this bed and compare yourself to them.

You knew what you were asking for when you started fucking Miron Sikkari regularly. Among the large pool of sapphic people at your university, it’s well-known that Miron doesn’t do monogamous relationships. Hell, you all know that she just doesn’t do relationships, period. And still Miron has no trouble finding connections because you all also can’t resist the warmth of her charm.

To your credit, you’re her longest standing hookup outside of maybe Julia (god, you hate her) but you know that doesn’t mean much. To Miron, at least.

When Miron texts you at 10 o’clock on a weeknight, of course you answer. You know what she wants and you’re more than happy to give it to her. Even if you’re pining after her like every other queer girl on campus, the sex is worth the emotional hell.

God, the idea of Miron laying here touching other girls—girls you know, girls you’re friends with—the way she’s touching you right now doesn’t even make you sad; you’re just fucking angry, but at who?

Jealousy makes you stupid. Being horny does, too. They don’t combine well.

Miron is properly distracted by the show, so you decide now is a good time to make a move. With jealousy and need intertwining in your gut, you decide you’re done simply laying on her chest.

One of your hands is splayed over her stomach. The hem of her tee has bunched up over her hip, revealing a small triangle of smooth tan skin, and you slowly begin to inch your fingers towards it. Even in the winter, Miron manages to retain her gorgeous olive skin and you hate her just a little for it.

The pad of your thumb brushes over her hipbone and you feel her suck in the smallest of breaths. You’re sure she doesn’t even realize it. She’s still staring at the TV, watching colorful characters fight off an angry demon. You’ve seen this anime so many times you can’t even count so it’s easy to keep your attention on Miron.

You continue with small touches, light as you trail them from one hipbone to the other. As you do this, you note Miron’s responses. Her fingers splay against your side and her muscles shift and flex under you. When you run your thumb over the raise of her abdominal muscles, her breathing goes steady and controlled. Miron has always been affectionate, needy for touch in a way much different than your own. It’s one of your favorite things about her and you’re sure it’s what makes her so hard to resist. She’s just so good at making you feel special. Needed, even.

Your fingers brush over her happy trail, your thumb catching on the elastic of her boxers. Her hips twitch—fucking finally, you think—and her grip noticeably tightens.

“What happened to watching your show?” she asks in a low, scratchy voice, hands already beginning to roam.

“I’m bored,” you murmur into her neck. Trailing your nose from her collarbone to her jaw, you find the tender spot behind her ear and place a gentle, teasing kiss there.

“Bored?” She groans as you kiss her neck, peppering a few kisses at the base and paying special attention to other spots with your tongue. “Fuck. Then I suppose we’ll have to do something about that. I take my duties as host—ah, very seriously and I can’t have the guest of honor bored.”

You hum your agreement but continue focusing on the task at hand. There’s a spot you know she particularly likes but finding it is always tricky. You drag your tongue along her skin and nip at the flesh under her jaw. The arm Miron had tucked behind her head comes around and now there are two hands on you, roaming and grasping at your sides, your waist, the nape of your neck.

Purposefully, you suck hard on a spot near her carotid. You pause, soothe it with your tongue before you latch with your lips again. You lay claim to this expanse of Miron’s neck and wickedly hope it deters any other girls she might approach throughout the weekend. Fingers lace through your hair and grip your curls close to your skull.

A whine escapes you and you pant against her. She hasn’t even touched you and yet her attention, the anticipation of being under her microscope, excites you.

Suddenly, those two strong hands are on your waist and you’re being tugged on top to straddle her hips. Miron is firm and warm beneath you and you take a moment to admire her. The details of her features are lost in the dim lighting but you see the angle of her jaw, the shadow of her grin, the glint of something hard in her eyes. There’s something so incredibly butch about her in this moment and it makes you throb with want.

One hand remains on your hip. The other reaches up under your shirt to cup your breast, thumb over the barbell of your piercing, and then her mouth is on yours, hot and persistent.

Miron has always kissed you like this—a little forceful, dominating as she slips her tongue in your mouth and stakes a claim. She’s insistent but methodical, an expert of her craft. You suck on her bottom lip and she kisses you harder.

The hand on your hip begins to guide you, encouraging the rock of your hips as your arms come over her shoulders and you lose yourself in Miron’s kiss. You’re still high and this only makes you dizzier. Her fingers dig into the flesh between your thigh and hip and you moan into her.

When she twists and pulls at your nipple, toying with the piercing mindlessly, you whine openly. Miron pulls away because she likes to watch you. Sometimes you like to put on a show, exaggerating the hitch of your breath and slow roll of your hips. Right now, though, you’re uncontrolled and wild. Your eyes squeeze shut because it just feels so damn good. She rubs circles on your hips and toys with your piercings and fuck you just can’t fucking think straight because you just feel so much.

You lean against her, face pressed into her shoulder. Miron has ignited an unignorable need inside you and you need her to do something to cool the fire before it consumes you. You don’t want to be an overstimulated mess but then again you and Miron probably have different objectives.

“Fuck,” Miron murmurs against you. “You’re pretty like this. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”

You’re so bad with words when you get like this and she knows it. Any other day, any other time, you could match her charm with something at least partially intelligent.

Right now, all you manage is a breathy little moan. Miron chuckles and grabs the meat of your ass. “Just a perfect princess, aren’t you?”

You nod against her. You are, aren’t you? This you believe in wholly.

That’s one thing you know you hold over the girls Miron might see. None of them are stone, none of them are you.

Even with as diverse a queer population as your university has, you and Miron are two of only a handful of stone lesbians on campus.

You know Miron enjoys the random girls’ company but you are different. She knows you’ll never ask to reciprocate or touch her. You are happily content to be fucked sideways until she is tired and done. This, you know from experience, takes quite some time. You take it gladly. Do they?

Miron flips you on to your back and there her fingers are, tugging at the sides of your pants. She’s honed in on you, her gaze raking over your form. You lift your hips for her and she takes off your pants without much effort. You not so subtly tug at the hem of her shirt.

“Off,” you say.

“Bossy tonight, then.”

You roll your eyes.

Miron kneels between your legs. Like this, her tattoos stretch across her sculpted, muscled thighs and you see the mouth of a tiger stretch over her knee.

When she takes her tee off, leaving her in a tight fitted sports bra, you see even more beautiful skin inked with tattoos of all shapes and sizes. You’ve sat and studied them before and your favorite is the barking doberman on her calf. From this angle, you can best view the dragon on her abdomen, done in heavy black. The scales and claws flow with the muscle, beautiful art on a beautiful body. Miron wears her physique and her tattoos like armor, one she is unwilling to remove.

Before she can ask, you reach for the bottom of your shirt and begin to pull it up. Miron, of course, assists you in this, ever the gentleman. She tosses it away.

This leaves you splayed beneath her in your underwear. Miron devours the sight of you, raking her eyes from your open thighs to your heaving chest, and you feel even wetter. Almost like she knows, Miron looks to the growing damp spot on your panties and you see the ghost of her smile. The television, completely forgotten, illuminates her from the back and casts her in shadow; it defines the swell of her biceps and width of her shoulders and you want to desperately wrap your legs around her waist.

“Look at you,” she says. Her eyes are hooded, dark with desire. One of her hands rests on your lower stomach and her thumb strokes the skin just under your navel. “I love getting you like this, you know. I bet you’re soaked and I haven’t even touched you.” With the other hand, she reaches down and runs a knuckle over you. It takes every ounce of your willpower not to shudder and whine. “Of course you are. You’re just a whiny, needy slut. So good for me.”

This breaks you. A strangled sound escapes your throat and you reach for her. “Miron, “ you whine. “Miron, don’t tease me.”

“Oh, but that’s my favorite part, sweetheart.”

She runs her knuckle over you a few more times, just enough that your hips have started squirming and you’ve started panting like a bitch in heat. You press your palms into your eyes and endure the torture.

She teases you mercilessly, stroking you over your panties and occasionally pressing her thumb into your clit. At some point, she leans over and kisses your stomach, peppers them over your rib, and makes her way to your nipples where she sucks one into her mouth and continues to toy with you.

Miron always pays such special attention to you and you love it.

Finally, when she’s satisfied, you feel her hands at your hips again and you immediately lift them. She pulls your panties off easily and the frustrating tension in your body only increases.

“Miron,” you gasp. “Please. Please touch me.” You’ve never been ashamed to beg.

“Look at me,” she says. You do.

She holds your gaze as she dips one finger into your cunt. Your breath catches as she runs a finger up your slit, gathering your cum and pausing to roll your clit between her fingers. She wants to know how swollen you are; she wants to know how far she can push you. Whatever she finds there pleases her because she lets out a low groan.

You jerk when she jerks her thumb over it and she laughs cruelly above you. “Poor baby… So sensitive. How do you want me?”

You struggle to answer, mind foggy with weed and desire, so she pauses her ministrations.

“Answer me, princess,” she repeats, firm.

“Fuck, ah. I-I want you hard. Please make me cum. I wanna come.” When she doesn’t return to touching you, you continue babbling. “I want you hard and fast. I want to come around you. Fuck, please. Please, Sir. Make me cum.”

Miron shudders and you know you’ve just said the magic word. Sir.

She doesn’t answer right away. She pauses just long enough that you notice it and you want to burst out of your skin.

Finally—

“Good girl.”

Miron pushes one finger in and you shudder, gasping as she quickly enters you. She isn’t kind, only momentarily checking to see if you can accommodate a second finger. You’re just a stupid slut, so of course you can. She inserts another and adjusts so she can pump into you. Miron is hard and rough with your cunt but she’s thorough, moving slowly and deliberately.

You writhe around her, whimpering and squirming as you struggle to decide if it’s too much or too little.

“Hold still.”

This is an impossible task for you and she knows it; her hand, large enough that it covers most of your lower stomach, moves to hold you down. Miron is so very much stronger than you which is why she doesn’t hold it against you when you only continue to squirm, bucking into her hand. Pinned in place, she fucks you just like you asked. The feeling is exquisite, perfect, and all-consuming.

You bite down on your fist to hold back the guttural moans as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Stop that,” Miron says and punctuates it with a punishing curl of her fingers. The sound you make is pathetic. “I wanna hear you. Go on. Let me hear you, princess.”

You remove your gag and, secure in the knowledge that you’ve been given permission, you cry out. The sounds you begin to make originate deep in your chest, scrape along the back of your throat as you grip the sheets and sob.

“Fuck,” you say. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“There it is. God, you’re fucking perfect. Look at you, so needy,” she croons. Pieces of her short, dark hair have fallen across her forehead and her brow is pinched in concentration. “Do you want to cum for me?”

“Yes,” you say. “Yes, yes, yes.”

You can feel that pressure building behind your navel and you know the orgasm will ruin you. Distantly, you still hear Miron speaking; she’s coaching you through it now, soothing you through the violent torrent of sensation. Her gentle words do not match the pace she’s set, stretching you around three fingers and digging into the spongy spot just inside your cunt. Your back arches and every muscle in your body coils so tight you think you might die. You feel yourself pulse around her and your breath catches.

“Then be a good girl and cum for me.”

The orgasm spills over you and you moan in relief. Your fingers and toes tingle; the tension finally dissipates. You ride her hand through the aftermath and she praises you for your endurance.

Miron pulls her fingers free and you whine at the loss. You watch as she places them in her mouth and cleans them, one digit at a time. You’re selective about when you allow her to put her mouth on you, so she always takes a moment to savor the taste of you.

She swears. “You taste so fucking good,” she says and you flush. Horny and stupid, you think.

You lay against the array of pillows, disoriented as you catch your breath. Miron moves from between your thighs, kissing your stomach but avoiding the spots she knows are too sensitive, and comes to lay beside you. She places another brief kiss on your temple, covers your naked body with a blanket, and plays with your hair for a minute or two.

“You’re always so mean,” you finally say. You don’t mean it.

Miron grins. “You like it,” she replies, and she’s right. You rest your eyes; you deserve it.

Even though she has just thoroughly ruined your pussy—you still feel yourself dripping on your thighs—you want more and you know she does too. Miron, who has been hyper-aware of the ‘predatory lesbian’ stereotype since you met her, always waits for you to ask for more.

You appreciate this about her; that she gives you the space to choose, even if she’s never given you reason to worry. You like that even though you know she’s starving for more, she never pushes for it.

Through your daze, you smell smoke. Sweet and musky, you peek open an eye. Miron has summoned another joint and lit up.

You shift, turning to face her. She’s watching you, mindlessly running her thumb over your temple. Smoke drifts from her mouth towards the running ceiling fan. She’s so handsome and your brain screams at you as your heart skips a beat. You know this is so stupid of you. You need to break it off soon, before she breaks your heart, but that is a problem for another day.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly.

“Hello,” she replies and takes another hit. There’s mirth in her eyes that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Can I have some?” You pout a little bit and that makes her laugh.

“I don’t know… what’ll you give me for it?”

You narrow your eyes; Miron stares back, smug. Leaning over, you kiss her. You snake your arms around her neck and slip your tongue in her mouth. She tastes like smoke and she hums against you, seeking more. It’s no surprise when she attempts to slot her knee between your thighs; you almost let her.

With Miron distracted, you steal the joint and scoot away. She snorts and you take a hit. The burn in your throat is pleasant and familiar. As you take in another hit, Miron’s hands slip under the blanket and come around your waist. Her fingers are cold against your skin but you sigh into her. You don’t feel like bratting with her tonight. Silently, you offer her the joint over your shoulder and bring it to her lips when she accepts. The cherry glows red and Miron lets out a small cough to clear her throat.

You two smoke the second joint, ashing it in a cute tray shaped like a slice of pepperoni pizza. Miron only has to reach over you to get to it and her long, athletic arms make that very easy.

Miron leaves the roach smoking in the tray and you watch the thin lines of smoke rise to the ceiling. The smell of weed has become something of a comfort to you and you press yourself into Miron as you let it envelope you.

She nuzzles into your neck and you hum. The kisses she places on you are open-mouthed, and somewhere not too far from your collarbone, she leaves a hickey.

You stretch into her, relish in her warmth and the pleasure and the weed. It doesn’t take much, just a few kisses on the corner of your jaw as she rubs slow circles on your ribs, before you’re moaning again.

You know she won’t touch you anywhere until you ask. And while you don’t mind begging, there’s a part of your brain that is forgetting language and becoming a creature of need. It slows you down and Miron doesn’t like to wait. She bites your shoulder and her fingers pause their ministrations.

It takes you a few deep breaths to float back to your body. Miron is so still behind you, waiting.

“More,” you whine; your fingers dig into the bed. “I want more.”

She hums against you. “Good,” she says softly against your skin. Her fingers crawl inward from your hip and brush against your inner thigh. She finds you smeared all over yourself. “Fuck. You’re so fucking good for me, princess. C’mere. Open up.”

Strong arms pull you flush to her chest. Your head tips back. With one arm under you, she easily reaches your chest to play with as the other continues toward your ruined pussy.

When her fingers dip back into your mess, you mewl and jerk against her hand. Miron gently hushes you, runs her thumb over your nipple, and soothes you as she coaxes an orgasm out of you. She takes such care and time with this one, carefully riding the line of overstimulation with your clit.

You embarrass yourself, rutting and crying against her. Miron praises you for how good you are but you don’t believe her; she encourages you, coaches you through your breathing, and you fail to listen. You pant and grow frustrated with yourself.

You want to cum, you don’t want to disappoint her, you want a million things and all of them feel entirely out of reach. Orgasms like this don’t come easily to you and you don’t think you’re worth the time, but Miron is viciously determined. You want to tell her I can’t but the words won’t come. You know she would just say Yes, you can anyway.

Instead you make incoherent, babbling noises. Miron huffs into your shoulder, a small laugh as her lips curve into a smile against your skin. You squirm too hard and Miron slows her pace, reducing pressure. You go too still and she adjusts the pace as she massages your clit.

You’re not worth the effort but Miron gives it to you. When you cum for the second time, your moan stops in your throat. You cum silently, arched against her, and she holds you tightly as you spasm against her. The orgasm is a wave you ride out. Purple and blue lights dance behind your eyes.

When you stop twitching and you aren’t heaving and whimpering, she grabs your chin and makes you look over your shoulder at her. Her yellow eyes, hooded with desire and intoxication, search your face. “Do you have one more in you or are you done?”

You’ve been fucking consistently for almost three months now. Miron knows your limits and body well enough to know when you can’t take anymore—when you’re too fucked out to make a good judgement call. You, though you’re very close, haven’t quite reached that point.

You nod but that’s not enough for her.

“Say it,” she orders, her gaze piercing. She’s looking for signs that you’re not okay, but she finds none. Her attentiveness makes you feel safe with her.

“I have one more in me.” For good measure, you add: “Sir.”

Satisfied, she peels away from you and sits up. You close your eyes and rest while you can. Miron rummages around the room a bit and you hear the rustle of fabric. A part of you knows what’s coming and the anticipation is excruciating.

Miron has one drawer of her dresser dedicated to her various cocks. The colors and sizes vary, from a monstrous flesh-toned cock she’d received as a gag gift to a practical 5-inch magenta piece. You know she also keeps nipple clamps, silk rope, and flavored condoms right along side the organized basket of vibrators, all of which she keeps meticulously clean. Your favorite, the one she says she keeps for you, is long and black and stretches you wide open. But that’s not why you like it so much. It’s clearly Miron’s favorite too because you’ve felt the difference in the way she moves. You tried one other cock with her and hadn’t tried again; with the black strap, she moves like it’s an extension of her body, a real cock that she can feel you pulse around.

When she comes back to you, she touches a hand to your hip. You open your eyes and there she is above you, rubbing her cock with her left hand as she spreads lube over silicone. Cool fingers enter you as she mixes lube with your cum for safe measure—her cock is big but she always makes sure you’re ready for it.

“On your hands and knees,” she orders softly.

You adjust your position and rest your cheek on a pillow, arms stretched in front of you. The bed dips behind you as she takes her place and a pair of hands adjusts you, angling your hips to better take the brutal fucking coming your way.

“Now,” she says and the steel in her voice makes you quiver. She massages your ass and you feel yourself dripping. “If it’s too much, you’re going to use that word we talked about, yeah? Do you remember what that is?”

You comply, even if it makes you feel a little silly to say it aloud. “Strawberry.”

“And if you can’t speak?”

“Five taps on the bed… or on you.”

“Good girl,” she says and that’s when you feel her.

Compliance has earned you the thing you want most.

The head runs up and down your slit and its unexpected sensation makes you moan into the bed. She’s merciless with her teasing and when you moan too quietly, she brings her hand down hard on your ass. You yelp, but revel in the sting.

“That’s pathetic, princess. We both know you can do better.”

You don’t bother with a response. She doesn’t want your words; she wants obedience.

You feel the head at your entrance before its removed again, which makes you mewl. She runs a knuckle over the swollen length of your cunt, takes a nice look at you.

The sight of your pussy and the red palm print forming on your ass must be driving her insane. You know her wants just as well as she knows yours, so you know it’s especially cruel when you reach between your legs and use your pointer and middle finger to expose yourself. You expose the swollen nub of your clit and spread your labia so she can watch how you clench around nothing.

Miron sucks in a breath and goes so very still behind you. She’s entranced as you touch yourself. You make little noises for her, tiny sounds of pleasure because you want to drive her crazy. You want to see the control she holds over herself snap because she deserves to feel good too.

And it does snap. The head of her cock presses into you, stretching you wide, and she doesn’t stop until her hips are flush against you. The size alone has you groaning and clawing at the bed, the pressure intense and painful and delicious.

Miron kindly waits for you to adjust and experimentally moves her hips, dragging her cock out… and then pushing it back in.

You keen into the pillow, cursing and whimpering to yourself as she sets a pace. Hands position your knees just right and pull you up at the waist; they rest at your hips. Though she’s panting above you, the way she pulls in and out of you is intentional. Maybe it’s a punishment for teasing her so rudely.

You don’t really fucking care. It feels so good that you can’t think about anything else. Trying to survive the pleasure she inflicts upon you is your first priority.

So you rut and hump against her, pressing your ass against her hips and gasping when her cock reaches the deepest part of you. The sounds you make are no longer moans or groans or sighs of pleasure. You are animalistic. She’s stripped you to the nerve and peeled you open to reveal your honest wants.

No hiding, no shame, no fear of retaliation, you let her fuck you and you stop holding onto your responsibilities. They don’t matter. Not right now, not when she shifts her hand up and presses you deeper into the bed. She’s groaning your name, calling you pretty and telling you how goddamn stupid you make her. She puts you where she needs you and you trust her when she does. You know all she wants to do is make you cum, make you feel so good, and wouldn’t it be so cruel to take that from her?

You cry as her cock rubs against every inch of you. There’s a pulse building inside you and you want to give yourself over to it. Fingers dig into your skin. A mouth at the top of your spine across your shoulders. You whimper and beg for more.

Teeth and nails and the sting of impact on your ass make you cry harder. She pulls on your hair and you groan deep in your chest, rolling your hips in time with hers.

“Fuckkk, look at you. Look how pretty, such a good girl for me. My pretty little slut. Are you going to cum? I want you to cum, princess.”

You nod and babble and promise whatever they ask. Anything. Anything to cum, anything to relieve the agony of your orgasm.

Their lips travel your skin and leave a scorching path in their wake. Lips and touch and sensation overwhelm you.

“I wanna cum,” you babble. “Make me cum, please, I need to cum. Make me cum, please. Fuck, Sir. Sir, please I need it. I need it please.” The words tumble from your mouth. “I want you to cum inside me.”

The final slam of their cock—and you fall apart beneath them. Your orgasm escalates into a full-body experience and so every cell in your body explodes with release when you cum.

You come to… later. You’re not sure how long, but you’ve been moved onto your back and the mess between your legs is being cleaned up with something warm and damp. You moan, reaching for the person who hovers above you. This place where the pleasure is too great and you cannot speak leaves you vulnerable but you trust this person. They’ve never left you alone and cold before, so you trust that when you reach, they will come.

Warmth wraps around you and you nuzzle into the source, wrapping your arms around it tight. Hands stroke your cheek, draw shapes onto your shoulders, and slowly untangle the greater knots in your hair.

It takes you an hour to gather your wits. Miron lays with you, offering you water and cracking bad jokes as you regain your words and judgement. When you’re ready, you put your clothes back on and she walks you to the door. She waits on the landing of her apartment as you walk to your car and waves goodbye when you get inside and settle in.

You swallow and wave back, watching the broad shape of her back and shoulders disappear. You sit there in the silence, feeling tired and sticky.

Miron will text you again next Thursday night, as she always does. You don’t have a lab and she has an opening in her schedule that she leaves wide open for you. You might play dumb for thirty minutes, leave her on read for a while just to be mean, but you’ll be back.

Of course you’ll be back.

[anandsteelsblogs]

What Are the Key Features of Stub End Type A?  | Anand steels

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[mrsackermannx]

˚ ༘ *ೃ༄ ❝ COME BACK TO ME…❞

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ summary: gojo’s been plotting to get you back ever since you broke up.

୨୧ word count: 4.7k

୨୧ content: gojo satoru/reader, smut, no-curses au/office au, infidelity, exes to lovers, afab reader, light angst (strategic marriage/ breakup mentions), praise kink, porn with plot, love confession, overstimulation, pet names (baby, sweetheart etc), creampie, pussy-slapping, squirting, sprinkle of degradation, slight exhibitionism.

୨୧ author’s note: gojo brainrot finally gave way to some writing hehe, still getting used to characterising him so feedback is appreciated angels <3

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

"Don't shit where you eat," they say. They say that dating your colleague is never going to end well. However, even the most stoic people have a penchant for such relationships, not to mention the secret hopeless romantics. 

Workplace romances can make even affairs appear heartwarmingly wholesome. After all, there was something about trudging up stair after stair when the elevator was too full to them smiling at you just a desk away. Their voice fond as they offer you a sunny "Good morning."

That person who never forgets your favourite vending machine coffee, who pats your shoulder and tells you 'you're doing your best,' who lends you their umbrella, who opens up to you over a beer after overtime. Who notices when you get a haircut, whose eyes are seldom on their computer screen but on your lips. 

Not that you'd ever been unfaithful, not yet. But you'd heard countless stories. Girls talk, after all. You didn't judge, yet the point was although workplace romances could be wholesome and even sexually thrilling. They were sensational and exciting until they were over. 

Until that person no longer stays with you through overtime, bitter memories of you chugging vending machine coffee, swapping candy and chips together and then spit just like you and Gojo always did. You definitely never told anyone how many times you fucked on the desks of the colleagues you both thought sucked, especially not after you'd broken up.

You were together for a while, and although you couldn't say it out loud because it was still too painful, you missed him. A lot. In fact, you spent most nights, fist screwed up at your sides, eyes blurring in the darkness, questioning if there would always be that void he left that no one could ever fill.

Though, breaking up didn't cause the type of animosity that made people scurry from rooms when you interacted. Instead, it confused the hell out of your colleagues. It hadn't even been half a year since, and you and Gojo didn't appear to hate each other at all.

But the pain lingering in your heart ached and was annoying and inconvenient, like a stubbed toe that felt sore and tender for weeks and weeks—but in your case, months. However, Gojo was hardly being subtle with his efforts to ever so secretly win you back at every opportunity. He didn't mind playing the long game. He was going to be your last. 

All of you at the company came from important families in high social circles, marriage and dating. Love. It often came down to strategy, which was the only reason you were dating Miyano Haru, a Kyoto University graduate! CEO of a cybersecurity company! 

Guilt gripped at your gut as you yawned at the thought. 

Your families were shooting for a marriage ceremony during next year's cherry blossom season. But until then, Gojo wasn't slamming the brakes anytime soon. 

Whether that be surprising you with your favourite lunches, leaving tickets for movie screenings, galleries, or museums on your desk, or sending Google calendar invites to restaurant reservations or spa appointments via your work emails across the office floor. With sweet messages like,

Gojo Satoru has sent a "Spa day pamper package for two for this Friday.”

Surprise! You look tired this week baby. Let's go here Friday, yeah? 

Ps: You still look pretty, though. 

Just like you were still fucking dating. 

So today, when you're pitching a marketing idea in the monthly meeting, and Yaga cuts you off. Gojo cannot help himself. 

Yaga was a great man, someone Gojo was grateful to for many reasons, but fuck was this man old-fashioned and unaware of it. He refused to see your potential because he was eternally sceptical of the efficacy of women's ideas.

But you had the best ideas today. Gojo smiled because your ideas were always the best and that’s why this decision was so easy. He could fondly recall your rants about Yaga after every monthly meeting where you'd complain about his blatant misogyny; even Sukuna would let a reluctant chuckle loose to the show. 

All of you in the canteen at your table, Shoko, Utahime, Nobara and Maki at your side, growing passionate about gender pay gaps and audacious men at your company and then the world over. 

Nanami always said the right thing, and so did Higuruma, Yuuta and Choso. Gojo decidedly took the credit for Megumi being so eloquent and respectful. Inumaki was outrageous at times, and Yuuji was a lover of all people and argued fiercely for both sides. 

Those times were always fun. 

Yaga peered over his glasses, "Why don't you expand again on how you plan to execute this idea, Reader?” 

With one hand typing idly at his laptop and the other seating his chin, Gojo sighed so loudly all the eyes in the room cast to him. "Reader obviously has the best pitch for this project." 

He grinned as Yaga's knuckles grew white and he humphed before his voice sharpened, "So, are we really gonna make her explain it again?"

"For once, even I agree with him," Toji added.

Gojo winked as he looked up at you, and you felt yourself melt a little, even under the icy breeze of the conference room's AC. 

Megumi, Yuuji and Nobara huddled together under the oppressive communication Gojo and Yaga's eyes were engaging in. 

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, "So, what are you waiting for? Give her the project."

Nanami offered you a small smile and nodded before his expression soured, and he spoke before Yaga could open his mouth to protest. "I, for once, also agree with Gojo. I think we should open this pitch up for a vote?" 

Choso raised his arm, "Me too. I think it's just what we need, in fact." 

Maki nudged Yuuta and Inumaki before confidently booming, "I volunteer our assistance on the project!"

Albeit a little flustered, you bowed and thanked the room as Yaga reluctantly signed the dream project of the company to you. Sure, you were ecstatic you'd finally been recognised for your hard work and dedication, but you wanted to kill Gojo.

What didn't help was the aggressively obvious effect he had on you still. Sure, you had a new boyfriend, but Gojo didn't care. So that's why you found yourself lingering outside of his office door at 9pm because you knew he wouldn't care one bit. Like that man ever did overtime, you tsked. 

Gojo had been playing a game with you, knowing you'd finally relent, that you'd come to your senses and stop denying yourself of what you really fucking wanted. "Be selfish."

Everybody you'd asked today had told you he'd stayed in his office all day. So yeah, he really was doing this on purpose. His light was on, and he was baiting you, and you hated how easy it was for you to take it.

You knew he wanted you to barge in there, all flustered and mouthy, so he could shove you to your knees and fuck your throat open. 

Your boyfriend Miyano was sweet, he could talk about his feelings, and he didn't run away from emotional intimacy like others had. Like Gojo always had. But your family had set you up with him even though your shattered heart was still just that. Shattered. Your heart had been reduced to fragments— to a puzzle that only one genius could solve, he wasn’t prepared to give anybody guidance in the matter either. After all, geniuses couldn’t explain how to do the things they found easy. 

And although you were the one that ended things with Gojo, it hurt all the same. 

There was nothing wrong with Miyano per se. He came from a respectable family, one your family could bear you marrying into; though the Gojo clan would have been amazing, the Miyano clan wasn't terrible either. 

But you never wanted your family to arrange a relationship or marriage for you. You fell for Gojo instantly and hard. You loved him like you never loved anybody else. He thrilled you, challenged you, and made it seem like the world was too small for you both and that you could see it all when you stood at his side. He made everything and every day exciting but had the vexing ability to make you feel safe and at home all the same.

Gojo Satoru was irreplaceable in every facet of the word, in his work, friendships, and relationships. As fickle as he could appear, he was the first to call in a crisis and someone you could wholeheartedly depend on.

But Miyano was sweet and emotionally forthcoming but…entirely too normal. You didn't yearn to peel back his layers one by one and didn't care much for his childhood stories, unpopular opinions, or core principles. But you treasured the few times you’d sat with Gojo, pestering him to tell you anything deeper, anything that no one else knew. Watching with sparkling eyes as his voice grew so quiet you had to follow his lips until your eyes blurred instead. 

But it was rare he shared anything too personal with you. He had trouble with it more than most. Some nights, although you were sleeping in the same bed, you felt miles apart. 

Gojo had a wall with everybody else, like a layer of infinity that meant nobody could really touch him or delve deeper. They only saw and knew the surface that reflected back to them like a mirror. No one could truly ever get close. 

But it wasn't supposed to be the case for you, was it?

A fond and familiar laugh yanked you from your reverie, "Did you come to thank me? Because you can thank me by going to dinner with me tomorrow."

How was he larger than the door frame? You all but scowled as he leant down and tapped his cheek. "I also accept kisses as a form of repayment if you're willing," he said silkily, a jaunty grin on his lips at your expression. “With interest.” 

Your shoulders slumped, and you huffed, wilfully ignoring the growing heat ping-ponging between your bodies. "Why did you do it?" Your brows knotted, "I wanted to get it on my own, Satoru. And my pitch was strong enough. I didn't need your help."

He threw his hands up and yawned obnoxiously, smoothing the back of his hair down, "Well, what can I say? I'm a doer, not a talker."

You huffed, “No, I'm sure you're always talking."

"You got me there, but" he checked either side of the corridor before he looped his arm around your waist and yanked you into his office. “Game over.” 

"Satoru, I-" Your voice fell into a whimper as he flipped you against his door, his lips ghosting your earlobe as he caged you in. 

"Maybe it's because I know you like to hear my voice," he whispered. "I know you like being talked through it. And, I know you didn’t need my help, we just needed a little push.” 

We needed a final straw. 

You swallowed, fists clenched at your sides as his body suffocated yours. Heat quickly crawled up your cheeks as his large hands slid slowly down your sides, the familiar smell of his cologne igniting memories from the last times you smelt it so closely. Kissing down his throat, across his collarbones-

"What are you doing?" You finally mustered, your voice a breathless squeak. Seconds passed, and the tension blazed and kindled, refusing to be extinguished into silence. You didn't dare turn around to see him enjoying you like this.

"Nothing, nothing you don't want me to do," he said in a lilting voice, hitching the hem of your skirt up half an inch. "You've always been so vocal, so I doubt you'd lose your voice in a time like this, would you?"

"No," you hissed, curbing any further speech in case you fucking stammered.

"Don't worry though, baby. You're easy," he scoffed, "and you never stay quiet, not with me.” 

“Oh fuck you.” You gasped as he shoved his knee between your thighs to part them.

“Oh I will. But if that wimpy boyfriend of yours is doing his job, then I shouldn’t find your panties soaked in a minute, should I, princess?" 

A breath passed, and then he hitched it up a little further, resting his chin on your shoulder to taunt you more. "I see the way you look at me, baby. I know you and that look in your eyes. It tells me all I need to know, princess."

His hand caressed your quivering thighs, brushing your stomach and pausing at your chest. He gripped one breast before the other before it settled upon your throat, and he tipped your head back. 

His lips travelled down your temple, to your cheek, and to your neck, where he spoke, "Hm? Ignoring me isn't quite your style. Isn't that why you came here today?”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, and then you knew you were truly fucked. Watching as he pulled away with a grin spreading as slow and molten as melted chocolate. 

"I know you wanna kiss me," he whispered, blue eyes alight when you turned and showed him the blown-out lust glazing your eyes. "There we go, baby, that's it. Gonna kiss me?"

You nodded, already too far gone. His hand cupped the back of your head, and he met you halfway in a slow, sensual kiss. 

Your fronts drew together, and he shimmied up your skirt until it became a corset. Then he cupped your cunt, the pads of his fingers trailing feather light. Your vision hazed, and your fists curled tighter into his shirt. 

Your features were contorted beautifully with lust. "Do not tease me right now." 

He laughed as you scowled, his heart aching. He'd missed you so damn much.

"Oh? Want me to rub your pussy, baby?" he cooed, long fingers smearing the slick oozing through your panties.

"Now I know what you fucking came for,” he groaned breathily into your lips, waiting for your sign to continue. Your panties were the door, and his dumbing teasing movements were tentative little knocks. But he knew you liked to be stripped bare and fucked like you were his. This was just the final round of his game. 

You bucked your hips forward, needing more, needing him. You clung to him, tugging on his tie, "Satoru, Satoru, more, please," you whimpered through his kisses.

"I only satisfy what's mine, but you're not mine anymore, are you, sweet girl? So what can I do? Nothing."

You eagerly shook your head in protest, on your tip toes, just to drag your mouth down his jaw and neck. "Even though this needy pussy is leaking all over my fingers, responding to me like I own her," he tutted, "but I don't, do I? Pretty girl."

You made a noise half-whimper, half-growl, palming him through his pants until he hissed and then broke his feigned amusement from just how much you were riling him up. "I am yours, Satoru, always, always," you panted.

"I know that baby, but I need to know if she still is." He yanked your panties up so roughly the fabric strained against your clit and made you moan so lewdly you quickly covered your mouth.

"Needy girl," he said lowly before he drew his hand back and slapped your pussy. You moaned even louder, falling weakly into his chest. But you hardly fell far, as he grabbed your face in one hand and leant close.

"You like it when I slap your needy little pussy like this, baby?" His smile moved a millimetre as your eyes darted to his long, pretty fingers. "Want me to bury my fingers inside it till you come too? So you can stop being so needy?"

"Please, Satoru." 

"Then show me, show me how much you want them," he whispered, eyes shooting down between you both as he started to circle your clit, not daring to touch it. 

"Show me you're dying for it, and we can forget about all of this mess, can't we? You've just gotta show me who knows this pussy best.” The growing gravel in his voice turned the words into ragged commands.

In raptured submission, you yanked aside your panties and guided his fingers, back arching against the door as you ran them back and forth against your soaked cunt. Your breaths finally flew fluidly through the air, like his touch was what your body needed to convert the carbon dioxide. 

His jaw grew slack at the sight of you, getting yourself off on his fingers, clumsily rubbing your swollen clit against his fingertips, breaths huffing from your nose in the exertion. 

He leant into the beautiful image of you, moaning in your ear as your slick drowned his fingers. The slick wet sounds of your cunt as you run them back and forth, rapidly unravelling him.

"Look at me," he demanded, plunging two of his fingers knuckle deep until it squelched when you didn’t comply in seconds. You let out a humiliating whimper. The pleasure of the sudden yet sweet stretch danced through every nerve.  

He grinned, fucking his fingers inside, “You look so pretty like this, I should take a photo.”

"I can't…." You couldn't speak, not when his fingers were relentless inside like this, clenching and fluttering as he bullied that spot inside you.

But his name was a never-ending hot, sweaty mantra.

"Trying to give me scraps, huh? But you're mine," he spat. 

"No, I need you, Satoru. I need only you, only you," you babbled. 

The lustful look in your eyes catapulted him over the edge. He couldn't take it anymore, his palm granting sweet friction to your clit as he fucked you like the world was about to end. "I know you need it, baby. I've got you. I know.”

He tried to undo your buttons with his free hand but was too fucked out to do it, grunting for your help, so you did immediately. "Say the words, and I'll stretch this sweet pussy out with my cock after you come, baby.”

"I'm yours, please. Fuck me," you whimpered, your entire body shaking as pleasure climbed through your body, building until you felt the pressure about to burst. Your hands roamed his body, eager to feel him as you removed your own shirt.

But like an animal, he was all over you, kissing, licking, and biting as you squirmed close to your climax. His lips closed around your nipple, and your spine straightened at the softness until he bites it hard. 

You yelped, but he only laughed, "Hurts? Don't care, baby, it hurts seeing you with that loser, the number of times I've had to come in my fucking hand because of you."

The lewd sloshes of your pussy grew louder, and Gojo delighted in how you were now dripping onto the floor. So, he finally granted you mercy, pulsing his hand until you came in wild thrashing waves that rippled violently through your body. 

"Oh yeah? Did that feel good, pretty girl?" he whispered, tilting your chin to devour your breathless mouth. The press of his lips and the erotic flicks of his tongue were making you throb wildly on his fingers. "See, you do like it when I talk.”

He let out such an attractive laugh at your glare that you fluttered around him again. "Baby again? I'm not gonna leave this pussy just yet, let up, or I won't be able to get my cock inside," he hummed. "Isn't that what we both want?"

"Then do it. Put it in me." You spread yourself, and he bit back a moan. His eyes flickered at how you shook when his thumb brushed your clit experimentally. 

Your brows knitted at the lingering sensation, “Please, put it in me, now." 

"Oh baby, but if you keep squeezing like that." Gojo grew dizzy at how your pussy refused to let him go, helping you tug away his belt and zip down his pants. Hazy, as you let up enough for him to take his fingers out of your spasming cunt. 

"You really gonna let me fuck you right here, huh?" 

His eyes were half-lidded at the sight of you in your office heels, panties soaked and half-pulled down, shirt hanging limply and open, your skirt a thick black belt hugging your torso. 

You were a mess, his mess, his pretty mess.

"Oh baby, you're so beautiful." He knelt down, working down your panties with his breath uneven, kissing each knee as he worked them down each ankle and then tossed them behind him. 

"Shall I tell you something?" he mused, running his hands up and down your thighs as he kissed and licked at the slick threatening to stick them together.

"Yes, tell me." Your hands slid instinctively into his hair as he reached your pussy and kissed it.

"I'll be honest, yeah?"

He was waiting for a shaky, "Yeah?" so you granted him one laced through a whimper, so he suckled on your clit in return before speaking. 

“I can pamper you. Spoil you, fuck you, take care of you." His voice was almost hoarse, thick and affected by something other than lust—a different emotion.

"I know that Toru, I do."

"N' I can—love you, too," he murmured, voice so uncharacteristically small but soft like it used to be when he spoke to you at night.

You gasped. Gojo had never said those words, not once. "Satoru, I-" His tongue dove into your cunt, and you almost toppled forwards, but somehow in seconds, he was carrying you. Holding you close, you heard the unmistakable clatter of the desk's contents clatter to the floor as he pressed you down upon the cold surface.

His large arms locked your torso down, and he swiftly resumed tongue fucking your cunt, delving his fingers in and out. His heart was pounding with his confession and from your lack of reply. Though he knew he was fucking you so precisely and so perfectly that it was indeed impossible for you to respond.

Until you burst once more, hands tugging his hair, bucking your pussy into his face, greedy for not just more, but for him. For the actions to do more than the words you could barely manage, so overstimulated and so sensitive that you felt yourself heating up. But then, as your pleasure erupted, feeling your hot arousal coat your thighs, a garbled "I love you" ripped from your chest. 

Satoru froze for several seconds, and then it was as if someone found the remote and clicked play as he somehow tugged off his blazer and pants all at once. Ripping his boxers down just enough to grab the base of his cock. 

Peering down at you, hungry and lovesick. "Say it again." You giggled and tugged him down for a messy kiss, working off his shirt.

"I love you, Satoru, I love you. I've never been afraid to say it." Your body was still shaking from your blinding orgasm, and he loved every second of it. He loved that he was about to ruin you even more. 

His cheek brushed yours as he folded your body, rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, "I love you," he whispered hotly into your ear, "I want you to feel like the luckiest woman in the world."

“I already do.”

“Yeah?” You moaned in tandem as he bucked his hips repeatedly, more of his cock easing in each time. Teasing you over and over, even though you were ready to take him, and he knew it. "Can you take me, baby?"

"Yes!" You whined, breath hitching as he tapped his cock against your cunt before he slammed in and filled you to the brim all at once. You both groaned, the sounds fading into seconds of soft relieved laughter. "Oh fuck, Toru, so good."

He moaned, voice shaky in your ear, "That's it, baby, you're so good. Take my cock. It's all yours. Take every single inch."

"Fuck Toru, you're so deep, too deep!"

"No, baby, feels good, doesn't it?" 

Before you knew it, he picked you up and slammed you against the glass overlooking the city. If you weren't on the top floor, you'd absolutely refuse. But Gojo always did like fucking you in front of Tokyo at night. 

"You can take it, baby, you can fucking take it, yeah? Cause you're made for me, so made for me," he panted.

"I can take it." 

"I know you can." He sucked and kissed on your neck, no doubt leaving his mark on you, as you wrapped your arms around his neck and took every slam of his hips. His stamina had always been otherworldly, never tiring, even as he fucked you standing up, hands sinking into the undersides of your thighs.

"Leave him," he moaned, not in the slightest asking. 

Luckily you didn't mind, as you tugged him closer and parted your lips, "I will, I promise." 

"Because you're mine, baby." His teeth were clenched, and he was groaning into your ear. Usually, Gojo could pace himself, but it had been so long, and you felt so good clinging to him like this, it was so close and so intimate. “I love you.”

So close, and so…

He blinked at the revelation that hit him like a freight train, he wasn’t going to run any longer. He liked the intimacy, he wanted to tell you all the stupid things you wanted to know now, he wanted to be close, he wanted you. He wanted to be everything you needed and wanted. 

"Are you gonna come?" Your voice was so sweet it gave him an instant sugar rush, "Come in me, baby, fill me, Satoru. Need your cum," you whimpered. “Want it?”

"Yeah? You fucking do, princess? Haah-" He pulled out and shoved your front against the glass. You moaned at the switch, and as he spread you apart before thrusting back in, his large hands engulfing each cheek. 

He lost it as you pushed your hips back on him, moaning and babbling, "Then let's have the entirety of Tokyo be a witness as I give my sweet girl what she fucking wants, huh?"

"Fuck, Satoru, feels too good! I'm close too!" you moaned, both of your bodies meeting in desperate sticky clashes of hips.

He whimpered, “We're gonna come together?" 

You were gonna send him over the edge tonight. 

"I’m so glad you came. Take me, take it, baby. Oh fuck.” His hands dug into your hips, making you take every single rope of his arousal. Lewd sounds tore from your throats at the sensation of him filling you deeply. After seconds of panting and melting into each other's arms, he still made no immediate moves to leave you.

He thrusted slowly to drive it deeper, "I'm not on birth control anymore," you squeaked. "But I'll take th-“

"Good. We're getting the family started just on time."

You giggled tiredly, "You're on board that fast?"

He squeezed you as he laughed himself, arms locked tight around your waist, "Do you wanna see the engagement ring in my desk or?"

"Satoru!" 

He twirled you around to face him, "I was gonna fly you somewhere and propose, but I suppose the cats out of the bag." He pouted and got on one knee, kissing your knuckles, "You'll marry me, won't ya? Think of this as a practice proposal, though!"

You sighed, "God, you're a fucking idiot." 

"Heh, heh." He opened his desk drawer and produced a small black box. 

“I wasn’t joking, actually,” he popped it open with a proud smile, "Shoko kind of helped me pick it, said it was-"

It was beautiful, everything you’d always envisioned but had never described to him or anybody else. 

A slow tear slid down your cheek, another racing beside it seconds later, “Aww! Are you that happy to marry me, sweetheart?"

"Go away! But…yes."

He put the ring on the desk and cupped your cheeks, "Yes, you're happy, or yes, you'll marry me?" he asked tentatively.

"Both!" 

"Yay!”

You were half-expecting people to jump out with confetti because Gojo was just that ridiculous sometimes, but instead, you heard shrill knocking and then Nanami's voice, absolutely exasperated. "Gojo! You knew I was working overtime today." 

He shrugged, grinning at you recoiling into his chest and half-expecting Nanami to barrel in, "Probably the most action you'll get all year!"

He stroked your cheek, full of adoration. 

But I got her back. 

He always did like grand gestures. 

©mrsackermannx: do not repost, plagiarise, translate or modify my works.

tagging: @afortoru @luvjiro @sixpennydame @4sat0ruu @fangirlings-world @romantichomicide95 @nkogneatho @p00pdev1l @utahimeow @hayakawasb1tch @yocoochbussin <3

[physalian]

Checklist of character traits prone to inconsistency:

Heyo, quick one today. It’s great to give a lot of detail to character traits and personality quirks, but they aren’t real people, you’ve made them up, and thus, might not have a perfect memory for how you’ve described them, or drawn them in the past.

So before you post or publish, do yourself a favor and make sure the following are consistent throughout your story, if applicable:

If they’re left or right handed, or ambidextrous.

Which side their hair parts on.

Which side their scars are on (especially facial scars).

Which eye has the patch or is just missing, and how much or little the character fiddles with it.

Missing glasses and how prone a character is to forgetting them or anal about cleaning them. Glasses are always dirty (do they clean them with a proper cloth or the edge of their shirt?).

Which side broken, missing, or bandaged fingers are on.

If they’re wearing a cast, how it inhibits their mobility.

If they have a leg or foot injury, how severely they limp.

If their clothing takes damage, when/how they replace it or repair it, and whether or not they’re wandering around town accidentally covered in blood or grease or all-purpose flour.

Which injuries they sustain that should still be bothering them, like pulled shoulders, bruises, shin splints, paper cuts, sun burns, cramps, carpal tunnel, arthritis, tinnitus, road rash, and stubbed toes or pinched fingers.

Which side of their body buttons, rings, bracelets, pins, brooches, badges, or name tags are on.

If they’re wearing gloves or mittens, when they take them off or how their mobility is impacted by them.

How mobility changes if their fingernails are short and stubby or long, or artificial, like typing, eating, and grabbing objects.

If they have a wheelchair, how they transition out of it, into it, and move within it, like getting dressed or putting on shoes, or lifting themselves up into cars and back down—and how public spaces do and don’t accommodate them.

If they have prosthetics, how they maintain them, how they might sound different than someone else—prosthetic feet for runners won’t sound the same as sneakers.

If they need crutches, a walker, a scooter, or a cane, and how the world accommodates them.

If they're colorblind, how it impacts their day to day and descriptions compared to other narrators.

Jewelry often jingles. Pandora bracelets are loud af especially if they’re on your dominant hand when you try to write on a desk. Charm necklaces jingle if you bounce and some earrings can jingle when you shake your head.

Where tattoos are and if they take measures to hide them and how.

An aside about characters with tattoos (from experience):

If they’re new, they still hurt for at least a week depending on the level of detail.

Tattoos are basically mega sunburns and fresh ink should either be covered from the sun or, once it’s healed enough that the skin isn’t broken, heavily sun-screened to preserve coloration. Newer ink is very noticeable in sunlight, just like a healing sunburn.

Black ink tends to turn a bit green over time and sharp details blur. Tattoos are beholden to the skin they’re on, and how it stretches or sags.

Tattoos stink, as plasma and other fluids build up under the wrap (that can either be straight plastic wrap or a dermal cover akin to the stuff used for burn victims).

Tattoos can burn and ache if they’re on the legs when you stand, as blood and your body weight settles back into place.

Tattoos do very weird things to your body depending on the amount of ink and the time it took to design. Your skin peels kind of, but not exactly, like a sunburn, and every artist has their own tips for aftercare.

If the ink is over thin skin (I have one that ends over my ankle) the ink may have a texture left behind, a raised puffy bump, that fades over time.

A character receiving a tattoo might have this kind of bell curve effect, where it hurts really bad at the start, until adrenaline kicks in and dampens it, and then again once their adrenaline runs out. There is no pain quite like tattoo pain and everyone describes them differently. I like to think of them as itching a bug bite on a sunburn, dialed up to 11.

According to my past artists, women almost universally handle the pain better than men. I have definitely suffered other injuries worse than tattoo pain.

Fine linework hurts more than broad stroke coloring or shading, because the distribution of pressure is wider with more needles packed together. The larger the needle bundle, the less it hurts. All of mine are water color and the *splash* effect for the illusion of water drops uses a single needle and it’s always the most painful part.

Feel free to tag any that I missed!

[ryukatters]

kaaatttt 😭😭😭 i need some satoru headcanons to heal my soul... what is he like as a bf??

ask and you shall receive my love (writing this to heal my soul)

content: modern AU, fluff, nsfw headcanons at the end

SFW

“mmm..i think i deserve a little treat right now.” 

except he says that at least 5 times a day and you will also be given a little treat. he does not care if you don’t want to eat kikufuku right now, you will be accompanying him to get some. 

speaking of, this man is basically eating 24/7. if gojo leaves your side for any reason while you guys are home, just know he is scavenging the kitchen for scraps like the raccoon he is. 

food is one of satoru’s main love languages. there’s something oddly satisfying and strangely warm about his loved ones eating and sharing a meal together, even if they tend to make him the butt of the joke in every single dinner conversation. 

will force you to become a sanrio girly idc (if you aren’t one already)

“babe, look!” "satoru, we have enough cinnamoroll plushies at home." "so you hate me then?"

the type to pick you up and spin you around whenever you two hug. he’ll spin and spin until both of you are dizzy and crash onto the couch.

attention whore. also just a whore in general but mostly a whore for (your) attention. will absolutely do the MOST to make sure your eyes are on him— i’m talking about poking your cheek, locking your phone if you’re scrolling through tiktok next to him, and it doesn’t even take much for him to start begging. he’s a loser like that.

scarily in tune with you. satoru is a lot more emotionally intelligent than he likes to let on around others, but he picks up on a lot of things. both of you are at a function and he can take one look at you and know that it's time to pack it up and go home.

is very sentimental about the things you give him/the things you two do together. before you started dating, satoru wasn't really one to collect tiny trinkets or keep ticket stubs because he thought they were just a waste of space. after you two got together, he started keeping virtually everything in a little box hidden in his closet. he realized that it's nice to give sentimental value to the little things, because then the memories associated with them live on in something physical.

he just... can't keep his hands to himself LOL. and like not even in a sexual manner either (sometimes), he just naturally gravitates towards you and is almost always touching you somehow— hand fiddling with your jewelry or hair, arm around your shoulder when you're sitting, arm around your waist when you're standing, playing footsies, whatever.

this man is painfully in love with you, and he makes it everyone's (mostly nanami's) problem. manages to bring you up in every single conversation with a lovesick grin on his face.

you will rarely ever hear satoru address you by your actual name. it will always be some variation of baby, babe, sweetheart, love, etc. uses snookums, cupcake, sweet cheeks, cinnamon sugar roll, my little sausage mcgriddle <3 on a rotating basis to annoy you

NSFW

you know those couples that just have this pent up sexual tension between them for no reason? like y’all could just be looking at each other but to everyone else it feels like you two are just eyefucking ​​😭 that’s you and gojo

no matter how long you guys have been together for, that spark between you just doesn't go away. people can see the immense physical attraction between you two.

is somewhat of an exhibitionist LMAO. he literally gets horny at the worst times and will drag you to the nearest supply closet, even if it means breaking the door in the process. who knows, maybe his real kink is vandalism

enjoys when you put up a bit of a fight/act like a brat. it makes putting you in your place so much sweeter.

very vocal— talking, moaning, whimpering. he sounds very pretty. he's extremely receptive to your touch so simply rubbing your hand along the bulge in his jeans has him moaning like a pornstar.

say it with me: satoru gojo is a pussy👏🏻pleaser👏🏻!

really likes going down on you. he thinks he could stay in between your thighs forever if you'd let him.

nasty. will cum inside you and clean it up with his tongue.

oscillates between wanting to overstimulate you and deny you. sometimes he does both. the way you get this hazy look in your eye and become so pliant, so needy for him gets him going.

he gets strangely possessive during sex. maybe it's a way for him to affirm that you really do love him and find him attractive.

"i'm the only one that can fuck you like this, right? make you feel this good?"

is a fan of snacks during aftercare LOL. you could have just had the most wild sex of your life, with the two of you panting as you lie in bed before satoru rolls over and opens his nightstand drawer and pulls out a pack of oreos before shoving one into your mouth

Some of these aren't even bf headcanons they're just how I think he'd be LMFAO

[starryeyedjanai]

catch the embers on my tongue

kinktober prompt: frottage; @eddiemonth prompt: crush explicit | 5.2k

read on ao3

Steve's leaning into Eddie's side and they are high, high, high.

It's about time they got high together. After everything they've been through, and after he spent months recovering from wounds so deep they didn't know if he was going to make it, Eddie thinks they deserve this.

He hasn't smoked in months, the longest he's gone since the first time he tentatively took the joint from some kid he was hanging out with back in like middle school.

He hasn't been able to - the damage to his entire body was rough, his lungs were just one of many things that will probably never be the same. But it's been long enough, he figures. It doesn't ache when he breathes anymore, his body on the up and up.

So he invites Steve over to smoke with him because he remembers selling to him a handful of times when he was in high school, Steve showing up at his locker or waiting by his van after school sometimes. He remembers always wondering back then what Steve would be like when he was high. If he's the talkative type, the paranoid type, the quiet and contemplative type, the horny type.

Even he can admit he's thought about Steve enough to have thoughts on all of those situations and musings about how he'd handle each of them.

But he's not exactly prepared for Steve to be handsy, to be giggly and leaning into him and joking and touching him casually. Because sober Steve keeps his hands to himself, Eddie's noticed.

He's had a theory for years now that Steve is probably touch starved, from not having his parents around much, from the only form of intimacy other than sex being clapping his friends or teammates on the shoulder.

And knowing him now, actually knowing him, he knows he was right. Because Steve is somehow so touch starved that he's touch averse with most people, like he can't handle it, the lightest brush of someone's hand oh his skin has him dodging out of the way to avoid it.

The only person he isn't like that with is Robin. And Dustin has speculated enough times why that might be that Robin eventually came out to the group just to get them all to stop talking about it - well, that and she trusts them. It felt like Eddie's heart was going to burst in his chest at being part of that trusted group.

So Steve doesn't really touch people, doesn't reach out for any of the group for hugs, doesn't really cuddle with anyone during movie nights.

But high Steve, he touches.

They don't even finish the joint they're sharing, because it's been a while for both of them. Eddie's feeling the pleasant buzz under his skin, his lips feeling cold and tingling a little when they're barely halfway done with it. He stubs it out when Steve bows out of taking it from him.

Without the joint to pass between them, they talk. One of his hands somehow ends up in Steve's grasp. He touches Eddie's fingers, plays with his rings, as he talks.

It's mostly chatter that Eddie mostly can't keep up with as he acclimates to the way his brain feels less fuzzy than it has in months, the background noises fading away until all he can hear is Steve, all he can feel is Steve's fingers spinning one of his rings around.

He feels grounded, kind of, focusing in on Steve's voice, watching his mouth move as he talks. He's calmer than he's felt in months, feels less out of control, sitting on his bed next to Steve, letting him touch his hand.

It's only a handful of minutes later when they're laughing about something or another, when out of nowhere Steve puts his hands on Eddie's chest and pushes him down on his bed in what has to be a moment straight out of Eddie's wet dreams before he realizes that Steve is pressing him into the bed because he wants to cuddle with him.

It still has his heart racketing in his chest even after realizing, because he's so close to Steve. Their faces are pressed close together and he can feel the several points of contact between them like a brand on his skin.

It's one of those weirdly hot September days, so they're both in shorts. Steve's wearing a sweater even though Eddie knows he has to be hot in it. Even with the sweater on, this is more skin contact than Eddie is used to with anyone.

He realizes now, in this moment, that he too has become a little touch starved since everything happened.

He couldn't handle a lot of touch in the beginning, his body healing, his skin scarring over in a lot of areas. The scar tissue was sensitive for a long while even after it was safe to touch, so the party and his friends stopped touching him - he'd flinch or brace himself when people got near, ready for the ache or pain or sensitivity that comes with touch nowadays, so they stopped touching him as much to spare him of that.

And now, laying here, pressed up against Steve Harrington, of all people, he's realizing how much he craves touch, how much he's missed having someone's skin against his like this, even platonically - not that he has much experience with things being not platonic.

But his friends stopped touching him because any touch hurt him for a while and then they just kind of haven't started again.

They're probably waiting on a cue from him, he guesses. It's what he'd do, if touch suddenly hurt one of his friends. He'd wait for them to say it was okay, or to initiate touch, before he started cuddling up to them again.

So even though he knows cognitively that's likely the reason, there's a thread of a darker thought that passes through his head, that maybe his friends don't touch him anymore because he's somehow even more of a freak than before. That his scars make him untouchable, undesired, that even the freaks of Hawkins don't want to touch him.

He shakes himself free of those thoughts. He knows that's just his brain being dumb. His friends don't care what he looks like, they never have. If they did, they wouldn't be his friends anyway - that's not the kind of company he keeps.

He tries to get back to the feeling of finally having someone's warmth against his skin after a long, touch-starved drought, calming his thoughts again so all he feels is Steve.

He likes it, he finds - the warmth. Steve's skin is hot to the touch, the air around them warm from having the air conditioning off.

He likes this, probably too much, hasn't had enough touch in months, and Steve is the one here giving it to him.

He likes this and he's been unknowingly craving this. That's a dangerous combination.

He wants to burrow deep, to pull their clothes off so he can get even more skin contact. He wants to feel the whorls of his fingertips dragging on Steve's own scars, because he's maybe the only one who can appreciate it. He's maybe the only one who can understand this - what it's like to want to be touched but not be able to be, to feel like maybe the scars are the reason why he's not getting the touch he needs.

He feels the heat seeping from Steve's skin against his and he wants to wrap himself up in that warmth. After a moment of contemplating whether it would be a good idea or not, he does it anyway.

He's spent months not being able to do the things he wants to do, is the thing.

He's spent months not getting high, not really being able to have his friends touch him without it hurting, not being able to get out of bed, not being able to stand for too long without it hurting. He's spent months bored out of his fucking mind while his body healed from something more traumatic than he ever thought he'd go through.

He thinks he's allowed to have this. He thinks he's allowed to enjoy this, even.

So he pulls Steve closer to him, impossibly close, pressed together all the way from their chests to their shins, legs tangling together. He tucks his head in close, rubs his face against the soft fabric of Steve's sweater.

"I've missed this," he finds himself saying, sighing into Steve's shoulder.

Steve pulls back a little to be able to look at Eddie's face when he asks, "Getting high?"

Eddie snorts. "Yeah, that. But also, this," he says, trapping one of Steve's legs between his and squeezing it between his. "I feel like no one touches me anymore."

There's more he could say, the introspective thoughts about how he gets it - the self-deprecating jokes about his scars bitter on his tongue. But he doesn't say it because Steve already gets it. He has similar scars. Scars that run along his back and his torso and his neck. His neck scar is still visible in most shirts. Eddie knows he gets it.

"Yeah," Steve says quietly. "I think I missed this too."

They've never touched like this before, never spent an afternoon curled up together, and he wishes he could go back in time to tell himself to befriend Steve, so they'd get more moments like this. So they'd get thousands of moments like this before all the bad stuff happened.

His brain conjures up the image of high school Steve in his bed in his old trailer. He thinks of Steve's coiffed hair and his polos and barely contains the laugh bubbling up in his chest. He'd look so out of place there.

But Eddie doesn't think he would have been, not really. Not after he lost his crown, after his downfall from King of Hawkins High. He thinks Steve would have fit right in with the rest of Eddie's things - his sweetheart, his posters, his rack of cassette tapes, his Steve. Eddie thinks he would have liked Steve in that room, surrounded by all of Eddie's favorite things.

But he knows his past self wouldn't have allowed it. Even though Steve had changed by his senior year, Eddie was still very much subscribed to a nerds versus jocks dichotomy.

He doesn't think he would have allowed Steve to get close enough to him to be someone he invited over, someone he invited into his room, his space, the only place in Hawkins that was really Eddie's. He would have been too paranoid that Steve would have been trying to pull something over on him.

He's pulled from his thoughts by Steve putting his hand on Eddie's side. He's not touching his skin, but Eddie still flinches. The skin has long since healed over into scars that sometimes pull weird with sudden movement, making it feel like the skin is going to crack open.

"I'm sorry," Steve whispers. "Do your scars still hurt? I should have probably asked that before tackling you to the bed."

"No," Eddie says. "They don't hurt. The skin's just weirdly sensitive sometimes. You can keep touching me. It's fine." The second the words are out of his mouth, his face is on fire.

You can keep touching me. That's a loaded sentence if he ever heard one.

Steve either doesn't notice or doesn't care that his face is beet red. He just returns his hand to Eddie's side, where his shirt has ridden up a little. This time, instead of letting his hand rest over Eddie's side on top of his shirt, he pushes his shirt up more, spreading his big hand over the expanse of Eddie's largest scar.

God, his hands are so big. And this is so not the time to be thinking about that.

The feeling of Steve's hand on him makes Eddie shiver. He tries to suppress it, but it wracks its way through his body regardless.

He knows Steve feels it. He has to, with the way his body is pressed so close to Eddie's. There's no way he misses it, the full body shudder, the way his breath hitches a little because of it.

Steve doesn't say anything, but he thumbs at the scars on Eddie's side, right where the scar meets his unmarred skin.

He's being so gentle with him that it makes Eddie want to whine. It makes him want to whine and rock his hips against Steve's, the delicate way he's touching him, just the slightest pressure of his thumb on his skin. It's like a tease, almost. It's like Steve wants Eddie to feel like this, like he knows exactly what touching him like this is doing to him.

Eddie tries to get his bearings right again, tries to be normal about this, but he's high, and it's been so long since he felt good like this. Part of him wants to give in completely, right away, wants to, to knock Steve onto his back and climb on top of him. Wants to press his entire body weight onto him, feel every inch of his skin against his own.

But he knows that's crazy. Even if Steve were receptive to the things that Eddie wants, he doesn't think Steve would want to jump right in. He seems to be the type that would want it to go a little slower, to want to be wooed in bed. He's the type to hold hands during sex and look deeply into his lover's eyes for the connection. At least, that's what Eddie assumes about him, anyway, from the way he talks about relationships and love and what he wants his future to look like.

So even as high as he is, he knows Steve probably wouldn't want to be pushed around like that, at least not at first.

The longer Eddie thinks about it, the longer he has Steve so close to him, the longer he has his hands on him, the more Eddie craves it. He's never wanted like this before, he doesn't think.

He's not super experienced beyond quick and dirty hand jobs or blow jobs. He's never had someone touch him like this before. Touching just to touch. Any touching during his previous encounters were just the quick preliminary touches to get the other guy out of his jeans. The touches didn't linger. They certainly didn't feel like this.

He tucks his head close to Steve's neck again, lets his lips just barely brush against the skin there, tries to keep his breath even. It could be written off as an accident, that he just got too close, because they're already so close. Steve could ignore it.

He doesn't.

He slides his hand down Eddie's side, past his hip to grip his thigh and hitch it up near Steve's hip. Eddie can't keep the gasp from escaping his mouth.

He's already half-hard, just from thinking thoughts about Steve. How the hell is he going to survive this?

Steve's hand travels back up the back of his thigh, stops right before it reaches his ass.

Eddie's heart is beating so fucking fast in his chest.

He pulls back to look at Steve. His eyes are dark, and his lips are red like he's been biting them. Eddie wants to bite them, too.

"Steve," Eddie says, unsure exactly what to say, what he could say to get Steve to want this. Does he have to convince him? Does he have to tell him it doesn't have to mean anything? It would be a lie - it would mean something to him. But if Steve only wants this now, when he's high, Eddie thinks he can handle that. He thinks he can be okay with it, if it means he gets to have this right now.

Steve shushes him though, doesn't seem to need any convincing before he leans in and kisses Eddie.

Eddie lets out a shuddering breath against his mouth.

He hadn't realized how much he's been wanting this because he never really let himself think about it. It's not just touch, not just anybody's touch, not just anybody's kiss, that he craves. It's Steve's touch, Steve's kiss. It's Steve's lips against his, Steve's body against his.

He obviously knows Steve is attractive, but they've grown close over the past few months.

He thinks Steve is probably one of the best friends he's ever had. And of course, with that comes other feelings because how could it not? How could anyone look at Steve and not want? How could anyone know Steve and not want him?

Eddie hasn't been thinking about it, about how he looks at Steve sometimes, about how he watches him. He hasn't thought about it because he knows what it means when his heart beats faster because of it. He knows what it means when his heart feels like it could burst out of his chest when he makes Steve laugh. He knows what it all means, so he hasn't let himself think about it.

But with Steve pressing sweet, gentle kisses against his mouth, the feelings slam into him. He's wanted this so bad.

This impossible crush, these impossible feelings that he has tried so hard to ignore, tried to get to lay dormant when he became friends with Steve, come rushing to the surface with him so close like this, with his mouth on Eddie's like it belongs there.

He pulls Steve's bottom lip into his mouth and bites it. He can't not. Steve gasps against his mouth.

He sucks on his lip gently, tongues at it to soothe the sting away, and hears Steve let out a sigh.

Steve's hand is still on his thigh, trapping his thigh against Steve's hip. He wants his hands on him, wants Steve to touch him everywhere.

He licks into Steve's mouth, slow and deep, their tongue sliding against each other like they've got all the time in the world.

Eddie's hand has been idle against Steve's chest, but he needs to touch, needs to feel him. So he slides his hand up to cup Steve's neck, to tilt his head to better lick into his mouth. He keeps his hand there, fingertips brushing the scar on his neck, his thumb digging into the hinge of his jaw.

He kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, until all the air in his lungs is gone, until he's hard in his shorts, until his lips feel swollen.

Steve's hand stays stubbornly on his thigh, not moving an inch up towards his ass. Eddie might be a little offended by it if he couldn't feel the way Steve is also hard in his shorts, if he hadn't just spent ten minutes getting to know the inside of his mouth.

He likes this so much, he realizes. He's never been the type to savor it - he hasn't ever really had the opportunity to. The few times he's had anything like this, it had to be quick, it had an expiration date, it had to be over as soon as possible. He's never just sat around and kissed someone until his jaw hurt, until his lips were aching.

He didn't expect it to be this easy, to just put a tiny little thread in the loop and have it spin so easily for him. He didn't think that maybe Steve had been wanting this too, craving this for just as long as he had.

He couldn't even imagine it - Steve, looking at him and wanting, Steve watching him when he's not looking the way that he watches Steve. He can't wrap his mind around it, Steve looking over at him being a dumbass in so many situations and still being like, yep, I want his tongue in my mouth.

But it feels like that's what this is. Because Steve's kissing him with just as much hunger. Steve's kissing him and has his hand on his thigh, gripping him like he owns him. Eddie wants him to push him on his back, to spread his thighs open and show him just how much of him he owns. He wants him.

He pushes his hips forward experimentally, a slow grind. It makes Steve groan against his mouth. The sound is addictive - Eddie wants to chase that sound, to make Steve groan over and over and over as he chases his pleasure between Eddie's thighs.

Steve bites his lip, harder than Eddie had bitten his, and it stings. They've been at it for so long that Eddie's lips were already getting swollen and sensitive, so Steve biting one of them like that pulls a moan out of him.

He pulls back, breathing heavy, to kiss his way down Steve's neck, to bite at his neck. He wants to cover him in marks - deep, purpling bruises. He wants to see his neck and his chest covered, a molten mess of love bites.

His heart stupidly stutters in his chest at the thought of biting a bruise the shape of a heart into his skin. God, he's so gone for him. He has a heart boner for him in addition to a regular one.

He pulls the neck of Steve's sweater down and sucks a bruise into the smooth, tan skin of his collarbone, and when he pulls back, the skin is a deep red. He smiles at his work, knows it's going to deepen in color with time. He's never felt possessive like this before, like he wants to cover him in bruises so everyone knows he's someone's, so everyone knows he's Eddie's.

Is he Eddie's?

The look in his eyes when Eddie looks back up at his face says yes.

Steve pulls Eddie on top of him, their bodies flush together again, and gets a hand in his hair. He tugs his head to the side so he can bite at Eddie's neck the way that Eddie was just gnawing on his. It startles a moan out of him. He didn't know his neck was so sensitive.

He lets Steve suck a bruise into his skin and tries not to accidentally come because of it. All the kissing, their bodies pressed together, their cocks hard and grinding together through layers of fabric - it all feels like so much, too much almost.

He's on top of him, but he doesn't feel in control right now at all.

He can barely stop himself from grinding down and coming in his underwear like a teenager. He wants it, wants to come with Steve's mouth on his skin.

Steve kisses his neck, where his skin is likely bruised now, before he pulls back, thumbing at the mark like he's satisfied he left his mark on Eddie as well.

Steve releases his hair from his grip and slides his hand down between them. Eddie can't stop the groan that leaves his mouth at feeling Steve palm at him.

"Is this okay?" he asks, and Eddie isn't sure what he's talking about - his hand touching Eddie's dick? Hell yeah, that's okay. This entire thing? Again, hell fucking yeah.

He nods, because any way you spin it, everything they've been doing is a-okay with Eddie.

Steve grins up at him and Eddie can't help but grin back at him, still in awe that this is happening.

Steve undoes the buttons on Eddie's shorts and unties the tie at the waistband of his own shorts.

Eddie sits up to shove his shorts down and off, watching Steve do the same, leaving his shorts around his thighs.

He looks at Steve's bulge, his cock hard and straining in his underwear. He wants to lean in and put his mouth on it. Get the fabric nice and wet with a mix of his spit and Steve's precome. He wants to suck it through the fabric, tongue at the soft fabric and pull noises from Steve the entire time.

He wants to put his mouth on Steve's thighs. They're paler than the rest of his tan skin, milky and smooth. He wants to see that skin mottled and bruised too.

He can wait for those things, though. He thinks he has time. The thought makes him damn near giddy - the thought of more, of doing this again and in different ways, in every way possible. They haven't even made each other come yet and he's thinking about all the other ways he wants him. He's so far gone on him.

When Eddie lowers himself back down, he tries to keep his reaction to their cocks rubbing up against each other through their underwear to a minimum, but he feels a shiver run through him. It feels overwhelming, and they aren't even naked, aren't even touching cocks with nothing separating them.

He thinks that would probably be enough to make him come immediately, feeling the velvety skin of Steve's cock against his own as they grind together, if how overwhelming this feels is any indication. He feels like he's just a few breaths away from shoving his hips down and humping Steve with abandon until he's making a mess of both of them.

He grinds down against him slowly, trying not to overwhelm himself. He presses his mouth to Steve's again, tangling his tongue with his as his hips move. He rolls his hips against Steve's, their dicks pressed together tightly.

He pulls back to look down at the way they're pressed together and he groans. There's a wet spot on Steve's underwear where he's leaking precome into the fabric. He's losing his goddamn mind.

He sits up and pulls his shirt off so he has a moment to take a breath.

He leans back in and grinds down on Steve again, pushing Steve's sweater up, not sure how he's even still wearing it. Eddie's sweating and he was only in a short sleeved shirt.

Steve enthusiastically pulls his sweater up and in the excitement, it gets a little tangled getting over his head, so they have to stop grinding against each other to figure it out. Steve's head pops out of the head hole of his sweater and Eddie can't help but sit up and laugh. Steve arms are caught up in his sweater, awkwardly making his arms box his head in.

He looks flushed and aroused and out of breath from struggling with his sweater and his hair is a mess, but he's still so unfairly pretty.

Steve pouts at him and says, "Don't laugh at me. Help me out of this?"

"Hmm, I don't know," Eddie says with a grin, sliding his hands up to push the sweater up a little, exposing more of Steve's biceps. Eddie wants to bite them. "I kind of like having you at my disposal here."

He says it as a joke, mostly, ready to help Steve get his arms untangled from his sweater. But he sees the way Steve's eyes darken, sees the way he licks his lips like he likes that thought, the thought of being at Eddie's mercy.

He asks, "You like that?" because he has to be sure he isn't reading this wrong. Steve nods his head, slow and sure.

So Eddie grinds his hips down slowly, pushes Steve's sweater up more, to free up more of his arms. He pushes his hands into the arm holes of the sweater and tangles his fingers with Steve's hands where they lay draped above his head. He knows their hands are going to get sweaty underneath the fabric of Steve's sweater, but he doesn't care right now.

He presses his weight more fully onto Steve, uses his hands to press Steve's into the mattress as leverage. He spreads his legs, knees digging into the bed so he can roll his hips against Steve's harder, still keeping the pace slow and steady.

"Fuck," Steve says on a breath out, keening at the rough way Eddie's cock is sliding against his.

They're breathing the same air, not really kissing, mouths barely an inch apart.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, and Steve nods desperately. He closes the gap between their mouths and licks at Steve's open mouth, his tongue brushing past Steve's lips, tasting him.

His brain is only a little hazy, but Steve's tongue feels hot against his, hot like the embers at the end of the joint they just shared.

He rocks down against Steve faster, picking up the pace, feels the vibration of his moans against his mouth more than he hears them.

He feels the familiar coiling in his stomach, the tightening of his core muscles that tells him he's going to come soon.

He gives into it, huddling impossibly closer, hips moving faster, less controlled than before. He's sweating, his hands on Steve's are damp, beads of sweat rolling down his neck. But he keeps going, he's so fucking close.

"Stevie," he whispers against his mouth.

Steve nods, says back, "I'm gonna come."

Yeah, yeah.

So Eddie releases one of Steve's hands and gets it between them, squeezes Steve through his underwear. He lets Steve jerk his hips up against his hand, chasing his orgasm. He curls his hand around Steve more firmly, hears the curse that falls from his lips.

He bites at Steve's bottom lip, the feeling of his cock riding up against the back of his hand as he gets Steve off overwhelming, Steve's gasping breaths and groans the only thing he can focus on.

Steve lets out a sharp cry and Eddie feels the wet heat of his come seeping through Steve's briefs. He strokes Steve's cock through his briefs, feeling him tremble a little when it gets to be overstimulating.

Steve, having finally weaseled his hands out of his sweater, rubs his hands up and down Eddie's back gently as he comes down.

It's the tenderness, this moment of connection, that has Eddie leaning down and pressing his teeth into the soft skin of Steve's neck.

He's still riding close to the edge and now feeling the satisfaction of making Steve come. He turns his hand over and barely has to put any pressure on his dick before he's coming too, his open mouth pressed against Steve's throat.

He pants through the waves of it, feeling his briefs get stickier and wetter with each pulse.

He's shivering when it's over, the sweat on his skin drying, the come in his underwear cooling.

His hand feels sticky when he pulls it away and he wonders if he'd taste a combination of their come if he licked his palm right now. His cock jerks painfully at the thought.

He rolls off Steve, sated and sweaty, breath still shaky.

Steve reaches between them and laces their fingers together.

"Are we- what are we doing?" he asks, a little nervous, looking over at him.

Steve brings their entwined hands up to his mouth and kisses the back of Eddie's hand.

"Whatever you want," Steve says easily, letting their hands fall between them again.

Eddie steels himself and bites the bullet. "And if I want everything?" he asks, heart in his throat.

Steve smiles shyly at him and squeezes his hand. "I can work with that."

[stay-tiny-ville]

Hwang Hyunjin

Summary ~ lovely boy :( (Or dating head cannons for Hwang Hyunjin)

A.N. - ONE MORE TO GO WHOOOOOOO

A.N. 2 - if my describing of your relationship growing up didn’t make sense I’m sorry I don’t know how to word it 😭😭😭

———————————————————

Muse, love, beautiful, dove, love, angel, Cara Mia, mon Cher are a few names he’d give you def a lot of “my love”s in another language

Ive heard some mixed opinions (well not that many but a couple) saying that he would be reserved and only lovey behind closed doors

However i argue the opposite and agree with the positions on him being a true hopeless romantic at heart

Tall boy loves holding you as you sleep

Obviously wakes before you (Probably) with his horrendous schedule and just has a true “this is life, and i am living and loving being alive” moment when he just gets to look at you all peaceful and beautiful in his arms

Covers the corners of things with his hand so you don’t hit your head

Stfu he would paint you

Your hands, your face, you two together, or he would take a stab at paintings that are simply based on the memory/emotion but not paint the memory (like he would do that thing where people can see sounds and he would try to imagine your laugh and paint it-i'll die on this hill)

Taught you how to waltz anD DANCES WITH YOU ON THE BACK PORCH UNDER THE MOONLIGHT SOB

So dramatic like will burst into tears if he gets a paper cut or stubs a toe (i mean yeah it hurts but he’s dYING)

Unlike some of the members like Chan, he’s always with you, like you’re never alone and if he’s at rehearsals? Oh look, you’re here too. Meeting with JYP? Oh, can you come in too? He’s going shopping? He’s at the red carpet for versace? He’s-

You get it

Spiritually and physically attached

Spins you all the time

Context: every single time you come out of the bedroom after getting ready to go out or simply just coming out of the room he takes your right hand with his right hand and twirls you into his side before a required temple kissy and moves on/out the door

Required ritual or the world ends

I imagine you two as childhood best friends (yes, THAT trope) and i don’t necessarily think of it as one of you had a crush on each other as you grew up, you just grew up together in love as if it’s what you were taught to do

When you went to school and learned about the different types of emotions or had the healthy relationship talk you didn't think anything of it

I didn't know what love felt like until I turned 18 and you thought this adoration was a normal feeling

Until your friends talked about their lives and you realized most people don't have a bond like you do, most people don't feel like you do about your soulmate Jinnie

You didn't feel this way about the crushes you’ve had previously

Normal people don’t always put their one friend before everybody else

Either you went straight to Hyunjin and talked about it because you could talk to him about anything or not, he would realize the same thing, i can’t say if it was slower or faster than you, it depends i suppose

But i imagine the transition was just from the average hugs and hand holding and kisses on the forehead that were just normal things with no thought behind them became ones with love behind them

Puts you before himself

You’re cold means trade cold for his jacket he will suffer instead

You’re sick he’ll sacrifice his health to cuddle and coddle you all day long

You haven’t been eating well/at all he’ll give you his food after rehearsals

Lays his head on your chest

He’s baby :(

SLEEP ON YOUR CHEST AAAAAAAH

Like I haven’t thought about who cuddles how and who is big or little spoon but Hyunjin loves to just lay on your chest or lap

HES BABY

Please he’s dress you up in rich ass clothes even if it looks putrid together

The softest with you when you’re upset :(

Like you’d just not be doing too good be it sad or bad day and he could tell because you weren’t responding as energetically to his jokes and funny haha’s (please that autocorrected to Gaga’s) and his smile turns into a frown and he’d stop you from walking away by grabbing your shoulder that was farthest from him and turned you to look at him

When you kept your head low he ducked to meet your eyes and the sadness/tiredness in the made him sad :(

Takes care of you all day and sits with you on the floor in front of the couch on the fuzzy (I imagine white faux fur bc he’s bougie) rug

You sit in his lap facing him while his back is against the couch and he doesn’t break eye contact to let you know he’s listening so whenever you look back up at him from messing with his clothes he’s looking right at you

Please he’s so baby I could write so much more about hopeless romantic baby Hyunjin

ASO RQ I AM FOREVER OBSESSED WITH BOTH RED HAIR HYUNJIN (which is a trade of passage for Stays at this point) AND MAXIDENT TASTE (which is such a banger I will die on this hill again) SHORT BLUE HYUNJIN HAIR AAAAAAAH

N e ways he’s baby and so so lovely I love

[cocoagenie]

𝙄ñ𝙖𝙠𝙞 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙤𝙮 𝙭 𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙛𝙚𝙢 | 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿𝘾𝘼𝙉𝙊𝙉 <3

[P💕: i crave him]

[Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !]

Shenanigans

☆ Iñaki can definitely be troublesome if he's bored. I'm talking face/body paint cosplays, hiding your things, pranking you with his perfect acting skills type of trouble

• its truly hilarious and a bit concerning to catch him with his whole face green and a dinosaur stuffed hat clipped around his head

☆ "ki.." he has his back to you and stares at the walls like there much more important

• will scream over games in his phone, for instance if iñaki runs out of time and fails a challenge you can here him crying out from the bathroom

☆ he suggests the craziest things on tiktok and you are a sucker for a good time despite you both hating to clean up behind yourselves. You have an eighteen minute long video of you both slipping on the soapy kitchen floor btw ;p

• iñaki often walks around your apartment a bit weirdly so he's bound to stub a toe or bump his shoulder into the edge of the wall, always cursing in Spanish which makes you burst into laughter

☆ you both truly are unfiltered around eachother and hes feels so lucky that he got two for one, (you're not only his best friend but your his girlfriend too.) Iñaki thinks that's epic

• skating time is sublime.

• "you– geezer, just hold onto me?" You laughed as Iñaki rolled around the skating ring like an elder on life support, he obliged but that cost you with the way he gripped your hands.

☆ "Damn, kiki!"

• "Slow down!!" He wobbled.

☆ "We not going no damn where!"

• on the court he will demolish you. Iñaki's always in your face, running around you as he dribbles the ball and shoots, it hits the rim sometimes

☆ "you're ass.." you kick some pebbles as he jogs for his rebound and runs back to you with a grin. Sweat beading at his forehead and wetting the roots of his curls.

• "oh? well then you make the hoop" you both are nearly the same height but he's still slightly taller. (He looks scrumptious in loose tanktops fyi) The basketball is pushed to you as you roll your eyes and take it. Iñaki situates beside you and watches you move forward but hands on your hips pull you back.

☆ "Do it from here." You got ready to argue but just huffed and dribbled the ball once to make sure it was hard enough and not flat. Your dominant arm bended and launched the ball for the edge of the square. It rolled around the rim but fell off and Iñaki suppressed a laugh.

• he talks so fast in English and Spanish that you often tell him to slow down. He laughs at that because he's still getting used to someone truly listening instead of talking over him

☆ iñaki flexes his facial hair and that often gains your attention so he ends up getting his mustache and sideburns cleaned up while you're on his lap

• "please amor, don't cut it too much."

☆ "shh shh, look?" You raised the mirror and when he saw the results iñaki felt ten times more flashier and he thanked you with a big kiss of course

• bro looses his marbles when he can't find his glasses and you love to watch him suffer as he looks everywhere while their RIGHT ONTOP OF HIS HEAD.

The sweet things

☆ he needs to have you by his side but doesn't like to really admit it so when you're doing something or simply lounging around he'll come to you like puppy and lean on you, or play with/link your hands

• iñaki bites and asks before hand too lol

☆ teaches you his first language and loves how you have your way of pronouncing certain words, he also praises you and says you sound like a natural after correctly saying a sentence

• love love lovesss your cheek kisses since your lips are already plump and soft. Fall is here and it tends to get chilly so iñaki jokingly asks you to prescribe him with some so he doesn't freeze to death

☆ let's you play in his hair especially when it grows out, you put it in ponytails, side cornrows and twists until he's snoring against you

• iñaki doesn't have a foot fetish but will massages your feet when their sore. He's the best at it, courtesy of the practice with his mother

☆ since you love vinyls and CD's he brings you shopping with him at special stores that sell hand me downs, movie cds or song records

• you both enjoy a good thrifting spree!

☆ picnic dates are sweet but getting something to eat downtown and exploring the lower city makes you feel like jasmine and iñaki is obviously your aladdin <3

• "should we jay walk?" You look at the currently empty street as iñaki's hand is gripped in yours, his eyes keep flickering down both ends of the street before he suddenly tugs you across with him

☆ "Vamanos, vamanos!" You snort and run across as you both eventually make it to the car.

• he often asks you why you fell in love with him and you're always ready to provide an answer.

☆ "You have this weird charm that I'm drawn to.. plus you were kinda mysterious with the way you used to sta-"

• "okay okay I get it!"

☆ "Nah you used to stare into my soul remember?"

• Iñaki felt incredibly shy around you, he still does now that you're both together he just knows how to hide it now ;)

☆ matching charm bracelets and rings. 😭

• he's the pure embodiment of "just happy to be there!"

☆ will always polish the hand you can't do

THE END ♡

[A/N: I AM SATISFIED.]