#although very closely adjacent

[dicejpg]

I've got a sinking feeling - {Five Hargreeves x GN!Reader}

Synopsis: You are very flirty with Five, and he's tricked himself into believing he hates it. He tells you to stop. Then he learns the hard way how much he took you for granted when you meet someone else.

Note: Five requests would be very appreciated! Thank you to those who sent requests on my last one shot.

(Not Edited)

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 1.5k

Extra Information: Viisi means Five in Finnish. Five and Y/n were partners in the commission. They look seventeen or eighteen instead of thirteen. This one-shot takes place on the last episode of season one, and the entirety of season two.

----

The Academy, Five's home, has just collapsed--courtesy of Vanya's new powers--and Five ordered his family to meet at Super Star Lanes bowling alley to come up with a new plan of action.

He grabs your wrist, blinking you with him. You're both in front of the bowling alley in a flash of blue.

Five takes a moment to pace around, not entering the building. The crisp, spring air bites at your earlobes as you hug your sides for warmth

"Hey, Viisi, can we go inside?" You look at him with a grimace and a pleading smile. He whips his head in your direction to glare at you, then strolls inside with a roll of his eyes. You follow in his stead.

The interior is heated, thankfully. Five informs the underpaid worker that his "parents" will be arriving shortly to pay for his bowling shoes. He takes a seat adjacent to Lane 6 and you sit next to him.

"So, how was the farewell with Delores? I know you two were close." You lean back in your seat, getting more comfortable while waiting for Five's siblings to arrive.

He does not look at you. His jaw ticks in annoyance, mistaking your genuine curiosity for mockery.

"Come onnn, I know you're stressed, but this is your sister. I'm sure she's reasonable enough not to end the world." You turn towards him, leaning your elbows on your thighs and admiring his pretty face.

"No, it's not that." He scoffs, looking at you with a sneer.

You notice that his tie is crooked so you reach out to fix it, like you often do. It's sort of your thing.

He smacks your hand away and you raise an eyebrow.

"You okay Viisi?" You rub your hand a little, surprised. Normally, he lets you fix his tie with no problem. Although, he would grumble about it a little.

"God- No. I'm not okay." He puts his hands in his hair, gripping it slightly with an exasperated expression. "And stop calling me that."

"What?" You breathe with a smile of disbelief. "What's going on? Did something happen- Did I do something?" You lean away from him a little to give him more space.

"Stop, just stop it with the touching and the nicknames. I'm sick of it!" He looks at you with cold eyes. This is very unusual of him.

You cock your head to the side, trying to understand. "Five, I thought- I thought that was our thing! Y'know, the friendly banter and-"

"I know you're desperate for some sort of relationship with me, but I'm here to tell you that it's not going to happen. We were only ever co-workers." He says through gritted teeth, avoiding your eyes. "I'm telling you to stop pursuing me." 'Pursuing' him?

Usually you would brush this sort of behavior off, ignore it. Tell yourself that it's only because he's stressed. He's always stressed! Thinking back, he was never all that nice to you. Even in your Commission days.

You'd tricked yourself into thinking that maybe he thought you were special, or that you were at least his friend. His confidant.

You look at him with eyes full of hurt, which Five has never seen from you. He almost feels something bubbling up his throat, but the feeling dissipates quickly. "Have I made myself clear?" He says evenly.

You only nod, turning away so he doesn't see the tears prick at your eyes.

Five's siblings come inside and you two don't speak to each other again.

A year and seven months later (for you, at least.)

1963, Dallas Texas:

Five anxiously pulls at his tie after narrowly escaping three armed Swedish men. He had just watched his siblings, along with you, blow up in yet another nuclear explosion. It's left him oddly shaken up about how he treated you back in 2019.

He's pacing down the alley-way between the Commerse and Knox when he notices a flash atop the roof. A large camera of some sort.

A brown haired man closes his window briskly. That's strange.

Five teleports inside, scaling up a flight of stairs with cat-like agility. When he knocks on a door, the one beside him answers, revealing a mouse-y looking man in his early thirties. He looks at him with big, expectant eyes.

"What do you want." His tone is dripping with suspicion.

"Hi, I'm selling encyclopedias for my youth group. I was curious if-" Five gets a door to the face. He huffs, blinking inside after him.

The man, Elliot, jumps, yelping in fear and pulling out a butter-knife from his drawer of kitchen utensils. "H-how did you do that?" He hesitates, astonished.

Five looks at him with amusement. "Don't really have time to explain."

Elliot runs a hand through his unkempt brown hair, gripping the butter-knife in a feeble attempt to protect himself. "You from the Pentagon? Huh?"

"Definitely not."

"CIA? FBI? KGB?"

Five eyes up the kitchen, noticing a coffee pot on the other side of the room. "Is that fresh?" He uses his powers again, blinking himself right in front of the coffee pot.

Elliot screams, whipping his head back and forth between the place Five just was and the place he appeared. "What..." He pants, eyes wide.

"Elliot? You okay?" Five hears a faraway voice from another room. A familiar voice. "Who's with you?" It asks.

You appear from around the corner, presumably from Elliot's bedroom, looking almost two years older.

Five furrows his eyebrows and so do you. He breathes out your name is what you almost register as relief. But, you know better then to think that.

"Oh, Five. You're back." You say casually, nodding and crossing your arms. Five sets the coffee down, unwillingly noticing how you didn't call him by his nickname.

"How long have you been here?" He walks towards you, looking at your slightly different features. You changed your hair, he observes. He says nothing about it.

"A year and a half, I believe." You tap your chin in thought. Elliot glances between you two with interest or surprise.

"You two know each-other?" He puts the butter-knife back onto the counter with a small clatter.

You nod, shrugging. "We were co-workers." You send Elliot a reassuring, genuine smile.

Co-workers. Five doesn't like how the word rolled off your tongue.

He licks his lips, looking away. "You live here?" He asks you, although it was a silly question considering its obvious answer.

You nod with tight lipped smile, approaching Elliot. You fix his hair with your fingers and flip the collar of his flannel back down. "Did he scare you? I told you he could be a bit much."

Elliot exhales a shaky laugh at your words and actions as Five begins to feel a hot, frothy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He changes the subject. "Are my siblings here too?"

Elliot answers for you, looking back towards the teen again. "The other six anomalys- The power surges." He begins to look excited at this new discovery. "They're your siblings?"

Five ticks his jaw, ignoring him. "So they're alive..." He begins to pace around. "I think I stranded them here. Now listen to me..."

"Elliot." You tell him his name.

"Whatever, alright? I got ten days to find them and save the world." He points to you and Elliot. "Now, I need your help to do that."

Elliot is just so happy to be involved, his three year long project finally achieving some major development. He scrambles to find a certain newspaper scrap from his desk drawer. "You know what? I, uh..." He fumbles with it, handing it to Five.

"I always thought that this, uh, mugshot looked like arrival number four."

"Diego." Five reads softly, then he twists around to face you. "You're coming with me." He states.

You hiss awkwardly through your teeth, avoiding his eyes. "Ohh, about that... Actually, Elliot and I were about to play Scrabble. It's Scrabble night."

Five narrows his eyes at you, barking your name. "The world is ending and you're just gonna play Scrabble with this homebody?"

Elliot looks at his dusty wooden floors with a look of dejection.

"Uh, yeah. That's exactly what I'm gonna do." You lean against the door-frame with a bored expression. "I thought you wanted me to stop following you around like a lost puppy."

Five feels strange. "You know what? I don't need this." He blinks away to search for Diego.

When Five returns from the strip club, after a failed attempt of recruiting both Luther and Diego, he decides to test something. His fingers reach for his tie, pulling at it and skewing it. Perfectly crooked.

You couldn't resist fixing his tie, he knew this.

So why didn't you? He finds himself uncharacteristically frustrated about your unresponsiveness.

As he demands that Elliot develop his Frankel Footage, his eyes trail to you occasionally, silently tempting you to straighten his tie.

Your eyes flicked to it once. However, you made no move to adjust it.

Five heaves a dramatic sigh, angrily fixes it, and leaves to look for Vanya.

He messed up before, he realizes. He feels like shit.

[zhongrin]

“honey, can you… put it in my mouth?”

◇ characters ◇ zhongli, al haitham, kaveh, pantalone, ayato

◇ tags ◇ minors dni, gn!reader, very suggestive but nothing explicit believe it or not, oral fixation (reader), implied spanking (pantalone)

◇ a/n ◇ ough i finally have the energy to edit this..... why do i feel so tired from just editing send help i need kithes ;w;

𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

zhongli looks up at you in confusion, before looking at what he is holding. surely you didn’t mean you want to have these bitter coffee grounds in your mouth? he smiles kindly at you and resumes tamping the coffee grounds, the veins on the back of his palms prominent as ever ever against his blackened skin, before locking the portafilter onto the machine and placing two espresso glasses under it.

“dear, as much as you need your coffee, i think we need to process this specific ingredient first before you can fully enjoy the beverage-”

he blinks slowly at you, the hum of the espresso machine the only noise for a moment following your clarification… until the corners of his lips turn upwards in a little smirk, and he chuckles onto his bare fist, the geo lines shining brightly with mirth before reaching out to trace your lips.

“sometimes i wonder if i've spoiled you too much… very well, perhaps after your coffee, you can have a… not-so-little treat. or should i say, treats.”

al haitham’s answer is, as per usual, logical and straightforward.

“absolutely not. this is one of my most prized limited collection books. that would be unhygienic, both for you and the book itself.”

his verdant green eyes lined with orange-hued lines switch focus onto your expression, narrowing upon seeing no remorse in your face. he’s about ready to scold you more when the next words leave your lips, and for a moment he’s distracted by how delectable they look as they spill sinful words and pronounce your chosen nickname for him.

“… you could have clarified that sooner,” he says, still in that monotonous tone, though you can see how his gaze burns hotter now and the visible excitement starting to make itself known. one of his gloved hands beckons you closer and grabs onto your wrist to pull you onto his lap.

“well, what are you waiting for, then?” his book snaps shut and he smirks at you in anticipation, “go on. put it all in your mouth. well… as much as you can, that is.”

kaveh beams and skilfully opens a lychee for you, ignoring the way the juices drip all over his slender fingers, and offers the sweet fruit to you immediately, urging you to taste the deliciousness. when you merely stare at him in amusement, your boyfriend tilts his head, his smile unfaltering as he pushes the fruit nearer to your lips.

“they’re really sweet! if you like it, i’ll feed you more!”

the architect’s grin widens when you take the fruit between your lips, although he blushes at the way your tongue brushes onto the calloused skin of his fingers. he tries to tell himself that it was just a coincidence, but five more lychees later, he’s convinced that you had to have done this on purpose. and when you tell him you’re full and you want something else in between those sweet lips of yours… well, he’s already a people pleaser by nature anyway - and there’s no one he wants to please most other than you.

pantalone’s gloved fingers fix his glasses before motioning for you to follow him a little down the hallway toward the adjacent room. moments after the door slams close behind you, he signals you to kneel - and the condescending chuckle when you obey like a trained dog in front of him makes your cheeks burn in embarrassment.

he folds his arms in front of his chest, smiling down at you, “i’m going to need you to explain further what you meant by that vague statement, dear.”

the more you stumble over your words, the wider your master’s smirk grows. golden eyes peer down at you in half amusement and half anticipation. he shakes his head when you finish, his next words cooing and belittling as if he’s scolding a misbehaving child, “oh my, darling, how can those lovely lips spew such filthy words?”

the seemingly condescending words are followed by a hum, though you sense no underlying malice or sarcasm in his tone. no, this was him playing with you - if anything, he seems to be amused at your words. you love being bratty and he loves disciplining you, after all. this is just right up his alley.

“i think you need more disciplining before i can grant your wish. now turn around and get on all fours. remember to start counting.”

ayato’s eyes seemed to curve in delight as soon as the words leave your pretty lips. an amused and condescending smile blooms on his lips, like a lotus greeting the morning air that is the breath of your ambiguous request. imaginary scenes fill his head, replacing the neat schedule he’s mentally set for the day today, each images filthier than the previous ones.

your beloved toys with you for a while, however. stalls with a series of teasings and seemingly innocent touches on your chin and cheeks and lips - so close yet so far from where you want him most. he chuckles when you whine and plead,

“perhaps we should find a way to constantly satisfy that greedy mouth of yours. how does keeping me company while i work sound? i’ll make sure to get the most comfortable pillows for you to sit on, under my desk.”

© zhongrin | 2023 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

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[bg3galore]

Sleeping headcanons

Wyll

-Will hum you a soft tune and rub shapes into your back, while you're settling down for the night.

-Would definitely tell you stories of his life growing up and about his dreams for the future, while you listen closely to his breathing; until you fall asleep.

-Always kisses your forehead before falling asleep.

-Chuckles softly to himself every time you fall asleep before him and will take it as an opportunity to watch your sweet face sleeping; wondering if you're dreaming and what about.

Karlach

-Is a loud snorer and a very deep sleeper

-The perfect cuddler, especially for a harsh winter night; that infernal engine will actually be put to a good cause- comforting the two of you from the prickle of ice, snow and cold alike.

-During the summer, she tends to smother you a bit so you have to squirm your way out of her hold a few times if you're to get any rest at all

-Gets particularly soft and vulnerable when you tuck her hair behind her ears and tell her every little thing you love about her; it makes her feel like her engine is going to combust on site- but in the best way possible.

Shadowheart

-Plays with your hair and enjoys it when you do too

-She always prays right before and right after sleeping and always mentions you in her prayers; she wants you to be safe and healthy forever and always.

-On rare nights that she does have a nightmare (not doubt featuring wolves) she'll reluctantly wake you up and want you to spoon her and comfort her tenderly with words or reassurance; she knows it's silly that they are just wild dogs with no table manners but they terrify her to her core.

-She takes a couple of hours to fall asleep, so in the meantime she likes to read, meditate and admire every inch of you while you sleep or chill in your shared bedroll; it reminds her how lucky and blessed she is everyday.

Gale

-Snores mildly on nights his orb is particularly vexing but will still insist on you cuddling up together; he will apologise for all the trouble he knows he causes although he knows he can't control his situation or habits.

-You have a nightly ritual where you'll lay adjacent to each other and get lost in each others eyes, which tends to lead Gale to slowly getting flustered and eventually crumbling and being very keen for some sleep- he can't control his love or actions in relation to you very well so having you looking at him like that really switches something in him.

-If you ever have trouble falling or staying asleep he'll cast a sleep spell on you to make sure you will get your well deserved rest, and watch over you for a little while just in case something should happen or change.

-On nights where he struggles to sleep and you have long been taken ahold by sleep, he'll wonder off to a quiet place on the other side of camp and quietly play with his magic.

Lae'zel

-She's the type to kick and move around a lot in her sleep, maybe even growl- although she has no memory or idea about it; she would be too proud to admit it willingly anyways.

-Very light sleeper, from as early as she can remember she never wants to give any potential enemies the upper hand so she applies this too to her sleep- she will be the one with a blade to their throat.

-Initially she's not a huge fan of the cuddling idea but once you've been together for a while she starts warming up to the idea of it, and will try it once everyone is asleep; she's full of a soft joy and ever so slightly god forbid drops her guard.

-Falls asleep very easily despite her guard being up so much, she has a lot of pent up rage, anxiety and just general exhaustion so this wears a toll on her body taking her completely out before you even realize it.

Astarion

-Is prone to frequent nightmares/reliving his past with the Szarr household, which causes him to jolt awake and sometimes cry or scream.

-Otherwise he's a quiet sleeper and a wonderful cuddler, he always wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in.

-His favorite sleeping position is to have his head directly on your chest so he can listen to your heartbeat, he finds it incredibly comforting and reassures him that he's not alone and won't ever have to be again- not at night, not in the day and certainly not against his demons.

-Takes a minimum of 4 hours to fall asleep especially if he's left alone with his thoughts; they eat at him with anxiety and doubt- so he tends to get to bed much earlier than everyone else in camp.

Halsin

-Only tends to snore if he's been in wild shape for too long

-Wonderful big spoon, also loves to hold you against his chest while you lay by the camp fire and watch the stars and reminisce on stories long past.

-Like Astarion he relives/has nightmares about some of his traumatic experiences from his youth but he's much more discreet about it and will do his best not to wake you up; and instead will go for a brief walk to clear his head and take in the scent of nature and all its bounties.

-Adores it when you nuzzle your face into his neck and will absolutely make you lay completely all over him so he can be closer to you; unless it embarrasses you of course.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

What if instead of Wednesday being in the room when Bianca knocks on Xavier's door, he's cuddling with his new girl? Hides under the bed or closet or whatever

my taglists are here + you can requests here at any time

—

You rubbed soft circles into Xavier's waist where his shirt was riding up while slowly kissing. His sketchbook had been abandoned and kicked to the end of the bed, no longer of first interest. Despite being alone, neither of you had any further intentions.

Xavier hummed at your touch and leaned into you like the soft and needy kitten he was. You smiled and continued your caresses.

Your and Xavier’s relationship was completely unknown to your Nevermore peers. After his very public breakup with Bianca Barclay, Xavier didn’t want to flash his new relationship to everyone — especially Bianca. She didn’t call the shots and tried many times to get Xavier to take her back, but he refused every time.

Besides, sometimes things are better if you keep them just yours.

A knock on the door forced you and Xavier to break apart. You didn't want to, very comfortable entangled with him on his bed, but there was a possibility this was the house master passing for his evening checking.

Xavier pushed you into his bathroom in prevention and closed the door. The floor was still wet from his shower, but it wasn’t dirty like under a bed.

He tamed his hair a little and opened the door, finding a smiling Bianca on the other side. Slamming the door in her face was tempting, but Xavier didn’t want to make a scene.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her inside. ‘’You're not supposed to be up here,’’ he said flatly.

‘’Good to see you too,’’ Bianca snarked back.

‘’How did you get past the house master? Did you use your siren powers?’’

‘’Not while wearing this.’’ She touched her amulet necklace.

Xavier walked away from her, keeping a distance between them. ‘’What do you want, Bianca?’’

You could hear in his voice that his interest in her was completely gone, but she refused to bury their relationship. She kept searching for a spark through the burned embers to revive the flame. Unfortunately for her, Xavier was fueling another fire.

‘’I wanted to see how you’re doing. I’m sorry about Rowan. I know you and him used to be close—’’

Xavier huffed. The last time he heard her talk to Rowan was in fencing class and she called him lazy.

‘’Since when do you give a damn about Rowan?’’

‘’I care about you.’’

He couldn’t deny that. Although she made him doubt his own feelings for her, Bianca wasn’t an evil soul. She always cared about Xavier, whether they were in a relationship or not.

Bianca stepped up to him by his bed and grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers. ‘’We were good together, Xavier.’’

‘’Were we?’’ he asked, looking up at her. ‘’Or was that how you wanted me to feel?’’

The walls of the bathroom were thin enough for you to hear their conversation close to perfection. Thin enough to hear the lingering pain in Xavier’s words, still hurt by Bianca’s past actions.

‘’I made one mistake and you can’t forgive me—’’

‘’There is nothing to forgive. I just want to move on,’’ Xavier said, tired of going over the same things every time they talked. ‘’I broke up with you, remember? Now, please leave before the house master comes for bed-checks.’’

Regardless how sorry she was, the manipulation of his emotions was something he could never forgive Bianca. His whole life is controlled by his father in a way or another; the only thing Xavier has control over is his emotions and if someone take that from him, he’ll have nothing left.

She accepted her defeat and turned to leave, but on her way out, Bianca caught something on the adjacent empty bed. A jacket.

‘’Isn’t that Y/N’s jacket?’’ she asked, recognizing the clothing.

For a short few seconds, Xavier thought he had been caught. He found himself stammering while searching for a quick but good enough lie.

‘’She…she forgot it in the quad a-and I was planning to give it back to her tomorrow.’’

Bianca raised an eyebrow, doubting him. ‘’I’ll see you tomorrow at the lake. Make sure to get enough sleep…or not.’’ Her blue eyes shifted to your jacket. ‘’I’m gonna crush you anyway.’’

After her departure, Xavier groaned. She knew you were there.

—

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[bachiras-toaster]

a masked monster : ̗̀➛

YUTA OKKOTSU x fem!reader ( x Toge Inumaki)

contents. smut, dubcon, use of cursed speech, reader has sex with yuta thinking it’s inumaki, alcohol consumption, not proof read

wc. 2.2k

sypnosis. yuta wants to have his way with inumaki’s girlfriend

Parties that involved alcohol were a mess.

Although, halloween parties that involved alcohol were an even bigger mess, because now, not only was your memory hazed with the vodka, you also couldn’t recognise anybody; nobody was wearing their regular outfits, and their faces were regularly covered by masks and glasses that accompanied their costumes.

You had trusted your boyfriend, Inumaki, to keep you safe as you downed more and more of the drinks that the homeowner had to offer their guests; and as you ingested more cups of booze, the hazy vision of your boyfriend's serial-killer mask became blurrier from a distance.

You became more erratic, more excited as you partied harder- It was getting easier to tire yourself out, and it wasn't long before you felt the aftereffects of being blackout drunk since you sensed that you had been stumbling through the corridors of the house, passing by what looked to be Megumi... Or was it Yuta? Their hair was almost the same, so how were you supposed to tell the difference? You could barely make out their face, so it was impossible to deduce.

Well, it must have been Megumi, because it certainly wasn't Yuta. The real Yuta, in fact, had been standing in an adjacent corner to Inumaki, who had given him his mask to hold while he helped to wheel more kegs of beer into the house with Yuji so that Maki could engage in a drinking competition with Todo. Although the guests at the party all seemed incredibly invested in the showdown that was about to commence between the two of them, Yuta couldn't care less, and to be honest, he seemed a little annoyed that Inumaki cared more about the contest than taking care of you.

Perhaps if Yuta had known that you told Inumaki not to constantly follow you around and take care of you, he would've been much more lenient with how he thought of him... Or maybe he wouldn't have. Of course, this is Yuta we're talking about. You had pleaded your boyfriend to just let you have fun and for him to just go off and do his own thing, so he must've just been following your orders.

However, Yuta saw it as an insult.

Maybe he thought himself to be some kind of knight in shining armour, one that would appear in times of distress when the prince was nowhere to be found. If Inumaki wasn't going to be there to help you, then that was fine. Yuta would jump into the ring to carry you to safety, just as he had always fantasised about in his little daydreams including you.

He had ascended the stairs, passing by people rushing to the living room to witness the drinking contest, essentially leaving him alone with the only other person on the second floor. Once he had concluded that nobody else was around, Yuta pulled Inumaki's serial-killer mask over his head and pulled his hood up to cover his scruffy-black hair before going off to search for you— Because you'd likely be more open to accept his help if you thought he was your boyfriend.

Of course, despite Yuta believing it obvious that he 100% deserved to be your boyfriend way more than Inumaki did, he knew that he just wasn't as close to you as he would've liked to be. You didn't trust him, you didn't like walking alone with him, and you'd much rather spend time with Inumaki than Yuta. In your head, it's no surprise. Why would you ever prefer to spend time with your boyfriend's best friend? However, Yuta couldn't help but feel a little let down by the constant rejections.

To one of the bedrooms, Yuta pushed the door open to just about see you stumble in front of one of the beds. You were very-much awake, yet still clearly drunk, as you fell to your knees, attempting to grip the bedsheets to pull you up, only to bring the blankets down with you in your descent. Once you had fallen on your back, you stared up at the door, which you had heard open, and greeted the person entering with a wide grin.

"Toge!" You beamed brightly upon viewing the masked man, immediately flipping yourself over so you were on your hands and knees. "I'm glad you got my message!— I was afraid you would've had your phone on silent... I could only send one before my cell died." You grinned, tossing your battery-absent phone in front of you.

A message? Yuta's brain whirred as he thought to himself. If she had sent Inumaki a message, then it could be likely that he would come looking for her soon— Assuming that he wasn't still pre-occupied with the drinking competition.

Yuta closed and locked the door behind him for safekeeping, and he reached for your phone to put it safely away on the nightstand.

He had knelt in front of you when he pulled the phone away from your grasp to put away, and you immediately took control of the situation by grabbing him by the hoodie.

"Don't come down to the floor with me. Bring me up to the bed!" You demanded. "I messaged you telling you to ravish me- The least you could do was do it somewhere comfortable!"

Yuta's cock immediately twitched in his pants.

Oh, he was burdened with such a glorious opportunity.

For some reason, there wasn't an ounce of guilt that came to him when he had hoisted you up onto the mattress, pulling your pants down in a swift tug to reveal yourself in your slick-coated panties. When your pants had fallen down to your ankles, you kicked them away so you had only been left in your top and underwear, opening your legs so that Yuta could be met with your needy, clothed cunt.

"Fuck, look at me, baby..." You whined, your own fingers teasing at the hem of your top. "I need you so bad, you don't understand..."

You wrapped your legs around his waist to force him closer towards you, desperate to feel more of him a you grinded against the crotch of his jeans.

"It's not fair... Before Maki went downstairs, she and Noba' got to do it in the bathroom..." You frowned, weakly lifting up your own shirt—causing Yuta to assist you in the action to reveal your breasts that were squashed together through the use of your push-up bra. "I heard them... And Noba' was telling me about it afterwards too! I wanna do it with my boyfriend at a party as well."

Yuta's face was almost bright red behind the mask he was wearing, though it didn't seem to deter him from what he was doing. As you continued to whine and fiddle at the fly of his jeans, the more that he felt that he really couldn't help himself. Any person with the same amount of love in his heart for you would've done the same... Nobody could have made him feel guilty for gently fishing his cock from his pants and aligning it with your aching pussy.

"Aw—Ngh! T-Toge-!" You babbled as his hips thrust into you at a steady pace. His hands were tightly latched onto your plush thighs, his thumbs gripping your flesh so hard that he may as well have left dents in your skin.

The way you mewled his best friends name was certainly a turn-off for him, but it wasn't like it had been something he could at all change. He certainly wished that it was his name that you were calling as the tip of his cock slid in and out of you, but there was nothing much that he could do without exposing himself and revealing his dark pervertedness. So for his own, pure benefit- and the fact that he couldn't stans you moan Inumaki's name one more time, his hand reached towards your lips, sticking both his middle and ring finger deep into your mouth.

Instead of rejected this gesture, you just licked around his digits, sucking the length of his fingers as if it had been something you had done before with your boyfriend. The way you whimpered around his fingers caused saliva to drip down the corners of your lips- an action which had only sped up the harder Yuta's thrusts became. You had sucked on his fingers like it was a pacifier, which only made him want to press his fingertips deeper into that pretty, little mouth of yours. You looked beautiful sprawled out onto the bed beneath him, licking him while taking his dick like a good girl.

Yuta was so close, he could feel his climax building up- and the squeezing of you around his length certainly did not help his desperation. Your legs had began to shake and you were instinctively rubbing at the sensation pooling between your thighs, babbling on about how "it feels so good" and how "nobody does it like you, Toge".

"—Toge—" You whined out, Yuta's fingers still in your mouth, your back arching as the pleasure hit your g-spot over and over again. More spit had leaked from your mouth as you went to speak again, and your indication of wanting to talk caused Yuta to retract his fingers and look at you with open ears.

"—C'mere—" You beckoned, holding one of your hands up to cup the side of his face. "I— Wanna kiss you..."

Your thumb hooked the edge of his mask, which immediately made his heart pound. Yuta had slown his thrusts down immensely and grabbed you by the wrist to prevent you from lifting up the mask. This action had only entailed more confusion from your part.

"...Please..." You begged. "Please— I'm so close, just... Let me kiss you..." You pleaded, leaning up to prepare yourself for an embrace from him.

He didn't want his identity to be revealed to you- which was something that would most definitely if you saw that he didn't possess the seal of the Inumaki clan around his mouth. It was something that would have been an immediate, dead give away- which is why his heart practically dropped when your other hand had reached up to tug at the bottom of his mask instead.

However, Yuta had reacted quickly. Using his own technique of mimicry, he had swiftly copied the technique of cursed speech- one that had been possessed by Inumaki himself; and in copying such an ability, the snake and fangs tattoos had generated on his tongue and cheeks.

Yuta had leant back a bit so you were only able to pull the bottom half of his mask off, but you seemed satisfied with it either way. All it took was to see the very same Inumaki clan-tattooed lips that you kissed every day to make you understand that you truly must have been in safe hands.

Noticing that you had no intention of pulling the mask up any more than you had, he grabbed both of your hands and pulled them into his, leaning down so he was pinning both of your palms firmly onto the bed so that you wouldn't attempt to unmask him again. With the part of his face that he was revealing, he engulfed you in a desperate, sloppy kiss- accompanied by the continuous pumps of his own cock into you. The way you moaned into his mouth feasted at his own pleasure, and the way he could feel your heaving chest press right up against his was even more thrilling.

Though, in the sheer heat off things, Yuta could sense that the mask was beginning to slip off in the midst of the moment. He didn't want to stop now, especially since he was seconds away from finishing, but the mask was becoming dangerously close to falling off and revealing who it truly was behind there. Perhaps it was because you had lifted it to reveal his mouth to you, but as he continued kissing you, the felt the plastic steadily retract from his face. You must've sensed it too, because your eyes had opened just the tiniest amount, probably in the hopes to see the face of your boyfriend.

It was a shame that he had to do this, especially since you hadnt seemed to reach your high yet- he supposed that he would just need to finish without you. Yuta pulled away from the kiss for just a split-second, a trail of saliva still connecting the two of your lips as he initiated Inumaki's technique.

"Sleep."

Your body went limp as it was put to rest almost instantly, and it was then thay Yuta felt his cock burst with pleasure, pulling out to shoot the ropes of thick cum across your softly breathing stomach.

Fuck.

[itshype]

The second, secret Justice League (DC x DP)

The Infinite Realms, is something like a ligament joining all the different dimensions together through their afterlives.

So Danny's left his original dimension behind. Maybe after everyone he loves become ghosts they all decide it's easier to move into the zone full time. No rent, no GIW, no Fenton parents.

Over time it's decided that while the Ghost Zone doesn't need a monarch (hey their last one took a nap for 1000 years and nothing fell apart, clearly this position is not super essential for the day-to-day running of the ghost zone), an envoy or ambassador would be handy!

So Danny, as the most living-inclined ghost around gets the job immediately. Most ghosts are fairly hostile and social faux-pas around their treatment, triggers and deaths will lead straight to violence they can't really stop themselves. But Danny is much more centred and could deal with rude dimensions. Also, he can protect and disguise himself much more effectively than literally anyone else should his work take him to a hostile dimension.

There's a whole wealth of fic in this ambassador idea I swear.

Then one day the Justice League from their own dimension summon "The Ghost Leader" to help with a rampant ghost hoarde or something but instead get Danny who tells them "Oh, we actually deposed our 'leader' but I am the official representative of the Infinite Realms and I can totally process your request!"

There is definitely some upset about how young the ghost is - while Danny as a human is now a young man, as a ghost he's 14, still. Frostbite says he'll grow more when he dies again.

They ultimately decide to introduce themselves and Danny gets very excited. "Oh, I know you guys!"

They have no way of knowing that when alive, Danny lived in a dimension that they didn't exist in.

"Yeah, your other branch!"

Batman gets very concerned that there are imposters using their name and potentially their reputations to manipulate ghost children who somehow represent their entire realm.

"Yeah, Jason - I mean batman and I, we're really close. Ice and Mystek actually live with friends of mine, although I don't know them very well. Metamorpho lives with one of my rogues, they're really close, I think it's a compartmentalising thing?"

Anyways, everyone has a lot of questions now they know that almost every single Justice League-adjacent vigilante that died in uniform met up in the afterlife to make another Justice League. Damian is furious that a son who wasn't him got to be batman first.

Batman is ready to go on the offensive. Because surely if his son is still sentient enough to continue his vigilante work then he'd be sentient enough to want to visit him. Some other ghost must be keeping Jason away from him.

[roanniom]

Being Good

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Request:  Riding a pillow while jerking Steve off ;p - anon

Note: Wrote some of this drunk in the back of an uber on the way to meet up with friends for a party, so I like to think this is a very organic piece lol. If you saw that I posted this accidentally before it was finished, no you didn’t lol

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, pillow riding, masturbation (m & f), alcohol consumption / drunkenness, brief fingering/fondling, dirty talk, Steve is a consent king and wants to do right by you so bb boi does his best to be good, even though you make it hard. So very hard. 

When you stumble through your front door after the party, you yank Steve in with you. Hands on his chest you slam him up against the adjacent wall after he barely manages to get the door closed, attaching your lips to his in a particularly lewd, loud kiss. His back arches against the wall.

“H-hold on, baby,” Steve chuckles, pulling you off him and breathing heavily. “Slow down.”

“I don’t wanna,” you argue, peppering kisses on Steve’s jaw and neck when he won’t let you attack his mouth again. He chuckles and allows you to maul him with affection, pushing him toward the couch, but he grabs your wrists when you start to unbuckle his belt.

“Woah woah woah, none of that.”

“Why not?” You ask, so indignant that it’s kind of cute.

“You’re wasted, baby,” Steve explains gently, but not without a little chuckle. You shake your head too vehemently, throwing off your own balance a bit.

“No. No I’m not. I’m tipsy, promise!” You grab at his sleeve and try to pull his body back against yours but he holds you firmly by the forearms.

“You’re drunk, so no funny business.”

“But…but ‘m really…” you look around as if to make sure nobody’s listening even though you’re alone in your own apartment. Then you whisper. “‘M…really horny, Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes widen rapidly but then he barks out a laugh before kissing you fondly on the forehead.

“Now I know you’re drunk.”

“Whyyyy?” you whine out.

“Because for starters, you’re calling me Stevie -,”

“I call you Stevie a lot!” you interrupt, but he shakes his head.

“No, you call me Stevie when you’re drunk, my love.” Then he cocks his head to the side as of thinking before continuing. “And when you’re cock drunk, although I guess you could say that’s the same thing.”

“Stevieeee. Don’t say things like that if you’re not gonna…put it inside me…” you say the last part in a dramatic whisper. Steve starts to walk away, shaking his head incredulously, though you follow hot on his trail.

“Which brings me to the other thing indicating how drunk you are - you’re talking very dirty.”

“Y’always tell me to be more v-vocal,” you hiccup, almost offended.

Steve wanders into the bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes.

“Yeah I do and it’s always like pulling teeth. Your inhibitions are obviously lowered if you’re telling me to ‘put it inside you’.” He says the last part in a mocking tone, mimicking your delivery. You frown and watch him straighten back up into sitting position before bullying yourself into his space and straddling his lap.

“But c’mon Stevie. I…I want you so bad. It’ll feel soooo good.” You do your best to entice him, arms wound round his neck, nose skimming his jaw. You swivel your hips to grind against him sloppily and he groans. “Can’t tell me you’re not turned on, too. I feel you. He wants to come out and play.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking killing me,” Steve chuckles, stopping your hips with a firm grip.

“No you’re killing me. Please. Fuck me.” Your words are desperate and your face is even more so. All doe eyes and parted, wet lips. If Steve wasn’t able to detect the haziness in your gaze, he might have relented. Might have fucked you right then and there. But you sway in his lap as you try to wriggle against his hardening cock and he shakes his head.

“No can do, sweetheart. I want you all there when I fuck you. Need you to start off with brains if I want to fuck you brainless.” He chuckles at his own uncouth comment but you pout, pulling your arms from his neck to fold them petulantly across your chest.

“We have sex when we’re both drunk all the time.”

“Well not all the time. And that’s when we’re both drunk, baby. Right now it’s taking advantage of you.”

“No it’s taking care of me,” you argue, grabbing his hand and pulling it between your thighs. Steve rests his forehead against yours patiently.

“Why don’t you go wash your face, get changed, and get to bed. I’ll take care of you however many times you want in the morning.”

“But I’m wet noooow,” you cry out. Steve’s eyelids flutter as he tries to keep from reacting to your whine and your words. He pushes you up to standing and guides you to the bathroom where he leaves you frowning at him.

“Fucking Christ,” he says, heading back to the bedroom, rubbing his face roughly to try and get a hold of himself. He’s trying his best to do right by you but you’re making it as hard as possible of course.

Steve undresses while you take your time in the bathroom, sliding under the covers in his usual pair of boxers. He has the lights low and by the time you’ve emerged he’s hoping your mood has muted.

But no such luck.

You appear in the doorway in a silk slip and panties, walking to the bed with purpose. Your face is freshly scrubbed, but the pout remains. Steve swallows audibly and clutches the covers closer to his chin, realizing that his struggle might have barely begun. Before he fully realizes what’s happening, you’ve climbed on the bed and grabbed a pillow, slotting it squarely between your thighs.

“What…?” Steve’s confused for only a second before he’s blushing a deep beet red.

You begin grinding down on your pillow, keeping eye contact with Steve as best you can.

“Sweetheart…” Steve groans and you shudder.

“If you won’t do it, I’ll make myself cum on my own,” you say, thrusting your chin up at him. Steve tries to look away, but apparently you’ve found the very edge of his self control.

The truth is that you’re not out of your mind drunk by any means, and he knows that. But Steve was once a pushy, pressuring boyfriend, and he’s long since promised himself that he would never find himself on the dubious side of consent with lovers ever again.

Your hips swiveling frantically down onto your little pillow though…that’s something you would have done without him there anyway, right? As long as he’s not doing anything, it isn’t taking advantage of you, right?

Meanwhile, you’re a vision as you work yourself up. Little pants fall from your lips, and a cute furrow forms in your brow from the effort. One hand fists in the front of the pillow for leverage while the other migrates, traveling up to grasp at your breast through the silk of your slip pajamas.

“Oh Stevie. I wanted you all night,” you whimper. Steve feels like he’s losing his mind, continuing to clutch the sheets up to his neck to keep from clutching certain parts of his anatomy.

“Y-yeah baby?”

“Yeah. You wore those jeans I like. It wasn’t fair,” you add, biting your lip. Steve smirks.

“My ass too much for you in those jeans baby?” he teases because it sounds ridiculous.

“Yeah but really it’s ‘cuz…” you screw yours eyes shut and shiver before opening them back up to stare at him longingly. “I can see the outline of your dick in them.”

Steve’s not ready for that. He hadn’t been exaggerating, you’re usually too shy for dirty talk. But now you’re speaking about his dick - you’d actively begged for it earlier - and he groans in agony. You take this as the positive sign it is.

“C-can I see now, Stevie?”

“See what?” he asks unnecessarily.

“Can I see it?” You tug at the sheets, and whether the tug was strong enough to yank them out of his grasp or just that his resolve was that weak, they slide down his body, leaving him in his boxers before you. And leaving his prominent erection clearly in view.

“Oh,” you say on an inhale. You start humping down into your pillow harder and faster and Steve groans, covering his eyes with a hand because you’re just too much at this point.

With his eyes covered he doesn’t notice you shuffle with your pillow up the bed. Doesn’t notice till your small hand wraps around his cock through the fabric of his boxers, stroking up the length of it.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Steve practically jumps out of his skin, yanking his hand away from his eyes and smacking it down on your hand to keep it pressed to the bed instead of his dick.

“But you’re…you’re hard,” you reply dumbly, the grind of your hips unsteady.

“Well fucking yeah. Look what you’re doing.” Steve gestures to your body and a shiver runs down his spine. “I’m…I’m trying to be good.”

Your eyes seem to melt in front of him. You twist your hand in his grasp so that you’re holding his now as you renew your grinding in earnest.

“You are good, Stevie. You’re so good.”

Your voice - hitched as it is with arousal - makes the praise inherently sexual, even though he’s pretty sure you mean it as reassurance. His cock twitches because, regardless of intent, you sound fucking sexy, and Steve’s other hand rushes to press into it, trying to keep it from visibly jumping again.

“Yesss, Stevie. Touch yourself for me,” you coo, noticing his hand on himself. You squeeze the hand you’re holding and squeeze your beast in tandem, letting out a luxurious whine.

Steve watches you get yourself off with hooded eyes. The lust is getting to be too much. He wants to do right by you, but how bad could this be? It’s jerking off, not taking advantage of you. He’s done this a million times before - gotten off to images of you - the only difference is you’re in the room this time.

And giving him visuals and sounds that are going to make him shoot his load harder than he ever would have alone.

“You’re a fucking menace, you know that?” Steve grunts, finally letting go of your hand. You squeal with excitement regardless. He sits up straighter against the headboard and strokes himself through his boxers a few times before yanking them down to reveal his cock, big and aching and leaking at the tip.

“Mmm Stevie look at it,” you moan out and Steve has to grip himself at the base to cope with the way you’re looking at him like you want to eat him up.

He does look at it. His cock is fucking throbbing. You were right. It does feel unfair to be this horny but unable to bury himself deep inside of you. When he looks back at you, you’re desperate, tongue poking out as you wet your lips and Steve’s had too much. He has to touch himself or he’ll combust. He raises his hand to his mouth but you speak up.

“C-can I?”

Steve reaches over to you and you grab his wrist, licking up the length of his palm. Steve groans. He’d thought you were just going to spit for him, and he’s still distracted by that when you suddenly push his hand between your legs. You have his fingers sliding through your slick folds before he can pull back and the sight of you rubbing yourself off against him, while simultaneously letting your eyes roll back in pleasure, has him gripping his cock violently with his free hand.

“Fucking - fuck! You can’t just - c’mon baby.” Steve’s voice pleads with you and you frown, letting go of his wrist begrudgingly. Steve yanks his hand away but does immediately smear your arousal across his aching cock, lubing himself up so he can fist from root to tip at a brutal pace.

“Stevie…” you whimper, watching the way he touches himself. “I want to do that.”

“You should have thought about that before taking that 5th shot with Robin,” he manages to tease through gritted teeth.

You lean forward and place a hand on Steve’s thigh, thrilled when he doesn’t move it. Your grinding becomes sloppy while you watch him jerk himself off.

“’m not drunk,” you hiccup ironically. Your hand squeezes his thigh. “If anything ‘m drunk on you.”

“Hands to yourself, baby. C’mon, stop making this hard.” Steve’s voice is strained as he practically begs you. Of course you don’t listen, instead sliding your hand up to cup his aching balls beneath the chokehold grip he has on his shaft.

“Don’t think it can get much harder, Stevie,” you tease with a cheeky smile and squeeze on his balls. Steve bucks into your hand and grunts, shutting his eyes against the image of your debaucherous need.

“Hands…off.” It’s more of a plea than a command, so you withdraw your grasp reluctantly. You grip the edge of your pillow yet again and shift your hips restlessly. You’re close, but getting more and more impatient for the end.

Steve hears your whimper and opens his eyes, taking in the way you hump your pillow with shaking thighs and glazed eyes. His hand blurs on his cock as he works himself closer to the edge.

“Fuck, baby. Can you play with those tits for me?” he asks, both for himself and also because he’s feeling guilty for not touching you when you so obviously need him.

“Anything for you, Stevie,” you whine, cupping your breasts together and squeezing. You gasp at your own touch and the way Steve’s eyes darken at the sight.

“You wreck me, you know that?” Steve practically growls. “Even when I can’t have you, you drive me over the fucking edge.”

“Want you, Stevie,” you cry out, rolling your nipples between your forefingers and your thumbs, riding your pillow with abandon. “Y’look so good right now. Wish I was riding you.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Steve comforts, not an ounce of edge or mockery to cloud his sincerity. “In the morning I’m gonna fuck you into next Tuesday. You won’t - fuck! You won’t be able to walk by the time I’m finished with you.”

“Mmm love when you talk like that,” you barely manage to say above your now open panting. You’re so close, and Steve’s words are sending you hurtling towards the end.

“Yeah? My shy baby likes it when I talk dirty?” And just like that the teasing is back. Steve licks his lips and slows his fist to a steady, agonizing pull. His tip is practically dripping with precum at this point but he watches you intently. “Enough to make you cum?”

“Oh god, can I, Stevie?” you whine. You’re breathless and postponing your hips into the pillow at this point. The straps of your slip have fallen down and you’re playing with your bare breasts, squeezing at them listlessly while you bounce on the cushion between your thighs.

“Do it, baby,” Steve encourages. And you break apart. You spasm over the pillow and drive your hips against it impossibly harder, collapsing forward with the force of your orgasm.

The image of you falling to pieces in front of him has a domino effect on Steve, forcing him to fall over his own great precipice. He calls out your name hoarsely ask he fists his cock, cum spilling out over his hand and onto his stomach. You look up, gasping, in time to watch the milky translucent-white spend paint his skin.

“Holy shit that…that was…” Steve can’t finish his thought because he’s unable to catch his breath, so he leans back against the headboard to try and collect himself with his eyes shut. As such he doesn’t catch you before you launch yourself at him, gripping his sides and dragging your tongue across his abdomen to collect all of his cum. “Jesus fucking - sweetheart, stop it!”

You lift your head up at the admonishment, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and giving him a blurry, cock drunk - and drunk drunk - grin.

“Couldn’t let you waste it,” you say matter of factly with a shrug.

Steve stares at you for a moment before chuckling and dragging you up his body for a kiss. You melt in his arms and kiss him back, grateful to finally have his touch again.

You kiss for a long time. Languid and slow at first but then increasing in intensity until you’re lying on top of him, grinding your soaked panties down against him.

“You’re hard again,” you gasp into his mouth when you feel his erection pressing expectantly into your abdomen. Steve shakes his head and then - only then - shifts you so that you’re lying on the bed beside him. You grumble at the loss of contact but watch him hungrily as he clambers out of bed and stumbles out of the room.

When he returns, Steve’s got a full glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen. He comes to your side of the bed and offers you the glass.

“Drink,” he orders. You haul yourself up into sitting position and giggle, pointing at the still very prominent tent in his boxers.

“But he still wants to play,” you argue, reaching for his election. Steve grabs your hand to keep it from making contact and wrestles the water glass into your grip.

“You’re fucking insatiable. What am I supposed to do with you?” he groans, but you notice the flush warming his cheeks and neck, even as you dutifully gulp down some water. Steve turns off the lights and climbs back into the bed beside you then, settling in under the covers. You frown.

“So you really aren’t gonna fuck me?” you ask, defeated.

“For the love of god, drink,” Steve grumbles, gesturing to your water before burrowing down into his pillow. He’d tossed the pillow that you’d humped over the edge of the bed to be dealt with tomorrow, so you settle against the remaining sham.

You take another sip of your water and whine petulantly.

“Why?”

Steve sits upright abruptly and grips your chin to look you directly in the eye in spite of the darkness in the room. You swallow audibly and he speaks.

“Because,” he responds, his thumb rubbing over your wet bottom lip. “Tomorrow morning I’m going to do what I said and fuck you till you can’t walk. And I was good tonight, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be as patient tomorrow. So I’d rather you not be hungover as I make you take my dick over and over. What about you?”

You practically douse the bed with water with how fast you try to down the rest of the glass in a hurry.

Steve just laughs and kisses your forehead before laying down and willing himself to sleep, trying to ignore his hard on while you work your way into his arms and immediately fall asleep in his hold.

~*~

Tag list (sorry if you don’t want to be tagged for Steve, I’m having trouble keeping track so just let me know!!): @millenialcatlady​ @theoncrayjoy​ @sacklerscumrag​ @boomhauer​ @copycatkillerfics​ @theshoehanger​  @zegrasbabyy​ @notafinalgirl​ @amelialupin-black​ @wroteclassicaly​ @peeaachyyyyy​​ @thegirlwiththatolduglybookshelf   @marvelwomen3000​​ @miraclesabound​​ @thatstoomuchman

[bring-backup-99]

They Will Not See

Read on AO3

Am I in a bad way about Season 3 and the finale? Yes.

PAIRING: tech x fem reader

SUMMARY: You spend a sweet, unexpected night in bed with Tech.

WORDS COUNT: 1274

RATING + WARNINGS: 18+, spicy, porn with minimal plot, PiV

NOTES: This is installment eighteen of my reverse harem “Bad Choices” smutlet series on Ao3, but I think it’s also a sweet, intimate stand-alone Tech story. And I do love Tech losing a little of his control, especially since he’s kind of Dom in the series.

Although it’s written in second person, my heroine has a very established relationship with the Batch.

Tech watches you sleep. This is a recent development.

Usually, he would disentangle himself and leave the bed as soon as you drifted off, staying that long only because he knows you enjoy not falling asleep alone. He has spent his entire life sleeping in close proximity to one or more people, so he understands the general idea that this might be comforting. Tech can fall asleep anywhere, under almost any conditions. He has never accidentally fallen asleep, at least not since he was a cadet, but, when circumstances allow, he can just pass out. He overheard someone on an extended mission refer to him as the king of the power nap, which he took as a compliment.

You have always rested on Tech in casual moments; physical contact clearly being one of the ways you show affection. Touch has never been important to Tech. He has never had the need to show anyone affection or have it shown to him. In his life, he has categorized touch as negative or neutral. The addition of sex as physical intimacy has expanded the categories slightly. The touch associated with sex is usually positive. He certainly enjoys the physical sensations he experiences during sexual activities, and he understands that touch pre- and post- said activities is something you need, but it was not something he previously thought about for himself.

With the regular addition of multiple partners to your intimate activities, and their own needs for your attention, the idle time you spend with him has diminished, and, to his surprise, he misses that. He also finds that when he returns to the bedroom and sees you sleeping intertwined with someone, there is an unfamiliar feeling present. He wouldn’t call it jealousy, because he has never previously experienced that emotion, but he might acknowledge that it could be adjacent to that on an emotional spectrum.

So, he watches you, considering, then he puts down his datapad and stays next to you, your head resting on his shoulder. After a few minutes, your body fully turns and presses to him, your arm on his chest. He decides this is not a neutral touch and recategorizes it as positive, and then he falls asleep.

*

You are dreaming. Tech is kissing your neck, and his hand is cradling your head. He’s whispering soft words to you as he nuzzles your ear. You don’t understand what he is saying, but you can tell that the words are sweet.

For a moment, you feel bad; this must be Wrecker or maybe Hunter, but you refuse to wake up, instead basking in the gentle touch of someone who rarely touches you gently. You don’t remember either of them being there, but Tech doesn’t stay in bed with you.

Dream Tech kisses you, pressing his lips to yours before you open your mouth to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders. You hear your name whispered with such a tone that your whole body shivers.

A knee nudges between your legs, parting them slightly, and then another spreads you open, and his body is flush to your own. A strong arm nestles to one side of your head, and you finally open your eyes, ready to let the dream go, to stop this nighttime lover before it goes too far. But it’s still Tech above you, his eyes partly closed, and you feel an unexpected excitement and warmth course through your body. You pull his face down to yours to kiss him more, your fingertips running through his short hair, against the strap that keeps his goggles a permanent part of his face, like Wrecker’s scar and Hunter and Crosshair’s tattoos.

As he begins to slide into you, you softly cry out his name into his ear. He stops for a moment, as if confused, and you wonder if he thought he was dreaming as well. At least it was your name he called out. His eyes are fully open now, looking at you. You smile and tip your hips up to encourage him to continue. Another moment passes and then he is buried inside you.

He’s moving slowly, almost hesitant. It’s been a long time since someone was in your bed who could initiate the dreamy fun of middle-of-the-night sex, and maybe Tech has never done this at all, considering he rarely even falls asleep in your bed. Would he have slept in others’?

But it feels so good. So nice. So satisfying. His body is against yours, his strokes long and careful, and when he fills you, he presses in just a little more, and you murmur at the pleasure of it. You could do this all night, whispering encouragement in his ear, telling him how you never want this to stop, how good it feels. You squeeze yourself around his cock, gratified to hear him make a small sound of satisfaction, moving your hips to meet him. Your arms wrap around him, feeling those strong muscles in his back, feeling his ass tighten as he pushes into you.

He’s different, his breath catching more right now than when he is pounding into you. He hooks your leg over his arm, finding an angle to be deeper into you. He stays like this, rolling his hips against you as you moan in ecstasy.

Eventually, he has to stop, holding himself still as he tries to control himself, but you can tell he’s close. You move under him, tightening around him in tantalizing pulses, pressing him into you, not letting him collect himself enough to halt his body.

“Wait,” he whispers to you. “I will finish too soon.”

“No,” you answer. “I want you to come.” You keep moving against him, feeling his resolve giving way.

“But you…you have not…”

“It’s okay. This feels so good. I don’t want to change it. Come in me like this.” And you want him to lose a little of his usual control. He looks into your eyes before giving in.

His pace picks up slightly, as you push against him, your fingers raking along his back, your teeth finding his shoulder. His lips are to yours, muffling his moan as he starts to come, pumping inside of you.

You cry out in shared bliss, holding him tight, your legs wrapped around his, riding every wave, until his face is nuzzled against your own, his breaths against your neck.

*

You lie on his chest, his arm around you. You thought he’d fall right back to sleep, but you can feel the wakefulness in his body. You stroke your fingers against his chest, then absentmindedly lick his nipple.

“Mmph,” he groans in surprise, catching your hand in his. He turns his head slightly to you. “I feel that I have left a task incomplete.”

“Tech,” you laugh. “I’m not an item on a checklist…or are you concerned about your perfect record?” He rolls his eyes, but you can tell you’re partly correct. “Do I seem any less satisfied to you than at other times?” He has no response. “Then leave it…Or leave it til morning. Let me just enjoy this.” You feel his body relax slightly in acquiescence.

Yes, you want to soak this up. A few hours of soft Tech, with sex no less intense or satisfying because he wasn’t rough with you – with his strong, naked body against you, and his attention not diverted by his datapad. You don’t want to fall asleep yet, but slowly his warmth and steady breathing lull your eyes to close.

In the morning, he ticks off that final box on his checklist before he leaves.

*

The rest of the series can be found here.

Warning: It gets kinky.

[weirdo-fun]

What Else Can I Do?

Azriel x Reader - Chapter 1

Hello everyone! This is my first ever fic. I don't know if this will be good at all or people will even like it. This idea has been in my head for a few months and I finally caved and wrote it. This will be a few chapters maybe 3 chapters long? I don't know but I hope you enjoy! Also side note grammar is not my strong suit, so if there are any grammar mistakes please be nice. :)

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Summary: Reader ends up geting turned fae and befriends Elain and gets super close with her. But Reader notices Elain gets treated differently, and Reader would like to change that but a certain batboy always gets in her way of trying to help her friend and under her skin.

Word Count: 1.7 K

Warnings: Bickering, slight dislike of inner circle, slight enemies to lovers, fem! reader, reader being sort of a rebel

Author's Note: Was this slightly insipred by "What Else Can I Do?" From Encanto? Maybe... (I do not claim or take credit for the song, all rights for the song go to the respected owners)

Side Note: Azriel will come into the story later I promise.

“Why do you let them do that to you?” You ask Elain as you sit on in arm chair with both legs draped across one arm of the chair with your back leaning against the other one. The book you were just reading now lay on your chest as you look at Elain who is sitting, a lot more elegantly, on a sofa adjacent to you. You wait for her to answer as you give her a questionable look. 

She sheepishly looks up from her own book. “I don’t mind it. I know they only want whats best for me and to protect me.” You raise an eyebrow at her not entirely believing her. “Yeah, but doesn’t it bother you that they practically tell you what you can and can’t do?” You ask, pushing the conversation more. 

These have been questions you have had for a while. Ever since you and Archeron sisters were thrown into the caldron and turned High Fae, everyone decided, weather subconsciously or not, to keep Elain in this sort of bubble. Treating her as this precious flower that needs all the protection from everyone. You never had any ill will towards Elain, she is a very feminine woman who does tend to be on the more soft spoken side, which is what makes Elain Elain. This is what gravitated you towards Elain and wanting to be her friend. Being a very outspoken and extroverted person you always tended to befriend the more quiet types. It has always been this way since you were a child. The extroverted girl talking and hanging out with the introverts. You don’t know why you subconsciously gravitated to being friends with the quieter crowd when you were the complete opposite. Maybe it gave balance in your life. You being the talker and the other one being the listener. You don’t know why or how but those friendships always worked out when you were mortal. 

That was true until you accidentally, more like breaking a rule, decided to take a stroll in the middle of the night throughout the Archeron estate. You were a newly hired servant and you were too excited for your new job that you couldn’t sleep so you walked around the estate and ended up in the middle of the crossfire of the Archeron sisters, Nesta and Elain, being kidnapped. You of course jumped in to help but ended up being taken as well. 

After being turned and by the grace of the Mother, the Inner Circle allowed you to stay even though you weren’t related to the Archeron’s. You were still turned fae and needed a place to stay. Although the healing process was slow and mostly done on your own you never thought the inner circle was completely bad.  

It wasn’t until Elain finally started to come around and was healing from her trauma when you decided to befriend her. You guys fastly became close. Mostly thanks to you for always seeking her out and wanting to strike up a conversation. From the outside it may have appeared that you kept forcing yourself in her life but Elain wouldn’t turn you away and she would start conversations a good portion of the time. But it was when you guys started to become close that you noticed the treatment that the inner circle gave her. You never said anything in the beginning thinking you were thinking too much into it. But after so many days, and even weeks of the same treatment that you were questioning everything regarding Elain. 

You have questioned Elain about this treatment but she would brush it off saying things like “oh well i don’t see a difference” or “it’s ok Reader they are just being friendly and making sure I am ok.” And you haven’t pushed Elain further until today. 

A certain bat boy got under your skin earlier. And to be frank, he actually has always gotten under your skin when it comes to Elain. He is the master of the “delicate flower treatment” towards Elain. This treatment would be cute if 1) he was courting her, which he isn’t and 2) if it was dialed waaaaay back and the treatments actually respected her as being a true adult woman and not a fragile little girl. 

Azriel, is the bat that gets under your skin. You have tried to be friendly to him but he never talks to you and you never know what he is thinking. His face, although you first thought very handsome when you first met him, is always expressionless and stone cold. You have tried to be civil with him but because of your outspoken and extroverted nature he mostly disagrees with you for the simple fact that he knows you don’t like how he treats Elain. You have confronted him before about the matter in a friendly way but he shut you out and blew you off saying how you don’t know anything about what Elain has gone through and you don’t know whats best for her. The whole interaction left your relationship with him strained. And since then both you and Azriel have been on opposite sides on everything. Both wanting to challenge each other and win; never seeing eye to eye.  

Elain sheepishly shrugs. “I don’t think they really do-.” “Girl, no they do.” You interrupt her sternly. She looks at the ground and her posture slouches a little and you can tell that she knows your right. That her sister, with Cassian, and especially Azriel treat her as a fragile little princess. That anything can break her. But she survived the Caldron, she survived her trauma from it. You know she is a strong woman and you try to show her that; try to show the inner circle that. “You know I am right.” You say in a firm way as you swing your legs from on top of the arm rest to sitting right in the chair with your feet on the ground and back straight. She looks at you with innocent and confused eyes. “Well, I don’t know what to say to them when they tell me what I can and can’t do. I just agree because I don’t want to create conflict with them.” She softens her tone at the end, getting shy and embarrassed. “But is that what you want?” You ask her straight in the eye. “To keep agreeing with whatever they say and tell you how to live your life? To not have an opinion or a say? Is that what you want?” You ask in a calm yet concerned manner. “Well, it’s just that-” “Is that what you want?” “Well no but-” “Is that what you want?!” “I can’t just-” “ELAIN! Is that what you want?!” You yell for a third time. Wanting to hear her true feelings, her true thoughts and opinions on the matter. With no bullcrap excuse about how she won’t mind for stupid reasons. And no running away from this conversation. 

“No.” She speaks so softly that you don’t hear it. “What?” You ask leaning into her to hear what she said. “No” Elain says. You hear it this time, but her head is down and her hair is fell in front of her face, not being able to see her. “Elain what did you say? I can’t hear you?” You lie to her to try and get her to voice her opinion louder and to lift her head up and say it more confidently. She slowly lifts her head, straightens her back and looks at you with truthful eyes. “No. That is not what I want.” She says without her voice wavering. “I would like to go out shopping when I want to go. I would like for them to tell me things straight up and stop carefully stepping around eggshells thinking I won’t be able to handle it, that I might break.” 

You smile at her. Proud that she was finally able to say what she was feeling out loud. You walk over to her and pull her up to stand and give her a hug. “That is all I wanted to hear you say.” You look at her proudly holding onto her upper arms. “But, I still don’t know how to tell that to them. You know it’s hard for me to voice my opinion.” You shake your head. “We will take this one step at a time. Step one was to get you to voice out loud to me what you actually want. And we did that, so congratulations.” You tease as you walk back over to the arm chair you were sitting at to pick up the book you were reading. “Well then what’s the next step?” Elain asks curiously. You smirk and turn towards her. She sees the smirk on your face knowing you are already planning something. Her eyes widen in concern because every time you had a plan it would always get you in trouble and Azriel would always be the one to scold you. But you keep doing these “plans” because you didn’t care what Azriel was going to tell you.

“Remember when you told me that you thought my power could do so much more, than make pretty plants and flowers?” You ask as you create just a simple pink rose on your hand. “Yes.” She nods, not knowing where this conversations was going. You smile, “Well, I have been secretly trying to practice to create new things but it’s hard when just in the confines on my room.” You hand her the pink rose that you just created. “Why don’t we take a walk through the forest. And maybe along our walk I try to practice without the worry of the inner circles eyes and ears.” You ask sheepishly. “Look I know this is supposed to be about you but I would just like to be with my favorite person in the forest exploring my power more without judging eyes.” You plead. Elain nods and gives a small smile. “Thank you Reader for wanting to help me. And if helping me also includes me being able to see your power that I am super jealous of by the way, then yes.” You smile at her, grab her hand and both of you guys start to giggle like little girls as you guys walk out of the living area planning to “sneak out”. 

That is it for Chapter 1! Did I also give Reader Isabela's powers?...Read the next chapter to find out! I am already thinking about chapter 2 and I promise Azriel and Reader will be interacting with each but I was setting everything up until then. But chapter 2 may take me while to publish because I am getting ready for my vacation but depending on how people react to this I may be motivated to publish it sooner. ;) Please if you have feedback leave a comment because I would love to read them. Thank you so much for reading and if you made it this far. Until next time, take care everyone!

[espionn]

IceWing tribe sheet!

icewings actually happen to be my favorite tribe, they're a little messed up but i love them. enjoy my headcanons!

Physical Appearance + Traits:

-IceWings live in the cold and barren arctic north, and have developed very specific adaptations in order to survive. Rather than being warm-blooded and keeping themselves insulated, they kept their reptillian cold blood and slowly adapted to a consistently cold internal body temperature. As a result, they require no warmth at all for their bodies to function; they do not insulate themselves with fur or fat like mammals do.

-Their scales are pale, usually with a bluish tint although other colors are not unheard of. When well taken care of, they gleam and sparkle like ice.

-They are naturally cold to the touch, giving off a chill to anyone close by. In warm environments, especially humid ones, the cold will sometimes cause moisture from the air to condense on their scales, letting drops of water settle on them and drip from them. This, at first glance, can sometimes look like they’re “melting”, and has made some believe that IceWings are literally made from ice, and they can melt in the heat. (This is another headcanon that didn’t originate with me, it comes from @flamebringer0. If you see this, I adore your headcanon, I hope you don’t mind me including it among with mine!)

-Sharp spikes bristle their necks and run along their spines and tails. This can make it difficult for other tribes to gain the upper hand in fights without being wounded by the spines. They can also use their tail as an effective weapon.

-They can summon a storm of tiny shards and crystals from the ice that tends to coat their throat and produce frostbreath, which can quickly deliver frostbite to any dragons who aren’t well adapted to cold.

-Icewing horns are sometimes straight, resembling icicles, sometimes jagged, and sometimes branch off into something more antler-adjacent. They are always sharp, but just slightly more fragile than other horns.

-Some IceWing scales tend to get a bit darker and more silvery as they age, and likewise they tend to hatch with bright, snowy-white coloration. Some will have speckled patterns and general variability between colors across their bodies.

-Their dark eyes help absorb light and allow them to see past the bright glare of sun on ice. 

-Their bodies are long, slender and elegant, especially among royals. Their faces are long and pointed, and they are more agile and maneuverable than most tribes expect. They are generally smaller than SkyWings but taller than MudWings.

-Their serrated claws help grip ice, and make their attacks more punishing. They have a sharp and sturdy point on the end of their snout, which can be used to crack ice without harming them.

-They are not a very physically varied tribe, but the royal and noble IceWings have a look distinct from those on outskirt villages. They often have fewer spines, straighter horns, narrower wings and paler colors, whereas lower-ranking IceWings have more practical antler-like horns, more spines, and a more muscular appearance. (Sketch displaying this below.)

Life Cycle:

-IceWings are hatched in small clutches of one to three. Parents will carve out a nest in the ice, lay the eggs, and then allow them to freeze over again until the dragonets break through the ice. It is believed that the colder the eggs during incubation, the more powerful the dragonets will become. 

-They take around 5 months to develop and are hatched strong enough to free themselves and big enough that most predators aren’t interested in them. They are also hatched with a delicate layer of spines all across their bodies that resemble frost crystals, though these later shed off. Dragonets can also go several days without eating after hatching, which is unusual for dragons. 

-Most parents are available to watch their dragonets, so these abilities simply serve as precautions for the case of missing or neglectful parents. 

-They grow somewhat slowly, reaching maturity a bit later than other tribes.

-IceWings, especially those of high rank, are expected to be strictly monogamous, and their marriages are usually more of a formality than a real union of affection. They aren’t incapable of love, certainly, but marriage is not treated as an act of love among nobles and royalty. Sometimes even lower-status IceWings marry out of societal expectation and not for their own happiness, but things are generally less strict.

Society + Culture:

-IceWing society is strictly ranked by class and birthright. There are seven divisions, referred to as Circles; the Seventh Circle is made up of dragons of low status, living in small villages on the outskirts of the tribe and scorned by those in higher Circles. The First Circle, meanwhile, is almost entirely comprised of royalty and other dragons of high honor and status. In the palace, dragons are expected to greet and interact with others differently depending on their relative ranking. The system is extremely strict and ruthless, and disrespect is one quick way to be lowered down the ladder. During her reign, Queen Snowfall tore down the wall used to keep track of the placement of each dragon, and made great steps toward lessening this aspect of their culture, but it continued to subtly persist long after her death. 

-Lower-circle IceWing society is simple and straightforward. They live in communities quite detached from palace life, hunting for themselves and helping each other raise their dragonets. As all IceWing animus dragons were strategically kept in royalty, most animus gifts did little to improve the lives of those outside the First and Second Circles. The best way for a low-born IceWing to rise in rank would be through military work; otherwise, the groups remain fairly stagnant. Protests and revolts, though, are surprisingly uncommon. Most Sixth and Seventh Circle IceWings are simply too detached from royalty to be concerned with wealth differences, and royals likewise rarely bother to interfere with Sixth and Seventh circle dragons.

-While in the palace, during the worst of the class division, all dragons were commanded to wear necklaces made from a heavy metal that matched their rank. First-Circle necklaces would consist of one ring, Second-Circle necklaces would have two, one inside of the other, and so on. The more circles, the heavier the necklace, and Seventh-Circle dragons, on the rare occasion they visited the palace, would be forced into a constant bow by the weight of the metal.

-IceWings are quite superstitious, not unlike SkyWings. Their beliefs vary by region, but a generally common one is that the deep, impenetrable ice cap they live on harbors some ancient, powerful force, and that if it ever were to break or melt away, that power would be unleashed and cause havoc; they see the ice as a protective field that froze over at the dawn of time, and if it unfroze it would be the end of everything they know.

-IceWings will sometimes wear polar bear fur or the pelts of elk and deer, though not for warmth. Lower-Circle dragons will wear the pelts and sometimes even antlers of their own prey, for bragging rights. Higher-Circle dragons simply wear them as a fashion statement and a show of wealth.

-IceWings are educated much more about their own tribe than others, and generally prefer to stick to their own affairs. They have few exports to trade and little interest in those of others. They are not the most diplomatic tribe.

-After the perceived theft of their last animus, they not only blamed NightWings, but also harbored resentment for every other tribe with animus magic, believing themselves to be the original carrier of the gene and therefore the rightful possessor of it. They are extremely protective of even the least useful of their animus gifts. 

Diet: Carnivorous. IceWings eat arctic mammals like elk and polar bears, and aquatic mammals like seals and even sometimes narwhals and orcas. They also eat fish and, rarely, a few species of birds. They have no way to cook food and no desire to. Other than a few types of berries in the mountains near the SkyWing border, no plants grow in the arctic, and IceWings live on meat alone.

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

xi. eleven: every word you say

the sunlight did not reach her face. there was no sunlight in sight at all, aside from the most external door that shows a little hint of the visible spectrum. she stirred awake on the hard floor she slept, if she had any at all. she slowly sat up, finding the colonel on the adjacent cell, staring into nothingness.

they have yet to acknowledge each other's presence, trapped in their own battles inside. it was a surreal thing—to feel that it was both the end and the beginning. they have long let go of any hopes in receiving a lighter sentence, and that act is what made it possible for them to breathe despite the stifling feeling.

they have found freedom. losing all hope was freedom.

hence, the young silva raised her gaze to the ragged man across. his rank is not apparent on his current state, stripped off of dignity and proper legacy. she pulled him to the deepest ocean floor a man has never explored to.

"i am so sorry, raphael." raine broke the silence, feeling utterly apologetic for bringing the man with her in this fate.

"there is no need." he replied, closing his eyes as he leaned on the wall.

there really was no need. although his tone may have sounded frustrated, it was not directed to the girl. coming to think of it, he believes he would have done the same. he actually did, when he admitted to the suspicions just so she could be saved. the young silva, however, was hardheaded. a small chuckle left his lips as he looked at her in thought.

"you know, your father would be proud."

"oh, silence." raine rolled her eyes in jest, "i have not slept well with how much my eyes poured last night. do not make me cry again."

"but it is true."

"i know," she turned to him with weak eyes, "he asked me one time, if he was being too forceful in making me the viscountess or also the fact that he taught me things that a proper lady would not have preferred."

she laughed at the memory of her father teaching her how to hold a dagger at four, and her mother in utter worry as she caught them both.

"he was afraid he turned me into something he wanted instead of being someone I want to be."

the lady chuckled before continuing, "i told him I do not see myself embroidering at all. he laughed like crazy."

raphael weakly laughed at the story. by the mention of the girl's teaching experiences, a memory resurfaced in his mind as well.

"did you know that your father used to say you shoot like—i apologise for the term we use in the military amongst men—a virgin?"

despite being above average compared to the general public, her shooting really did not pass her father's standards. she could shoot, yes, but it would not have been enough for war. armand concluded that it was enough at the very least for self-defense.

raphael lifted one end of his lips, "i bet he would say otherwise now."

"that is because now i am not." she said with indifference, missing the way the man sat up from his leaning, turning to her fully.

"...wait, what—you mean...?" he asked curiously, his will returning to his voice in spite of their current situation.

raine looked at him and she found it interesting how curious he was at the topic. she let out a short giggle before slowly nodding. his mouth noticeably went ajar at that as he pried more.

"the bridgerton son?" she nodded once again, raphael leaning back down in surprise, shaking his head in disbelief, "your father is going to kill you."

"no need. the crown is doing it for him."

both laughed in chorus—how they could still jest in a situation like this is lost. perhaps, it was there saving grace. little joys do really count.

"i cannot fathom what you could possibly find so amusing in a place like this."

the queen's voice announced her arrival, her face grimacing in disgust at the place. the two greeted her with respect, standing from their position. she looked around, as if assessing their surroundings before settling her eyes to the girl.

her majesty sighed resignedly, "why ever did you have to shoot him?"

"he talked too much."

"that he did." she had no problem agreeing with that statement at all. the lord had been bothering her as well before about royal familial matters.

she clasped her hands, forming the words to say, "i have spoken to have a private execution for you both. it was granted. this is the least i could do, considering everyone has voted for a beheading instead of hanging."

raine nodded thankfully at that. she did not care much. either way, they would be dead. she inquired further, "the soldiers?"

"all free from the charges."

the two released a breath of relief. that was one of their main goals—for the rest of the troop to be able to go home and spend the following years with their families.

"thank you, aunt lottie. that is all i ask." she smiled warmly to the older woman.

"it will be in an hour." the queen noted, pertaining to the execution.

it must already be five in the afternoon already. the young silva did not know how time flew by so fast. she neared the girl, pushing a hand through the bars of her cell. raine held her hand as she continued.

"make death proud to take us."

raphael and raine's ears perked at that, their brows crossing as the queen took back her hand slowly, "how do you know of it?"

charlotte offered them a smile before she turned away, "your father had been a good company."

after the queen, major gilbert and the viscount bridgerton also stopped to visit them. the former relayed the gratefulness of the soldiers by the news of their freedom, while the latter updated her on how the queen is working on for a proper investigation against the said involved people in the treason with the help of the papers that was left to him. they did not take long, of course. the prison had that effect. it was very suffocating.

yet, her breath came back at the sight of the man in front of her.

"what are you doing here?" she said in concern, her lips quivering as she scrambled on her feet.

benedict reached to her, cupping her face with a tearful smile, "i told you. i will always be here."

she shut her eyes in shame of her current state, "you should not see me like this."

he chuckled with tears in his eyes, "like painfully beautiful?"

"like dying." she corrected in all honesty as he went silent, his heavy breathing speaking for himself.

his lips formed a thin line, features traced with painstaking gaze, "you are so unfair."

"i know," she admitted, knowing exactly what he meant, "i am so sorry."

he hushed her, his palms still on her cheeks as he soothed—both tracing the tear marks that intensified their emotions.

"forget about me. let go of this grief completely." she bleakly uttered, torment clear on her voice.

benedict immediately responded a multiple series of 'no' with an intense shaking of his head in disagreement. he would do anything to not forget her, both the joy and painful memories. he would cherish everything that she was present in. he would cling onto every word she utters.

"and in case you do forget about me," she continued, cupping his face with the utmost care, "i hope you remember by my touch alone.

he nodded fervently, "i love you."

he leaned his head to hers, their breaths exchanging as if he was used to the taste of pain on a dead friday night.

"i love you too."

they wanted to be together for as long as they could, and if that's not very long, well, then that's just how it is. and so, they held each other for the last time, coming to terms that if this life will be this cruel, he would spend the rest of his life praying that the next will not be.

he wanted to badly stay with her, to stop the time and prolong this moment. but, it seemed like he had angered the gods as a guard knocked his truncheon on the door, calling for him to exit for the fifteen-minute preparation before the execution.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

no later, guards entered the cells, taking both prisoners with no austerity in their touch. it was so strange for them to the point that it was hard to swallow. they have seized and lead criminals of darkest crimes to their end, yet they find themselves wanting to break the two out.

a viscountess and a colonel, both still children in their own way.

they have never thought there comes a day they would dread their work, and the executioner would say the same. because just as they all arrived in the execution stage, the forty-five soldiers, four members of the bridgerton family, and the queen are in attendance. as she caught sight of them, raine offered a brief, forlorn smile. these people are the ones who she is most thankful of.

executions happen at a faster pace than the young silva thought. one moment they were walking, the next they were kneeling. the executioner bowed to the both of them when they arrived, now asking for forgiveness on the duty he must do in a while. loraine granted him that.

he stood back up, announcing clearly, "you have been granted to speak your final words."

she turned to take a look at raphael, the latter nodding as a sign for her to speak for them both. raine casted her head down in thinking of the words she must say for the last time. she looked back at them all, to no one in particular, and dared to raise her eyes to her terrible fate as she began.

"when a crime goes unpunished, the world is unbalanced. when the wrong is unavenged, the heavens look down on us in shame. we too must die for this circle of vengeance to be closed. we will leave this record of our courage so the world will know who we were and what we did."

as she ended, they both tied the cloth firmly to cover their eyes. at the absence of sight, fear started to creep in. she could hear the executioner stepping away from her and to the colonel first. he declared with resolve, a means of comforting the two souls.

"death is proud to take you."

raine exhaled peacefully at that. it was a reply to their previous convictions—a way of reassuring they have done well.

and so, she did not panic, even when the sound of a drop on the floor filled the place.

raphael had been a great friend, soldier, and a person. the silva would not mind having to fight beside him once again.

the room stayed silent, with no other noise but the small whimpers of the audience. however, it was immediately overshadowed by the sound of footsteps, nearing her one step at a time. she guessed this must be it.

loraine's mind became blank. she hurried herself to think of memories—those that she would love to relive. she had a strange belief that it would not be as painful if she was feeling happy. but, it was also strangely hard to be one in the moment. all she could think of was that maybe, dying is the best option for her in this life. there was no home for her anymore.

and when she greets death, she hoped it is gentle. she hoped it is like going home. she believed a great happiness awaited her somewhere.

and for this reason, she remained calm as the axe hit her neck.

the audience found themselves letting go of the prolonged silence, breaking out to their cries. however, one person did not have any tear or voice left in himself anymore as he stared at the trail of blood that was starting to accumulate and flow away from the body.

indeed, a lot can happen in a day.

he was annoyed by her in one, taken by her in one, and loved her in one. he is grieving for her in one, and he will long for her in one.

and so, he was left with nothing but to face reality—realising that a very frightening thought is now shadowing him intimately.

when tomorrow depends to a person, what should one do? when that person is lost, does that mean tomorrow is too?

love was there. it may have not changed anything. it may have not saved anyone. but, it still matters that the love was there.

because, raine did not need to be saved. she needed to be found and appreciated for who exactly she was. her father has taught her that this world was only a preparation for the next, that all they can ask is to leave it having loved and being loved.

and benedict, until the very last moment, made that known to her and everyone else. she was found. she was appreciated. she was loved.

all by him.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @myo11 @idek-what-to-put @aysamuka

[gonzo-rella]

Headcanons: Being Wallace Wells' Trans Boyfriend

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

EDIT: Although this fic was written with a more binary trans reader in mind, I'm hoping this fic will also be suitable for AFAB nonbinary people who are masc or male adjacent, which is where I might be at. I'm currently working dating hcs for Wallace with a nonbinary reader (which will be suitable for both AFAB and AMAB readers).

Relationship(s): Wallace Wells x transmasc!reader (romantic)

Warnings/info: Trans typical stuff, like dysphoria, transphobia etc. etc., sexual remarks, he/him pronouns for reader, headcanons were written in one sitting, when I was feeling not great. (Let me know if I need to add any)

(A/N: I've been reading a lot of Succession fics over the last few days. Last night I read a Roman Roy fic and for some reason it gave me this overpowering wave of dysphoria that I still have yet to fully recover from. Annoyingly, I have yet to actually watch Succession so this could have been avoided; I just think Kieran Culkin's hot and very gender so I couldn't resist pretending that someone with his face was my boyfriend. Reading about Roman made me think 'oh shit. Maybe I'm a flawed and pathetic little guy on the inside. But I just look like a woman who likes to kiss women and everyone treats me like a girl and uses my girl name and girl pronouns and that feels super gross and makes me want to live in a hole. Now I'm going to feel bad about that for the next few days.' So, yeah, I'm having another transmasc crisis that I'm using fanfiction to get me through. I figured Kieran Culkin started this, so I might as well write something featuring a character of his that I can actually write for. This is a self-indulgent and self-explorative treat for myself, but I hope that transmasc readers can enjoy this, too. If you'd like more Wallace stuff, trans stuff or Wallace AND trans stuff, feel free to send in a request. I really want to provide more fics for transmasc readers because you guys are super underrepresented (and, y'know, Papa Gonzo-rella wants to explore his gender a little more). Also, I swear that I will get around to watching Succession, and I more than likely will end up writing for it when I do.)

Respectfully, Wallace does not give a shit that you’re trans.

Of course, he doesn’t flat-out ignore it, because it’s part of who you are, but it isn’t an obstacle in your relationship by any means, and it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

If you’re feeling dysphoric and/or otherwise insecure about yourself, he’ll pinch your cheeks and tell you how handsome and sexy you are.

If you’re feeling especially bad, like ‘not getting out of bed and hiding from the world’ bad, he’ll keep you company and say what he can to reassure you.

Being mushy and sincere truly isn’t his thing, so whatever he says will sound either slightly insensitive (but still pretty sensitive as far as Wallace goes), facetious or like he wants you to get over how you’re feeling so he can fuck you.

But, he genuinely doesn’t want you to feel bad and you can tell he cares, because otherwise he wouldn’t be there for you when you're feeling your worst.

Wallace is very affirming, but in his own Wallace way.

He lovingly refers to you as his lameass boyfriend.

If Scott ever compliments you about anything, Wallace will call him gay.

He will shout ‘gay’, like the Senor Chang meme.

"Hey, man, I like your shirt-"

"Ha, Scott's gay!"

"I-I'm not gay! I just like his shirt."

"What's wrong with being gay, Scott?"

"Nothing! There's nothing wrong with being gay!"

"You really need to work on your internalised homophobia, Scott. To think, my gay lover and I share a bed with a bigot."

If you’re doing anything that he knows will make you dysphoric or exacerbate your dysphoria (for example, scrolling through social media and looking at cis dudes that give you gender envy) he’ll shut it down.

Using the aforementioned example, he’ll snatch your phone off you and close the app, saying: “Nope. Make better decisions.”

And, while you’d initially be annoyed at him for grabbing your phone, you will appreciate it in the long run.

If you have testosterone shots but you’re not a fan of doing them yourself, he’ll begrudgingly help you with them.

He will make a very Wallace comment, though

“Stabbing? I didn’t know you were that kinky.”

If anyone’s a dick to you about being trans, Wallace is always ready to go with a snide remark about the other person, because of all the things you could possibly mock his lameass boyfriend for, being trans is at the bottom of that list.

(He should know, as the person who makes fun of you the most.)

Also, he cares about you very, very much and he doesn't want people being transphobic to his boyfriend.

If you’re cool with it, he will make trans jokes, but nothing ‘attack helicopter’ or ‘attack helicopter’ adjacent, because he’s too clever for that and he can come up with better material that isn’t just derivative, transphobic garbage.

If you get your period and it makes you at all dysphoric, be prepared for this exchange:

“Don’t worry. Scott pissed blood last month and cried about it and he’s still a man.”

“Did-did he go to the doctor?”

“I don’t know. He seems fine now, though.”

If you still have boobs and don’t mind them being touched or otherwise acknowledged, he will use them like a pillow.

If you decide to get top surgery, he will make the following request:

“Well, if you’re not using them, can I have them? I need a pillow that Scott won’t steal. And, he wouldn’t steal your tits, because he knows I’d call him gay for it.”

“Why are you like this, Wallace?”

“Selfish.”

Being trans doesn’t make your relationship much different from any of Wallace’s other relationships.

You’re just, for better or worse, another one of Wallace’s boyfriends.

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 6

chapter 5 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 7

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: after months in the wilderness, you finally arrive at chicago. adapting to this new life has its cons, but also its perks. joel's birthday is around the corner, and you have planned for a couple of things you hope he likes...

a/n: hiya! here's chapter six!! it's packed with a bit of everything, especially drama because why not? 🤷 i want to thank you all ― i just realised that the first 3 chapters have hit over 100 notes each! i'm so damn grateful to all of you, honestly. as much as i'm writing for myself, i'm loving how hooked some of you are with this story 😳 also, i'd like to apologise in advance if i have butchered chicago's layout or its history, i did try my best doing some research. as always, thank you all for engaging. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! even asks/requests if you want to! take care lovelies <3 x

warnings: 18+, mdni. mention of Sarah's death. angst. fluff. filthy smut (don't you know me by now?). porn with plot or plot with porn (however you wanna look at it). irresponsible use of contraception (don't do that). consensual somnophilia. dry humping. unprotected piv. masturbation (m and f). creampie. pussy slapping. fisting. squirting. cum play. a bit of assplay. makeup sex. sir kink. “bar” fight. alcohol consumption. blood. stabbing. swear words. mention of past racist events and the precursor to the chicago race riot of 1919. soft!dom!joel. a bit of aftercare. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart). i'm sure i'm forgetting something lol. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is now 37 (🎉!). no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~6.9k.

tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981 @fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz

Chicago was definitely not what you had expected at all. Shit had gone down really badly in this place. It took you a week to cross the southwest area, keeping close to Interstate 55 as a reference. The worst you had seen was Chicago Midway International Airport. Airplanes had crashed on the runway, the esplanade was a makeshift cemetery even almost a year after Outbreak Day. Bodies piled on top of each other, fires would break out in the adjacent buildings. The control tower was completely dilapidated. And the grounds were full of clickers.

Tommy, Joel and you made it through the worst neighbourhoods. As you covered more miles, Tommy and Joel realised that this had not been the best idea. But you were already there, so the best option was to move forward. You all had to defend yourselves, and each other. Although the Miller brothers took out many attackers ―humans and infected alike―, you also had your good share of action. You didn’t like it, but you were good at shooting. Your clothes were stained with blood and sweat. You endured, and you survived. That was what mattered.

The whole city was in shambles, divided by two different groups: the government and the rebels. The government held the north side of the Chicago River, from River North Gallery District all the way to Old Town ― basically everything to the east of Interstate 90. The rebels, on the other hand, controlled the south ― all the movable bridges along the whole Wacker Drive, from New Eastside to Chinatown. Anything further south or north, and between Interstates 55 and 90, from Little Village to Naperville, was no man’s land.

You ended up on the rebels’ side randomly. Tommy was not very happy about it, blaming the communists for overpowering the government, but it wasn’t like you had a choice. If you tried to cross any bridge to go northwards, you would be shot at with no warning. From both sides.

It took a while to convince the Rioters ― that was how the rebels called themselves. Two weeks later, on the 20th of August, you were given a place to stay near the Art Institute of Chicago, which was also the operations base. You did try to integrate yourself in this society as you knew it was better to have more friends than foes. The Millers, however, kept to themselves ― Joel more than Tommy, as you had expected. No surprises there.

The flat you were in was in urgent need of repairs but was better than sleeping rough. You and Joel fixed as many things as you both could, while Tommy took cleaning very seriously. It wasn’t much, but it was the place you called home for the last month. The only downside was that it only had two bedrooms, so Joel and you sadly had to share the only double bed available, while Tommy had his own room.

You wouldn’t lie to yourself ― the last four weeks had been pure bliss in a sense. Waking up every day besides Joel had become a delightful habit. He had awakened you many a times either in the middle of the night or in the early morning to give him a hand. Literally. And you had done exactly the same thing when you had needed it. You were sure Tommy was sick and tired of you two, but you didn’t care.

You stretched out, still lying in bed. The morning light had not come through the curtains yet, but it soon would. You rubbed your eyes and then let your arms drop to your sides dramatically. You were not a morning person, but your sleeping schedule was all fucked up. You rolled to your other side in an attempt to get comfortable.

Joel was sleeping on his right side. You had noticed he usually did in the same position. When you had asked him why, he had explained his hearing in his right ear was messed up since his suicide attempt. You wished you could have been faster that day to prevent the gun from going off. Ah, the regrets you both had…

His back was towards you, him facing the door. Despite the repairs you all had done to the flat, it was still not the safest. Every night one of you would make sure all locks were engaged and would bar the front door. A few days ago, someone attempted to break in. Since then, all of you would sleep with a firearm nearby.

Today was Sunday ― 26th of September. Which meant it was Joel’s birthday, as well as the first anniversary of Outbreak Day. The anniversary of Sarah's death would be tomorrow too. You had tried to talk to Joel about today, but he didn’t seem to be interested in celebrating at all, which you completely understood. As much as you wanted to do something, you respected his decision. You had only planned for a couple of low-key things, which you hoped he wouldn’t mind.

He had fallen asleep only with his briefs on, the bedsheet draping around his legs. You couldn’t see, but you were damn sure he had his arms crossed at his chest, always on guard. Your eyes dwelled on his upper body, two perfect dimples on his lower back. His shoulders were broad and toned, his waist smaller. He was not the most muscular guy you had ever seen, but he was perfect the way he was. His calloused hands had shown you multiple times how good he was for you, despite what he thought of himself.

You couldn’t resist, your mouth dry. Your fingertips traced the curve of his neck, then his left shoulder down to his elbow. Your hand caressed his left hip and slipped down to his front, following his V line. Your fingers touched the elastic of his briefs ― and something else.

You gulped down the knot in your throat, your heart beating harder in your chest, when your fingertips brushed over the damp tip of his cock. Joel’s morning wood was so prominent, his glans had slipped out of his underwear and was showing. You wetted your lips as you stroked him carefully. A deep, almost guttural growl flowed from Joel’s chest.

You got closer to him in bed, your nipples grazing the skin on his back even through your pyjamas. It probably wasn’t the best time ― you knew he was tired, but you wanted him so badly. Liquid fire was pooling in your furrow, knowing his erection was right there for you to play with.

Your internal battle didn’t last long.

You pulled down his briefs to free his warm dick. You didn’t need to look to know his shaft was resting against his happy trail, the head touching his belly button. With no hesitation, you wrapped your fingers around his cock, squeezing him delicately. Then you slid your hand down his meaty column, holding him firmly, in a very slow but strong pump.

He groaned, still asleep as far as you could tell, as you started pumping him ― more heat and excitement gathering in your pussy. You dunked your fingers in your panties, touching yourself. You were already wet, the mere thought of making him yours was enough. You kissed his left shoulder at the same time he uncrossed his arms ― his left hand over yours, feeling the rhythm you were imparting on him.

He was awake.

Joel didn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but he was sure it wasn’t this. When he looked down and saw your tiny hand trying to muffle his cock, he closed his eyes with a sigh. That felt damn good. He was knackered after last night’s patrolling shift, but this was exactly what he needed to decompress.

He turned around, his back flat against the uncomfortable mattress. His eyes were pinned on yours, your sweet hand upping the speed. You leaned towards him and invaded his mouth with your devilish tongue. Joel moaned in the middle of the kiss ― his brain completely switched off. He could not think straight when you were handling him like that.

Quickly letting go of his erection and mouth, you got rid of your pyjama shorts and your underwear. Then you doubled down your efforts with the handjob ― his throbbing cock was calling for you. You could see a few drops of precum sliding off his veiny shaft, which you swiftly gathered with your thumb to rub them against his leaking slit. You felt his dick pulsating hard for you ― your cunt palpitating at exactly the same time, anticipating. Your bodies were fully synchronised.

You then climbed on top of him, his balls welcoming the touch from your puffy lips. You rolled your hips against his, looking for that friction you so much loved, and took a deep breath before taking off the top of your pyjamas, throwing it to one side. You bended down, your mouth looking for his, so thirsty.

“Good morning, handsome”, you whispered as a greeting.

“Mhmmm”, was the only thing he managed to hum, sleepy.

You smiled and broke off the contact, straightening your back. His rough hands slid from your knees, across your thighs, to your butt. He clasped your ass cheeks with assertiveness. With no more words than those, you took his steely cock in your hand and lifted your hips. You glided his glans over your damp fold a few times, your cunt beseeching to be stuffed.

You guided his tip to kiss your entrance and descended on his dick slowly, very slowly, the palms of your hands flat against his lower abdomen to steady yourself. You closed your eyes, head tilted backwards, and whined loudly. Each inch was a blessing. Once his cock was entirely inside of you, you peeked back down at him and did a circular motion with your hips. His eyes were so intense you couldn’t look away while you started riding him.

Joel closed his eyes unwillingly when the muscles in his lower belly cramped. He didn’t want to miss a single second of this, so forced himself to open them again ― he loved seeing how the pleasure transformed your beautiful features. Your half-lidded eyes, your lips parted, a river of pearly sweat coming down in between your bosom. Your perfectly round breasts bouncing in front of him. He was a lucky bastard.

He liberated your ass, his hands drifting to your bust, holding your tits. While he kneaded that tender flesh and coddled your nipples, you covered his hands with yours. You were still jumping on top of him, albeit more erratically, as you felt an orgasm hit you with full force. You mewled as your needy pussy discharged the seed of your pleasure all over him, hugging his hard erection, strangling his cock, encouraging him to come with you.

Joel was so damn close to coming, his nuts contracted with equal parts of pain and lust. He could feel your gush soaking his dick. He was about to lose his goddamn mind ― he needed to stop. His hands abandoned your breasts to place them on your butt to help you lift it up, so you would release his cock before it was too late.

“No, it’s okay. Fill me up, please, sir”, you wailed, your palms against his chest, your hips grinding against his.

Joel glimpsed at you with doubt. It was like you could read his mind, because you knew what he was thinking. You smiled softly, your wet pussy palpitating around his cock. You forced your inner walls to contract against him as you leaned forward to kiss him.

“I’ve got the morning after pill. Please, please, Joel, come inside, I beg you. Trust me”, you wept, laying down on top of him.

He thought himself mad for believing you, but he did. Because he was mad for you, regardless of what he tried to convince himself of. He lifted your butt up off his lap with his hands ― with the help of his legs, the heels of his feet against the bedsheets, he thrusted into you like a madman while you remained still on top of him. Drilling your weeping cunt, as hard and fast as he could. He just wanted to know how it felt just once; he wanted you to milk him dry.

Joel fucked you like there was no tomorrow, the room echoing with the squishy sounds and the impact of flesh on flesh. He was fucking you so hard that you came again at the same time he spilled his spent in you ― Joel groaned like you never heard him before. The slick warmth you felt inside made you smile, your face buried in the curve of his neck, your nipples brushing his. With his pulsing dick still inside of you, you bit the skin on his neck, leaving a mark behind.

“Happy birthday, sir”, you whispered in his ear.

That was your gift to him. And to yourself, because you had wanted this from the very first time he impaled you in the forest. You had had to trade a few bits for the morning after pill, but it was worth every single one of them. You felt your cave so clogged with him and his cum, you thought you had descended to hell.

You both stilled, catching your breaths. His dick was still twitching, housed by your greedy, soaked cunt.

A minute later, he sat up on the bed, bit your mouth and lifted your butt up, his cock becoming free. He quickly laid you down in fetal position ― resting on your righthand side, back slightly curved, head bowed, your knees bent touching your breasts. He placed a hand on your left hip and tilted your pelvis a bit forward, so he could inspect your heart-shaped ass and your puffy, reddened pussy framed by your inner thighs.

Just in time to see his cum gushing out of your hole, dripping across your perineum and then going downwards, skidding through your butt cheek. One of his digits caught the semen before it hit the bedsheets, retraced its steps back and shoved the cum back inside of you with the push of his finger.

“You can’t waste my gift to you, baby, it’d be so fucking rude of you”, he purred in your ear, his voice coarse and warm at the same time.

He laid on his side behind you, moving his index in a circular motion, looking for your g-spot and finding it. He stroked it dextrously, sliding it in and out slowly. You closed your eyes, and fisted the bedsheet in your hand, trying to hold onto something. Your mouth shaped a perfect ‘O’ when he bottomed out, quickly adding a second finger. And a third. Then a fourth.

It didn’t take long for your pussy to adjust to such delightful intrusion ― your inner walls felt like clay, reshaping around him. Joel could feel you relax around his fingers and took the chance, introducing his thumb in your pussy too. Now his entire hand was buried in your fluttering cunt, down to his wrist. He remained still for a hot minute while your muscles loosened up to house him.

Then he slowly started to pump his fist inside of you, back and forth, building up a steady pace. Joel bit your shoulder and then kissed it ― his tongue tasting the saltiness of your sweat.

By that point you couldn’t stop moaning very loudly ― the whole building was probably listening to your whoring screams as Joel fisted you relentlessly with his whole hand. Each push propelling his cum further inside of you as if he wanted it to take. He was thrusting you so harsh, your entire body was rocking back and forth on the bed. He was fucking you senseless just with his hand ― and you were loving every single second of it.

Your sticky cunt couldn’t take it for much longer ― it was wet, pulsating, contracting, overstimulated, yearning… Your pussy literally was his, and only his. The orgasm had been building up for so long now that when you let it go, weeping at the top of your lungs, it hit you like a motherfucking truck. Your whole body went into shock while you squirted ― you were shaking due to the force of your own release. For fuck’s sake, you could barely breathe.

You whimpered again when he removed his hand and rubbed your wetness all over your delicate folds. Before you could form a coherent thought, he spanked you on your crotch so firmly it tingled ― you almost died and went to heaven right there and then, biting into the pillow underneath your head. He kept on slapping your quivering cunt until your sensitive clit twitched one last time with devastating pleasure, contracting your uterus so the last trickle of cum oozed out of you. He caught it with his thumb and brushed it gently against your asshole, caressing the tight ring, until you fully relaxed.

You sighed, unable to move. You even felt dizzy. Your limbs felt so limp you didn’t think you could sit up, so you just stayed there, melting against the bedsheets. You hadn’t realised your eyes had welled up until a few tears ran down your cheeks. Tears of complete, utter joy ― there was no other way of describing it.

You were so damn grateful for this man, you swore to yourself you would never let him go. You had been with others, but none of your sexual partners had been so fucking attentive. Joel would always make sure you were completely satisfied, without fail. And that said a lot about him.

You rolled onto your back to look at him, wiping away the tears with a satisfied smile and dreamy eyes. He was still lying down on his side, his elbow against the bed, his head resting on the palm of his hand. He returned your smile ― such gesture transforming his rugged face. So gorgeous it tugged at your heart.

“Y’know, it was supposed to be all the way around today ― me fucking you until you begged”, you confessed, although it was not a complaint.

He grinned, his hand possessively cupping your mound. You parted your legs slightly so he could massage your sensitive furrow. It felt so calming after all that pussy-slapping he gifted you with.

“As redundant as it sounds, plans rarely go according to plan, sweetheart”.

Understatement of the fucking year, you thought.

You just laughed while his hand was still kneading your sticky flaps. Joel kissed your forehead before he took out his hand from in between your legs, your damp, intimate skin being swept by the cold air.

“The morning after pill?”, he asked a minute later.

“I got it from Kelsey, it’s in date. Don’t panic, it’s okay. I have three days to take it. Which made me think… I don’t need to do it straight away, right?”, you glanced up at him, a wide smile on your lips.

“Mhmm, I mean, it would be a waste otherwise, I guess”, he replied, tucking a stray hairlock behind your ear. “But I need a minute here, darlin’. You work miracles, but even I have limits. Wait up”, he mumbled grumpily as he palmed his left wrist, and then got out of bed while he tucked away his member back in his briefs.

Joel headed towards the en-suite bathroom. He came back out only a few seconds later ― you could see panic in his eyes. You sat back up on the mattress quickly.

“What is it, Joel?”, you asked with worry, kneeling on the bed.

“My wristwatch, I can’t find it. I am sure I left it by the sink before I came to bed last night. I can’t lose it. I can’t”, he was now frantically searching his bedside table, panic growing in his tone.

You bit down your lip, because you knew where it was. In the drawer of your nightstand. You had taken it in the middle of the night because your second present was getting it repaired for him today.

“I have it”, you whispered, shrugging with an apologetic smile.

“What? Why?”, he approached you, extending his hand towards you, his tone so serious. “Give it back now”, he almost growled at you.

His reaction took you completely off guard. Why was he so possessive over a broken watch? Trying to understand the sudden change in Joel, you opened the drawer and took it out.

“I just wanted to get it fixed for you, as a gift”, you didn’t understand what was happening.

“You have not fixed it, have you?! Because if you have―”, he snatched it off your hand, inspecting it.

You frowned ― his attitude towards you was completely off. What the hell was going on?

“Don’t you dare touch my fucking things, is that clear?”, he snapped.

You looked at him blankly, speechless. Then your own temperament started to shimmer under the surface.

“Wow, wow, wow ― Calm the fuck down, Joel. It’s just a broken, useless watch―”, you stopped yourself because of his perplexed look.

“Shut up. It’s not just any watch. You don’t fucking understand”, he yapped.

“I would try and understand if you just fucking explained it to me?!”, you shouted at him while you got dressed. “What is your fucking problem, Joel? What’s up with that watch? I don’t read minds!”.

“Forget it”, he grumbled, strapping the watch to his wrist before putting his trousers on and grabbing a T-shirt, heading towards the door.

“That’s it? You just up and leave?”, you repressed the urge of throwing a pillow to his head.

“I’ve got stuff to do”, he muttered.

A few seconds later, you heard him opening the front door. Then he slammed it shut.

It was around lunchtime now and you had not seen Joel since this catastrophic morning. While you had the impression that Joel’s reaction was due to something he would not speak about, he had no fucking right to treat you that way. You were just trying to do something nice for him, that was all.

You walked through the main hallway of the Art Institute of Chicago. It was rammed with people running around ― some armed, some not. You didn’t think that humanity would prevail in big groups in such circumstances, but it did.

The Rioters had established some sort of order. People had tasks to do, everyone working together to build up a community. Chores were allocated according to people’s skills. Joel had been put on patrolling shifts, Tommy was helping with carpentry and other building jobs, and you were in the hunting group. As much as you hated pulling the trigger, you were a very good shot. All thanks to your good old Texan father.

You were on your way to check with the group if there were any plans of going out today when you got interrupted.

“Hey”, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“What’s up, Joyce?”, you looked at the older woman when you turned around.

Joyce was around fifty five years of age, maybe more, and was the kindest soul you had ever met. She had welcomed you to Chicago like a mother a daughter. Joyce showed you around, explained how the Rioters worked and guided you in the right direction. Because as good as everything looked, there was still darkness lurking around.

She was also the best cook ever. Like, no jokes, she could transform a tasteless rabbit in the most flavourful stew your tastebuds had ever been in contact with.

“I just finished cooking, do you want some stew?”, she asked with a warm smile.

Your stomach growled at the mere idea.

“Fuck yeah”, you replied ― your duties could wait, surely.

“Watch your language, kiddo”, Joyce reprimanded you.

“Sorry, sorry”, all that time you spent with Joel was showing.

You followed her to the canteen and patiently waited for Joyce to pour some stew in a bowl. You then went with her to a table where more people were sat down. You didn’t know any of them, so Joyce introduced you. You were damn sure you weren’t going to remember one single name by the time you walked out the door.

“So, you’ve never heard the story of Eugene Williams?”, one of the men asked rhetorically to a younger fellow across the table, who shook his head in reply. “He was a black kid in 1919, when racial segregation was still in place here in Chicago. The summer of 1919 was so hot the kid wandered off to the white side of Chicago beach without realising. A man threw stones at him until the kid drowned and died. That was what ignited the Chicago Race Riot of 1919 ― and why we, the resistance, go by the Rioters”.

You listened to every word while you ate your meal. After hearing that explanation, many things made sense. Although they named themselves the Rioters, there were no riots in the streets ― actually, people seemed happy here, given the circumstances.

“That’s right, Walter, younger people need to learn about the past, so those mistakes are never repeated again”, said Joyce.

The conversation then moved on to present times, the people talking about the continuous fight against the so-called government.

Joel got the afternoon patrolling shift that day, which he thought was a killer, considering he did the night shift last night. But it was good in a sense ― it would keep his mind occupied. You had angered him so much this morning, it had set his mood for the rest of the day. The thought of you erasing that memory had maddened him so bad, he had to walk out before he said something he would later regret.

That watch was the only anchor chaining him to what little remained of his humanity. A gentle reminder of what could have been but wasn’t. Every day he wondered how Sarah would be doing in this new world. And most days, he was just somewhat grateful she wasn’t here to see what had become of civilisation. The unspeakable horrors she would have witnessed and suffered but didn’t ― it was very little consolation to a father, but it was better than nothing.

He absentmindedly touched the watch on his wrist, ensuring it was properly fastened.

Joel was stationed with other people in front of Bataan-Corregidor Memorial Bridge. In those long, never-ending hours, there was no activity on the other side of the bridge, but they had to remain vigilant nonetheless. By the time the next group showed up, it was already half eight in the evening.

Joel headed towards the headquarters to sign off and go home. He was already on edge, thinking about what he would say to you to appease you. Because he was damn sure you would be waiting for him, ready to pick up the fight where you both left it. As Joel walked past the canteen, he heard a familiar voice.

Tommy was on his feet, yelling at a man, his accusatory index pointing to the guy. Joel rolled the eyes to the back of his head ― he was sure his brother was so drunk he would probably not remember any of this the next day. Joel shook his head with disappointment ― some things would never change, not even when the world had gone to shit.

He planned to ignore the situation and get back home to you, when a fight started. Joel groaned in despair, debating what to do. But a man chose for him ― he saw how a bloke approached Tommy from behind, knife on hand, and he knew he had to do something. Joel quickly closed the distance in stride and grabbed the man from the neck of his shirt, pulling him backwards until the dude stumbled with his own feet.

Madness broke out, the whole canteen becoming a battling ground. People were fighting each other over absolutely nothing, throwing punches in the air.

“Tommy!”, he shouted angrily, while the younger Miller turned around and simply smiled.

That fucking pissed him off big time.

“Are you fucking out of your mind? How much have you been drinking?!”, Joel wanted to punch his brother so bad, he really had to control himself.

“Not enough”, he babbled.

As Joel approached his brother, ready to fight him if necessary, the man he had pushed away from Tommy tapped his shoulder. When Joel turned around, the dude punched him in the face and then stabbed him in the lower stomach.

Joel froze for a second, his back slightly curved, his brain coming to terms with what just had happened. He looked down while his hand gripped the handle of the knife. He knew not to remove it because it was the blade what prevented him from bleeding out. Then Joel glanced back up at the same guy and, without thinking, he removed the knife from his flesh and sticked it on the man’s shoulder with a growl.

Joel’s wound started to bleed like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Not that he noticed anyway, because hell literally broke loose.

It wasn’t late late, only ten in the evening, but none of the brothers was around when you returned home, which was weird. You could understand if Joel was avoiding you, but Tommy? You frowned as you called for them, shutting the main door behind you. Nothing, no reply at all.

Before you could walk to the living room to see if there was a note or something, someone knocked on the door.

You looked through the peephole. Joyce was standing outside, worry wrinkling her aged face. You opened the door.

“What’s the matter, Joyce?”

“It’s Joel, he’s in the infirmary”, she whispered while placing a soft hand on your forearm.

You just stared at her, bewildered.

“Huh? The where?”, you repeated, while her words started to sink in, your stomach contracting with fear.

“Come with me, kiddo”, Joyce took your hand, guiding you through the apartment building.

The next time you blinked, you were in an outbuilding outside the headquarters. Joyce palmed your hand with hers, in a calming gesture, while she took you to the far end of the shelter. The old lady planted you in front of Joel’s bed, and let go of you with a “take care”.

You stood there for a long minute, still trying to grasp what the hell had happened. He was asleep, his head slightly tilted away from you ― or so you hoped he was. Joel had no shirt on, a bloody bandage covering the right side of his abdomen. You got closer, your heart pounding in your throat.

“He’s fine, it’s just a scratch”, you looked up, befuddled.

Tommy was sitting in a plastic chair on the other side of the bed. He was crouching forwards, his elbow against his knee, head pressing against the palm of his hand. Tommy then smiled, which completely perplexed you.

You were about to reply, but suddenly Joel did instead.

“Fuck off, Tommy. Get your ass somewhere else”, he gritted his teeth.

You hadn’t noticed it yet, but you had been holding your breath, because suddenly you felt a stone being lifted off your chest. You glanced at the younger Miller, who had gotten up with a smile. When he walked past you to go outside, you smelled it. The stench of alcohol made you wrinkle your nose unconsciously.

Joel wrapped his fingers around your wrist to get your attention, so you turned around to look at him, so confused you couldn’t even form a sentence. Joel had already adjusted the pillow on his back so he could be somewhat sat up.

“It’s alright, no need to cry”, he said raising one of his hands to sweep away your tears.

You had not realised you were crying. Giving it a second thought, you probably had been since you left home. You pursed your lips and nodded, quietening your sobs.

“What…?”, you muttered, resting your cheek against his palm before placing a kiss on it.

“Tommy got into a fight in the canteen. He’s so drunk he probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow. A man tried to stab him, and I got in the way ― that’s all, sweetheart. No serious damage, just some stitches”, he tried to calm you.

You wished Tommy was still in the room, because you would have loved to slap the shit out of him for being so irresponsible. What the hell was he thinking? Joel was hurt because of him, and he had just left smiling as if it wasn’t so serious.

“Just leave him be, it’s worthless trying to speak to him in such a state”, something in Joel’s voice told you this wasn’t the first time he had been in this situation.

“Are you sure you’re fine? Joel, please, don’t lie to me―”, you mustered, trying to keep your tears in check, as you caressed his cheek.

He heavily sighed as he scooted over to one end of the tiny bed, leaving enough space for you to join him. You got on the gurney quickly, nestling against him, your arm across his chest in a half embrace. His body heat calmed your nerves a bit, although your hands were still shaking.

“I’m fine, I’m not lying. They won’t let me leave yet though, the nurse said I need to stay here for a couple of hours, until she’s certain the bleeding has stopped”, he explained, his fingertips tracing the shape of your right shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere”, you said with a small voice, your left cheek against his chest.

Joel didn’t fight you on that, so you stayed by his side. His left hand was resting just below your face, his broken watch strapped around his wrist. You bowed your head a bit and kissed his knuckles.

“I’m sorry about this morning, I thought fixing your watch was a nice thing to do, considering it’s been broken since I met you”, you tried to explain yourself, but Joel hushed you by cupping your chin so your eyes would meet his.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I know you meant well. It’s just…”, you heard him gulp down, as if the next words were extremely painful to say out loud. “Sarah fixed this watch for me on my last birthday. It’s been stuck at 2.40 AM since… since we both got shot. One of the bullets broke it”, he recounted in a husked voice, his brown eyes focused on the timeless sphere.

Then it hit you. That was Sarah’s time of death. And, unknowingly, you almost ruined the last memento Joel possessed of his daughter. His most precious treasure. You felt sick to your stomach at the mere idea of being responsible for such a thing. Had you known, you would have never even considered doing what you had planned.

“Gosh, Joel, I’m sorry. I swear to you I didn’t know”, you breathed out desperately.

“I know, baby. I should have told you that instead of getting angry and for that I apologise, but I just couldn’t…”, he clenched his jaw, and you tried to soften his expression with the touch of your fingers.

“Don’t apologise, please”, you kissed his bearded jaw and remained in comfortable silence for the next two hours, until Joel was finally discharged.

The next day you both stayed home. Tommy had tried to apologise when he came back to his senses, but Joel was having none of it. The younger Miller eventually understood that his brother just needed space until he decided to forgive him and gave up in his efforts. You were alone with Joel all day, making sure he was okay and helping him clean the wound. Those stitches were going to leave a nasty scar on him, but it was better than the alternative. It was healing well, no signs of infection, for which you were so pleased ― probably more than him. You almost had to tie him to the bed so he would stop fidgeting around ― Joel was going to get the wound open again if he didn’t remain still for a bit.

You knew Joel was just trying to keep his brain busy because this day marked a year since Sarah was wrongly snatched from his life. That was why he was so taciturn and quiet today, and you let him be for the most part.

When he sat down on the couch in the afternoon, you just nestled against his body, in silence, his arm affectionately enveloping you.

Nighttime came around soon enough, and you both got into bed. Joel spooned you as soon as he laid down behind you, his right arm hugging you, his chest against your back. You soon fell asleep in his warm embrace, feeling protected and content.

Joel woke up a few hours later, one of his recurrent nightmares haunting him. He grumbled in displeasure and got out of bed to change the dressing over the wound. He did so efficiently and returned to bed, slipping under the bedsheets quietly.

Another hour went by, and he was still awake, his eyes on the ceiling.

He rolled onto his left side and saw you sleeping peacefully, in the exact same position you fell asleep. You had not moved one inch. Joel smiled softly as he got closer to you, sliding his arm around your waist and dragging you over to him, looking for your soothing warmth.

Unconsciously, you wiggled your hips to bury your butt in his bulge, and Joel contained a pitiful moan. Your perfectly round ass was innocently embedded in his groin. Now he was sure as hell he was not going to be able to fall back asleep. Irremediably, he pressed his manhood against your buttocks again, looking for that friction.

Joel felt his cock tense up, an erection taking hold. He freed his manhood, slowly pumping himself ― his leaky tip brushing your asscheek until a wet patch adorned your panties. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t resist. You were all curled up, drooling on the pillow, faintly snoring, your knees slightly bent. He cut the distance between you and shoved his dick in your thigh gap, his shaft rubbing against your pussy covered by your underwear.

Sweat gathered on his brow as he rocked his pelvis back and forth, your thighs sweetly compressing his cock ― the tip feeling cold when it overhung on the other side. Joel kissed your shoulder, his hand gently placed on your hip to steady himself.

“C’mon, baby, wake up”, he husked near your ear, gently nibbling your earlobe.

You hummed, half awake. You felt your body being rocked, your eyes fluttering open and looking downwards. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Joel’s glans sticking out through your thigh nook, then disappearing from sight to reappear again. You smiled pleasantly, shutting your eyes, as you felt your needy cunt melt for him. You pursed your lips with delight.

“Can I have my birthday present again, sweetheart?”, he whispered in a constrained tone.

You nodded, scatterbrained.

You were drenching your underwear so bad, there was a visible damp, darken spot right in the middle. Joel pulled back from in between your legs and pushed the bridge of your panties to one side. He lodged his cock in between your puffy lips, sliding it through your entire slit a couple of times to douse himself with your fluids.

“You’re soaking wet, baby”, he muttered as you let out a soft moan when Joel pressed his tip against your dripping hole, your flesh parting as the Red Sea.

Then Joel slowly pushed his hard cock in inch by inch down to his balls. His right arm hugged you, poising you in place and sneaking his hand under your pyjama top to hold one of your full breasts. He stilled for a second, feeling your cunt sheathing him like a warm glove. He thrusted once, twice, thrice. You lost count after that, Joel plunging into you from behind, gaining erratic speed. You grasped the bedsheet in your fist, your spit pooling on the pillowcase.

You placed a hand on your mound and a few seconds later, you slipped it under your panties. With the palm against your clit to cause some grinding, you could feel Joel coming in and out of you in between your index and middle fingers. Your gushing cunt started palpitating around his slick cock, your inner walls squeezing him hard as you came, mewling like a kitten in heat.

Joel quickly followed you, his cum filling you up, breathing roughly behind you. You tilted your head towards your right to look at him over your shoulder. He kissed you, first gently, then more demanding, while his dick was still throbbing with the last wave of his release. Joel pinched your nipple before freeing your mouth.

“There you go, sweetheart, so you don’t forget who you and your tight pussy belong to”, he groaned as he pulled out of you.

“Thank you, sir”, you said gratefully.

Joel put your underwear back in place and pressed the palm of his hand against your wet panties, his cum trickling out with yours and swamping the piece of clothing even more, saturating it, almost as if you had pissed yourself.

“Go back to sleep, darlin’”, he kissed the nape of your neck, his hand still lodged in your thigh gap, hard pressed against your satisfied, clothed pussy. You loved how possessive he was of you, literally claiming your cunt for himself at every chance he got.

With a pleased sigh, you tucked your hands under your head and fell back asleep within seconds.

The earth was round again.

[homelanderbutbig]

The Feeling Of Love (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1554 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You give Homelander's hands a once-over.

It's been a stressful afternoon at the penthouse. Homelander has been sitting in silence while he intently watches the television, tapping his index finger impatiently on the couch's armrest. The voice of Victoria Neuman reverberates through his ears, as she has yet another rally rattling on about the dangers of Compound V. She spares no expense with her pot-shots at Vought, and the formidable power that Homelander possesses as the world's strongest supe. His face twitches from his growing anger, hearing her compare him to the biblical warrior Goliath, a giant inhuman monster that must be taken down by David… by the people of New York.

And to top it all off, Stan Edgar has forbidden him from interfering. They knew about this televised assault in advance, but the board insisted he make no appearances until his PR team has a chance to formulate an appropriate response for him. Instead, he is forced to sit and watch like a dog held back from doing its only purpose, and correcting these mudpeople from harming its 'masters'.

Suddenly, Homelander hears your familiar heartbeat coming out of the elevator and into the living room. Although he usually enthusiastically greets your arrival, he doesn't even tilt his head to look at you right now. But it doesn't take some Sherlock-level detective work from you to tell that he is pretty on edge about something.

"Hi hun," you say, as cheerily as you always are, the only real constant positive in his life. "Whatcha watching?" you enquire while you hop onto the couch cushion to the right of him.

"Press conference," he states bluntly, barely acknowledging you as he refuses to tear his eyes off the screen.

"Can I watch with you?" you ask. He finally glares down at you, slightly annoyed that he can't engross himself in these attacks against his character in peace, but he can't stay mad at your innocent expression.

"…Fine," he relents, sighing under his breath. "Just… be quiet if you're going to stay."

"My lips are sealed," you promise, beaming up at him as you make the motion of zipping your mouth closed. He rolls his eyes at your child-like theatrics before refocusing himself to the broadcast, earning a giggle from you in return.

After a couple minutes of hushed viewing, you're starting to feel a tad bored. Victoria's speech isn't very interesting to you; all of the political jargon flies over your head. However, Homelander wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he'd never admit it. Just a glimpse up at his face is enough for you to see the rage bubbling up to the surface. His uncontrollable twitching and fidgeting are failing to keep his emotions in check.

When he's in this kind of mood, he can be a bit stubborn to accept some relief, especially when it's offered to him. He wants to keep stewing in his frustration, and be alone to sink further into his own hostile thoughts. Smiling to yourself, you have an idea on how to keep yourself silently occupied and quell Homelander's fury all in one fell swoop.

Slowly, you reach over and place your hand on top of his right one, which is clenched into a tight fist. You completely catch him off guard as you lightly stroke his knuckles with your thumb, rubbing the leather of his glove. He gazes at you through his side-eye, but quickly looks away when you angle your head up at him. You can't help smiling at how he fights his inner yearning to give in to your love, trying his best to be coy and not let you spot him sneaking glances.

His fist gradually begins to relax from your tender caresses, until it's laid flat on the couch cushion. Now you can initiate phase two. With both of your hands, you methodically pull his glove off and place it on the adjacent cushion. Although Homelander still won't directly look at you, you can see that his body has completely tensed from your actions. And yet he still doesn't stop you, and waits noiselessly for you to make the first move.

With the utmost care, you start exploring his hand. The entire length of your own hand fits into just his palm, and even then it is still larger. Hell, practically any of his digits are taller than your hand. His fingers are long and slender, nails well-manicured. His skin is immaculate, as smooth as polished marble and without a callus or scar in sight. He has Compound V to thank for that, whether he'd like to or not.

Running your fingers along his skin has the exact effect you were hoping for, as you feel the tension and displeasure drain from his body. He's let his limb go deadweight, permitting you to pick his hand up to rest it on your lap. Luckily it's considerably light compared to the rest of his body mass, weighing only a few pounds on your thighs. It's still massive enough that it takes up more space than your lap allows, but that's never really been a point of concern. You lay his hand facing palm-up, and start tracing the lines with your index finger. Each crease tells its own tale, of a life marred with insurmountable pain and the longing to be appreciated despite its many faults.

At first he tries to continue ignoring you, but he finds it impossible to focus on the television anymore. Feeling your kind touches is awakening his deep-seated desire for affection, buried within his subconscious. The need to immerse himself in unconditional love, which you are currently doling out in spades.

From now on, Homelander's eyes are solely fixated on you.

"Y'know, I never realized how big your hands are," you remark, flipping his hand over so you can splay your palm on the back of his hand for comparison.

He swallows hard at your comment. Of course his hands are big, he thinks to himself. They're gigantic, just like the rest of him. They're freakish instruments designed to kill, maim and destroy. Even when he was a child in the lab, the scientists would flinch in fear when he would dare reach his hands over to them. He was forbidden to lay a finger on them, lest he break their fragile human bones.

He was forbidden to touch them, or be touched by them.

"But you know what else?" you continue, inadvertently cutting off his spiraling train of thought. "That's what makes them special. They're soft, and warm, and gentle too," you add, lifting his hand up to kiss his knuckle. "They're perfect, just like you."

Your words are so earnest, so heartfelt, that he can't stop the tears from welling up in his eyes. Homelander wishes his brain could connect with his mouth so he could say something, any words at all. Everything in his mind is so jumbled, so thick in a jungle of murkiness that he can barely process the barrage of memories seeping in and out of his psyche.

He would be in a state of overwhelm right now, except for the one thing bringing him back down to reality, cracking through the armour his trauma wears to shield itself from healing. And it's not even anything grandiose. It's just you. You and a simple touch to his ungloved hand. The feeling of your skin on his skin, the feeling of acceptance… the feeling of love.

As he cannot find it in himself to speak, he does the only thing he can think of and offers you his left hand. You waste no time removing that glove as well, and allow him to return the favour by engulfing your hand in his hold. It might seem intimidating to anyone else, but you aren't afraid, you know he would never hurt you. The level of precision Homelander has over his strength is something he's honed over the years, as the amount of politicians that he's had to shake hands with over his tenure at Vought has made handling human hands basically child's play. But it's not the same currently; it's a trade-off of trust.

This moment is about the trust you give him, and the trust he now gives back to you.

Delicately, he wraps his right arm around you and pulls you in closer. Your body slots so perfectly into the side of his abdomen, it's almost like you were always meant to be there, right next to him. You make him feel things he never expected to experience. You embrace his vulnerabilities without a second thought. You care, because you love him.

"Why don't we watch something else? Maybe one of your movies?" you suggest.

Your question brings a smile to his face; you know he's never been one to miss an opportunity to show off his accomplishments. He relinquishes your hand from his grasp, only briefly, to change the channel to one of his personal favourites: 'Homelander: Rise of a Hero'.

The rest of the afternoon is spent watching the movie, cuddling with Homelander, and him making the occasional declaration about how well his acting is in certain scenes. Your secret mission is a success, as Victoria Neuman's rally against him has been totally forgotten. And all it took was for you to hold his hand.

[cottonlemonade]

Pay Attention To Me

word count: 819 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: University!AU Bokuto x chubby!Reader

genre: very suggestive, smut-adjacent, established relationship

warnings: mdni, nsfw, clingy Bo

“It might not be visible to the untrained eye, but you are actually not helping.”, you said to your boyfriend who for the past minute had spent his existence as a koala bear, arms wrapped tightly around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

You were lowkey starting to regret having invited him over but since Bokuto had gone out of his way to clear some time in his strict training schedule and since it was also his first day off in 3 weeks, you didn’t want this opportunity to pass. However, you really had to get this concept done for class, so you leaned over the desk, in deep concentration or as deep as it could get with a 6ft guy hanging off of you like a sack of potatoes.

He started kissing your neck, a method of distraction that had proven to be very effective in the past but today you had your game face on and needed to get your project done.

“Baby, I’ll play with you when I’m done. I promise.”

He whined against your neck in protest. “I wanna play with you now.”, he mumbled, slipping his hand into your shirt, nibbling at your skin. Lord, he was testing you today. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Give me an hour. Two tops.”

Bokuto took a step back and pouted at you, then-

"Bo, stop poking me!", you laughed, swatting his hand away.

"Not until you pay attention to meeee."

“Fine, 20 minutes and then we can order dinner and have fun, I promise.”

Bo squinted and you sighed. He had one of his bursts of unbelievable energy - they came and went every so often when he just came from training, still riding the endorphine train.

You always pretended to be exasperated by them, because you knew that made it extra fun for him, when in reality you actually thought it was incredibly cute when he got like this.

“I will take a quick shower, alright?”, you said (after exactly 20 minutes) and pushed him back out of the bathroom he had followed you into, “Alone.”

“Not fair.”, he whined through the door and, laughing at his silliness, you stepped under the scalding hot water.

“What do you think about yakisoba from that one place and fried chicken from that other place?”, you asked a few minutes later as you came into the dimly lit living room, a cloud of lavender scented steam billowing behind you.

When you looked around your apartment he was nowhere to be found. Now, your apartment, while relatively spacious, wasn’t that big, so it was not like he could be anywhere.

“In here.”, you heard his voice from the bedroom and through the open door by the sparse illumination of the fairy lights above the headboard you spotted his figure lying in bed, in a pose that could kindly be called seductive, although realistically speaking he was just being a dork.

“What are you doing?”, you shook your head.

“How about we work up an appetite first?”, he grinned and looked you up and down, wiggling his brows.

He tapped the bed, obviously wanting to entice you to join him.

“You just finished a 3 hour practice and I just finished work.”, you noted, standing at the foot of the bed.

Bokuto sat up and gently pulled at the hem of the towel, disappointed when you held it tightly.

“Just a few minutes.”, he said pleadingly, and drew you closer. His eyes watched the little beads of water running along your neck to your breasts.

“Just a few minutes.”, he said again, this time barely more than a whisper. With a skilled, calloused finger he untucked the towel and began to kiss away the last few drops of water clinging to your skin, making you shiver under his touch.

Cupping your cheek he pulled you down for a long sweet kiss.

When you finally let go off the towel his eyes didn’t wander at first. He held your gaze tenderly, smirking ever so slightly, his dorky energy from a minute ago now gone completely.

"Come to me, gorgeous.”, he muttered softly and scooched back on the bed, watching you expectantly. Now his eyes roamed your form, the full hips he couldn’t wait to grab, your breasts he would definitely mark, your thighs… your thighs he wanted to lay between, burying his face into your pussy for hours, having you for dinner instead. His back leaned against the headboard, the quiet glow from the fairy lights on your skin presenting you as the ethereal goddess you were to him. You crawled into his lap. So soft, so achingly beautiful. He leaned in again, his fingers in your hair, his kisses now open mouthed and needy.

“I love you.”, he mumbled in your ear, before dipping his head lower to brush his lips along your neck.

[eringurumi]

Ancient Hearthian (Outer Wilds) Pattern

I got so many requests for the ancient Hearthian from Outer Wilds, and they really are so much simpler than the Nomai - but also, my notes and pics are a bit less detailed, and I've been so bad at even getting on my computer lately - so lemme try and cobble this together so anyone interested at least has something to work with!

Technical stuff: 3mm crochet hook, 9mm safety eyes, Red Heart Super Saver yarn in Jade, probably... but any nice shade would do!

Body:

They start as one long piece that kinda looks like a tadpole! A lot of the shaping is just by gentle smooshing it, but there are a few rows where you increase or decrease unevenly to contribute to it... I'm not even sure how much it really makes a difference tho!

6 sc in a magic circle

inc 6x to make 12 stitches

(3 inc, 3 sc) 2x to make 18 stiches (and a slightly elongated oval rather than circular cross section when looking face on)

(2 sc, inc) 6x to make 24 stitches

9 rows of 24

Add eyes and begin to stuff

Across the "top" of the body (wherever you choose that to be) do (1 sc, 1 dec) 3x, then 15 more sc to make a row of 21 stitches

Again across the "top" of the body do (1 sc, 1 dec) 3x, then 12 more sc to make a row of 18 stitches

From here, it's slow decreases (still at the top) and stuffing as you go:

(1 sc, 1 dec) 2x then sc around to make a row of 16

1 dec then sc around to make a row of 15

1 dec then sc around to make a row of 14

1 dec then sc around to make a row of 13

1 dec then sc around to make a row of 12

2 dec then sc around to make a row of 10

1 dec then sc around to make a row of 9

1 row of 9

1 dec then sc around to make a row of 8

3 rows of 8

2 dec then around to make a row of 6, fasten off and hide tail

Feet and Legs:

It looks like I really winged it a bit here, so let me try and figure out approximately what I did - the main idea is I think I made a very small tube for the feet, then pulled the tails through to the center, chained into a random stitch, and and did a few chains up and down to give it a short leg, then used those tails as well to sew them on to the body... I'm afraid I can hardly tell what I did for those legs, even looking at it in person, like it might just be a few knots... I am hoping that for here it isn't too much trouble for you to improvise something that works well for you!:

4 sc in a magic circle

3 rows of 4, then close off and pull the tails through the small cylinder, out the center

chain into a random stitch, then into an adjacent stitch,

sc "around" these two for 2-3 rows, to make a short leg

use the rest of the tail to sew onto the body.

Very messy, possibly blurry.... but hopefully this at least gives a bit more inspiration.

Ok, again, I apologize, it's not my best pattern, but I hope it will give people a starting point! Don't hesitate to ask questions if you need them, although as I mentioned, I'm not on tumblr much now a days. Don't forget to check out my Nomai pattern here! And as always, give me a tag here or @ erin.gurumi on instagram if you make one! I love to see them!