#and i feel like i would DEFINITELY remember the top and bottom one because of teh curls

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Dazai, Chuuya, & Kunikida x werewolf reader

Author's Note: Requested by the same anon who asked for this with Fyodor, Nikolai, & Sigma. I just had to break up the posts thanks to tumblr's tag limits 🙄 + bonus Kunikida because I can ✨

Pairings: Dazai, Chuuya, & Kunikida x male reader (separately)

Warnings: Male werewolf!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!characters, implied dom Chuuya as well, mentions of breeding, knotting, rough sex (Chuuya), heat cycle

Dazai

The Shameless Slut

“Ooh please fill me up, my love! I'll gladly take all of your dick uwu”

Yeah, Dazai can get a little too excited about your werewolf form sometimes…

He can be such a pillow princess too. He just likes to lay there and show off his beautiful body while you're carving your place in his insides

Scarily possessive when you pop your knot into him

As soon as Dazai feels that sudden stretch, he's locking his legs around you and pressing it further in

His fingers tangle in your coarse fur, and a groan slips out–

“Yes! Tell me I'm yours, belladonna!” he'll rasp, staring you down with enough intensity to make your heart skip a beat

If you're comfortable with it, Dazai will brag about his insanely hot werewolf boyfriend

Rip ADA members who have to hear about you every single day… and rip PM members who also hear about Dazai's horny bf every time they meet 😅

Chuuya

The Greedy Slut

That's not your massive dick, it's Chuuya's. And you'd do well to remember that

Your werewolf form does something to Chuuya's brain. The man already enjoys rough sex, but this large, canine form stirs something up in his belly

Demands to be bred. There better be no cum spillage, it has to be in his hole(s)

Definitely uses his special ability to make you hit deeper and pound harder — so much so that it's caused Chuuya to pass out before

After that first time, Chuuya asked if you kept going. And when you said of course not, he looked rather disappointed 😟

From then on, you agreed to breed him whether he was still conscious or not (within reason, though)

Calls you 'good puppy' and similar affectionate terms

You two have had conversations about buying a collar and leash — and, if you choose to incorporate that into your sex life, you won't regret it. Chuuya will make very good use of them 😏

Kunikida

The Slut in Denial

Also a total denial slut

He would never admit to this even on his deathbed; but Kunikida loves edging

If you lick the underside of his cock with your rough canine tongue, growling at your beloved to hold it all in? The only thing Kunikida will have in his vision are stars swirling around

I don't think he would admit to loving your primal sex sessions either. Not unless he was already deep in sub space

On all fours, your larger form hunched over his body while your balls slap against Kunikida's ass, your fur tickling his back — this is when he'd slur out how much he loves taking your cock 💛

Also one to keep track of the moon's cycle. It's important to know when his partner will transform or go into heat

Dating a werewolf was never a part of his ideals, but he doesn't regret a thing

Becoming your mate has improved Kuni's life in all sorts of ways — whether we're talking about the amount of love he receives, or the benefits of nasty werewolf sex 😌

[blamemma]

Daniel Ricciardo for DR3 Wines: Ric Red

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Aemond x brothel reader 👀

So what if instead of Aemond visiting the older woman in yesterday’s episode - he goes to the brothel and immediately regrets it and is about to leave until he sees reader and is mesmerized by her beauty. They have their little moment and she gives him comfort. Definitely feel free to add more or change anything! This is just a thought that I’d like to see created. Thank you!

Request: Aemond and a brothel girl (maybe a dancer idk) like the scene in the episode. Except they are more intimate and not weird age gap like the madam. It gave me the ick… He truly feels for her.

Warnings: mention of (past) character death, mommy issues,

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

—

The mysterious customer under a cloak all piqued your curiosity. You never had the chance of properly seeing him, always immediately escorted to a private bed. Some girls said he was disfigured, and that it was the reason he covered himself with a cloak. Some said it was Aegon Targaryen, but you knew the newly crowned King favored Flea Bottom’s whores. 

As you danced, your eyes would try to see through the veils he hid behind. To get a glimpse of him. But you never saw anything other than his bare feet. All you knew was that he was with Madam Sylvi and that he requested hot milk.

One late evening, you saw him leaving the veils. His cloak was on, but he saw you. He saw you dancing and moving your naked body to the rhythm of the music, entertaining the customers. 

The next time he came by, he asked for you. 

Madam Sylvi was not pleased, but he was the paying customer. 

You reminded him of his mother — physically —, but more caring and nurturing. He found your voice soothing and loved to rub himself against the fullness of your breasts, making your nipples harden to the stimulation, until he came to rest his cheek on top of it, humming in satisfaction. His mother let him do this as a child, when she was still comforting him, and he missed it. 

Every night, he would curl against you, or in your lap, and stay here for hours as you gently caressed his pale skin. Unlike the other customers, Aemond was not there for sexual satisfaction. He just wanted comfort.

‘’Daemon sent them to kill me,’’ he said, his naked body shielded by the veils circling the large bed. ‘’It was my head they wanted, not my innocent little nephew’s.’’

Your heart was heavy as the prince mentioned the murder of Jaehaerys — a child. The barbarous act had everyone in tears. 

You rubbed his arm gently, the aroma of calming lavender wrapping around you. ‘’But you were with me.’’

‘’I feel sorry for my brother and sweet sister. She is traumatized.’’ Guilt filled his stomach as he remembered the suffering and painful grief in Helaena’s eyes. ‘’I should be grateful they did not find me, but a part of me wishes they had. Unlike my little nephew, I would have been able to defend myself.’’

‘’We cannot change the past, my prince.’’ 

‘’I know,’’ Aemond whispered, his cold, princely facade completely down in your company. He sighed deeply as your gentle caresses soothed his weary soul. His body relaxed as he buried his face into your covered chest, seeking solace in your warmth and tenderness. ‘’There’s a lot I would change about the past if I could. I…I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day, and I am sorry for it.’’

You stroked his hair gently, the soft, silvery locks running through your fingers. You could feel the tension in his body slowly melting away as he rested against you.

Aemond's eye closed at your touch, and a small sigh escaped his lips. ‘’They used to tease me, you know? Because I was different. One time, in the dragonpit, they…they said they found me a dragon. It was a pig. And my brother was part of the prank.’’

’'That was cruel of them,'’ you said softly, leaning to kiss his temple. He leaned into your touch as you wrapped your arms around him in a comforting embrace. ‘’They were cruel to you, my prince. You didn't deserve their taunts and mockery.'’ 

You felt his hand reaching up and palming your breasts through your clothing. Getting the hint of what he wanted, you untied the front of your dress and freed your breasts. Immediately, Aemond’s mouth started to press kisses over them before. His hot tongue swiped over your nipple. You let him do what he desired, knowing this was his way of finding comfort. The warmth of his hand and the wetness of his tongue sent a shiver down your spine, but you focused on his needs.

As Aemond continued his sweet assault on your breasts, you noticed his cock was getting hard against his thigh, but didn’t mention it. Madam Sylvi never touched him there...or kissed him. Only you — when he asked for it. 

The music outside the curtains changed, and he shifted, letting go of your breasts to curl up with his head on your lap instead. You continued to rub his shoulder down to his back, then along his thigh and leg. 

‘’When I claimed Vhagar, I felt powerful.’’ 

His pride and confidence had swelled to an almost unmanageable extent when he returned to Driftmark. He was excited to tell Aegon, and his mother about Vhagar. But his cousins and nephews found him first. They got into a fight over the dragon…and Lucerys Velaryon took out his eyes. 

As if you read his thoughts, your finger brushed the scar going through his eyebrow. You couldn’t imagine the pain he went through. 

‘’Was it why you went after Luke that day? Because you wanted him to be afraid of you and your superior dragon?’’ 

Aemond grew still at the mention of Lucerys, the memory of that fateful day on Storm’s End, the catalyst of the brewing war, still fresh in his mind. 

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded slowly. ‘’Yes... In a way, I suppose so.’’ 

You hummed, brushing your fingertips along his cheekbone softly. 

Aemond wished he could take you to the Keep. To his chambers. It would be nice to not have to hide under a cloak at night and risk getting seen by anyone who shouldn’t. He wished you would be there, in his bed, when he would return from small council meetings, training or even just supper, to take care of him and hold him.

But that was impossible. His mother would never allow it.  

—

House of the dragon taglist: @khaleesihavilliard@domoron @ididliquorice @lover-of-helios@lover-of-helios @shine101 @tanyaherondale@mikariell95 @serrendiipty @lantsovheiress @gilliananderfuckme @shine101 @tetgod @clayzayden@memeorydotcom @tnu-ree @futuregws @blackravena @winxschester @mysteriouslydelightfulchaos @xxlaynaxx @secretsthathauntus @pilarxxxaguayo @emmavan39 @stargaryenx @erylilly @bbblackmamba @rainedrop97 @dreamer087 @gothicgay14 @ashlatano7567 @superkittywonderland @justaproudslytherpuff @evesolstice @buckysmainhxe @padfootsvixen @scarletmeii @evesolstice @dkathl @kaywsworld @tetgod @padfootsvixen @domoron  @weird-addiction @angeliod @xjennyx2 @adaydreamaway08  @mymultiveres  @secretsthathauntus  @puffycreamcakes @thirsty4nonlivingmen @naty-1001 @katiepie67 @moshpot24x @hc-geralt-23 @lovelynerdytraveler @saturn-sas  @zgzgh @sssjuico10 @tabloidteen @timetoten @deekaag @wondxrgurl @aerangi @strmborns @astridyoo15 @daemonslittlebitch @queenbeestuffs @severewobblerlightdragon @agentstarkid @msliz @vane1999-blog @fairyfolkloresposts @todaywasafairytale07 @otomaniac @zgzgzh @thebeardedmoon @golden-library @kikyrizuki @hnslchw @camy85 @winxschester @armstrongscommentsection @withfireandbl00d @randomstory56 @JudgmentDays-Girl @darylandbethfanforever9 @darylandbethfanforever9 @aegonswife @dakotapaigelove @jays-bullshit

All and more taglist: @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13@cece05@laylasbunbunny@gemofthenight@beautyb1ade@mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog@queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  @Anouknani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21

[magicalmanhattanproject]

man im just like. thinking about egg signs and how they've evolved over the course of the qsmp and how the qsmp has evolved over the course of the qsmp and just feeling so much love and affection for every part of the project. i dont have any grand overarching point with this just. like. here's a history of egg comms bc of the kind of person that i am

so wayyyy back ten months ago now at the start of the short and sweet egg event that was planned to last maybe a month at most, the eggs had their own custom, decorated signs!

[ID: Leo with a pink sign with an egg on the bottom corner that reads "hello" in all caps. Her nametag reads Leonardo. End ID]

They were extremely simple, single word signs. There was hello, hola, story, feed, sleep, and maybe one or two more and each was its own separate sign. The eggs could only communicate the most basic needs in words and everything else was through minecraft body language or just hoping their parents guessed right.

But obviously, there was a lot more that parents wanted to hear from their children. I'm not sure who was actually first, but the earliest departure from this system I know about is BadBoyHalo giving Dapper a simple oak sign so he could name his pet slime. (Screenshot from @/lxrd-ren)

[ID: Dapper wearing a diver's helmet standing next to a tiny slime in a boat with an oak sign reading "Bouncy (slmecicle but better)" End ID]

Parents quickly realized how much more convenient this was and pretty soon every single egg had stacks of signs to communicate with.

The next innovation came from Vegetta, who was the resident mod knower at the time. He knew about colored canvas signs and gave Leo signs in her favorite color purple because he loved her and gave her everything she wanted.

[ID: Leo's bed in her room under some Fooligetta fanart with a purple sign reading "<3" End ID]

Colored signs obviously had a lot of advantages. Being able to tell at a glance which egg placed which sign was a huge step forward in eggs being able to have long, complicated conversations as well as leaving obvious marks of their personality everywhere they went. It took a little while for them to be standard for every egg though. Bobby never stopped using oak signs even after Richas and Pomme both showed up with colored signs.

[ID: Two signs reading from right to left a red Pomme sign reading "we already started working on a guillotine factory" and a dark grey Dapper sign reading "thats the most french u have said so far pomme" End ID]

And this was the system for a while! And it worked pretty well for most people! The biggest struggle most people had was egg signs not being translated, but streamers adjusted to that by reading signs out loud so the translators would pick up on them. This also lead to adorable and fascinating dynamics like Richas swearing in signs he wrote for Bad and then warning Bad not to read them out. There was also the genuinely phenomenal development of Leolingo where Leo writes only in Spanish to Foolish because it's easier for her to write and he takes his time to puzzle his way through it and learn in a way that's super cool to watch someone else do onscreen.

Then Tubbo joined the server. And Tubbo himself had no problems at all with the system, but he is dyslexic and he casually mentioned offhand that it was getting kind of annoying to read signs after a ten hour long stream and the admin team Fucking Cooked.

Within 24 hours, they had TTS working on the signs. Within 48 hours, it was working on books too. I can't remember how long it took to get translation working, but it was definitely under a week.

And this opened up a whole new world of possibilities for the entire QSMP. The admin team has been on top of capitalizing on it for story purposes, but also just allowing the egg admins to speak in their native languages to everyone whenever they want has been so enriching for everyone involved. Leolingo is awesome but Foolish has been learning Spanish insanely fast and his process is a lot slower and more frustrating than most people can do in front of an audience of thousands of people without feeling discouraged. That's also one language. We've had everything from Foolish being able to check his work a bit more faster to Phil insisting on his eggs taking a day to speak to him in their native languages to Ramón writing a book for Fit in Cantonese, a language we haven't even seen on the server in any other context!

And all of it is fully understood and fully communicated! Sometimes the translators mess up but no one expects them to be perfect and people ask for clarification if the translator says something that doesn't sound right. It's not only a massive step forward in communication technology, but it's a great demonstration of how to use it and when you can and can't rely on it.

And finally, the most recent innovation! One of BBH's viewers sent him a dono saying they had trouble reading certain signs because they were too low-contrast. Bad, Richas, and Pomme just. Took it upon themselves to fix the problem right there and then. Based on One (1) bringing up their own personal struggle, those three came up with new signs that innovate tremendously on the originals.

[ID: Two separate images of the before and after. The first is the egg signs in their original colors with the corresponding egg's name written on them to demonstrate the font color and the second is in the new, higher contrast colors with the same text. The new signs also have custom decorations for each egg. The second picture also has two signs from Pomme in all caps that read "Send all the love to Richas he spent a whole night making this he's the best <3" End ID]

There are three main innovations visible in the above pictures

1: Obviously, the colors are higher contrast. The signs with white text have darker colors and the signs with black text have lighter colors.

2: The colors themselves are lower saturation. Richas said this made it easier for him personally to read them so he corrected that way, but that's open to change if it causes difficulties for more people than it helps

3: The decorations are for accessibility reasons! People with various different forms of colorblindness will find different sets of colors easier or harder to distinguish, but any of them can look at the decorations and use them to identify whose sign is whose instead.

But! Those innovations are not why I made this post! It's these ones!

[ID: The backs of the new signs when placed on the ground. Most visible are Chayanne's with vines and a hardcore heart, Sunny's with shining sunglasses, and Pomme's with an apple and the Eiffel Tower. End ID]

Richas added distinguishing marks to the backs of the signs too! This is something that Bad brought up specifically as something he wanted because it was hard for him to tell who was talking when he was using TTS from behind signs and couldn't see the colors at all.

We went from custom egg signs (a hotbar or so of words and nothing else to communicate with) through a long journey of expanding communication and expanding who we're bringing along on the communication and how easily they can join in and we've circled all the way back around to custom egg signs (they can say anything they want in any language they want and anyone will know it's them saying it from any angle)

and i guess i have enough feelings abotu that to write All This about it

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Part Six

Steve wakes with a start, yelping and then immediately panicking when the bed covers feel constricting – it passes almost immediately when he realizes where he is and what woke him.

“Hi Eddie,” Steve sighs, blinking the rest of the way awake. He rubs at his crusty eyes, the bedside clock glowing three forty seven at him. Great. “What’s up buddy?”

“Stee,” Eddie says quietly, like he somehow understands the sanctity of the middle of the night, “ow. Dead later,” and then he makes a noise like a fly buzzing. Or a bee. It’s a fair attempt at a gentle ‘bzzzz’ing noise.

Steve sighs, “okay buddy lets go.”

Eddie turns at the top of the stairs and goes down them on his butt, which Steve’s pretty sure he would find amusing if he wasn’t half asleep and half annoyed.

The ground outside is cold enough that Steve hisses when his bare foot hits it, and he does a silly hopping jog to follow Eddie onto the lawn. It is a bee, and it’s moving sluggish and confused on the grass. The weathers getting colder, the time of year plus...probably it’s old?

Steve knows fuck all about bees, but he’s pretty sure individual bees don’t live for that long, and that maybe they sort of hibernate in the winter? Or something? Isn’t that what all of that honey is for?

Maybe they could bring it into the warm and give it some sugar water or something, Steve’s pretty sure he’s heard that from someone, somewhere along the line, “okay little bee guy, here we go.” Steve uses a finger to encourage the fuzzy bee onto his hand.

Steve stands; there’s very faint, and probably first of the year, patches of frost on Eddie’s tent. It hasn’t formed anywhere else, so it’s probably not that bad yet, but still, it’s chilly enough that Steve hops back across the lawn with some urgency.

In the kitchen, Steve says, “here Eddie, you take him,” and transfers the bee into Eddie’s cupped hands. He mixes a tiny mount of sugar water in the bottom of a glass, with no idea at all if it’ll help or not. The bee should probably be asleep, right? Steve can’t remember ever seeing a bee at night, so he assumes they go to bed like sensible bees.

Steve drops a tiny bit of the sugary mixture onto Eddie’s palm, right in front of the bee’s face; he drinks it, so Steve does it again. “Okay, I think we should all try and get some sleep. Eddie, you want to sleep on the couch?”

“Sleep on the couch.”

“Yeah,” Steve rubs his arms, making ‘brrrr’ing noises and generally pretending he’s in arctic conditions. He points to the door, “cold outside. Warm here.”

Eddie cocks his head, but seems to get it, so Steve takes the bee, setting it dead center on a couch cushion, and goes back to bed.

Steve wakes again at a much more normal time; blinking at the nine thirty now on his clock and thinking that is way, way better. He wonders vaguely if the bee lived, but he doubts it. Eddie will probably be sad about it; like the bird.

If that was even sadness; if Eddie even understands the concept of death. Steve has no way to know what Eddie thinks about it.

He heads downstairs; vaguely planning his day. He needs a coffee and some breakfast, then get ready; they probably need some groceries. Working opposite shifts to Robin really sucks; he hasn’t seen her once yet this week. They talk on the phone though, and she swears she's working on Keith. He should check when he goes in later for a day they both have off so they can hang out; if such a thing even exists.

Maybe the kids will come over for a movie night; Steve does now have unfettered access to all the newest releases...and is it sad that Steve’s lonely enough that he wants to invite over that bunch of mongrels? Maybe, he’s not going to think to much about it.

Steve sets the coffee going then heads into the lounge; Eddie’s curled up into a tight ball, his spine bent at a really fucking weird angle and his tail wrapped around himself; Steve knows then that he’s never seen Eddie sleep before, because he’s definitely never seen whatever the hell is happening here. It’s like a cat. Or a snake, maybe. The way he’s all curled up tight on himself; makes Steve’s back hurt just looking at him.

At the other end of the couch is the sad, still, little body of the bee. Steve stares at it, listening to the faint noise from the kitchen; the coffee pot gurgles a little.

Eddie blinks awake, unwrapping himself.

“Morning Eddie.”

“Morning Stee,” Eddie blinks sadly at the bee, and then, very gently, leans over and nudges it with a claw tip, “dead?”

“Yeah buddy, I’m sorry. But at least he was comfortable, right? Warm and...sugared up.”

Eddie hums noncommittally, watching as Steve scoops up the bee and following him into the kitchen. Steve very nearly puts the bee in the trash can, but veers off at the last moment. It feels a little wrong, throwing the little dude out; he also doesn’t know what Eddie would thinks and feels vaguely like Eddie might...judge him.

Steve heads outside and deposits him in a plant pot instead. When he comes back in, Eddie’s raiding the fridge, “pear inied. Grapes inied. Celery inied.”

Steve sighs, “I know buddy, I’m sorry. I’ll go and get more, okay?” Steve goes out to the freezer in the garage and comes back with a whole bag of frozen peas, and that seems to completely make up for it. He pours Eddie a bowl of peas, and himself a bowl of cereal, sticking a spoon in both. He downs the coffee so he doesn’t have to make two trips.

“Couch, TV?”

Eddie nods, following Steve. Eddie turns on the TV since Steve’s hands are full, and they sit side by side on the couch, Eddie very carefully using his spoon.

“Called?”

“It’s a toothbrush.”

Eddie watches from his seat on the floor next to Steve; he’s high enough to easily lean his elbows on the counter top.

“Why?”

And ‘called?’ Steve can handle all day long, but ‘why?’ has rapidly become a tricky thing to navigate.

“To clean.” Steve grins big as he can, clicking his teeth together, “teeth.”

“Teeth,” Eddie snaps back, then turns to the mirror, clicking his teeth at himself. “Eddidie clean teeth?”

Steve snorts a laugh, and Eddie looks at him, tilting his head but smiling too. Steve figures that a solid ninety five percent of the time, Eddie’s just happy to be involved.

“Okay buddy I think I have…” Steve rummages in the cupboard under the sink, “ah ha!”

“Ah ha!”

“Here you go,” Steve unwraps the new toothbrush, really, really fucking glad it’s a different color to his own. “Steve’s is blue, Eddie’s is purple.”

“Purple.”

“You got it buddy,” Steve wets the bristles of both, and then puts the tiniest little dab of toothpaste on Eddie’s before putting the proper amount on his own.

“Here you go.” Steve hands it over, and then Starts brushing his teeth. Eddie holds his own brush, watching Steve closely in the mirror before attempting it himself. His movements are slow and cautious, be he definitely gets the idea.

Steve rinses his brush under the water, leaving it running as Eddie does the same. Eddie has no trouble dropping his toothbrush into the cup next to Steve’s.

Eddie explores the bath next; all this shit must have been here when Eddie spent a night in the tub, but Steve was beaten to hell and still a little fucking high on Russian truth serum when all that was going on, so he honestly doesn’t really remember much of those first couple of days. “Called?”

“Shampoo. It’s to clean hair,” Steve tugs on his hair to demonstrate, “hair.”

“Eddidie clean hair?”

“Uh. I mean, if you want to?”

Eddie gets the cap open, squeezing the bottle carefully and sniffing the hole, “good.”

Steve’s current shampoo smells like apples, and Steve realizes what’s going to happen just as it’s too late to stop Eddie from sticking his tongue out.

Eddie smacks his lips together, looking truly disgusted, “fucking gross.”

“Hey! Language!” Steve takes the bottle from a grinning Eddie. He looks so pleased with himself Steve can’t stay mad, “damn kids,” he sighs. Eddie definitely got that one from Max, the little reprobate. “Okay, if we’re going to do this, in the tub.”

Eddie points, “in?”

“Yup.”

Eddie manages it, hoisting himself up and the flicking his tail and sliding his ass over the edge, “Eddidie in tub.”

“You got it buddy,” Steve takes the shower head down, pointing it away from Eddie while it warms up, then moving it a little onto his tail, “feel okay?”

“Warm,” Eddie reaches out to feel the water, “good.”

“Okay, here we go then.”

Eddie sits patiently, head tilted back as Steve wets his hair down and then adds the shampoo. Eddie’s hair is thick, like, insanely thick, and it takes a bit for Steve to work the lather in. The individual strands are thick too, coarse and a little wiry. The back of Eddie’s scalp feels strange too, like his skull had ridges on it; lines that all join together right at the back of Eddie’s head. You’d never be able to see it through his hair.

Steve goes through half a bottle of conditioner on him, but Eddie sits patiently through all of it, flicking his fingers through the water, even when Steve combs it through and catches on snags, Eddie’s doesn’t complain at all. He tilts his head back easily when Steve directs him to, “okay, nearly finished.”

Once they’re done, Eddie climbs out of the bath and onto a towel, sitting on the floor while Steve dries his hair; he gets the idea and dries his arms and torso himself. Steve’s so used to looking at him that he doesn’t find the lack of belly button and nipples at all odd any more. Just looks normal. Looks like Eddie.

“Okay buddy, just let me grab a shower, and then you can help me write a grocery list,” Eddie follows Steve into the bedroom, watching as Steve grabs clothes before heading for his shower. Steve clicks the lock on just in case; Eddie’s not exactly worked out stuff like boundaries or personal space yet.

When Steve comes out, Eddie’s waiting patiently, sitting on the edge of Steve’s bed, wearing his yellow sweater.

Part Eight

[atrwriting]

I cannot shake the thought of Logan (any era) just being infatuated with a bimbo reader! Wearing pink or light colors all the time. Short and cute little outfits that definitely get him riled up even when they don’t mean to. Basically just Logan fucking them dumb like the little bimbo they are🤭 (SORRY NOT SORRY)

anon ur onto something with this one hunni 🤌🤌

———

pretty in pink:

everyone thought that logan would only like people like a school teacher or jean — but that wasn’t always the case, no. logan’s real type? the type of girl that pushed every bad thought, memory, or nightmare from his brain? the type of girl that forced logan to remember that there were some good parts of lie? the type of girl that reminded him what it was like to be a fucking man?

a fucking angel of a woman.

oh, god — you were something. you were it for him. you had the type of innocent, doe-eyed expression that caused him to choke for a second — get the hiccups for the first time in decades. you looked soft — so soft, almost too soft for him.

he’d come to your bakery every now and then — not wanting to draw too much attention. you only wore light and bright colors, the kind that he never reached for when he had a choice. you were like bubble gum to him — sweet and light, ready for him and only him.

he didn’t want to be weird, no — he couldn’t. what if he lost you? his never ending days were growing longer, and longer and he needed something to hold onto — even if it was just a cup of black coffee and a muffin two (and if he was greedy) or three times a week.

“can’t i interest you in something else, sir?” you giggled, pausing while you rung his order. “you’re the consistent type, don’t want to fix somethin’ that ain’ broke — but i bet i could find you something you like.”

he let his lips give the faintest smile, but inside he was fucking screaming. the slight southern twang in your voice was enough for him to want to fork over his entire wallet to you. you had your pretty pastel scarves wrapped around his ankles and wrists and, ugh — would he give anything to bite into like the peach you were.

“i trust you, darlin — whatever you think i’ll like,” he rasped, trying to keep his cool.

when he saw your eyes sparkle, and a natural blush mix with the kind you brushed on — he knew he had you. even if it wasn’t as needy as the thing inside him — oh, he knew he had you.

he started coming around more and more after that — sometimes at night, right before close. hoping for the chance to take you out after. he noticed everything about you after the day he called you “darlin’” — the way your eyes raked up and down him when you first noticed him, the way your hips would sway a little bit extra in those tiny flowy skirts, and the new shade of light pink that was always on those perfect, supple lips.

oh, fuck — he was down bad for you. so bad.

it wouldn’t be for another month or two when the soft skin of your palm slipped between his fingers and pulled him into your office, under the guise of wanting to “show him around.” he could’ve tutted at the pick up line — but he didn’t care. how could he when you plopped yourself on top of your desk, and spread your knees ever so slightly?

you couldn’t help but stare as you watched the big, bad logan walk toward you with his hands in his pockets. there was a hunger in his eyes, one for more than just sweet treats. you giggled at the sight and folded your bottom lip into your mouth — tasting the subtle hint of strawberry that you hoped logan liked.

“been feeding me the best for months now, doll — you’re gonna let me thank you?”

his hands ran up and down the soft skin of your thighs, wanting oh so badly to travel underneath the thin and short skirt. you could feel the want from him, the need — because you knew it was the same as yours.

there was no time wasted when you slipped off those pretty pink panties and sling-shotted them at him. his eyes darkened when he caught them, stuffing them into his back pocket. he captured your lips in a kiss that made you arch your back into him — clinging to him for support. he couldn’t help but grab onto your perfect hips and roll them against his as the juices from your pussy leaked onto the rough denim of his jeans. you whined into his ear at the feeling, keening into his touch.

“that’s it, doll,” he spoke, thrusting two fingers past your folds. “i’ll take care of ya.”

he pushed your foreheads together, and your eyes drifted closed as your mouth hung open. he watched with an intense gaze at how those petal pink lips fell open for him — just for him. he kissed you hard, drinking in every whimper that was just for him.

he would’ve thrown your body down onto the desk and fucked you well into the night — but you wouldn’t let him, no. you were his good girl, and you wanted to please him oh so bad. you made him sit you both down on your desk chair, you bouncing on top of of his iron thighs. he made you take everything off then — your bra, panties, the world — except for those pretty pink socks and head band. your curls bounced on your shoulders, curling around the peaks of your nipples — and logan pawed at them hungrily.

your mind was frosting at this point — soft, creamy, ready to mold however he wanted you. you felt his hands roam up and down the soft skin of your abdomen, stopping to pinch at your breasts as they bounced for him, and just for him.

“that’s it, doll,” he grunted. “show me you can make a mess for me, yeah? be my good girl — that’s right —“

oh, you were — you so were. the smell and taste of him drove you mad — wanting nothing more than to have him stuff you full of his cum and have you both watch it leak out.

“please, lo —“ you whined, your back arching more as you caught the sweetest angle. “‘m so close for you —“

“fuck, that’s my girl —“ he wrapped his arms around you then, thrusting up inside your pussy. “too much for you, baby, huh? couldn’t take it?”

it sent you over the edge — causing you to fall forward and catch yourself with your hands on his shoulders. you rolled down onto his cock as the walls of your pussy tightened, tightened, and tightened. little gasps left your lips, but logan only heard them as cries — cries for him.

“yeah —“ his voice was gruff now, long and drawn out. primal even, only wanting to encourage you to let go. his hands were pulling at the flesh of your ass now, slapping at the sensitive girl. “keep cumming for me, doll. show me you can make a mess.”

“fucking god, lo —“ there were tears at your eyes now, mixing with the black of your mascara.

the sight before logan? his pretty in pink doll that liked to cook for him, crying for him because she felt so good? nothing better in the world. absolutely nothing. his balls tightened at the sight, forcing his hips up into your pussy. his lips wrapped around the tip of your nipple — sucking on it greedily as you rode out your orgasm, shivering against him. he came with another thrust, holding you down onto his cock.

“there’s my pretty girl,” he whispered, voice cracking as a bliss formed in his eyes. “so, so good for me.”

———

eeee sorry if it sucks love u <3333 -L

[drabblesandimagines]

Crash

Leon Kennedy x female reader, established relationship

The sidewalk feels cold beneath your thighs as you stare blankly into your lap, your breaths heavy, struggling through a tight chest. You’re sat cross-legged, like a child - the nice, elderly lady had encouraged you to sit down, said you were looking pale. She’d definitely meant for you to take a seat on the bench a few steps away, but you’d just dropped, seemingly forgetting how to get from standing to sitting in any sort of graceful manner.

She’d smiled sympathetically then, offered you some candy from the bottom of her purse – kept a stash in there for her grandchildren - said you needed sugar for the shock. But you’d shook your head, feeling sick at the notion of eating anything. She asked if there was anyone she could call whilst waiting for the first responders.

You’d put your hand in your jacket pocket for your phone at her question – relieved it’s in one piece, not smashed up like the hunk of metal just out of eyeshot. You don’t remember calling Leon’s number, but you must have because now your phone’s up against your ear.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He answers after only four rings, though his voice is hushed - maybe ducked out of the room to answer. “Can I call you back in 20? Just wrapping up something here.”

“I-crashed-the-car.” You blurt out, the words running into one another. It’s not technically true, you were crashed into but this seems easier for now.

“What?” His volume amps way up and your stomach twists with the change, unsure of the implications – is he mad? Upset?

You were borrowing his car. Yours was in the garage, the brake discs needed replaced and would take a couple of days to get the parts in. You’d planned to take city transport but Leon insisted you take his car - arguing it was winter, that it gets dark so early and the idea of you walking to and from the bus stop on your own isn’t one he wants to entertain. You don’t live in a terrible neighbourhood, but you don’t have to be for monsters to be roaming the streets, after all. Plus, it made sense for him to ride his bike to HQ whilst you borrowed his SUV and he wouldn’t have to worry, have one less thing on his plate… ..or so had been the idea. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m so sorry,” you don’t even take in his questions, really. “They came out of nowhere and…“ Your breath hitches in your throat, a sob building up and threatening to overflow.

“Baby,” his tone is firm, “are you hurt?”

You can hear his shoes slapping against the floor as he begins to run, though it sounds too hard a sole for his boots... No, that’s right, he went out in a suit this morning – leather jacket on top, motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, still made the whole ensemble look good albeit it being mismatched.

“No…” That’s not true - there’s blood, and it has to be yours, but you feel numb of any sort of pain. “I don’t know.“ Your voice cracks again. “That’s okay,” he soothes, barging through a door with his shoulder. “We’ll work it out.” Nearly takes a woman out the other side with how hard the door slams against the wall, mutters half an apology as he darts around her. “Are you still in the car?” You turn to look at Leon’s black SUV laying on its side, the under carriage on full display – not the way a car should be. The driver’s side is against the concrete. You’d climbed out the passenger side, somehow, having to fight gravity itself to get the door to open, clambered up and over the leather seats. Should you have done that, or should you have stayed put? You’d just wanted out from the metal box – the windscreen was a spiderweb of cracks, creaking like it would explode in shards at any moment. “N-no, I’m on the sidewalk.”

“Okay, good. Ambulance on its way?” He’s reached the elevator, mashes the down button like it will make it accelerate to his floor any faster than usual. He feels awful that he’s interrogating you, but his training has kicked in - gather as much intel as possible – and he needs the facts.

“Yeah. Police too.” A few cars had stopped after. Someone said they were calling 911, another saying they got some of the license plate, the old lady and her purse full of candy. The other car drove off, tyres burnt with how fast they fled the scene.

“Good. That’s good, sweetheart. You’re going to be okay. Can you tell me where you are? What street you’re on?”

“Erm…” You look round, but in the shock nothing looks familiar, though it must be a route you’d driven down hundreds of times before. “I was on the way home from work, so, I’m, erm…”

“That’s all right.” He can hear the tightness in your voice, knows you’re not thinking clearly and so he changes tact. “Is anyone nearby that you could ask?” He hits the elevator button again, swears it’s been on floor 12 for far longer than necessary. Come on.

The elderly lady comes back to mind – she must’ve stepped back to give you privacy when you’d pulled your phone out. “There’s someone.”

“Great. Can you ask them where you are?”

“Yeah…” You pull the phone down from your ear, looking around to find she’s not gone far at all, hovering a few metres away. “Excuse me, where are we? Sorry.” The apology slips out, feeling more of a nuisance to her than you’d already been.

“16th Street, dearie.” She smiles, keeps her tone gentle. “Just near Jack’s Groceries.”

The elevator finally arrives – empty - and Leon positions himself between the doors, aware that his reception might drop when he starts to head down to the garage and he can’t leave you on a dial tone.

“Thank you.” You force a smile in return, hold the phone back up to your ear. “16th Street, near the grocery store, Jack’s - it’s the one with those chips you like?”

He smiles at that – it’s not your usual place to shop, but you go there sometimes to pick them up for him ‘just cos’. “I’m on my way, sweetheart. Can you call or text me if you go anywhere else?”

“Y-yeah.” You take another shuddering breath, dig your nails into the palm of your hand. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

He steps into the elevator fully, double taps the button for the garage before assaulting another to close the doors. He hopes no-one tries to grab it on the way down, cos he won’t be able to hide his irritation.

“Nothing to apologize for. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you, baby.”

“Love you too.”

“See you soon.”

He hears the beep, signaling the call is cut off and takes a grounding breath, though his foot taps impatiently as the elevator continues to descend. He scrolls down his contacts, thumb poised to dial as soon as the doors open again.

“Leon,” Hunnigan sounds surprised to receive his call, probably cos he’s in the same building as her and usually swung by the office if he was after something. “To wha-“

“I need a car.” He cuts across her, heading over to where the company vehicles are kept. “Any car - I’m in the garage already.”

“Right. Why?” He feels a smidge of relief when he hears her begin to type.

“Please - just give me anything. I don’t care what, I just need to go.”

There’s the clunk of a lock down the line of vehicles, a black estate vehicle’s lights flashing. “Bay C3. Keys in the sun visor as usual. Tell me later.”

“I will. Thank you.”

 --

Leon drives a little faster than he should, but it still feels like hours until he reaches his destination. There’s a couple of cop cars blocking one of the lanes, red and blues flashing, an officer stood diverting traffic around the closure and another manning the perimeter. He pulls up behind the cars and hops out, scanning for you.

There’s an ambulance parked up in the lane and his heart skips a beat when he sees you sat on the steps, a cop on one side, a paramedic waiting behind in the wings. There’s one of those silver foil emergency blankets draped around your shoulders and you look so goddamn small.

He starts to jog over, intent on getting to your side as soon as possible, when the cop manning the perimeter sidesteps in front of him, holding his hands up to get him to stop.

“Sir, I need you to stay ba-“

Leon flashes his ID in his face – it’s not something he likes to do and so he rarely does it, but he doesn’t have time to put on the charm. “Agent Leon Kennedy. That’s my girlfriend over there – I need to get through.”

The cop steps back and Leon feels weirdly grateful for once for the DSO.

As he gets closer, his eyes narrow at the fact that they’re making you blow into a breathalyzer. He clenches his fist then - you’re bleeding and they’re accusing you of drink-driving?! He wants to give them what for, but then he sees the way you’re shaking and knows him storming into the scene ready to blow is not going to help, especially with how apologetic you’d been on the phone.

He forces himself to stop a moment and breathes deeply again. You’re shook up, but you’re in one piece, conscious and that’s the most important thing.

“Thank you, ma’am.” The officer nods, noting down the reading as Leon walks over, catching the tail-end of the conversation. “Nothing to worry about there. I’ll just go update the control room – it won’t be long.”

“Leon,” you stand abruptly at the sight of him as the cop steps off to the side and the foil blanket slips off your shoulders, gauze taped on multiple parts of your arms. You’re trembling. “I’m so sorry.”

“Come here,” Leon wraps his arms around you, coaxing you into his chest. He wants to squeeze tight, to confirm what he’s seen with his eyes, that you’re real and whole, but he doesn’t want to aggravate any injuries so he’s careful, pressing a kiss to your crown. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine.” You’re not, but maybe if you say it to Leon it’ll make it real. There’s a horrible burning sensation in your chest. You want to cry, but not here, not in front of everyone.

“Sorry, ma’am, can I get you to take a seat again?” The paramedic interrupts, emergency blanket back in hand. “I won’t be long, sir. I just need to check a couple more things.”

“No, of course.” He presses another kiss to your forehead and guides you back to the steps, encouraging you to sit and takes the blanket from the paramedic’s hand to drape back over you. “I’ll be right over there, okay? I’m just gonna go have a word with the officer.”

“Okay, yeah.”

He steps aside so the paramedic can move in and waits for the officer to come off the radio, approaching and offering his hand. “Leon Kennedy. I’m her boyfriend.”

“I gathered.” He shakes it. “Officer Jacobs. It was your car she was driving?”

“Mm-hm.” He keeps half an eye on you as he sees the paramedic shine a flashlight in your eyes, getting you to follow his finger. “What happened?”

The cop consults his notepad, flipping through his notes. “A witness stated another SUV-type vehicle went through the red light at some speed. Said it had been driving erratically for a while, so I’m figuring drunk-driver. T-boned, sent your SUV spinning and flipped onto its side after it collided with the lamp-post. The other vehicle stopped for five seconds or so, then gunned it. I’ve got dispatch sending a description out for the highway patrols. Partial registration but it’s gonna have damage, I’m sure, so should be easy to spot if it’s still in transit.”

Leon swallows, taking all the information in.

“How lucky do you think she was?”

“Truthfully,” the cop scratches his day-old stubble, looking between the SUV and you, “I think if she’d been in a different car than that, we’d be having a very different and difficult conversation right now.”

Leon’s fists clench. He’s encountered unspeakable horrors too often in his time, but the idea that some drunken jerk could just get behind the wheel and end your life is more terrifying than anything he’s ever faced. His thoughts swirl down a dangerous drain - wonders if Hunnigan can grab the partial registration from the cops, run it through her software and find the culprit, or trawl the CCTV cameras for a screengrab. He’d show up at their door, or maybe wait for them in the parking lot, revving his own engine, scare them the way they’ve traumatized you and-

“Sir?”

The thought extinguishes as he realizes the cop is offering him a slip of paper.

“Case number. We’ve got her details and we’ll be in touch if we hear anything, but just in case either of you want to follow anything up.”

“Got it.” He nods, taking it and popping it into his wallet. “Thanks.”

--

Leon wants to take you straight home – he’s got a substantial first aid kit there that’ll do the trick on the cuts that need stitching – but, honestly, you need a proper check-up and only the emergency room will do.

You’d required a few stitches from where you’d been caught by the glass from the driver’s window and bruises had started to develop, specially from where the seatbelt had jerked at the impact, but the overall prognosis was positive – you’d be sore for a few weeks, that was for sure, but armed with some painkillers and some rest, you’d be fine.

Leon doesn’t think he’s ever driven quite so carefully the way he drove to and from the emergency room. Not that will help against other assholes on the road, but he’ll be damned if he does anything that means he has to slam on the brakes and give you a fright. You’ve been silent most of the time – silent on the drive, silent in the waiting room, answering the doctor’s questions in a quiet, unsure voice, and then silent again on the drive home. He’d placed a cautious hand on your knee, squeezing it in reassurance, meaning to draw it away but you’d placed your hand on top of it, looping your fingers through his.

He pulls into the parking lot, gives your hand one last squeeze and hops out, dashing around so he can help you out the vehicle. Leon can read you like a book, he knows you’re holding it together until you get inside – you know you are too.

The elevator is mercifully sat on the ground floor when the two of you enter the lobby and Leon keeps you close as you ride up to the 12th floor and the safety of the apartment.

“Can we sit?”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” He sits down on the sofa first and you drop yourself down onto his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. It’s only a second before you burrow your head under his chin and, with a heaving breath, finally let out a proper sob - releasing everything you’ve held in for the last few hours. You feel stupid, annoyed, frightened, sore, relieved – too many emotions to keep track of.

He wraps his arms around you in turn, pressing a long kiss to your temple, tears burning at his own eyes.

In that moment, it hits Leon in the gut that he doesn’t know what he’d do without you, what he would have done if you hadn’t come home that night. If he’d have to come back to the apartment and not find your shoes kicked off at the door at the end of the long day, the glass with the lipstick smear on the rim near the sink from the water you’d gulp down greedily whilst making dinner.  It’s not like he takes you for granted by any means. He feels lucky every morning when he gets to wake up next to you in bed, and every night when he climbs back in, wrapping his arms around you. He’ll never let the two of you go to sleep or part ways if you’ve had harsh words or a full blown argument as all couples do, not with the risk his line of work brings, the threat that he could be called away in the middle of the night and have to bid goodbye to a turned back.

He rubs his hand gently up and down your back then, tears silently rolling down his face as he takes you all in, relishes your warmth as he cradles you in his lap.

“I’m so sorry.” You hiccup, your sobs eventually ceasing into sniffles, but still you kept your face pressed into his chest, seeking the comfort of his smell – the faint cologne and natural musk that was so uniquely Leon.

“You did nothing wrong, you hear me?” He mumbles into your crown. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Is the car a complete write-off?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” He gently lifts your left hand, presses a kiss across your knuckles. “I love you, baby. So much.”

“Love you too.”  

The day after the next – he negotiated a personal day to spend doting on you, breakfast in bed, cuddles on the sofa, takeaway for dinner – Leon goes out and buys a ring.

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

[brisquad-unit-4402]

luxiem and noisy sex

hey guys sorry i was mia for a while you see it was because i was [DEAFENING EXPLOSION AND AFTERSHOCK FOLLOWED BY COLLAPSING DEBRIS, THUNDER CRASH, BICYCLE HORN SOUND EFFECTS]

tags: established relationship, gender neutral reader, smut, bottom/top or sub/dom not specified

⚠️ blow job mention in shu's entry

⚠️ mature content under read more. content under read more is not intended for minors

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🖋 Ike Eveland

relatively quiet. ike doesn't make a racket often— it's more likely that he'll either tease you with dirty talk and come-ons

but once his brain gets too fucked out to stay coy, he's all shaky breaths and little whines

you can hear him quivering under his breath, as if getting caught would be a problem

which it very much isn't

invite him to get a little louder if you want an adorably flustered, adorably hard novelist. he'll feel so dirty if you do, but at the same time, he feels like making noise proves how much he trusts you

if you're noisy:

even though he doesn't make much noise, sex with you isn't complete without coaxing such sweet squeaks out of you

he takes it as a challenge, trying to figure out which part of your body is most sensitive by how loud you react

it makes him feel so sexy, and desirable, and powerful no matter what position he's in

prefers when you can't form words anymore, only helpless cries. oh, and if you actually do cry? god, he'll remember that forever

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

🦁 Luca Kaneshiro

brings a whole new definition to "loud in bed". like seriously, even if you've had noisy partners before, luca puts them all to shame without even trying

he reacts to almost everything, and it doesn't take him a lot to get there. sometimes you wonder if he's faking it, but no, he's just that aware of everything he feels

he starts out with exclamations, and somehow forms words all the way until the end of the night. the sentences stop making sense halfway through, and by the time he climaxes it's a miracle if he can even get through his words without tripping up

if you're noisy:

is he the luckiest guy in the universe or what? it feels great to have someone that gets what it's like to be loud

doesn't even care what you say or do as long as he can hear it. just being able to hear those noises has his engine revving

then again, when you're lips are pressed up to him and he can still hear the muffled sounds and your vibrating throat, he just wants to fuck until you both white out in the afterglow

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👟 Shu Yamino

shu doesn't take sex too seriously and just wants to have fun above all else, and you have to wonder if it's because he always laughs at least once when you sleep together

he's actually quite ticklish, and his moans sometimes end in giggles. they sound so sweet even though what you do under the covers is anything but

this is one of the few things he's actually insecure about. he's so worried that it might kill the mood or make his partner feel self conscious

don't take it personally. he whimpers plenty when he's not giggling, and the last thing he wants is a misunderstanding just because of how his body expresses pleasure

if you're noisy:

sometimes he wishes he could commit every one of your noises to memory. they're easily his favorite part of going down on you

he fantasizes about your voice getting excited often. if you're ever apart, he'd love to listen to you masturbate and call his name over the phone

hell, even hearing his name from your trembling lips has his cock throbbing, ready to fill that pretty mouth and give you something to really choke on

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

👹 Vox Akuma

tends to make more guttural sounds. growls, hums, and purrs galore. vox doesn't even try to make them sound sultry, they're just so low and irresistible, as expected of the voice demon himself

but if you catch him off guard you might just make him squeak in surprise and satisfaction. he even stutters and trips over his words

which is something he gets embarrassed over, especially since all his other noises are still on the low end of the spectrum, but calling attention to it gets him even more aroused

great sex usually ends with high-pitched whimpers and gasps, and the best ones have him screaming as he orgasms

if you're noisy:

your noises make him so unbelievably horny, you have no idea. the second he realizes you're loud, he wants nothing more than to hear you all night

it's a huge ego boost and fuels him to keep pushing his limits. anything to keep you crying out for him

he'll goad you into responding to his dirty talk just so he can hear you whimper in-between your words

whether you want to be praised or degraded, he tries to mention your voice and noises as much as he can since it's all he can think about

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[ptolemaeacles]

pls write more for hazel omg i loved the cheerleader hcs maybe like a childhood best friends to lovers so lots of pining and smut maybe

♡ you belong with me

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

synopsis: hazel has had a crush on her best friend since they met in the 1st grade. they were freshman in college now and hazel realizes she can’t keep her feelings to herself anymore.

warnings: 18+ minors dni (both reader and hazel are 18), smut, childhood best friends to lovers, switch!hazel, switch!reader, top!reader, bottom!hazel (no pun intended), let me know if i missed anything!!

notes: aw thank you !!! im glad you liked the hcs. also small disclaimer, i'm a horrid smut writer and i rushed the ending because i didn't want to keep you waiting. hope you like !!!

word count: 2.5k

“god, i’m so excited. i mean this is the first time a girl has asked me out. usually it’s guys who approach me and then i get weird comments when i tell them i like women…” you rambled on but hazel could barely focus. she could only feel the empty pit in her stomach. 

you were so happy to be going on a date and all she could think about is if you would ever be this excited to go on a date with her. she tried to convince you to not go but there was only so much she could do without giving her feelings away. 

hazel thinks she’s loved you since the day she met you. before she knew what ‘love’ meant or what it looked like, she loved you. to her, you were the very definition of that word. 

hazel’s hopeless crush started in the 1st grade. it wasn’t some cute interaction where one of you saved the other from a bully or something. it was simple with the both of you. it always has been. 

you came up to her during lunch and told her you would give her half of your sandwich if she agreed to be your friend.

“what kind of sandwich is it?” hazel asked, from her seat on the lunch table.

“peanut butter and strawberry jelly.” 

“i’m allergic to strawberries.”.

“then don’t eat it and just be my friend.” you sat next to her without another word and the both of you left it like that. simple.

since then, she knew she would never escape you. and she never wanted to. but right now, she felt like if you didn’t stop talking to her about this date, her head would explode. 

hazel watched you walk around your room, shuffling through your closet for an outfit to the movies with the girl who asked you out. she never bothered remembering the girl’s name because she thinks it would the whole situation worse for her. she didn’t want to know anything about that girl.

“...and she said we’ll get ice cream later which i hope-” hazel interrupted you.

“hey, i think i should get home. my mom’s probably wondering where i am and shit, so… i’ll see you later.” hazel wanted to get away as soon as possible. not from you but from the giddiness she could practically feel radiating off your body at the thought of your date. 

“oh.. i thought you told your mom that you were going to study at my place after classes?” you questioned. hazel’s quiet behavior didn’t go unnoticed by you. she was always quiet but after more than 10 years of friendship, you could tell which silences were good and which weren’t. this definitely wasn’t a good one.

“yeah well, we aren’t studying so. i’d better get going, bye.” she spoke in a flat tone, with her head down, as she grabbed her backpack and made her way out of your room.

you stood still, staring at the open door of your room and wondering if you had done something.

hazel walked into her house, red in the face and a vicious grip on the doorknob. she ran up to her room, and threw her backpack in a random corner, probably knocking her guitar down. but her guitar was the last thing on her mind. 

she was pissed at you. mostly herself but you as well. she knew she had no right to be angry at you but how could you never see that hazel was right there. she was right in front of you, waiting for you to even glance in her direction. it’s all she wanted. to be the one who makes you laugh, the one who you’d think of when you saw romantic tiktok slideshows, the one who took you out on rollerblading dates, the one who got to kiss you before dropping you off back to your house, the one who got to slide her hand up your skirt, the one who got to be in between your legs-

she groaned and loudly, flopping onto her bed and stuffing her face in her pillow. she needed to apologize before her stupid feelings ruined your friendship.

hazel had a plan. she was going to go to your house after your date and apologize. apologize for being a dick, apologize for falling in love with you, apologize for every and anything she could apologize for so that you wouldn't hate her. she expected you to yell at her or ask her what was wrong with her. what she didn't expect was you to be calling her phone, right now.

she pressed the green 'accept' button and put the phone up to her ear.

"haze.." she could hear you sniffling through the phone, "i-, uh, can i come over, please? my date- it just- it went horribly and i really want to see you. please." hazel felt her heart drop 10 stories.

"yeah, yeah, i'll come pick you up, angel, where are you?" she questioned.

"outside your house."

hazel ran down the stairs and opened her front door, to be met with your red eyes and puffy face.

you immediately wrapped your arms around hazel, burying your face in her chest. her hands went landed themselves in your hair, stroking it gently in an attempt to comfort.

hazel helped you into her room, setting you down on her bed.

"do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly.

"she- she, um, she stood me up." you could barely get a sentence out without hiccuping. hazel reached over to her nightstand and pulled out an unopened water bottle, unscrewing the cap and handed it to you.

you whispered a thank you and took a few sips. it was hazel's turn to speak now.

"fuck her," you give her a confused look, "oh no, not fuck her, don't do that, i meant that you should just forget about her. she obviously isn't the one for you if she stood you up, and there are so many other people in the world-"

"hazel."

"yes?"

you didn't waste anymore time. you grabbed hazel's face in your hands and crashed your lips into hers.

hazel was sure this was a dream. there was no way you were kissing her right now. she definitely fell asleep and she's imagining this whole thing.

while hazel was having her loser lesbian crisis, you noticed that the kiss wasn't being reciprocated.

'fuck.' you thought. you just ruined your closest and longest friendship. you pulled away from her.

"shit, haze, i didn't mean to do that, i'm not sure what i was thinking-" you started but were quickly shut up when hazel pulled you back in for another kiss.

relief flooded your body. she wanted this. both of you wanted this.

hazel felt you smile into the kiss and took that as her 'go ahead'. she tilted her head, deepening the kiss. shyly, she moved her hand from her lap to your waist. you moved one of your hands to the side of her neck and the other in her hair. you could practically feel her pulse beating rapidly under your palm.

hazel gained a newfound confidence and pushed you back onto her bed, slotting herself between your legs. her lips hovered over your neck before attacking your neck with sloppy kisses. her lips trailed down your neck, making sure to savor the taste of you. her lips met the fabric of your blouse.

"can i take this off, please?" she asked in a breathy manner, as if she had just ran a marathon. you nodded, at a loss for words.

“need to hear you say it, baby. need to know you want it just as bad as i do.” hazel wasn’t aware how raspy her voice was, as if she hadn’t drank water in days. 

“take it off, haze, please. take it all off.” you whispered and caught her lips with yours while she lifted your top off your body. once she had your top thrown in a random corner in her room, she went straight for your pants, not even bothering to take her own clothes off. 

“fuck, hazel,” you were breathless, “i want to see you, too.” you swallowed, gripping the beige button up she was wearing, hoping she knew what you meant.

“you will, princess, don’t worry. i just want to focus on you right now, okay?” you nodded, not fully sure what ‘focusing on you’ meant.

hazel had you in just your bra and underwear, her eyes scanned your body hungrily. if this was a dream, she prayed she remembered every single moment when she woke up. you were better than any fantasy she could conjure up on those lonely nights, when she couldn't think of anything but you. 

you felt her strong gaze settle on your body and you felt self conscious thoughts take the forefront of your mind. you raised your hands over your body, starting to think hazel didn’t want you like you wanted her.

“hey,” hazel grabbed your hands and gently pushed them to your sides, “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted you like this. how many nights i’ve stayed up thinking about you.” hazel started kissing down your neck, making her way to your chest. 

she pulled your bra down, not even bothering to fully unhook it before latching her tongue down onto your right nipple. 

the wet feeling of her mouth made you cry aloud, completely forgetting her mom (and jeff, too, probably) were a few feet down the hall.

hazel lifted her mouth of your tit with a pop, moving her hand to squeeze it instead.

“i’d love to hear you, angel, but i need you to be quiet,” she feverishly pecked your lips, “just tonight, hm?” you murmured a response, more concerned with the ache between your thighs than anything else. 

you guessed hazel read your mind or something, as she started moving down the bed towards the place on your body that needed the most attention. she looked up to you, as if asking once more, if this was what you really wanted. 

“haze, please.” you whined. that was all the confirmation she needed. she slid your panties down slowly, watching a string of wetness connect your pussy and your underwear. hazel felt herself growing wet at the fact that she did this to you. it filled her with a new sense of confidence. she didn’t even wait for your panties to completely slip off your legs before diving in between your thighs.

your back arched off the bed the moment you felt hazel’s tongue make contact with your swollen bud. she slipped her wet muscle throughout your folds, desperate to catch every single drop of wetness she could.

“fuck, haze, feels really fucking good.” you moaned and brought your hand to the back of her head, gripping her hair between your fingers in ecstasy. 

she hummed in response to the praise you were giving her, sending vibrations throughout your core that nearly made you choke. hazel continued to suck on your clit, holding your thighs apart with her hands hooked under your knees. she slid her face side to side with her tongue flat against your pussy, moving your clit with just the right amount of pressure. 

you felt a pressure building in your lower belly and tried to move hazel’s face closer to your mound to chase your release. 

and she stopped. 

you lifted your head from the pillow and stared at her kissing your thighs, before going to unbuckle her own pants. 

“wait hazel,” you put your hands on top of her jean button, “can i?” you spoke so quietly, hazel barely caught what you were saying. she nodded her head, unsure of what else to do.

you gently unbuttoned her jeans before sliding them and her boxers down and allowing hazel to step out of them. you lifted her button up over her head and unclasped her bra, letting them fall onto the space on the floor next to her. she was in awe of you. you were so gentle to her and she would never believe she deserved it, even if you reminded her of it everyday for the rest of her life. 

once she stood completely naked in front of you, you led her to lay down on bed, stomach facing up, before separating her legs and hooking one of your own over hers. 

you looked at her face for any sign of discomfort, only to be met with the rapid rise and fall of hazel’s chest and her eyes shut in euphoria. 

“hazel,” you caught her attention, she stared right at you, “keep your eyes on me.” you lowered yourself gently, placing your clit right on top of hers. both of you let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of your juices mixing with the others.

placing your hands on her stomach, you moved slowly, rocking your hips back and forth against hers. hazel struggled to keep her eyes open, getting lost in the pleasure you were giving her. she always thought of moments exactly like this and imagined it being a lot different. she imagined that she would be the one on top of you, taking charge and pulling orgasm after orgasm from you. but after feeling the movement of your hips against hers and the way your breasts bounced slightly when you would pick up your pace. hazel fought her hardest to keep her eyelids from drooping. she didn’t want to miss a single move you made.

you quickly found a steady rhythm and went faster, prompting hazel to cry out. you leaned down and caught her moans in a rough kiss. 

the familiar coil in your belly seemed to get tighter and tighter. hazel must’ve noticed the way your hips started to rock faster and knew you were about to cum.

“c’mon, cum for me, baby. give it to me, i’m almost there too,” she started rambling as she felt her orgasm approach her as well, “keep going, just a bit faster, angel.” both of you fought to keep your moans from being heard from anyone else in the house.

“fuck hazel, i’m cumming, i-” you were cut off as your orgasm hit you in waves. warmth spread throughout your body, making your limbs weak and causing your legs to nearly give out. 

you kept going, over stimulating yourself, trying to get hazel to reach her orgasm. by the looks of it, she was on the edge. her baby hairs stuck to her sweaty forehead, her face scrunched up in pleasure as her back arched into the air. 

“fuck fuck fuck fuck-” she rambled as her orgasm washed over her, quickly quieted by your mouth capturing hers. 

the both of you gently rode out your releases, breathless and sweaty. you carefully lifted yourself off of hazel and laid next to her on the bed. 

“we should talk about this, you know.” hazel started.

“we will. in the morning, i promise. for now, i just want to be with you.” that seemed to be enough for hazel.

you draped your arm over her waist, pulling her closer to you. she tucked her head in the crook of your neck and the both of you drifted off to sleep.

[rise-my-angel]

More headcannons about the Starks being doms!!! Pleaseeeee!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay starting off saying, all Stark men are doms, just in different ways. But let's start from the eldest down.

Brandon Stark:

Easily a hard dom. He was short tempered and described as very distinctly as having "wolfs blood". He loved fighting and always kept his sword sharp and with him. I have a distinct theory that he was a power bottom, preferring women on top of him but without actually giving them that control. Probably didn't talk a lot, and when he did was just purposely filthy. He also definitly liked to take things rough, considering Barbrey Dustin says this about him.

"I still remember the look of my maiden’s blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing."

That is some hard dom behavior right there.

Eddard Stark:

If there was a Stark who was closest to a switch then the others, it would be Ned. But I think that is more because Ned is just rather vanilla in comparison. There is zero reason to believe Catelyn likes being in charge in the bedroom, but I also think Ned is far more of a soft dom. Not very talkative, probably more intimate, and he doesn't push Catelyns limits. But he does in fact, go hard.

The man gave her five children, and Catelyn literally implies in the first book that Ned fucked her so hard she was in that afterglow pain only a man who goes rough can give.

"Her loins still ached from the urgency of his lovemaking. It was a good ache."

Submissive men do not fuck so urgently they leave their wife laying in bed sore as fuck from getting pounded. Ned is probably the least kinky of the present Starks, but certainly still a soft dom.

Benjen Stark:

We see he has a very dominant personality, how easily he takes control of a conversation and establishes himself as someone to be listened too, but considering he clearly joined the Nights Watch at an early age, it's safe to say Benjen grew up a man whom was just not involved in sexual encounters.

If he did fuck, he'd likely be more of a soft dom with a side that likes to tease and be playful, but I assume he's either never or had very little sexual encounters to say for sure what he'd be like as one. But in his everyday personality, he certainly commands authority when necessary which is proof of dominance enough for me.

Robb Stark:

If there is the biggest example of a hard dom, it's Robb. This man takes you like a goddamn wolf. Flipping you onto your hands and knees, shoving you further into the furs of his bed, going fast enough you can't catch your breathe and rough enough that you feel him well into the next day. He will yank you up to his chest and purposely mutter depraved shit in your ear, mock you for your pleasure knowing it works you up more when he does it. Calling you derogatory sexual terms in bed to keep you in that subspace (he doesnt say them to hurt your feelings you know its all part of a kind of rougher roleplay essentially).

We've seen him take command in every situation. He knows how to seize control of a conversation even with opponents as difficult as Jaime Lannister. He doesn't falter, knowing he has everything in his favour and is sure of himself. Putting men twice his size like Greatjon Umber in his place but still managing to secure his upmost dedicated loyalty at the same time.

Robb probably the most forgets to be romantic in bed, but he makes up for it any other time. It's just in bed, when Robb is fucking you, he is rough and mean. You both know its with love and you both like it, but he is a true hard dom.

Jon Snow:

If his brother is the definition of a hard dom, Jon is the definition of a soft dom. Jon is incapable of being mean to you, truly being mean. He'll never whisper filth for the sake of it, never try to mock or embarrass you, will never use anything close to something derogatory towards you in what he calls you. Jon is passionate, raw, and very intimate about sex with you, and he needs a lot of both skin to skin contact and he needs to be able to kiss you as much as he wants.

But, he is also very controlling. More then he realizes. Jon is unpredictable in bed, because what he wants varies wildly. Sometimes he takes you slowly, but goes for hours to the point he is still inside you as you pass out, which he keeps going. Sometimes, he is rougher then he even realizes. Jon leaves bruises all the time from how tightly his hands grab at you alone, and he goes rough to the point sometimes you almost are pushed too far, but Jon somehow always ends up making you crave it.

You basically will never choose how the night goes. Jon always controls you in bed, and you let him. It works him up to an endless degree that you so completely trust him with you to the point he basically owns your autonomy in bed. He can convince you to do anything knowing you'd let him, and he won't give you what you want because he knows your needs and limits better then you do.

Jon is soft and loving with you in bed, but he is a dom through and through. Jon alone is the one in total control in the bedroom and he will always keep it that way.

[mixsethaddams]

Eddie and Steve were sitting on the back porch of the little two bedroom house that Owens and his merry band of government lackies gave to the Munsons in exchange for signed NDAs.

It was getting late and Steve knows he should go home, but Eddie keeps finding new conversations to strike up and it just feels too natural to keep responding. Getting up and announcing he was going home would be downright rude. The deckchair he was lounging in was confortable too, so it just made more sense to stay.

Eddie passed Steve the joint they had been nursing between them. Steve had lost track of what they were talking about a long time ago. He was too caught up in the low rumble of Eddie’s voice, quiet enough to make it feel like they were sharing secrets even if they were all alone with nothing scandalous to say. It didn’t matter what Eddie was saying. Steve was happy to just listen. The subtle fizz of the weed spread across his skin as he leaned his head back and enjoyed the light breeze that cut through the warm night.

Today was the same as every other day.

Steve woke up, showered, picked Robin up for work, and then spent eight hours rewinding tapes. He listened to her go on and on about her latest discovery of why Vickie was the perfect person, adding commentary where needed. Steve was happy for her, he was. He just wished she wasn’t so distracted. Not today.

And then he ferried Mike to Dustin’s, Will to the hospital to visit Max, brought Lucas home from the hospital so he could shower and then right back over again. He was barely through the door when Eddie called and asked how his day was, insisting Steve come over to hang out when he heard it was just ‘fine, average, nothing special’.

Steve had wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on the couch with a terrible tv movie in the background. There was something about Eddie, though. Something in the way he moved, the way he said Steve’s name and dragged his teeth along his bottom lip over the V sound. The thoughts of staring at the stars with Eddie might just be the one thing that could redeem today. Even if no one else would understand.

Steve arrived thirty seconds before two large pizzas, courtesy of one of Argyle’s buddies in the business. They each had all Steve’s favourite toppings. Which was weird because Eddie definitely didn’t like olives or pineapple. Steve had a cold beer in one hand and hot slice in the other before he even said ‘hello’.

If there was any way Steve wanted to spend the final hours of today, it was with Eddie. He knew why, of course. He bit his tongue every time he got close to saying it out loud, but he knew exactly what that something was.

“And I figured hey, if it means I don’t have to sell weed to highschoolers anymore, then why not, you know?”

Steve’s brain took a second to catch up to Eddie’s train of thought about his new job. He was going to be working in a garage with Reefer Rick’s nephew.

“Totally,” said Steve, sipping the mostly empty bottle in his hand, the liquid warmed by being held so long. “I bet you’ll be great at it too,”

“Yeah well,” said Eddie, quirking his eyebrows. “I hope so,”

They fell into silence again and Steve started to think it might not be rude to leave any more. The joint was down to the nub, the beer was gone, and Eddie’s eyelids were looking heavy.

“I should, uh…” said Steve, shifting his weight on the chair to stand up.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” asked Eddie, looking up at the moon. Steve could see its reflection in his eyes.

Steve stopped.

“Tell who?” he asked. “Tell them what?”

Eddie sighed.

“It’s your birthday, man…” breathed Eddie. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Oh…” said Steve. He could feel his face heat up. “I don’t… I guess its not a big deal for me… Not for years…”

Eddie nodded solemnly.

“You’re too good for us, Harrington,” said Eddie, shaking his head. “I saw what you did for Robin’s birthday. Did she remember, at least?”

Steve didn’t say anything. He knew he’d probably get a frantic apology and a card tomorrow. It wasn’t like he was going to hold it against her.

“Pizza and beer isn’t exactly the five star treatment you deserve,” said Eddie. “Hope it’s enough to, you know, make today not suck entirely,”

Eddie waved his hand around in a circle, as if gesturing to the very day itself.

“This actually might be the best end to a birthday I’ve ever had,” admitted Steve. “So, you know, thanks. For doing this for me, I mean,”

“Thanks for eating all the olives,” joked Eddie, draining his beer bottle. “Besides, any excuse to hang out with you, I’ll take it,”

“Yeah?” asked Steve, his voice smaller than he expected.

“Yeah,” answered Eddie gently. “I like being with you,”

Steve’s stomach lurched. He followed Eddie’s gaze to the moon. She was beautiful tonight and Steve felt safe the cool glow she cast over them.

“How did you know?” asked Steve, playing with the hem of his sweater. “Or like, care?”

“Saw it on your license a whole back,” Eddie answered, lighting two cigarettes at once and handing one to Steve. “And I cared because… Because I care. I didn’t want you to be sad on your birthday,”

“Oh,” said Steve meekly. “I’m not sad. Not now. I’m happy now, so it worked,”

Steve took the offering of the cigarette and sat back in his chair, looking at his hand and the subtle hint of ‘don’t go’.

“Did you have a birthday wish?” asked Eddie, holding up the still-lit match. It was burning quickly down towards his fingertips.

“Just one…” said Steve slowly, looking through the flame at Eddie.

“A person?” asked Eddie.

Steve gulped, and nodded.

“So make it,” Eddie said. “Don’t tell me, or it won’t come true,”

Steve blew out the flame, still gazing into brown eyes, watching them turn black when the light was gone.

Eddie’s watch beeped. It was midnight.

“Didn’t come true,” said Steve sadly, his eyes still fixed on the point where Eddie had been holding the match between them.

“Give it time…” said Eddie softly.

Steve took a long drag of his cigarette and wondered if this is what every night would be like. If his wish came true and he got exactly what he wanted, would he sit out here and smoke and stare at the stars and listen to Eddie talk every night? Was he allowed to have that?

“I wished for the person that makes me happy,” said Steve, not looking over at Eddie but feeling bolstered by weed and boldened by beer.

“It won’t come true now,” teased Eddie, his voice low.

“Even if I tell them?” asked Steve, turning to look at Eddie. He looked into Eddie’s eyes again and thought of all the things he wanted to say. He felt something shift between them when Eddie didn’t look away.

“I made a wish on my birthday too,” said Eddie. “That didn’t come true either,”

“What did you wish for?” asked Steve.

Eddie’s arm flopped between their chairs, his cigarette burning steadily between his fingers.

“To make someone happy,” he said.

“Like…” whispered Steve.

Steve slowly moved his hand so it brushed against Eddie’s, the backs of their fingers rubbing together. Steve hooked Eddie’s pinkie with his own. Eddie looked at their hands and smiled gently.

“Yeah,” said Eddie quietly.

Steve hummed.

“Guess I just needed to wish for it too,” said Steve.

[ataliagold]

I Want Ours To Be An Endless Song

For @astrangersummer week 12 prompt 'not-date.' Title from Love Like Ghosts by Lord Huron.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: T

W/C: 1245

Tags: Post Series 4, Everyone Lives, Eddie's in love with Steve, Steve loves him back but Eddie's a bit oblivious, fluff, first date, summer, picnic, first kiss, getting together

Summary: Eddie's been trying for months to keep his feelings for Steve in check. But unbeknownst to Eddie, Steve's taken him on a date.

___

It’s not a date, Eddie reminds himself for about the hundredth time that afternoon.

It’s just that the others must’ve cancelled, he figures. Robin and Nancy, because they definitely would’ve been asked too, maybe even Jonathan and Argyle, but it’s summer, people have other plans, the others just…must not have been available.

He tells himself this firmly as he follows Steve on the little path through the woods to the edge of Lover’s Lake.

As Steve sets up the picnic blanket, Eddie repeats it to himself again. And while he puts the little basket down, while he pulls out baked goods and small sandwiches with the crusts cut off Eddie chews on his bottom lip and digs his nails into his palms because Steve’s so fucking perfect and Eddie would love more than anything for the two of them to be something more, for this picnic to be something other than just an outing of friends…

But Steve isn’t his, and this is not a date.

“Want a beer?” Steve asks, blinking up at Eddie.

“Uh…yeah,” Eddie wills himself to speak, to unfreeze, to act fucking normal.

He lowers himself onto the blanket next to Steve, looks out across the lake. It’s a hot day, barely a breeze to shift the muggy air around, and the lake is still and clear as glass. Eddie sneaks glances at Steve as he rifles around in the basket for the beers he’d stashed there earlier. Steve’s in a tank top and stupidly short shorts, and he’s all golden skin kissed with moles and cheeks slightly reddened from long days spent in the sun and Eddie wants to reach out and touch…

He swallows thickly instead. Takes the beer Steve’s holding out to him, sips at it, then again to give his mouth something to do so he doesn’t say something stupid…

“S’nice here, huh?” Steve comments, taking the lid off one of his containers and offering it to Eddie.

Eddie reaches in, pulls out a cookie, no doubt carefully baked by Steve the day before.

Why did he have to be so perfect?

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, clearing his throat. He flaps a hand towards the water. “Certainly nicer than when we were last here.”

Steve chuckles lightly, nods. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to – they all know they’re remembering that time in the dark, in the cold; slimy tentacles and black depths and a gaping gate to hell.

They’ve come to the opposite side of the lake today, Eddie notices. As far away from…that spot as they can be. And everything looks different from this angle, like if he squinted they could be somewhere else entirely.

That had no doubt been intentional on Steve’s part, he supposes.

They eat in silence for a short time, until Eddie can’t bear it anymore – he never was very good at keeping his mouth shut.

“A shame Buckley and the others couldn’t make it,” he says through a mouthful of bread.

Steve frowns, a flicker of confusion passing over his face. “Huh?”

“Buckley,” Eddie repeats, swallowing before he was quite ready to, wincing as the food hurt his throat going down. “And Nance, Jonathan and Argyle…were they busy or something? They would’ve liked this.”

Steve’s frown deepens. “I dunno, I didn’t…I didn’t ask them.”

What?

Eddie falters. Stutters around his sentence a bit. “You didn’t? I – I just…well, I thought…you and Robin do everything together and Nancy often tags along with her now and so I just figured you would’ve asked them at least, too.”

Steve’s brow unknits. He puts down his beer, turns to Eddie, sunlight dancing in his eyes.

Eddie’s heart thumps at the sight.

“Eds…I wanted to come here with you. Just you.”

“Why?” Eddie refuses to admit the way that word came out as a squeak.

Steve tilts his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “You don’t know?”

No, Eddie very much doesn’t, because he’s been refusing to let himself believe even for a moment that Steve is remotely interested in him for anything other than friendship because he’ll be let down, he’ll be so fucking disappointed when it turns out not to be true. So he’s been strict with himself, he’s told himself over and over that Steve doesn’t like him like that, has ignored the lingering looks from the other man and the soft touches to the back of his hand, to his shoulder, because Steve’s a touchy sort of guy, they don’t mean anything.

Eddie’s not in love with Steve Harrington, he’s told himself every single damn day for months now.

The truth is, he’d fallen ass over tit in love with the former King that fateful night in Reefer Rick’s boatshed.

“Eddie,” Steve continues softly, reaching cautiously for his hand, taking it gently.

Eddie lets him. Thinks he’d let this man do anything.

“I…I like you. All this -” Steve gestures around them, to the lake, to the picnic blanket, to the food he’d prepared, “ – you know this is…a date, right?”

Oh.

Oh.

“This is me trying to…woo you, or whatever, maybe it sounds stupid but I’ve only ever done this with girls and they always liked this sort of thing so I thought…well. Sorry. If it’s stupid. Or…” Steve waves a hand, drops his chin to his chest, cheeks flushed with something more than just the sun now. “We can go somewhere else, if you want. Or home. If you want to go home. I could drive you back -”

“No,” Eddie interrupts, perhaps a little too zealously because Steve snaps his mouth shut. “I didn’t…I didn’t know this was a date.”

Amusement dances across Steve’s face. “You didn’t think the picnic with just the two of us at Lover’s Lake of all places was a date?”

Eddie sniffs, because when it was put like that…

Steve laughs, shuffles closer to him. “Sorry, Eds. Maybe I should’ve just told you. I was nervous, ok?”

“You? Nervous? Because of a date?” Eddie splutters. “You’ve been on so many, you could like…tutor people on dating, and shit.” And that was…a little lame, but Eddie’s reeling here.

“But this is you,” Steve says quietly, and it’s so sincere that Eddie goes still, looks down at their joined hands. “It matters.”

Eddie breathes out. Looks up again, meets Steve’s eyes and goes warm all over because Steve’s gazing at him like he hung the moon or something.

He’d try, if Steve asked him to.

He let Steve bring a hand to his cheek. Let him guide him forward, until their noses brushed, until their lips pressed together, and then Eddie Munson was kissing Steve Harrington and stranger things had happened - the two of them were all too fucking aware of that, they were sitting on top of a nightmare realm for fuck’s sake.

But somehow the Upside Down had been easier for Eddie to wrap his head around than this.

Steve kisses him. Gently, with his hand tangled in Eddie’s curls, and Eddie thinks he could die here, on the shore of the lake that really had nearly killed them.

But then Steve’s pulling back a little, and Eddie remembers how to breathe, and he’s very much not dead, he’s alive and Steve’s smiling at him and Eddie feels like the luckiest man alive.

“You do that on every date, Stevie?” Eddie quips, but he’s panting a little, Steve having stolen the air from his lungs.

Steve grins. “Only the best ones.”

___

[writtenbymoonflower]

Unpretty

You are insecure and Peter is oblivious. tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader

cw: reader had very negative thoughts about body image. mentions of weight and general body image issues. i tried to keep it as neutral as possible so everybody could read and relate, so it can be read as plus!size reader or not.

1.5k words

The position you were in wasn’t unnecessarily uncomfortable. The physical part felt really nice, actually. Peter was laid on his side, nose nuzzled into your hair while you were in his arms flat on your back. His even breathing was soothing and you felt close and warm. 

Emotionally, however, you felt confused. 

You had to resist cringing every time you remembered that Peter’s large hand was spread over the bottom of your tummy, likely feeling everything “wrong” about it. He could definitely feel it wasn’t as flat or firm as you would like it to be, even through your thick crewneck. And even though you logically knew it was impossible, you felt the stinging insecurity all over your body, like he was touching you everywhere you hated. Your brain was telling you that through feeling the soft part of your stomach, he could also feel and see where your thighs were too big, where stretchmarks were painted all over your body, and where your skin wasn’t completely smooth. 

He probably would hate my body as much as I do if he could see. The little voice in your head nagged. 

Obviously, you knew that wasn’t true. You knew that everyone had little things that bothered them and yours weren’t even especially unusual. You also knew that voicing these thoughts to Peter would likely lead to you being even more self-conscious and him being confused. Or even worse, him pitying you. You were snapped out of your spiral by Peter’s shifting in position. 

“What’re you thinking of, baby?” Peter whispered. To your horror, his hand started rubbing your stomach over your sweater. “I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.” He laughed the way he does when trying to calm you down, like he doesn’t think it’s funny but it might be less intimidating if you believe he does. You turned your head to look at him. Being this close didn’t allow you to see his full face, but you could see one of his pretty brown eyes, looking at you with far too much love for your heart to handle.

“Not thinking of anythin’ really.” You kept your voice as even as possible and hoped he didn’t hear the nervous hitch in your breath as he reached under the hem of your sweatshirt to touch your skin. You panicked and tried to cover by grabbing his hand in yours and holding it between your ribs, right under your chest. He looked confused but still stroked your hand with his thumb.

“Yeah okay.” He was sarcastic and rolling his eyes but his voice was still light. He brought your joined hands up to kiss the veins on your wrist, closing his eyes and letting his lips linger for a good few seconds. All while still burning his eyes over your face, letting his pupils linger over a feature before jumping to the next, admiring your whole face with so much care you would cry. 

“What?” You asked, growing shy under his intense stare. 

“You’re so pretty, baby.” He was still smiling at you like a fool. “So so pretty.” He sing-songed. He urged you to lay on top of him with his arms, but you held fast in your place. Your boyfriend apparently took this as a challenge, because he showed off his real strength by pulling you fast onto his chest. 

“Peter!” You said, scolding and nervous and flustered all at once. 

“What?” He asked smugly, with a look of triumph on his face. You ducked your head out of his eyesight. “Baby, what’s up?” He asked again, more sincere. You still didn’t answer, your anxiety was roaring too loud in your head. You were probably crushing him under your weight. His hands were planted on your hips, likely feeling the extra fat and getting grossed out. He was just too nice to say anything. He was also too far close to your face for comfort, definitely seeing patches of oily skin or blemishes littering your face. It all became too much for you and you tried to roll off of him, but he gripped onto you harder. 

“Peter, let me off.” You kept your voice light but you were panicking inside. 

“Yeah, not happening.” He stayed stubborn as a mule. 

“But I’m heavy, I’ll crush you.” You said desperately. 

“Good.” He rebutted, still acting as if this was a casual conversation. 

“Peter, I’m serious. I’m too heavy for this. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Your voice trailed off, getting quieter towards the end. The whole sentence was soaked in shame that Peter hadn’t yet picked up on. Now, there was a concerned crease between his eyebrows. 

“Huh?” He looked genuinely confused. “What put that dumb idea in your head? ‘Too heavy’ for what, exactly?” He started as if he was about to rant, but cut it short. To your dismay, he pulled more of your weight onto him. 

“It’s not dumb, it’s true. I’m just too heavy” You argued back. He couldn’t really be that oblivious. Anyone with eyes could see it. 

“Oh I’m sorry,” He started sassing, like he actually wasn’t sorry at all. “I didn’t know that you now were the only deciding judge of something being ‘too much.’” He was being defiant on purpose. 

“Peter, please.” All joking and argumentativeness had left your tone, just leaving shame and sadness. Peter softened at this and encouraged your head up to meet his eyes, holding your jaw firmly so you couldn’t look away. He looked like he was slowly putting pieces together in his head. 

“Baby,” He started, still not breaking eye contact with you. “Is this why you’ve not been letting me touch you as much?” Peter looked so sad, it didn’t suit him at all and you wanted to make it better immediately. “Do you think there’s something wrong with you, that I would think there’s something wrong with you?” On the last sentence he was extra distressed, like he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth. 

“I just-” You were trying to articulate your feelings without making this any worse. “I mean, not every part of me is pretty, you know that.” You tried to say it casually but Peter’s expression didn’t lighten at all. Instead, his bottom lip jutted out and his eyes got wider, looking like a cartoonishly sad puppy who was denied a treat. 

“I don’t know that, actually.” He moved his hand to the back of your head, threading his fingers in your hair. “You don’t think you’re pretty?” He said the last part like his heart was cracking. And in Peter’s mind, it was. His baby was thinking badly of herself, and even worse, she was thinking he thought badly of her. 

“I mean,” You cringed as the words left your mouth, wanting desperately for the conversation to end. “Not really. At least, there is a lot about me that could be a lot better.” Peter was at a loss for words. You had obviously mulled this over and were solid in your opinion. 

“I don’t think there is. I think you are perfect. I love everything about you.” He said softly, his voice missing its usual teasing tone.

“But-” You started, but cut yourself off. 

“But what?” Your argumentative boyfriend was back. “C’mon. Talk to me, baby.”

“I just-” You gathered your thoughts as best you could. He was really being difficult. There was no way he hadn’t noticed something. You also really did not want to say your insecurities out loud. It was too raw. But you knew Peter, and he wouldn’t back off without you giving something. “My stomach isn’t flat.” You said, as if that was enough argument for you being disgusting. 

“Okay?” He actually laughed at this, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “And?” 

You rolled your eyes, irritated. “And, in general I’m just too big. And my skin isn’t good either. It just doesn’t all add up very well does it?” You resisted the urge to cry, you didn’t want to add that on top of this already stressful discussion. 

“Sweetheart,” He looked exasperated. “I think- I think you’re being really mean and unfair to yourself.” He searched for the right words. “Everyone has things about themselves they don’t like, yeah? But you should know, you are not too anything, and there is nothing about your looks or body that is ‘not good.’’ He said every word firmly. “And most importantly, there is nothing, absolutely nothing about your body that I dislike, or that you should worry about me seeing or touching, okay?” His voice was soft during the last few sentences, like he was speaking to a little kid with a scraped knee. It made it a lot harder to resist crying. “Okay?” he said, still looking directly into your eyes. 

“Okay.” You said, watery. You swallowed hard and buried your face in his chest, feeling all too many emotions. “Thank you, Pete.” You didn’t think you could say anything else without falling apart. 

“It’s okay. I'ts alright. It’s what I’m here for.” He stroked the back of your head, still being gentle. “Just do me a favor, yeah?” 

“Mhm?” You muffled.

“Just, make my job easier for me next time. Tell me when you’re feeling like this, okay baby?” He pleaded as he pressed a kiss to your hair. 

“Okay. I will.” 

“Good. Now cuddle me please.” Demanding Peter was back. “And put all your weight on me, it’s no good otherwise.” 

[ardorwritesfanfic]

OMG HI i LOVEDDD (🤤) the blue lock men and their kinks that you did!! Would it be possible to please request the same for barou, nagi, sae and karasu? 😳 it's okay if you can't 😚 btw the kunigami and rin ones were so UGH 🥵

AAAAAA I’m so glad you liked it! I’m genuinely shocked by how fast those headcanons blew up 🫣😳

Anyways, I just started reading the manga, so hopefully Sae and Karasu don’t seem too ooc! Thank you so much for the request and I hope you enjoy it!

Blue Lock Men and their Kinks pt2!

Genre: headcanons, smut

Warnings: Sir kink, daddy kink, lactation kink, breeding kink, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, degradation, cunnilingus, size kink, pegging, praise kink, overstimulation, orgasm denial, mirror sex.

Featuring: Barou Shoei, Nagi Seishiro, Sae Itoshi, Karasu Tabito

Part 1

All characters are aged 20+! MDNI

Barou Shoei

Barou is extremely dominant, he needs to be in control.

He’s also incredibly meticulous. Every action has a purpose.

His touches are exactly where you need them, when you need them.

He ranges in speed when it comes to sex.

He’s almost always rough and hard, but he ranges from slowly fucking you into the bed and pounding into you fervor.

He loves having his hair played with during sex, but he’ll never tell you.

He loves hearing you moan and scream, however he only usually grunts.

Barou definitely has a size kink.

He uses his size to place you in specific positions that get you to scream just how he likes it.

He uses his muscles to keep you pinned there.

Speaking of pinning, Barou is definitely into bondage.

Hes a King, and he feels like he shouldn’t have to use his energy to keep you in place.

He will tie you up and keep your limbs flush against the bed, so he can fuck you as he likes.

I can definitely see Barou getting pussy drunk 100% of the time.

Barou lives for eating you out.

Remember how I said he was meticulous? This is a situation where that applies.

He’s so slow and thorough, his long tongue filling you up and massaging your insides so well.

Will not stop until he makes you cum just from his tongue.

Barou also has a sir kink.

He loves being called ‘sir’ in the bedroom.

The moaning of that name gets him all horny like he never has before.

Barou is really into degradation.

He’ll say such nasty things to you as he fucks you from behind.

“Such a wet fucking cunt you have, you’re such a whore for this dick, aren’t you?”

He’s also into orgasm denial and overstimulation.

Barou loves being in control, this includes when you cum, and when he believes the session should end.

He will not let you cum until there are tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. He wants you to beg for your release.

Barou loves how whiny and how much louder you are when you’re overstimulated as well. He will fuck you until the movement becomes painful.

Barou loves your ass, and he will bite, smack, and kiss the soft flesh until it’s covered in marks.

I think Barou is actually really good with aftercare!

He’ll clean you up with cool towels, then drag you into the shower with him to finish washing up.

Barou isn’t much of a cuddler though, but he will let you cuddle up to him as you fall asleep.

Just as you’re about to fall asleep, he’ll kiss the top of your head, and whisper just how much he loves you.

Nagi Seishiro

Nagi is a switch, he doesn’t really have a preference.

Most of the time, he’s on the bottom, just because he doesn’t want to exert that much energy.

He is one hell of a power bottom though.

His large hands and muscular arms move your hips with ease as you ride him, gently guiding you up and down his cock.

Sex with Nagi is usually slow and sensual, he likes spoiling you as much as he likes to be spoiled.

Nagi could eat you out for hours. Sometimes it truly feels like that.

He will stay buried in between you legs for as long as he can, a mixture of your slick and his saliva covering the lower half of his face.

“S-Shit princess, you taste so good! Just a little longer, please let me taste you a little longer!”

Nagi’s specialty though is cockwarming.

He adores having you sit on his lap while he’s gaming, the warmth of your pussy calming him as he plays.

However, you usually end up lasting longer than Nagi. Eventually the warmth and wet of your cunt, as well as the periodic squeezing from your walls becomes too much to bear.

He’ll pause his game and end up fucking you in his chair.

I believe in Big Dick Nagi™️ supremacy, and this combined with his height means that Nagi absolutely has a size kink.

When he sees the small bulge in your stomach from his dick, he can’t help but moan.

He’ll roll his hips into yours, eyes focused solely on your lower belly watching the bulge move. He’ll cum almost instantly.

Nagi also loves mirror sex. His favorite thing in the world is watching his cock absolutely ruin you in the mirror. His large hands cup and massage your breasts as he slowly pounds into you.

He adores watching your face contort with pleasure as he hits every sweet spot inside you.

Speaking of your breasts, Nagi is obsessed with them.

He can’t think of a better way to relax after a frustrating day that latching into your tits and suckling them.

He’ll move your hands to his hair, begging you to run your fingers through his snowy locks.

He’ll rut into your leg as he suckles, unable to resist the urge to pleasure himself.

Nagi is also really into pegging. He may be big, but all he really wants is to feel good in any way possible.

He’ll whine and cry with pleasure as you fuck his ass, gripping g onto anything he can. Bonus points if you let him suckle while you fuck him.

Nagi also has a praise kink. Please tell this man how good he is to you!

When he’s suckling or being pegged, he adores when you tell him how good he’s being for you.

The soft cooing of your voice allows him to relax, and sends pleasure straight to his cock.

If Nagi could, he would cum inside you every single chance he gets.

He loves seeing his cum drip out of your puffy pussy, imagining how pretty you would look pregnant with his baby.

Aftercare with Nagi is mostly cuddles and soft whispering to each other.

He’ll pull you close to his chest, pressing sweet kisses to your cheeks and lips, cooing how much he loves you. It doesn’t take long before you both are asleep, relaxing in each others arms.

Sae Itoshi

Sae gives me dom vibes.

I feel like he needs to be in control, and that’s no different when he’s intimate with you.

Sae switches between being incredibly soft with you, and being incredibly rough with you.

Sae is an egoist by nature, so when he does get rough, it’s usually to feed into his ego.

He’ll fuck you relentlessly, teasing you with every breath.

“Oh you like that, do you? Moan for me, baby. Tell me how good this dick makes you feel.”

He growls with pleasure with every moan he earns from you.

However, Sae treasures you deeply.

He knows what it’s like to be lonely, and he doesn’t want to lose the one think he has.

When he wants to be soft, he is incredibly caring.

He’s all about delicate touches and soft caresses of your body, all while dragging his dick in and out of your pussy.

Sae does have a daddy kink. He loves being called that no matter if he’s being rough or soft.

Sae also has a breeding kink.

Sae adores the idea that you’ll let him get you pregnant, and he’ll spend countless rounds fucking his cum into you until your stuffed.

On the other hand, he also appreciates that you’re so willing to take that big of a step in your relationship with him.

Sae loves to bring you to the brink of overstimulation.

He just adores the idea that he can make you cum so many times in one round.

He’ll kiss the tears off of your cheeks as he sloppily thrusts into you, begging to give him just one more orgasm.

Orgasm denial is one of the ways Sae feeds his ego as well.

When he’s in this mood, you’ll only get to cum when he wants you to. It gives him such a power trip knowing he has that amount of control over you.

Aftercare with Sae is minimal in the beginning of your relationship.

This is partially because he’s unsure of how to be vulnerable, and will often leave you to clean yourself.

He does get better with time though! On e he learns what you like, he’ll be sure that you feel safe and loved.

He’ll kiss your forehead and whisper praises, and he’ll help you clean up the mess in between your legs.

You both usually end up falling asleep soon after, with Sae’s head resting on your chest while you play with his hair.

Karasu Tabito

Karasu is definitely a very dominant lover.

He gives me the vibes of a soft dom, one that loves to tease you but will still take care of you!

He will sweet talk you, voice laced with sweet teases as he thrusts into you.

“You’re so pretty, my love. Trying so hard to keep up. You won’t last that long, trust me~”

Karasu adores fingering you.

Whether you’re in public or relaxing on the couch, his fingers are never far from your aching pussy.

He kisses you so incredibly gently while his fingers are knuckle deep inside you, drenched in your slick. (The duality of this man I —)

Karasu absolutely has a Daddy kink. He cannot get enough of that name.

A loud groan emits from his chest, hips jutting into yours when you call him that.

Karasu has large hands, and they’re constantly roaming and grasping at your body.

He’ll hold your hips in place while he slams his pelvis into you, making sure to hit your sweet spots.

Karasu also loves stuffing your mouth.

He’ll use anything he can find to create the muffled noises he loves so dearly.

He’ll shove his jersey in your mouth if he needs to blow off steam, your shirt if it’s a quickie, and if there’s nothing else he’ll shove his own long fingers in your mouth.

He loves marking you up as well, leaving multiple blue and purple bruises along your neck and chest.

Like Nagi, Karasu loves mirror sex.

He’ll use his strong arms to hold you up, his hand firmly placed on your jaw as he forces you to watch him fuck you.

Karasu loves overstimulating you as well, earning those pretty whines and moans from you.

He’ll finger fuck you until you squirt, sucking your juices off of his fingers before he fucks you again.

Once both of you are running out of steam, he’ll help you ride out your last orgasm, fucking his sticky cum further into your pussy.

Karasu likes cumming inside you as much as the next person, but he prefers cumming on your tummy.

Unless you want him to breed you, then of course he will! How could he say no to his precious angel~

Sometimes he gets so focused on pleasing you that he forgets about his own orgasm.

He’ll let you get him off if you still have the energy, but he’s more than willing to take care of himself if you’re too tired.

However, he knows how much you like it when he gets off too, so he makes sure that you both cum at the same time at the end of your session.

Aftercare is a dream with him.

He’ll clean you up, grab you some snacks and water, and offer to cuddle you as long as you need too.

He’s so incredibly sweet, very different from how he is in his daily life.

He just loves you with all of his heart!

[blueparadis]

╰┈➤ ASTRID ✦ CHOSO KAMO. 

⟣ ──┈ · · · + synopsis ➢ Your boyfriend comes over to take care of you but he asks if you would like to see a glimpse of heaven when you least expect it and you would let him, wouldn’t you?

+

⟣ ──┈ · · · + cw ➣fem!ex-girlfriend!reader x ex-boyfriend!choso, period + piv + unprotected,mention of creampie, service!top!choso,f!nger!ng, f!oral, aftercare; 1,6k word count. | blog navigation + koct’23 masterlist. |

The doorbell has already rang two times in a row. Your phone has been vibrating paused with short intervals in between declaring the arrival of multiple messages. You keep the half empty bottle on the kitchen counter and practically drag your feet to get the door. There is no rush. You already know who is behind that door, who is calling you and messaging you non-stop. Choso Kamo, your ex-boyfriend. Having the same workplace as your boyfriend was surely beneficial but now that he has become your ex it certainly made things more complicated than you had primarily imagined. 

“What took you so long? I was worried. Thought something—

“Choso” You call out sharply before he finishes that sentence in one breath. “I’m fine.” you say when his eyes gently land on you. He is still standing outside. He would not come in unless you ask him to. Such a gentleman he is. You do not know what came over you when you wanted to part ways with a guy like him, who is tactfully aware of boundaries. “Com—Choso pushed you aside and let himself in. He definitely picked up on your stern tone of disappointment when you called him by his name yet his serenity remains intact. Nothing fazes him much, not now, not ever. Never did before. 

“I brought some porridge for you and some medicines— he keeps them one by one, on the table as you stare at him confusingly.” You do not know why he is here nor know why he brought porridge and . . . and medicines.

“I’m fine, Choso. Why are you here?” You whine making him pause all his movements. Even though he looks at you, those same amethyst eyes that you once drowned in remind you of a thunderstorm now. 

“You called in sick. I was worried. So I thought to drop by— Choso connects the dots when he suddenly remembers that you are on your period. There are chances that might not be the case but that does not mean he can discard any possible probability and judging the weather you might have caught common cold but that still does not explain why you called in sick because you never did before actually. No matter how down you were, you would make it to the office. “ Yeah, yeah. I think I'm done. I should go. You should be resting.” He murmurs as he leans against the table keeping his hand on the edge for support. 

You bit your bottom lip. There is a twist of a knot forming near your chest as you realize how thoughtful of him it was to just drop by. Not only that, he brought porridges and medicines but you would be happier if he brought snacks and treats. Choso walks towards the exit of the apartment but you let your stupid feeling take over you and push you to grab his hand. “Actually, you can stay. At least, stay for a while then you can— you trail off because his eyes land on the hand that you are holding right now. He was right. You are on your period. It is just the first day so you are not using sanitary pads and since you broke up with him no one is there to scold you or take care of you when you throw tantrums like this. You are a free bird now.

“Like the old times' sake?” he says with a soft smile coating his face as you let go of his hand feeling embarrassed.

You chuckle at his words. Clicking your tongue you say, “Like a co-worker should. You came to see me because I called in sick. So,— He closes the gap between the two of you. He keeps his hand on the table just right beside yours. There is barely an inch of space between two index fingers. “So, uh-um- at least stay for tea or coffee” You rake your eyes from him to the pots hanging on the balcony.

“You know we are not just co-workers.” His words make you snap your gaze at him but he is looking where you were looking a moment ago. “And, I could stay if it’s morning tea,” He smirks. “or coffee,” he says, meeting your eyes. You feel his index finger move but it does not touch. “What do you say?” he asks. 

“Choso, please don’t—he places his palm over yours making you gasp. His other hand travels along your waistline bringing you closer to his body. 

“Yes, babe. what?” He asks with a rasp of breath fanning across the column of your neck as you tilt your head to avoid this sudden proximity.

“I—uhh— I just think—it's, you bit your bottom lip, unable to voice your jumbled thoughts roaming inside of your head. You place your other hand on his chest yet do not push him away while your other hand is captive under his and by now his fingers had taken refuge in between yours; you could feel the heat of his skin now. You take in a long breath before looking at him but by the time your eyes could land on his, they are already shut closed by the accumulation of heat pooling on the column of your neck as his tongue travels along your neck, his lips traces the wet path followed by a mouthful suck. You lean towards the table and finally sit as he continues to pepper kisses all over your chest. The spaghetti top you are wearing is adding fuel to the fire as he slips the bands down enough to kiss your shoulders yet not enough to let your boobs spill out.

“you were saying?” he says as one of his hands slips under your top. His index finger rests on your hard nipple.

“It's inappropriate,” you answer him reflexively and he pinches your nipple making you wince. “This.” You spread your legs. “This is,” Choso’s hand travels from your boobs into your underwear. “so inappropriate.” you finish as he inserts his finger inside you. He knows it is but you are not pushing him away nor saying that to his face. There is no resistance in your body when it comes to him. You take his face in your hands and kiss him while his fingers work along the folds of your vagina. 

“Fuck. it feels good” You say under your breath breaking the kiss. Choso sits on his knees as he holds your legs apart by the knees. His deft fingertips create crescent indecents on your skin. 

“Trust me it’ll feel a lot better now,” He exclaims.

“You won’t like it,” You protest.

“what? it's not like i haven't done it before.” He says naively even though he is more aware of your circumstances. He pushes aside the cloth to have a view of your pussy. He missed this. He missed you.

“No. nO. you won’t like it.” you try again but Choso wants to prove you wrong. Not only that, he wants you to like it too. He keeps up the eye contact before he dives his mouth onto your wet cunt. You arch a little, feeling his tongue in between your folds. Your hands at first rest over his head, caressing his hair but the moment he presses his mouth further into your hole while lapping his tongue you let out a loud moan running your hands over your nape as you arch your head simultaneously.

“Do you need me to stop?” He asks but you fail to answer. It is all gibberish again so he takes his time eating you out eliciting illicit moans from you. You tug at his head and a moment later he stands up. He has not forgotten that when you do that, you want him to stop and you want more of him, all of him. Choso unbuckles his belt with one hand. You pull the belt out of his trousers to let them hit the floor. There is no going back now. You will deal with the consequences later. You notice his boner before he finally takes off his underwear and now it stands over his stomach, tall and proud.

“No, I don't.” You say. He pushes aside your panties before pushing his cock inside of you. You can not feel your period cramps anymore, only his cock filling you full. He takes you into his lap, hunches down a little to balance your body, and waits as his hands skillfully hold you by your inner thighs, tight and firm. 

“Hold onto me, baby.” He rasps before starting to make you bounce on his cock. You do not move much. You just let him take all the control. Your arms curl around his nape, fingers skim through his hair strands as he keeps pounding his cock inside you. His irregular breaths, mixed with hot breaths and your melodious moans make him pick up the pace. You feel a knot forming along your lower tummy declaring the approaching orgasm. There is a brief moment of eye contact with him. It is all hazy but it reeks of desperation and longing. You kiss his lips, fervently like a wave kisses the sandbanks during a full moon night while his hot fluid coats your insides. There is a pause for almost half a minute before he lets you stand on the floor. Both of you are panting and catching up on your breath. He grabs the half-empty bottle, totally emptying it before grabbing a towel and wrapping himself around him. You feel his cum drip along your legs and wet your panties.

“We both need a bath.” You say, half-worried, half-fearful of what just happened.

“We sure do,” He says as he kisses your cheeks softly.

—

@semisgroupie @kentoangel @orchid3a @chosoist

[frannyzooey]

Short Days,Long Nights: 10

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Mature (anxiety, pregnancy, grim mentions of childbirth)

Series Masterlist

A/N: thank you endlessly to @the-ginger-hedge-witch for reassuring me that this isn’t a terrible, no good, very bad piece of writing ❤️ and also, I wanna reassure you that despite the emotions in this chapter, my intention has always been a happy ending for these two. Don’t fret. ❤️

—

Something is off. 

He treads carefully down the path he’s followed for months, his boots leaving pressed imprints in the soft dirt and his eyes scan for signs of life. His mind is back in the cabin where he left you sleeping, your body curled into a tight ball along the edge of his form left on the sheets, and he tried hard not to wake you, though he didn’t have to be too careful given how tired you’ve been lately. 

Sleeping late, turning in early, naps in the middle of the day. You blame the heat, or the boredom, or the way reading makes you drowsy, but even he knows that’s not all it is. 

You’ve been distracted, quiet. Drawing into yourself more often these last couple weeks, he tries to recall if he’s said or done anything, to remember if he himself is the cause. It’s been a long time since he cared about what anyone else thought – definitely since he cared enough to want to atone for anything he’s done – but for you, he sifts through his words and actions.

He knows you so well by now. Knows every tell, every minute shift in your mood. More molecular than reading your body language, the air between you shifts and changes when you’re upset, your face betraying nothing to someone who doesn’t know you as well as he does. You’ve been hiding your face more from him lately, because he knows you must know it’s open for him like his is now open for you. 

The back of your head facing him in the garden, the peek of your forehead over the top of your book, the way you look at him like you’re about to say something, but when he gives you the space, you look away. 

Even at night, you hide your face into the soft crook of his neck to sleep.

He kneels to inspect deer tracks, his fingers brushing aside growth to follow their lead and heading deeper into the forest, the air around him cools under the canopy of trees. The woods are alive with sounds: bird calls, soft chittering, the rustle and slide of leaves, the crunch of his boots as they snap small twigs underfoot. 

Amidst it all, he tries to work out the puzzle of you; his bow held loose in his grip. 

–

Your hands shaking with nerves as you watch him disappear beyond the treeline, you pull your bottom lip into your mouth with a bite and scold yourself for not telling him about your suspicions this morning. 

Or yesterday.

Or the day before that.

You know you could probably keep your secret for at least a couple more months, but there was no point. Everything about surviving here depended on preparing; the sooner, the better, making all the difference between life and death. 

Your palms turn clammy, another rush of bile creeping up your sternum as you run out the cabin door before it comes pouring out into the grass and feeling shaky after, you walk over to the rocking chair on the porch and take a seat, letting your head fall forward into your hands. 

Being forced to confront the concept of your life ending more times than you would have ever imagined over the last ten years, you’d thought you’d be desensitized to it now… but this was a wholly different type of fear. Not so much the idea that you might actually die while going through with this, (which, over the course of the last few weeks has become a much more terrible, terrifying thought) but more the fear of doing it alone.  

Nothing to guide you, no one to help in case something went wrong. You knew that women had been birthing children in their homes for centuries now, many of them in the same exact position you were in – but they had midwives and neighbors who came from afar to help. Other women around them who had gone through it before, advice handed down from generation to generation. Reassurance in the form of knowledge. 

You would have someone, you reasoned with yourself, if you told him. Joel has always been there to take care of you, and you know this time wouldn’t be any different, but how much did he know about this? Even if he knew a little, that information was almost three decades old. 

Another small part of you felt, even though you know he would never mean to make you feel this way, that you let him down. As if you could stop the science of your body and it betrayed you, or that you compromised this entire setup by foolishly ignoring the consequences of your actions. The last couple weeks a brutal reminder that you have been somewhat romanticizing this possibility, that alone carried its own humiliation.

Now faced with the confirmation of it, you were ashamed. And scared. 

This odd mixture of feelings, just like the odd mix of sensations in your body, kept you from saying anything every time you had a chance. He wouldn’t be mad, you knew that, but your hormone addled brain kept conjuring images of his disappointed face and that was almost worse. 

You press your fingers into your eyes, liquid warmth seeping through the digits as you think and you let the tears fall, taking deep, shaky inhales. 

More than anything, you worried about fracturing the bridge that had been built between the two of you, especially given his past. He already lost one child, what if something happened to this one? His perceived failure almost ruined him the first time; a gaping, ten year wound that tore him apart and ravaged his mind and morals. Only now just beginning to heal, what will this do to him?

The thoughts are circular, never ending. 

Will he even want this? Are you unknowingly forcing him into something he’s dreaded? You know he knew the far away consequences of your shared actions, but will he hate you? Will he resent the burden you are? The one you’re carrying, for the rest of his life?

How will you care for it? How will you feed it? Is there enough food prepared for something like this? How will you do this alone? What if it gets sick?

The worries expand and grow, filling your head with a relentless noise that makes you queasy. You think about telling him as soon as he gets back, and a cold sweat breaks along your hairline, running over your limbs. 

Getting up, you lean over the railing and purge your nerves onto the ground below. 

–

Standing in the kitchen, his back is to you and you take a moment to study the broad width of his shoulders. The dark curls that edge around the nape of his neck, the strength held in his solid frame. Cleaning his gun, he’s recounting his day in the woods to you and you are trying so hard to focus on his words, but you can’t. Not while the worries from this afternoon run rampant in your head, clouding everything. 

Still, it’s the image of his back that convinces you to tell him: sturdy, solid, familiar. Those curls are the same you’ve felt in your hands for months: sliding between your fingers as you run through them at night, coiled tightly on the ground before they lifted into the air when you gave him a haircut last week, slicked smooth along his head after a swim. 

You hand wash the clothes on that back, massage the tired, thick muscles of it, stroke the tanned, freckled skin in the sunlight. Dig your fingers into the meat of those shoulders, curl your legs around that torso, feel its broadness underneath you when you straddle him. 

It’s guided you, carried you, the formidable strength in it has made this place a home, and the reassuring reminder of those things forces you to open your mouth. 

“Joel, I –” you start, and he stops talking, turning his ear in your direction. 

“Yea?” His attention is still on his task but he slows, and your gut churns with nerves and anxiety and new life. You take a deep breath and focus on his back; the one that you’ve been following for months, before you even knew who he was. 

“I’m pregnant.”

He immediately stills, his frame locking up as his hands stop what he’s doing. 

When he doesn’t move, you take a hesitant step closer, pushing through the urge to run into your bedroom and hide under the blankets. The air in the room is charged, your heart thundering in your chest and when you take another tiny step closer, he finally speaks. 

“You’re sure?” he asks, resting his hands carefully on the edge of the counter. 

“Yea,” you reply, letting out a breath and trying to ease the tension. “I mean, no test, obviously, but…”

He nods slowly, absorbing the information. 

You stare at the back of his neck, willing him to turn around, but when he doesn’t, shame and embarrassment begin to bloom. Starting in your chest, the emotions take root and your fingers find the bottom of your sleeves and twist into the fabric, the familiar tingle of heat growing behind your eyes. 

Even though you know that both of you had a hand in this, you find yourself apologizing.

“I’m sorry —“

As soon as the words leave your mouth, he turns quickly. 

“Hey — stop. No, don’t say that. Come ‘ere.”

Shortening the distance between your bodies, his face is a worried expression so thoroughly earnest that you step right into his arms, tucking your face into his chest. He gathers you into his hold, his familiar scent of sweat and cotton and woods soothing your nerves, and you lean into him, holding tight. 

“I told you, you don’t gotta say sorry. Not to me.” His arms squeeze tighter, his chin coming to rest on the top of your head. “I was just – I didn’t expect that. I was just thinkin’.”

“That’s all I’ve been doing these last couple weeks,” you admit. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. It’s just that I didn’t know for sure, and then I thought maybe I knew, and then I did know but I was so scared –”

“Shhh,” he soothes. “Hey, it’s okay. S’okay.”

Those words, said in his voice, bring fresh tears to your eyes, not realizing how much you needed to hear them until they were spoken out loud. Only by him, the only person you would accept them from because if he says it’s going to be okay, you know it to be true. He hasn’t failed you yet. 

As if it only just occurs to him to check, he suddenly cups your face tenderly in his hands and makes you look up at him.

“You okay? You sick? How do you feel?”

“I’m….okay. I can’t tell if I’m more sick from the –” you stop short, unable to say the word out loud. Saying it makes it real and you aren’t ready for that yet. “I was pretty nervous to tell you.”

He says nothing, frowning. Searching your face for a moment, he nods as if he understands and brings you back to your place in his arms. 

“I’m not mad at you, honey,” he murmurs. “If anything, you should be mad at me. I’m just as much at fault as you are. More, even.”

Your cheek staying pressed to the hollow of his shoulder, you frown. “How so?”

“I’m older than you are. I know better. I —“

“I know how sex works, Joel. I asked you for it, and I’m just as guilty —“

“I’m responsible for you.” His hand tilts your face up, so he can look you directly in the eyes and the statement is said with a finality that closes your mouth. “I gotta keep you safe — and there ain’t nothin’ safe about this.”

You feel your face start to crumple, your chest heavy with the shared knowledge. 

“No,” you swallow, the edges of your mouth turning into something solemn. “No, there isn’t.”

His expression softens, his thumb stroking the fine hair at your temple and his voice softens too. 

“It’ll be okay, honey. I’m right here.” His hold on your face firms, his eyes silently willing you to understand. “I would never, never let anything bad happen to you. Not ever.”

You both know that’s not a promise that he can make, but the words are like a raft in a storm; you cling to them, holding on with every fiber of your being. 

“You understand?” he asks and you nod, the constant weight on your chest these last few weeks temporarily dissolving. 

Your nod reassuring him, he guides your face back to his chest and with the weight of his broad hand sliding soothingly down your spine, you loosen under his touch. 

Each lost in your own thoughts, the two of you stand there, wound tightly together. 

–

It’s been hours, and he still can’t sleep.

A light breeze catches the curtain and the fabric waves lazily, your body still beside him in the dark room. You took some soothing to come down from the confession earlier, and he stayed by you until you went to sleep: tucked you into his side on the couch, wound himself around you in bed, took you apart only after he got your okay. 

He lays naked, nothing but a thin sheet covering his form but it might as well be a weighted blanket with how his chest feels. It tightens and burns, a crushing pressure settling on top of it. Every breath becomes a pained struggle for air as he tries to stay still so you don’t wake up. 

He doesn’t know anything about this. 

Hazy memories: partial pieces of advice, parenting books and pediatrician visits and the day Sarah was born. Everything blends together in rapid succession: her sharp, bright wail, the team of doctors, her impossibly tiny body, featherlight in his hold. 

He pictures the same thing in this room, but instead of bright lights and beeping machines, all he can picture is blood. So much blood. 

Your face, twisted in pain. 

Your face, crying. 

Your pretty face, pleading for him to help you. 

He tries to pull in air, his hand coming to push against the plane of his chest as the anxiety floods and gathers under his sternum, catching on and coating the muscles there until he’s locked in place. A cold sweat breaks out over his skin and he can barely hear the rapid, shallow pants of his own breathing under the rush of blood through his ears. 

His vision tunnels, the walls of the room disappearing and self loathing creeps into his mind, as dark as the night outside. 

He did this to you. You wanted it, but he knew better. He was supposed to protect you. 

He closes his eyes tight and swallows hard, willing the panic away. 

If something happens to you, it’s going to be his fault. He’s going to fail you, like he failed her. Fail the both of you. 

Reaching out to grasp the sheet at his side as a means to anchor himself, he brushes the back of his hand against your hip and he opens his eyes, turning to face your back. Faced away from him, the soothingly slow rise and fall of your breathing catches his gaze and focusing on the pattern of it, he forces himself to match it. 

In and out. In and out. 

His hand splays over the slope of your waist, curving around your side and the warm give of your flesh reassures him. His vision clears, the softened edges of your shadowed form bringing him back to the room and the white noise filling his head fades, the tension in his chest slowly easing. He flexes his hold on you, his thumb sliding across your bare skin. 

You turn in your sleep, rolling over to face him and lifting his hand just enough to let you move, he rests it back on your side. His thumb drags across your petal soft skin, his eyes dropping down to watch and before he can stop himself, the back of his knuckles brush delicately against the natural swell of your stomach. 

He remembers the fear, but looking down at his hand, something blooms deep within that pit beneath his sternum. Something else, something that’s been lying dormant for years, but when he sees his hand against your bare stomach, it takes root and pierces through the surface of the panic.

Hesitantly, he lets himself feel those things, in the safety of the dark room. 

Anticipation. Joy. Happiness, contentment. Love, that he’d never imagined he’d feel again. 

He feels a version of it when he looks at you right now — a deeper version of it, a calmer one. A steady, anchoring emotion, one that he fought in the beginning but now has given in and gotten used to it. 

The love that he has for you planted within your body, taking root. 

His thumb drags over your belly button, and you shift in your sleep. 

“There’s nothing there yet,” you mumble, the words a soft slur in the darkness. “Go to sleep, baby.”

He hums lowly, his hand splaying to cover your stomach. Fingertip to thumb, it spans from hip to hip, but when you shift again next to him, he reluctantly pulls it away. 

Gathering you as gently as he can in his arms, he tilts his chin down to catch your mouth with his. Sleep warm and soft, you kiss him back and his arm winds around your waist, tugging you close. 

With your belly cradled between the two of you, he falls asleep.