#and there's no one to build anything cool in the hole!!

[lastoneout]

I really gotta play more minecraft with people who like building stuff. I'm almost done digging out my 64×64 block hole in my minecraft world and when my fiance asked me what I'm gonna build in there when I'm done my brain fucking bluescreened like what do you mean build something?? I dug the hole!! Building is for smart people with good ideas!! I just dig!!

[insert-game]

hope nobody minds my 12 billion personal posts

[sflow-er]

So many thoughts on the fabulous Barbie film, but especially on how anyone who thinks it’s “hateful towards men” clearly isn’t getting the message.

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

[Credit for both gifs goes to their makers!!]

I mean... Ken’s arc is secondary to Barbie’s, and rightly so. This is her film, and her message deserves to be the main takeaway.

That being said, I just find it really sad that the people who could’ve definitely used the point of Ken’s arc just let it go right over their heads. Maybe it’s because they aren’t great at reading subtext, or because they just balk at anything presented as feminist, I don’t know.

Because to me, Ken’s arc is about as far from “hateful towards men” as you can get. It’s a multi-layered depiction of how restrictive, outdated views of masculinity can hold men back and make them susceptible to harmful ideologies that promise easy solutions for all their problems but only make those problems worse and hurt others around them.

The first layer is an allegory for real men don’t show their feelings. In the movie, this is represented by Ken’s need to look tough and cool all the time, and to keep his insecurities and sadness bottled up. Barbieland is a utopia where being happy is a social norm, and the main Barbie also starts to struggle with that. The difference is that she eventually tells her friends, and they all support her. Ken just puts pressure on himself not to look weak - in front of Barbie, or in front of the other Kens.

Which brings us to the second level: a competitive and inherently hostile view of the other Kens, aka. toxic male relationships. Some of them are friends, and all of them work together for a while to build the Patriarchy, but they don’t actually bond for real. Even their boys’ nights are mainly about getting back at the Barbies for all their girls’ nights (which really were about bonding). When push comes to shove, the Kens still see each other as competition, which is one of the reasons why the Barbies are able to play them against each other.

Another reason is the third layer: the idea that Ken only has value if Barbie loves and admires him. It starts out as unrequited love that makes you feel sorry for him...until he turns bitter. He basically starts on the path that could lead him down the incel/mra rabbit hole and into a mindset where Barbie owes him love and admiration and the relationship he wants in exchange for his devotion to her. He decides that everything would be better if Barbies were subservient to Kens, but of course that’s not true. None of the Barbies’ newfound admiration for their Kens is real, and his own Barbie still rejects him.

All this is of course underpinned by the final layer, which is Ken’s lack of self-respect and sense of purpose. He’s got a pointless job, he’s not particularly qualified for anything, and he just feels kind of lost in Barbieland - a society run by successful Barbies who are living up to their full potential. That’s why he gets so caught up in the idea of the Patriarchy, which is supposed to make him successful, get others to respect him, and give him a sense of purpose. (This can be generalised to all kinds of harmful ideologies in the real world, e.g. the alt-right movement.)

However, the success he achieves is superficial and not based on any real passion; he even admits that he wasn’t happy in his new position and already lost interest in the ideology. The (forced) respect of others does feel good for a while, but it only goes so far. At heart, the whole thing is still mostly about his feelings of inferiority and unrequited love for Barbie, and instituting this harmful new system did not resolve those for him.

So what does? In essence, breaking out of all these harmful patterns and internalising the idea that he is enough.

He ends up reflecting on his feelings, finally puts them to words (or rather, song and dance), and manages to connect with the other Kens through those feelings. He even cries in relief and acknowledges that it doesn’t make him weak. He and Barbie finally have a proper talk, he lets go of their (non-)relationship, and he listens when she says he needs to figure out his real self. He starts to see himself not through his job, his girlfriend, or even his competition with the other Kens, but as just Ken, who is enough.

I honestly can’t think of a less hateful message to send men and boys.

[its-weeping]

ii. 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ! ‧ ₊˚ ❀

𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄

summary: how is it as miguel's wife? (NSFW)

warnings: 18+ smut, suggestive content, like 1 spanish curse word

pairing: miguel o'hara x wife!reader

notes: part 2 of my miguel x wife!reader headcanons! also this is my 2nd time writing smut so it might not be good–

i can see miguel as a classic romantic. it's vague, but mentioning him with gabriella i'd say he's 100% a traditionally romantic guy.

dinner dates, movie dates, picnics, etc.

your husband is respectful, and will not perform pda unless you are comfortable with it. (if you aren't, he'll just stick close to you)

although, he's only a gentleman up until you initiate a heated night. miguel lets you issue a safe word before anything else. he's aware of his rather.. sizable prostate, so it's better to be safe than in the hospital.

your husband is a firm believer of using pet names during sex. ones like baby, my precious, sweet girl, gorgeous, and mami are his go to. (he'll usually say them in spanish since he can't think of the words in english because of the pleasure.)

a heavy groan ripes from miguel's throat as he finishes inside you for seemingly the 7th time tonight.

the male smirks upon seeing your trembling state: face flushed with tears, chest rising and falling at a quick pace, and your body littered with his marks.

"you did so good for me, espléndida.. tan jodidamente buena para mi." gorgeous.. so fucking good for me.

miguel praises, kneading your sore thighs out of habit. you take this as a moment to catch your breath, but then yell out your husband's name as he suddenly goes deeper into your cunt.

"did you think i was going to stop there?" miguel's words fly past you as the pleasure builds up once more. your putty in his arms, the feeling of his cock continuously hitting your g-spot erases any other thoughts from your mind.

he has an incredibly large build, so he's always concerned for you and the state of your body after a long night.

your husband having anger issues potentially leads to angry sex every once in a while. his anger doesn't necessarily have to be directed at you.

any aggravation miguel experiences and he's running straight to you to cool off—expect that your ability to walk will be null and void after.

hot and needy kisses / make out sessions when he's missing you terribly.

if miguel is horny enough, he is willing to do it in any semi private area, such as public bathrooms, dressing rooms, etc.

you pant, sweat trickling down your forehead as you grip tighter onto miguel.

"hah– not here, miguel, please."

"no te preocupes, baby, it'll be quick." don't worry,

your husband whispers abut your neck—the area already riddled with scant red marks. you squirm in his hold, desperately wishing not a single soul can hear you both so you could let loose.

the sensation of miguel's tip against your hole snaps you from your wish making. you bite back a whimper, miguel is half way in you and it burns.

"but– mm– what if someone hears us?"

"then so be it."

aftercare comes with his service, it's not an add-on but a requirement.

you're consistently grateful for miguel's unfailing need to take care of you after a long night, and no matter what, you always return the gesture.

regardless of your husband being a traditional guy when it comes to wooing you, fucking you is quite different.

he's not so traditional in the bedroom, and will try whatever it is you want to do. (he's head over heels for you so nothing is really off limits, but no illegal things...)

miguel might have a breeding kink—could possibly be because of his more animalistic instincts.

when the idea of breeding you comes to him, it'll be the only thought he has for the next few days.

© its-weeping — do not plagiarize or translate.

[evilminji]

*evil grin of The Ponderings™*

You know who DEFINITELY would have Unfinished Business?

Heroes. Professional "If I could just MOVE, just fight a BIT LONGER, save ONE MORE PERSON" Heroes. It's the ultimate and unending Unfinished Business. To protect people. Not just their friends, their co-workers, but the innocent people around them.

That kid, stuck crying in the rubble.

That business man, screaming in pain, caught in the cross fire.

The People NEED them. They SWORE. Their very SOULS burn with the NEED to help. But... the flesh gave out. Injuries. Age. Quirk overuse. They knew... they KNEW, this was not a safe line of work... but... but! Please! Just one more person! Why can't they just make their breaking, dying, bodies MOVE!

Of course they refuse to move on.

They are needed HERE.

Yet? Their hands pass through. Their voices do not reach. A hell of their own, unknown, making. They can't let go, but they can't HELP either. There isn't enough Ectoplasm here. The walls of their reality overly patched up, since that unfortunate leak a few centuries back.

After all, the Zone had dumped near lethal quantities of unfiltered Ecto into the atmosphere. They're STILL dealing with the mutations and fall out, aren't they? At least, they are according to the Zone. (Wtf is a "Quirk"?) And, yeah, someone should PROBABLY do an assessment on the ecological recovery of the Reality. But like?

Do you have any idea how few people have an Obsession for stuff like that? Wait your turn! The list is long and you're not fuckin special, okay? The agents are BUSY.

Now, you might wonder? Wait. If they aren't moving on. Are DEFINITELY Ghosts. Starving as they are. Refusing to die as they may be. Wouldn't... Wouldn't that leave the whole ass area around their Reality an ecological dead zone? If it got over patched and no Ghosts LEFT, thus noticed, and started to try and work on it from the outside? Assuming the COULD?

Yeah. Yeah it would be!

It's called the "New Wastes"!

There used to be some cool Lairs around there. But there was a turf dispute. Someone DID something. Punched a HOLE. And everyone re-died. It was fixed but never quite re-healed. Portals... don't show up there? For some reason? Meh. Wanna brawl?

No. Danny's curious. He wants ANSWERS.

It's his fatal flaw.

Well... that and his inability to keep his mouth shut. But he likes to think he's funny. So... off he goes! And MAN! Does it feel funky out there! Weird textures. Mmmm, Don't Like THAT ™. It's probably a King thing? The Zone here... FEELS wrong.

Not... the way it's SUPPOSED to be shaped, if that makes sense?

And? It feels... if you sorta squint? Like... a LOT of people AREN'T where they should be. But aren't gonna leave until they're READY. Ooof. Great. Someone messed up again. Why does he KEEP FINDING bits and pockets that need straightening out? Unruffling? It's like he has to keep smooth out this giant peice of fabric with all these stains on it. Clean the messes on it.

He feels more like a maid then a King.

Maybe he is?

Pretty sure he's more of a nanny, since the Zone is more of a whiny yet excitable toddler then anything else. Alright, let him in. And fix... whatever THAT is.

So he steps into the Reality and? Huh. Japan. Neat. He always meant to go, never got around to it. Why is that man an otter?

.......oooohohooo, this place was HELLA fucked up by Ectoplasm, wasn't it? This is multi generational exposure. It's in the air. The water, ground, buildings. But stale to the point of stagnation. That can't be healthy. At least a few people he sees have developed ecto-resistance, thank the Ancients.

Danny discovers there are? "Superheroes"? Or just... heroes, apparently. They sell shampoo lines and athletic gear. Villians are petty criminals and psychopaths. All lumped together. He gets fuckin CHASED by the COPS and half the cities spandex patrol, called a "villian" (you know, like the purse snatchers and the DUDE WHO TRIED TO OPEN FIRE ON A CROWD) for flying around trying to assess the situation. Not speaking Japanese fast enough.

Soooorry! He TRIED to answer your confusing barked demands! This isn't his native language! He's translating through Ghost Speech! He knows it sounds unsettling to the living! It's the best he's GOT, man! (Asshole)

He escapes, obviously, because he's not 14 anymore. And honestly? He could top 200mph or so AT 14. He's only gotten faster. Intangible flight means no wind drag, motherfuckers~! OR need to dodge buildings! HA. Try to follow him through THE GROUND!

A few Blob sucked (to remove the ectoplasm) bits of treasure later? And he leaves a pawn shop with local currency. Thank YOU shady pawn shop! Ask him no questions, he'll tell you not lies. Enjoy Pariah's gold.

He does tourist things. Buy foods he's never tried, wanders around. Sees what's needed. Noticed a lot of people struggle with some aspect of the ecto-mutations brought on by the extreme Limnality. Need accessibility aids.

.....well, he IS a Fenton. His parents would disown him on the SPOT if he left with out at least TRYING to help. So he tracks down one the local ghosts. He'll need a guide or two.

He? VASTLY underestimates how desperate a sea of Obsession Starved Hero and Vigilante Ghosts will act, the INSTANT, they realize not only someone can see them... but it's? Their "Boss"? They aren't sure HOW they know that. But they DO. It's THE Boss. Here to help them! Asking for HELP ™ from THEM!

Yes

YES THEY CAN DO THAT

He gets swarmed. Hundreds of ghosts fighting over each other. Shouting. Turning on each other like rabid animals. All worn down and ragged by their Obssesion starvation. He's forced to shout over them.

And? Holy shit, these are only the ones from THIS CITY, too.

Thank Zone, again, he's no longer 14. That he has friends who are Rulers ™ that taught him HOW to Rule. To delegate. Pretend he TOTALLY knows what he's doing. That every action is on purpose.

It takes less then two hours, with all the experienced Unground Heros help, to make himself a Real Boy and buy a building. Put himself into the correct databases. He officially has licenses for things he's never studied. Is a tax paying citizen. Even belongs to several local clubs.

Over the next few days? He sets up his new... oi! Quickdraw! What're they called again? Right. "Lifestyle Support Company" which? Is a dumb name. But, Fenton Works is Fenton Works. Somehow he always kinda knew he'd be inherenting. It's in a cruddy part of town and the prices are cheap as he can safely get um.

He already had two customers, even though half the building isn't even fully set up. Which? I mean... he gets it. Poor guy. Knives for hands. Sharp ones too. The other guy's Obsession made him emotionally react to colors and like three different ones were ruining his life. So, hand Prosthetics controllable by knives and color filtering wrap around glasses.

Took him a lunch break or two.

Changed THEIR lives.

Suddenly his shop is packed. Schedule screaming for relief. And the ghosts? Getting more tangible by the day. See, his work shop? Ecto proofed. Let's him relax. But it ALSO let's him radiate fresh, clean, Ecto out into the air. And as King? With a direct line to The Zone? He puts out a lot.

There start to become Sightings.

People who SWEAR they saw long dead Heros out of the corner of their eyes. Dead vigilantes. That was who through that bottle. Who tripped that thug at just the right moment. Who unlocked the door. The SWEAR. They aren't crazy!

And... at first? Brushed off. Stress does a lot of crazy thing to a person, ma'am. But? How do you brush off, making eye contact with your dead best friend? Your old mentor on the other roof? That vigilante, who you WATCHED bleed out? Can you brush them off... when a vigilante from the dawn of quirks, punches some two bit villian on live television? Calls the Heros on the scene gloryhounds? Goverment dogs?

Runs from the cops and vanishes into thin air?

When this shit KEEPS HAPPENING?

Is spreading?

Are... are you supposed to arrest them for illegal vigilantism? How? They're THE proto-Heros! You don't want your name tied to that! The HPSC is furious. The goverment is uneasy. There are like... 6 dudes and a lady, openly stalking some kid in UA. Trying to mentor him. He looks moments away from a nervous breakdown.

Us too, kid. Us too.

All? While Danny? Is just sitting in his lil shop. Tinkering. Not HIS problem. Gotta let the ghosts here get it out of their system. Get their Obsession's full. Then it's all aboard the Zone Train. He's just here to make sure no one does anything "Too Crazy".

What's HIS definition of "too crazy"?

Wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy~☆

@hdgnj @lolottes @nerdpoe @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @spidori @the-witchhunter @legitimatesatanspawn

[steddiealltheway]

Thinking of a coffee shop AU where Steve and Robin work together. They play this little game where they guess what a new customer’s order will be. To their surprise, Steve is accurate almost 100% of the time. Especially after he gets the hang of it, it’s like he’s a coffee mind reader - at least, that’s what Robin calls him.

The best friends spend most of their time chatting and occasionally Robin will ask, “Blondie who just walked in?” Or “Obnoxious purple tie, third in line?”

And Steve will answer in a few seconds, “Iced coffee, two shots of expresso, and three pumps of caramel… clearly a large latte with french vanilla and an oat milk substitute.”

Most of the time, Robin will make the order before the customer gets to the register. She’s learned to always trust Steve’s gut.

On a particularly slow day, Robin and Steve lounge by the machines, having cleaned them three times already. Steve steals a cookie from the display and gives half to Robin as they chat.

The bell rings and Robin nudges Steve. “What about him?”

Steve swallows. The man has long curly brown hair which rests over a leather jacket and some band t-shirt that Steve doesn’t recognize. His jeans are black and purposefully ripped at the knees, and his combat boots are well worn. The answer is obvious to anyone. “Easy, a large black coffee.”

For once, Robin hesitates to make the coffee, choosing to watch the interaction instead.

“Hi, welcome in, what can I get for you?” Steve asks with practiced ease.

Big brown eyes that were previously scanning the menu above now land on Steve, and Steve can’t help but pinch his leg behind the counter so he can get a grip.

The customer’s mouth opens and closes a few times, seemingly indecisive, which Steve finds to be a bit ridiculous because why would he want anything that isn’t just plain dark coffee? He doesn’t get lost in these thoughts for too long because the customer’s lips are a bit distracting…

“I’ll have a medium caramel frappe with whipped cream and maybe a bit of cinnamon on top?” The customer requests.

Steve freezes.

“Is that… okay? I don’t mind not getting the cinnamon if that’s a problem…” he trails off looking adorably flustered.

Steve clears his throat and reasons out loud, “This isn’t for you, right”

The stranger’s brow furrows. “Is there something wrong with my order?”

Oh shit. Yeah, that was rude. “No, no! Not at all! I just thought… well… with your whole look and vibe you would get something… not so sweet.” Fuck. He’s digging a bigger hole for himself.

“My vibe?” The man questions and luckily the crease in his brow is no longer there, and there’s maybe even a smile that tugs at his lips.

“A good vibe! Well, actually I thought you looked kind of scary. Not scary! Just… intimidating, man. With the leather and all black but it’s cool, dude.” Steve’s hands settle on his hips as he nods - at what, he doesn’t know, but he’s nodding. There’s a small kick to his shin that he knows is from Robin who is fixing the coffee next to him, but he’s going to refuse to look at her.

The sound of a lid snapping on the top of a drink container snaps Steve out of outright staring at the man now. Christ. Robin pushes beside him and slides the drink across the counter. “On the house to repay you for my coworker’s manners,” Robin says with a big grin.

“Oh, I didn’t mind really,” the man says, fidgeting with the large silver rings on his hand. Steve can’t tell if he’s imagining the blush on his cheeks or not.

“In that case, please come back and pray that Steve here can get himself together before then,” Robin says nudging Steve hard. Steve winces at the impact.

“Will do,” the man says, taking his drink and straw and walking out the building.

Steve buries his head in his hands.

“What was that?” Robin asks in a hushed tone although there’s no one around.

“I don’t know! I got his order completely wrong, and it threw me off!” Steve uncovers his face and begins stress cleaning the machine.

Robin laughs. “I haven’t seen you put your foot in your mouth so hard since Scoops.”

“Don’t remind me,” Steve begs.

“Well, at least you’ll never have to see him again because it seems like we’ve lost that customer forever,” Robin says with another laugh as Steve groans recalling the interaction.

It turns out that Robin is wrong though because he shows up again. The next day, in fact. Then the next… and the next… and the next… He starts coming more often than some of their regulars, and eventually he becomes one of them.

And every time, he orders something different. He’s gotten a hot latte, an iced latte, a cappuccino, chai tea, and even a hot chocolate. But everything he orders is overwhelmingly sweet - most times requesting an extra sweetener, and Steve has even seen him use extra sugar packets the few times he’s sat down inside.

A few days into Steve’s new favorite game of trying to guess the man’s new order, he finally gives him his name: Eddie.

Regrettably, Steve had gotten his name because it was a busy day and he had needed to. But still, he had his name.

On a particularly slow day with only Steve working, Eddie ends up being the only one in the coffee shop. Steve writes on a sticky note what his order will be because Robin isn’t there as a witness, and Steve needs some evidence in case he guessed correctly.

“Hey, Eddie, what can I get for you?” Steve asks with a smile.

“How about a medium peppermint mocha?”

Steve is going to tear up that sticky note and throw it away. He moves to make the mocha quickly, adding in extra pumps of mocha because he’s sure Eddie will want it sweeter.

When Eddie goes to pay and accept his coffee, he hesitates. He gives Steve a curious look and asks, “Why do you cringe every time I order something? Is it something I say? Or is it the order itself?” It comes out soft and curious rather than harsh and demanding which Steve is thankful for.

Steve says, “Well, it’s a long story but… here, I’ll show you.” He reached over and grabs the sticky note reading hot cappuccino, four pumps of caramel, and five packets of sugar and places it in front of Eddie who reads it over, throughly confused. “I guess people’s orders, and most of the time I’m right or I’m close enough that I’m basically right. But with you, I’ve guessed it wrong every single time. I just can’t figure you out.”

A small smile graces Eddie’s face. “Does that mean I’m special then?”

Steve’s heart thuds. “I guess it does,” he replies with grin.

“I’m glad,” Eddie says then winks at him. “I’ll be back tomorrow so you can guess wrong again,” he comments while turning to leave.

Steve chuckles, slightly flustered. “Looking forward to it, Eddie.”

“I bet you are,” Eddie flirts as he makes his way out the door.

Steve flushes bright red. Yeah, he definitely guessed Eddie all wrong, and he prays to continue to do just that so he’ll keep coming back. He knows one thing for sure though - Eddie’s drinks are about as sweet as him.

[kiss-me-cill-me]

It's Always the Quiet Ones

Pairing: Emmett x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: After spending a few days holed up with a rugged stranger, you finally can't take the tension anymore. Things get a little more complicated when he walks in on you.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation (f), Emmett walking in on you, quiet sex, biting, begging, one fleeting thought about breeding, some fluff, light angst

A/N: Emmett was honestly the start of my whole descent into Cillian Murphy madness, so I'm really searching for my people with this one lol. He's my sad, scraggly boyfriend and I love him <3

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

It’s strangely beautiful, in an overgrown way. Vines hang off of the chain-link fence as you push carefully through the jagged gap, just big enough for a person to pass through. The long grass reaches well above your ankles, and plants seem to spill out from the negative space of every structure littering the lawn.

The air has a cool, muted hue; it looks like rain later. Eyeing the building in front of you, you decide to stop here for the night. 

One step, and then a pause. Something feather-light brushes against your ankle. You look down to see a tripwire, and back away slowly in the direction you came. Interesting. It has been a long time since you’ve seen anyone else alive out here. Though the owner of the tripwire could be long gone.

You take a second look at your surroundings, this time scanning for any sign of a human presence. It’s quiet, but of course, everywhere is quiet now. Delicately stepping over the tripwire, you continue on your path toward the large building. Its looming, brick facade is featureless except for long stalks of ivy tumbling from broken windows, and as you advance you can’t help but feel that the building is watching. The sensation of eyes on you is made even more unnerving in the silence.

You pick your way across the lawn, careful to avoid shards of broken glass and open bear traps. This abandoned factory is quite the fortress, if anyone actually lives here. You reach the end of the grass, and step through a huge, weathered green door, left open on probably-ancient and squeaky hinges. The air here smells of cobwebs and must.

Inside, dripping water echoes faintly, somewhere from deeper inside the building. It’s cold by the open door, and it doesn’t get any warmer as you walk down the hallway, still keeping a careful eye out for anything waiting to meet you.

You turn a corner, and there he is, unexpected. Unexpected to you at least; the man in front of you seems quite prepared as he levels the sights of his rifle.

Instinctively, your hands fly up. The man’s face is covered, except for his eyes, which look to be the only part of him that’s still alive. Even his handling of the gun seems driven by muscle memory, as if he’s a sentry with no programming beyond, simply: “Defend.” You don’t breathe as he looks you over; relaxes a bit as he realizes you’re a lone woman, unarmed except for the hunting knife at your belt. He doesn’t look friendly, exactly - it’s hard to when you’re pointing a rifle in someone’s face. But he also doesn’t look like he really wants to hurt you. More that he just wishes you weren’t here in the first place.

As a show of good faith, you point to your knife, and then to the floor. You nod at him, questioning. He nods back. Slowly, you lower your hands to your belt and unclip the knife. The faintest click of steel against concrete is audible as you lower it to the ground. Straightening, you point to the man across from you; his gun.

Now you.

Just as slowly, the man lowers his weapon to his side. You point at your knife on the floor, expectantly.

Go on…

He’s reluctant, but after a moment of tense silence, his gun joins your knife on the ground.

You smile; hope that you look thankful and not threatening, like he’s just fallen squarely into a trap you’ve set for him.

Thank you, you mouth.

Beneath the bandana that covers his mouth and the hat that shadows his face, the man’s expression is impossible to read. His eyes, piercing blue even as they regard you more casually, move over your whole body once again. Checking you for weapons, though you don’t have anything else on you. When he’s done, you take a gentle step toward him.

Stop.

The man’s right hand flies out in front of him, fingers splayed. You freeze in your tracks. Desperately, you want to tell him that you mean no harm. You just want a place to stay for the night. There’s a cold fear soaking in the corners of his body; you can feel it all the way from here. You hold out your own hands, palms forward, telling him to stay calm. Nobody's going to get hurt. Keeping one hand in front of you, you reach around to your back pocket, intending to pull out the pad of paper you keep on you for the rare occasions you need it to communicate with someone.

Suddenly, your back is against the wall. There’s a strong hand clamped around your wrist; an arm pressed flat against your chest, restraining you. And the man’s face is inches away from your own, his eyes wild with panic.

The dust settles around you, and the echo of your body being slammed on the bricks fades away. You drop what’s in your hand and nudge your head to point at the pad and pencil, showing him. The man’s eyes roll into the back of his head when he realizes - maybe exasperation at you, or maybe frustration at himself for reacting so recklessly. He starts to move away from you-

Click.

A familiar sound comes from just outside the factory door. It’s one of them.

Shit.

The man mutters something, barely audible through the bandana, and then he’s running. Deeper and deeper into the building, his hand in a vice grip around your wrist, pulling you along after him. You feel like a mess of  awkward limbs and flapping skirts as you try to keep up. The thing behind you is in the building now, crashing carelessly through the hallways in its pursuit. Your weapons are both forgotten - not that they would be any more useful here than they are back on the ground where you left them. 

Ahead, the man has let go of your wrist and is now running at a dead sprint, trusting you to either keep up or be killed. He clearly has somewhere he’s going. You blindly follow him, out of any other options and brain too high on adrenaline to think about where he’s taking you. The hallway has opened out into a room, and now you’re weaving through huge pipes and tanks. Your lungs are about to explode. You can’t keep up with-

Suddenly, the man veers sharply to the left and smoothly jumps into a metal structure. Just like that, he’s gone. Nothing to do but follow. You breathe deep and hold it to stop from screaming as you jump in after him.

Dust. It’s in your throat and your eyes as you fall into whatever is piled at the bottom of the drop. You need to cough, but you fight hard not to. Before you can get your bearings, you’re yanked to your feet and thrust in a direction that seems random, until you reach the lip of the metal tank. The man all but throws you inside even as he’s climbing in after you, and then the heavy metal door is shut and the only sound is of two people breathing.

He tears off his hat and bandana. You watch, mesmerized, as the man’s chest rises and falls, struggling to push enough air into his lungs. Then, he utters the first word you’ve heard him say clearly.

“Fuck.”

The man’s name is Emmett. This you learn as you sit, huddled together but separate, in his makeshift bunker. 

You also learn that he doesn’t want you here.

“Please.” 

Your voice feels tight and painful; jagged around the edges from disuse. It catches sharply in your throat.

“No,” he replies.

The timer on his watch goes off, and Emmett opens the door. His chest is still heaving.

You both step out, listening carefully for any noise above you. The creature, thankfully, seems to have moved on. Emmett stands a little straighter as he turns to face you.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here.” His voice is a whisper, and has the same rusty, unused quality as your own.

“I just need a place for one night.”

You beg with your eyes, and Emmett turns away. He won’t allow himself to be swayed by you.

Later, when it’s - almost- sure to be safe, the two of you go together to collect your discarded weapons. The sky outside has turned an awful gray, and sheets of rain pound into the earth. The sound is louder than anything you’ve heard in months, and the wind howls from all directions. 

Emmett sighs heavily, though he makes no sound. He looks up, seeming to question who would have the audacity to do this, and then turns to you.

One. Night. he mouths, holding up a finger for emphasis. 

He looks at you seriously, and you nod seriously in return. You follow him back down to the lower level, and settle in on opposite sides of the room.

One night, of course, turns into two, and then three. It’s nice to have company. Even Emmett seems to soften a little as the days go on. He doesn’t mention anything about you leaving after that first night, and you take care not to prompt him to. Emmett teaches you how to hide in the huge metal tank; explains the timer and watches you try it with your own alarm a few times to make sure you can do so safely. You busy yourself with mending a few things - broken backpack straps and holes in his old sweaters. He thanks you softly as you hand them back to him.

You catch Emmett looking at you a few times, barely getting a glimpse of the strange expression on his face before he turns away. You catch yourself looking at him too. It’s been so long since you’ve seen another person, but even if it hadn’t been, there’s something magnetic about him. His eyes are like spots of fresh ice against his weathered face. 

“I have something,” you say, over the meager dinner you’re sharing.

You go to your backpack and rustle around, moving slow so as not to make any noise. Finally, you pull out a bottle, its dark glass glowing faintly in the dim light.

“Cream soda,” you whisper, with all the thrill of a child showing off an ill-gotten prize from her mother’s cupboard.

The bottle hisses as you open it, and you both perk up, quickly alert for any sound of a threat above you. Safe. You pass the bottle to Emmett, offering him the first sip. It’s simple, but a rare treasure in this broken world.

“What’s the special occasion?” he asks, the barest hint of a smile drifting over his lips.

You watch as his mouth wraps around the bottle's opening, and as he gingerly tips it back to drink. He takes two quick swallows, his throat bobbing twice, then hands the bottle over to you. You take it, fingertips brushing against his for just a moment, and take a quick swig before you can think for too long about how his lips were just touching the rim.

“It’s just nice to have a treat sometimes,” you reply, shrugging. 

You hand the bottle back and Emmett takes it by the neck, letting the edge of his hand linger against yours for several seconds. You make no move to pull away. 

“It is,” he agrees. “Been a long time since I’ve had anything sweet.”

In the very back of your mind, you wonder if he’s still talking about the soda. No - stop that. You don’t need to go ruining the good thing you have going.

You had asked Emmett, on the morning of the second day, if he was alone. He’d paused for a moment before answering.

“Yes… Well, I mean… Yes.”

You'd decided not to prod any further. 

Now, as you look down at your hand ghosting against his, you notice again his wedding band, firmly wrapped around his finger. It's hard not to notice, and it's even harder to ignore the dozens of sketches that litter the room, pinned and draped on every surface. All of them show the same young boy. He could be a son, or a nephew, or just some random kid that something terrible happened to - you haven't wanted to ask. Everyone is beyond traumatized in this new world, and far be it from you to question whatever brings anyone comfort. Suddenly feeling guilty, you let go of the bottle and look away as Emmett takes another sip.

"Hey," he whispers. Your head snaps back up to look at him. "I have something too."

Emmett puts the soda down between you, methodically clears the table, and pulls out a very weathered deck of cards.

"You ever play Gin Rummy?"

The next morning, Emmett is up early. You stay in your sleeping bag, pretending that you haven't woken up yet, and watch him pull on his hat and boots. He slips on a pair of heavy leather gloves. You stir, "waking up," and Emmett walks over to you.

"Gonna go check the traps," he explains, kneeling down. "I'll be back."

You're struck by the way the moment feels almost domestic; as if he's promising you he'll be home for supper. Your eyes trail over him lazily, taking in the firm shape of his bare arms and the way his hands are abruptly covered by the work gloves. The thought of him roughly grabbing you by the waist flashes through your mind; the material rubbing your skin as his fingers sink into your sides. You swallow heavily; blink a few times.

"You should wear a jacket," you whisper.

Emmett has already started to walk off, but he turns around and smirks at your words. For a moment, it seems like he's about to say something. But it passes, and then he continues in the direction he was headed, grabbing his jacket off the back of a chair.

Once Emmett is gone, you have the place to yourself. Scant sunlight filters through the opening in the ceiling, giving you just enough light to read by. You pull out a well-worn book from your backpack, and settle into the chair Emmett's jacket was on to read it.

Quickly, the words start to swim on the page; falling forgotten into the margins. You can't get your mind off the image of Emmett leaving, blue eyes barely visible under the brim of his hat as he looked back over his shoulder. Had there been a teasing look to them, or was that just you imagining things again? Your mind flashes to an image of Emmett giving you his jacket, wrapping it around you, tight and safe. Pulling you close to him, and-

Okay, time to be honest. Emmett has been driving you crazy the past few days. And not in a bad way, but in an "imagining him tangled between your legs" kind of way. You know you shouldn't think like that. Your relationship with him is undefined and shaky at best; you shouldn't go risking it. But it's getting harder and harder to stop yourself from reaching out and snaking your fingers through his hair; against the tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve; sliding them down past his belt and-

Stop.

You practically have to bite your lip as you beg yourself. You listen for a moment to the silence. Emmett should be gone long enough. And under three feet of solid concrete, you feel safe to relax a little. You desperately need to let out some frustration.

But still, it feels too open out here. Too exposed. Even if you are alone, you just want some more privacy.

Your eyes drift to the steel bunker.

Okay, you can be quick. You have your watch and can time it and be careful. With how horny you are, this shouldn't take long at all. And in the worst case scenario, Emmett will be back soon and can let you out if you get stuck. This is a perfect idea.

You climb inside, set your watch, and close the door. Keeping your head by the entrance in case you need to rush the exit, you don't waste any time getting started.

You touch yourself, shocked at how wet you are already. Might as well take advantage of the sound-proof tank. You hiss as you slide a finger between your folds, finally not bothering to keep quiet.

"Oh, fuck, Emmett."

You desperately wish these were his fingers instead of your own. You plunge two inside yourself immediately; revel in the delicious sting. Legs squeezing together, trapping your own hand, rutting up against your palm. You imagine him hovering over you, blue eyes staring into yours as he watches you fall apart.

"Oh, fuck!"

Above your head, the door swings open. You freeze, hand still plunged sinfully down the front of your pants and hips bucking halfway off the steel floor. Next to you, your watch alarm beeps, calling more attention to your shame.

You look up, and suddenly Emmett staring back at you isn't a fantasy anymore.

"I'm… uh," you stammer in a hissed whisper, searching for any words. But the power of speech has left you. It seems to have left Emmett as well.

His mouth is practically hanging open, and after a moment of shocked panic, he quickly tears his eyes away. 

Taking the opportunity, you sit up and try to arrange yourself - although it's impossible to look presentable after you've just been caught fucking your own fingers to the thought of the man standing in front of you. 

"I'm sorry," Emmett whispers, frantic. He’s pacing; tears off his work gloves and throws them to the ground. Tosses his hat onto a table and runs a hand through his hair. "I thought something happened, and I wanted… well I didn't think - not that it's anything to be ashamed of. Everyone has urges."

"Do you?"

The sound of your voice shocks even you, despite the low volume you're speaking at. Your legs are dangling out the open door of the bunker, and you watch as Emmett stops in his tracks. 

“What?” he whispers.

“Everyone has urges,” you echo, placing your feet on the floor. “Do you?”

“I don’t know what you…”

You stand up, taking a bold step toward him. Emmett takes a half step back. His eyes are blown wide, fear and confusion, as you take another step. This time he stays.

You place a hand on Emmett’s chest. It’s crazy, but you can feel his heart pounding; the heavy rise and fall of his breath.

You’re only inches apart. One more step and your body would be pressed flush against his, just like you’ve been thinking of these past few days. From this distance, you can hear the shakiness in his breathing. 

“Tell me to stop.”

It’s a dare; a challenge; a bald-faced lie. You look up at him, pleading with your eyes for him to stay quiet. To not stop you. To keep going. 

“Tell me to stop.”

You’re on your tiptoes now, lips hovering right in front of his. Emmett swallows hard, and you can feel it reverberate through his whole chest. Looking you right in the eyes, he shakes his head.

No.

Emmett pulls you the rest of the distance. His lips scrape against yours, parting so you can slip your tongue inside. Your lungs have left your body, leaving a hollow space in your chest, making it impossible for you to breathe. You feel lightheaded. But oh, the way he’s biting at your lips; tangling a hand in your hair and pressing against you like you can stop him from drowning. His leg is between your thighs and you practically melt on it. Emmett has to hold you to keep you from falling to the floor. 

Gently, he eases you down. You’re desperate, pulling at him, trying to bring him to you faster. Your legs open to wrap around his waist. God, you’ve needed this. 

Emmett is scrambling to take off his jacket, and even though it only takes a few seconds, it is an eternity. To exist without his body pressed against yours. You hastily unbutton your pants, and Emmett tears them the rest of the way down.

There’s a pause, and you look up at him. Emmett is transfixed, but seems to quickly snap out of it when he notices you - embarrassed. You lean up on your elbows, but Emmett stops you, putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. He brings a finger to his lips; fixes you with a gaze that shows he’s serious. 

Be quiet.

You throw your head back and close your eyes. If you look at him for another second, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself from moaning. Even with the simplest gestures, he drives you crazy. You feel Emmett straddle you; reach his hand down between your legs. 

Oh, fuck.

His fingers are even better than you’d imagined. Two seconds in and he has you gasping for breath. If you were wet before, you’re positively dripping now. You dare to crack open your eyes. Emmett’s face is stoic with concentration, and you can’t believe how incredibly turned on it makes you. He bites his lip slightly, and you think you might pass out. Looking was a mistake, but you can’t tear your eyes off him. 

After teasing your entrance for a moment, Emmett slips a finger inside you. There’s that weightless feeling again; it’s like being drunk. You could ride his fingers until you forget your own name, and you already feel the coil tightening inside you.

Desperate, you scramble for something to hold onto. There’s nothing on the stone floor. Emmett is your only lifeline, and you grab at the hem of his shirt, pulling him to lean down over you. He kisses you. Rough and sloppy and frantic. You let out the smallest whimper into his mouth as you cum, hard, clamping your legs around his fingers. 

Panting. You’re actually panting as he pulls out of you, instantly missing the way his fingers curled up inside of you. You’re still holding onto his t-shirt for dear life, and he gently removes your hand. You can’t see straight, but there’s the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being undone, and a zipper loosening. When you look up again, Emmett is hovering over you, his body planted between your legs.

He puts a hand on your waist to steady you, and you feel him line up with your entrance. It takes everything not to scream as he slides into you.

The stretch is intoxicating. You haven’t even recovered from your orgasm, but just the sight of him pausing after he’s plunged into you, needing to collect himself, breathing hard. It’s enough to make you ache.

“Please, Emmett.”

The fingers on your waist tighten, digging into your side. For a second, you worry you’ve upset him, but then he looks up at you, eyes blazing with lust. He looks like a man about to lose himself, and you smile as you move your hands up to his chest, gripping at his collar to pull him close as you whisper again. 

“Please.”

Emmett is pounding into you, careful at first to stay quiet, but getting sloppier every second. He can’t pull out all the way for fear of slapping too loudly against your thighs, but the result is an incredible friction that has you soaring. You don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this good. You grab at his shoulders, his neck, and Emmett lets you. When the pleasure has you tear open your eyes, you catch him watching you again. Enjoying the way you fall apart on his cock. It makes you clench around him even harder, and you catch the faintest whisper of a curse fall out of his lips as he leans forward, dropping his head to the crook of your neck. 

“Fuck, Emmett.” 

You whisper in his ear, breath brushing the strands of hair that fall around his face. Emmett brings his own lips right to the side of your cheek; his words tickle as he continues to fuck you.

“You know, you have a dirty mouth,” he tells you. “And here I thought you knew how to stay quiet.”

You whimper, and a hand is slapped over your mouth, the side of it slotting just under your teeth. Your heart pounds as Emmett leans in to whisper to you again, devilishly. 

“Bite down if you need to.”

Fuck, he’s going to be the death of you.

Emmett is grunting, softly, as he fucks into you just a little bit faster. The sound of him coming undone is enough to make you squeeze your eyes shut and bite down onto his hand, muffling the sound of your cries as you orgasm. 

If he’s hurt, he doesn’t show it. Emmett continues to rut into you as you bite the side of his hand, trying desperately to stay as quiet as you can. You want him to hold you down, breed you, spill everything into you with no care for the consequences. Emmett pulls his hand away and plants it on the ground, trying to balance himself.

“Where do you want me to cum?”

His words are breathless; you love hearing him like this. You bask in them, arching your back against the floor, not answering.

“Where do you want me to- Fuck!”

Emmett pulls out of you, trying and failing at the last second to cup a hand around himself. Cum gets everywhere, dripping from his fingers to the floor, coating the insides of your legs. He looks down at himself for a moment; shakes off his hand before wiping it on his pants, still halfway on in his rush to be inside you. 

“Now you decide to be quiet, huh?”

He’s leaning over you again, whispering teasingly in your ear. He pinches your waist and kisses your cheek before pulling away, showing you the mischief in his eyes.

Somewhere above you, there’s a crash followed by a loud screech. Maybe you weren’t as quiet as you’d thought.

“Shit.” Emmett yanks his pants up and pulls you both to your feet. The sounds of something getting closer are clearly audible. You should be scared, but instead you’re excited.

“Let’s go.”

You tug at Emmett’s wrist as you lead him toward the bunker. Two minutes and thirty seconds - that’s how long you have before the timer goes off. You tumble, pulling him in after you. The door closes behind you with a soft thud.

You want to hear him scream.

[napakmahal]

L.E.S

The amount of writers block go burrrrr

Your very close friendship with Tadashi is not exactly a friendship. Granted you two were friends, obviously but it wasn’t just that. Not exactly with benefits, but there was always something there. And everyone knew it.

Like the time Hiro had caught you doing Tadashi’s makeup in their shared bedrooms bathroom. Now, that alone seems innocent enough but what really started ringing alarms was that he was standing, encasing your lower body with his arms. And you were sat on the cool porcelain countertop with your legs hooked around his hips. Suspicious and very compromising.

Or when Tadashi had snuck you into his personal lab at school because you were bored and he was lonely. You’d brought him food and a fruit punch energy drink to keep him focused and energized. However, Gogo had decided to walk into his lab at the very moment he was sitting in front of his computor coding system with you hunched over behind him, with your arms around his shoulders. Yikes.

You two would constantly say that you weren’t dating, and the response you got every time you said it was “What a load of shit.”

But its not like anyone was crazy shocked at all the time you called each other love or hun, or anything like that. It was a common occurrence and even then they were still waiting for you two to get a grip on reality that traditionally, you don’t call you friends bae while sitting on their laps and playing with their hair.

——————————————————————————-

“How did this even happen?” You aksed while heating up a sharp sewing needle on the stove.

Tadashi had nicked himself in the nail with a drill gun and gave himself a hematoma. AKA: The skin under his nail was bleeding and his nails was causing pressure to build up in his finger. It had doubled in size and his nail was turning an ugly blue-purple-green-ish color. Everything was going smoothly as he worked and you did your own homework when all of a sudden you heard a loud “AH SHIT!” And then saw him crouched over in his chair holding his hand.

Tadashi blew on his finger to aid the stinging, “I was distracted.”

“By?”

“You.” he said in a fake angelic voice, followed by a laugh.

You took the needle off the heat and propped his hand up with a while towel, “Ew, never say that again.”

For the next few minutes, you tapped the searing hot needle into his nail and watched the blood escape through the hole. Tadashi had his head on the table, sucking in air through his teeth at the searing pain. With the occasional kiss on his hand and ‘I know, I’m sorry hunny.’ keeping him from actually crying.

Eventually, you had squeezed out all the blood, put numbing cream on his finger, wrapped it, and iced it. Where was Baymax during all of this? Being a victim of grand theft, stolen by Hiro to do god knows what.

You two sat on the floor with Tadashi’s head on your shoulder and hand in yours.

“You’re such a baby.” You teased.

He brought his good finger up to his lips and shushed you. “Quiet, I’m in pain.”

“Aww, I know I’m sorry my prince. I’ll never call you that again.” You joked, kissing his hand all over.

Soon, those hand kisses turned to arm kisses, and from his arms, you had pecked his neck and jawline a few times. Till he turned to you and looked up with his coffee-brown eyes. It’s not like you two hadn’t ever kissed before, it’s just you were in his living room, on the floor, where just about anyone could walk in.

I hope nobody catch us, But I kinda hope they catch us, anyway.

Regardless, he leaned in and kissed you. With his one remaining hand, he brought you closer to him, your legs straddling his lap and hands flicking through his hair. He’d forgotten about the pain. You made the pain go away.

You pulled away just for a split second and began laughing. His forehead pressed against yours as he kissed the side of your mouth while you laughed.

“Why,” peck “Are,” peck “You,” peck “Laughing!”

He smiled into your neck and let you down onto the floor while one of his arms had trapped you beneath him. He’d stopped kissing you just ot playfully interrogate you.

“Why are you laughing?”

You zipped you lips shut shook your head as the laughs were suppressed by your mouth.

“Huh? Why?” He kissed all over your face, which just made you laugh harder and squeal.

Tadashi did stop after a time and you were left on the floor, looking up at him. He leaned down, nose to nose and breathily said “You’re so beautiful.”

Just like that, you placed your hands on his face and brought you closer to your face. Pressing your lips and against him impatiently. Both of you were an absolute mess and so into it you didn’t eaven hear the backdoor open or the sets of footsteps walking closer and closer to you two. It wasn’t until you’d heard someone clear their throat extremely loudly that you jumped and propped yourself up with your elbows.

“Ah- fuck!” You cursed under your breath at the sight of Hiro, Baymax, and Wasabi.

Hiro looked like he was going to pass out with his face contorting with disgust. Baymax was just…Baymax and Wasabi was blank staring at the two of you, not a single thought behind his eyes.

“W-what’s up?” Tadashi covered his mouth with the back of his hand as if that would do anything.

Wasabi dug through his back pocket and pulled out Tadashi’s school ID that he’d left in the community laboratory. “Y-you forgot this.”

“Oh thanks man, umm you can just put it on the mantle.”

Without another word, Wasabi left and Hiro had to be carried up to their room by Baymax due to his inability to erase the image from his mind.

“Poor Hiro.” You said breathlessly. Still in shock from the events that just happened.

Tadashi shook his head and looked down at you. “Poor Hiro? No, poor us. We didn’t get to finish.”

You playfully slapped his shoulder and stood up from the floor and found it best just to leave and go home. By the time dinner had come around, Aunt Cass couldn’t figure out why neither of her nephews were speaking and why Hiro looked like he’d just seen a ghost. There’s just some things that make you see people in a different light. Watching his older brother chew on a girl he swore wasn’t his girlfriends face was definitely one of those things.

Tadashi didn’t know if Wasabi had told anyone about what he saw because when he gets ready for bed, he doesn’t bring his phone with him and leaves it to charge on his nightstand. But when he got out, he could hear the dinging of all his notifications all the way from the bathroom door. When he flipped his phone over from case up to screen up and was welcomed with 114 messages from his groupchat with his friends and two missed facetime calls from you.

“Oh shit.”

[pupyuj]

jock g!p yujin that likes to brag about her length and about the countless of girls she has banged when in reality she's a virgin 🫢🫢 sub jock g!p yujin in short 😵‍💫😵‍💫

omgggg what if you're like, kinda popular and yujin has this big dumb crush on you but she doesn't know what to do with it so she just becomes super annoyinggg?? 😭😭 as anon said, boasts about the very much not-real girls that she has fucked just to build this fuckgirl reputation of hers bcs she thought it would make you notice her more... and it did! for the wrong reasons! one day rumors started going around that yujin has had sex with your friend jiwon but as far as you knew, jiwon was a virgin and she would definitely tell you if she got fucked by anyone! by ahn yujin, no less! and, according to the rumor, in that pool party you hosted two weeks ago!! so naturally, you started to investigate this bcs you didn't like that people were bothering your friend about the true state of her virginity 😠

apparently, your way of investigating was cornering yujin in the locker rooms after her soccer team's practice. smiling and waving at her teammates, even chatting for a bit, and appearing so warm and sweet until you turned your attention to yujin and became cold and intimidating. but maybe that was yujin's crush on you talking. she was taller than you, built, and most likely stronger, but you had her backed up against the cool metal lockers, her breath shaking and legs feeling like jelly. god, you were so pretty up close—yujin's cock was hard already.

"i don't like that you're ruining my friend's reputation just to boost your own." you had said, glaring up at the taller girl. yujin swears she nearly moaned as the sight of you swiping your tongue across your bottom lip for a split second! she was so whipped 😭😭

"w-w-well, what're you gonna do about it?" yujin knew she had lost the battle before it even started but she wasn't going to go down without a fight!! she didn't think it through though 🤨 yujinnie hugging a textbook so close to her chest while you leaned closer,,, god if looks could kill... yujin would be rotting underground right about now,, still, despite being fucking terrified for her life, her cock only grows harder and the slightest friction made her whimper,, and GOSH it didn't help that you were within kissing distance!! yujin feels your breath on her lips and she—did she fucking moan???

hehehsidjd yujin dropping the textbook to cover her mouth,, soooo embarrassed of herself while you stared at her incredulously,, then your eyes happened to roam further down and there it was...

"oh."

yujin wanted to sink into a bottomless hole right then and there, but it was when you cupped her bulge that her mind goes blank,, quite literally, too! she couldn't move, she couldn't think, she couldn't do anything!! 😵‍💫 mmssdhjsdgdj softly squeezing her hard cock through the shorts she uses for practice,, staring at her so intently as she tries her hardest not to moan too loudly bcs people were still outside!! and yujin knows she could be loud :((( "hm? what? i thought you've done this before, yujin...? bending a girl over right there, on the sink... you love talking about that one, don't you?" you would say while she squirms and swallows down her sounds,,

"f-fuck... no, i-i-i'm sorry, alright?? i'll s-stop saying all that shit, i swear..." yujinnie whining :((( she didn't know whether she should stop you or not bcs on one hand, this was everything she fucking wanted in life but on the other, her pride is telling her to keep up appearances especially in front of her crush!! ☹️

"what? are you saying you've been lying?" oh you were so sick. your lips curling into a dark smile when the pup looked down in the embarrassment... "aww, big and tough jock ahn yujin is a virgin after all, huh?" you placed a finger under her chin and made her look up,, her eyes were tearing up from humiliation,, "you're lucky you're hot. or else, i would've destroyed your stupid reputation." and suddenly, you're pulling out her dick??!! "don't worry, yuj. after all of this, nobody will doubt that you've had some good pussy." fuck, yujin thought she was going crazy 😵‍💫😵‍💫

sitting her down on one of the benches, getting down on your knees and taking her cock in your mouth <33 eyes looking right into hers as you both sucked and jacked her off 🤤 her not knowing what to do other than just sit there and moan and whine :((( strings of curses leaving yujin's lips as her fingers brush through your hair, tugging at it lightly everytime you swipe your tongue over slit 🤤🤤 "what's wrong, baby? feels too good...? ah.." watching as yujin nodded helplessly,, god she was pathetic... slumping back against the lockers with drool dripping down the side of her mouth... you wanted nothing more than to break her 😵‍💫

feeling her get tense and stiffen up and immediately pulling your mouth off of her, "w-what... i was about to—" nearly knocking the air out of her lungs when you stood up and pulled down your panties 😳 "i know. this'll be way better." you climbed onto her lap, kissing her forehead before sitting down on her cock 😵‍💫 it took her by surprise, your warmth and how tight you felt around her dick 😵‍💫😵‍💫 yujinnie's head collapsing on your chest while you made yourself comfortable, her hands clutching your uniform tightly bcs she didm't know what else to do :((( having to grab her face to make her look up at you, "look at me while i ride you." oh yeah yujin was so going to jack off to this tonight—

gawddd her moans being louder than before as you bounced up and down her cock 🫠 it should be noted that the door opened and immediately closed at least five times while you were riding yujin 😭😭 thank god yujin's moans scared everybody away... or else they would've seen your pussy getting stretched out by this loser jock 😵‍💫

yujin screaming in pleasure as she held you close, face buried on your neck, "mmhn...! ahh—(y/n)... i-i think... fuck..!" and suddenly she's gripping your ass???

"i know... gonna come, baby? hm?" reaching under her shirt and cupping one of her tits, squeezing and pinching her nipple just to bring her to tears bcs of all the pleasure she was feeling 🫣 and somehow yujin finds it in herself to buck her hips upward and finally fuck you, moving your ass up and down while similtaneously thrusting,, she wanted to come, she wanted to breed you—everything! "good girl..! good girl, just like that, fuck mommy like the good dog that you are..." good god, yujin could quite literally faint.

that was all it took for yujin to finally release all of her seed inside you,, sobbing as she emptied herself in your walls, having to kiss her a bit to shut her up bcs wow she gets so loud... having to stay seated on her cock for a while bcs she came so much?? but what did you expect from a loser virgin who had the biggest, dumbest crush on you 🥴🥴

so.. now i have to write sub g!p yujin with a mommy kink, right??? RIGHT?????

[crimsonbubble]

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, sex pollen, overstimulation, fingering, creampies, breeding kink, use of the nickname kid *not proofread, just pure horny

[@lillianastuff is to blame here 🫣🫣 also the scene seems out of place but its my only idea that makes sense]

reblogs and comments are appreciated <33

MINORS DNI!!

navigating through an old and abandoned lab in search of an antidote for what you thought was just a fever was easier said than done. you leaned against the desk, barely being able to focus on the files infront of you as the heat building within you seemed to spread and grow hotter.

keegan rushed into the office you were in, his state not too far off from yours. he grabbed you and not so smoothly set you down on a nearby chair. you simply watched him rummage through anything he can find. he stood up straight and read over a report, cursing and throwing the paper on the desk again.

you admired his height, eyes trailing over his figure before landing on his hips. his hips were level with the desk, and the way he leaned forward on the desk did nothing to get rid of the idea of you sitting on the desk in front of him. it seems you've been quiet for too long as keegan shifts his focus to you and how your thighs clench together.

"need some help, kid?" his voice was shaky, trying not to give away how heated he was getting the longer you stare at him. the lab is far enough from everything that no one will hear anything, and the mission was close enough to be done, so a few extra minutes to take care of you doesn't seem so bad right?

he's had an eye on you since you joined the team. but how can he resist you when you're looking at him with glossy pleading eyes? there's a soft pout on your lips as you try to keep yourself together in front of your superior. you stand on shaky legs, trying to compose yourself as you walk over to him. keegan turns, pulling you into him to keep you up as your legs nearly give in. "keegan..." all self-control snaps when his name slips from your lips, all breathy and needy.

before your hazy mind can come to terms with what's about to happen, keegan has you pressed against the desk. his gloved hands are fumbling with your belt, hastily shoving them down your thighs. your breathing is labored, as keegan pulls his gloves off with his teeth. he tugged your soaked panties to the side, groaning as he trailed his fingers over your clit. "fuck, you're so messy."

keegan slips his fingers in with minimal force, your slick making the glide even easier. his fingers curl into you so sweetly, making you shiver and shake against his body. your left hand is against the desk while your right travels to his hip. you're fiddling with his belt, mind going numb as he fingers you open so easily. he quickly tugs at his belt with his free hand, his eyes fluttering when you wrap your hand around him.

the pleasure is blinding, your body barely being able to register your orgasm until his thumb grazing over your clit made you jolt heavily. keegan winces as he pulls your hand off of him. he turns you around and pushes your chest to the desk. keegan wastes no time in holding your hands against your back before he grinded his cock through your sopping folds. curses fell from his lips with each shallow thrust.

as he pulls back, he lines himself up your pulsing hole. there's a slight burn when he pushes in, a breathy whimper leaving your lips as he buries himself deep in your cunt. your body trembles as keegan holds you, drilling into you as deep as your bodies will allow. your pushing back against him as he thrusts, feeling your body heat up as you hear the slick noises of your cunt more prominent with each thrust.

"there we go, just like that. fucks sake kid, loosen up." keegan seems just as pleasure drunk as you are, mumbling nonsense as he brings you to your release. there's a ringing in your ears as you climax, dropping your head to rest on the cool hardwood of the desk. keegan can't stop himself from stuffing you full with the way your cunt tightens and pulses around his dick enough to have his hands grabbing at your hips to keep you against him as he spills inside you.

there's a pleasant hum in your ears as keegan pulls out, watching as his cum leaks out of you. keegan fingers it back in before pulling your pants and underwear back up. it's an uncomfortable stickiness but the way he pats your ass as he fixes himself made you laugh breathlessly.

"we'll continue this back at base, got that? now c'mon before we get into anymore trouble."

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

More A/B/O Honkai Star Rail: During Ruts and Heats

Characters: Blade, Jing Yuan, Welt, and Luocha as Alphas.

CW: nsfw, omegaverse

A/N: *sees notes* y'all love a/b/o too huh? Good because I will continue and now it's spicy :3c

-------

Blade

During his rut he gets possessive and tends to bite more.

Pinning his omega from behind teeth sunk into their scent glands or shoulder as he ruts into them barely pulling out before thrusting back in.

If he's not in the mood or has calmed down enough he'll just hold his omega close and never let them leave to get up for anything. And I mean anything, even to the bathroom where he might follow and sit outside the door like a cat.

During heats he's there for his omega to use as they please even if that includes not having "fun" and just cuddling only.

Makes it his mission to keep his omega well hydrated and fed during both, though he tends to be more aggressive about it during his ruts as he's hyper focused on them and a bit out of it.

While eating he tends to loom over them and or set them on his lap making sure they eat every bite before he decides to take a bite himself. This gets more intense when he's in his rut since all his attention is on them and only them.

Always gathers his most recently used bed sheets for his omega to use and if his clothes are clean he'll add those to the pile. Doesn't help build the nest but rather stands by watching them prep everything and handing whatever they want their way and or scenting anything they ask.

During ruts he practically stares holes into them until they give him permission to enter the nest or until they join him in his bed.

Jing Yuan

Patient while in rut and during heats even if he should be losing his cool he somehow gets even cooler? He might look calm but he's anything but, if one looks into his eyes they'd know they're about to be devoured

Doesn't go fast but he does go hard, pulling out all the way before thrusting back in. He finds some enjoyment in keeping himself restrained even when he's begged to go faster. Doesn't bite as much as you'd think as he's more focused on eating his omega out rather than staking his claim again.

Preps his room way before his rut or their heat starts, always let's people know not to disturb him unless the world is ending because he won't be leaving their nest or his bed for anything.

His bed is large enough to hold himself and Mimi so it's the perfect place to build the comfy nest of their dreams, he helps building it by providing all the pillows and soft clothes he can and scenting each one thoroughly.

Since he preps before hand there's easy filling meals ready so they can just eat their favorites in peace without disruptions and get back to... "business".

If he's not feeling up for it or they aren't either he'll just cuddle them and sleep telling them stories about his day or asking silly questions to get them to focus away from any pain his omega may be feeling.

Welt

Old man can get it but he has trouble staying energized enough for his omega so he let's toys help while he takes a break or if he's not up for it.

Loves watching them enjoy themselves as he fiddles with the vibrator control and adjusting the thrusts of the dildo to make them happy

Honestly prefers cuddling more during both because he's grown and can control himself, plus he enjoys just laying there enjoying his omega scent and keeping them safe, warm, and well fed.

Spends good chunks of his time during both just pampering his omega and fulfilling their needs and taking pride in doing so. After all no one takes good care of them like he does. A definite confidence booster.

Let's them borrow his clothes to wear and brings his own blankets to their nest so they can snuggle under his thermal sheets. He gets cold easy so this is practically heaven for him.

Luocha

Since he travels a lot he tries to schedule his dealings to be finished before his rut and their heat starts. If he can't manage that he'll always cut his own ruts off with medication and provide the best room he can find for his omega to enjoy.

Honestly doesn't care for his ruts as he dislikes being out of control of his own body but he doesn't mind spending them with his omega since they're willing to take care of him as he does them. Prefers cuddling over anything else during his ruts but he'll cave into desire if he's started sucking on their scent glands.

He doesn't bite too much during this but won't lift his head from their neck as he tries to get as much of their scent as possible. His thrusts are fast paced but not sloppy. Though when he eats them out he is as sloppy as can be as he drowns himself in their scent.

If he's present during their heat he's at their beck and call. Need water? Here's a fresh glass. Need something to eat? He just finished making them a hearty meal. Need him inside? Well...he'll see what he can do.

Always makes sure to give them freshly scented clothes and blankets to use regardless of if he's met with other people or not, he just wants them to smell him and only him. Doesn't interfere with nest building but does comment here and there how nice everything looks or how well they're doing.

Edited: 2/16/2024

[cringe-but-proud]

"Shitty Free Pizza"

Hobie Brown x reader

Warnings: Reader gets broken up with, swearing, crying

A/n: ALRIGHT, FREAKS. I WROTE THE PART 2. Requests are open 😗✌️

"I'm going on break."

That was all you said to your four coworkers before grabbing your jacket and walking outside. You walked to the side of the building and sat on the curb.

Your boyfriend had just broken up with you. Over text. While you were at work. You didn't know what to do, how to react.

You pulled out your phone and read over the message he'd sent you. And then you read it again, and again, and again.

He'd made two typos. The asshole breaks up with you over text and he can't even be bothered to read over the message before sending it.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't want to cry over this asshole, you really didn't want to. But, despite what you wanted, tears began to roll down your cheeks; and once you started, you couldn't stop.

You put your head in your hands and sobbed. You probably looked pathetic. A Domino's employee, still in uniform, sitting in the parking lot and crying. How embarrassing.

"Oi!" You lifted and turned your head. A tall man dressed in clothes that were way cooler than yours was looking at you. "You alright?" He asked.

"Obviously not." The reply came out sounding a bit more condescending than you'd intended.

The man didn't seem to mind. He chuckled. "Guess I probably could've figured that one out on my own, huh?" The man stepped closer. "What's bothering you?"

You briefly considered calling the dude nosy and telling him to fuck off, but something made you stop.

He didn't seem ill intentioned...

You looked down at the concrete. "My boyfriend just broke up with me over text."

"Really?"

You nodded.

"What a prick. Y'mind if I sit down?" He gestured to the slab of concrete next to where you were sitting. You shrugged and he took that as a yes.

He sat with his elbows resting on his knees. "And he did this while you were at work too?" He asked.

You nodded again.

"That's fucked."

"I just..." You didn't know why you were talking to this guy you didn't even know. But, then again, you didn't really care at this point. "I feel stupid for crying over it."

"Why?"

"Because you're right!" You said exasperatedly. "He's a prick and what he did was fucked. And here I am, crying over this asshole. It's pathetic."

He hummed. "I get that." He tilted his head toward you. "But, once you're done crying, are you gonna try to get him back?"

You furrowed your brows in confusion. You weren't even gonna consider that. "No."

Are you gonna be sad about this for years to come?"

"No."

"Y'gonna give up dating altogether and insist that he left an unfillable hole in your heart?"

"Why are you asking me this shit?"

"Because if you were really pathetic, you probably would've said something other than no to those questions."

You paused, letting his words marinate. And then you chuckled. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'm serious!" He laughed. "There's a lot worse things to do in this situation than just crying."

"I guess you're right." You sighed. "But, still. I don't think venting to a stranger is one of the better things to do."

He chuckled. "I'm Hobie."

"I'm Y/n." You were surprised that this random guy was actually making you feel better. But, you weren't gonna complain.

"Now we're not strangers. Which hopefully means you'll tell me a little more about yourself and about this whole breakup."

You, once again, considered calling him nosey. But, for some reason, you weren't opposed to the idea of telling him more.

"Well," You began. "He and I had been dating for 5 months, for the first three or four months, he was really sweet. But... I don't know. This last month he was being really distant and he was always seeming kind of disinterested in me."

"So, was there any real reason for the breakup?" He asked.

"It was sort of out of nowhere. We didn't have a big argument or anything."

"This guy really does sound like a prick." Hobie scoffed. "I've only just met you, but you seem pretty cool."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Besides who'd ever wanna break up with someone who could get them free pizza?" He smirked playfully.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Shitty free pizza." You corrected him.

He shrugged. "Doesn't matter if the food's shitty, long as it's free."

You opened your mouth to reply to him when someone called your name, one of your coworkers.

"It's been 20 minutes." Your coworker said, peeking their head around the corner of the building.

You sighed and got up. "I've gotta go." You told Hobie as you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket. "Thanks for keeping me company."

"It's no problem. I enjoyed it." He said, smiling up at you.

You wanted to ask for his number, or his socials, whatever. But, you'd just gotten out of a breakup. It felt wrong asking for someone's number so soon, even if it wasn't really with romantic intentions. So instead, you just said goodbye and went back to work.

You got inside and were taking your jacket off.

"Who was that guy you were talking to?" Your coworker asked.

You glanced over at them and shrugged. "A stranger."

"He was really hot."

You paused before signing. "Yeah, he was."

[practicalsolarpunk]

Hi, I've only just got into solarpunk and find it really cool.

I was wondering, what sort of simple lifestyle changes would you suggest to start with when trying to live in a more solarpunk/sustainable way?

Hi! So glad you're getting into solarpunk! We think it's pretty cool, too, and we're happy you're looking for ways to integrate it into your life. Since you haven't included anything specific about your situation or what you're interested in, this list is pretty general - if you want more specific ideas, feel free to send in another ask!

In the meantime, here are a few recommendations for getting started:

Grow something. Depending on your situation, you may not be able to put in a huge outdoor garden. But there are many plants that will be perfectly happy in a pot on a windowsill, and still others that are happy to grow in low-light situations. Find something that works for your space and get some hands-on experience with growing things. (If you have a window, I highly recommend herbs - many of them are happy in pots and there's something incredibly satisfying about eating things you've grown.)

Compost. Unless your space is extremely tiny, you probably have room for a small composting system. Some can even go under a sink or in a closet. See this post for a general discussion, this post for vermicomposting ideas, and this one for info on bokashi composting. Also check out our #compost tag.

Mending. Mending is a great skill to have. The life of most clothing (and a lot of non-clothing fabric items) can be extended dramatically with some basic sewing skills. I've made entire dresses and quilts and I still find most of my sewing is repairing and mending other stuff. We have a mending tag, but I also love YouTube for this. Searching "how to mend X" (e.g. "how to mend hole in crotch of jeans") gives you a bunch of awesome tutorials. You can get even more use out of things if you're willing to embrace visible mending.

Reduce energy use. Try to use natural light where you can. Set your thermostat high in summer and low in winter and use the principle "heat/cool the person, not the space." Flush the toliet with graywater by removing the p-trap from your sink and dumping the collected wash water into your toilet tank (or directly into the bowl if you have an American-style greedy cup siphon toilet). Experiment with solar energy. What you can do depends on your situation, but see what kind of options you have.

Integrate the 7 R's: There are more R's to sustainable living than just "Reduce Reuse Recycle". See this post for a primer.

Build community: One of the foundations of solarpunk is that it's about community. Even if you start out doing it by yourself, eventually you need a community to do bigger things. My favorite way to start is by meeting the neighbors. Taking over some food (cookies are great) and introducing yourself is a great way to open a relationship. We also have a community building tag for more ideas.

You can find even more ideas in these tags, depending on what you specifically want to do:

#apartment solarpunk

#dorms and small spaces

#community building

#activism

#fiber crafts

#diy

There's also some additional tips in this post and this post, which are earlier responses to similar asks.

I hope this helps! Followers, feel free to chime in with your best tips!

- Mod J

[theminecraftbee]

"Is it for missing the dragon fight again? Because like, man, you know as well as I do that fight wasn't ever about me," BigB says to the Secret Keeper, which doesn't respond.

There's blood on his hands. They're red. Well, they aren't red, and there isn't blood, but it's a metaphor, right? It's a really good metaphor, on account of him otherwise being green.

"I'm, uh, not meant to be... whatever Grian was? An unguided hand? I thought the rules were meant to be that there weren't greens who could do that anymore, 'cause you didn't like the first time, or did like it too much, or something. But, uh, you have it out for me a bit now, don't you? That's cool, that's cool."

His hands feel warm, and wet, and grainy, in exactly the way blood does. Compared to a lot of people BigB actually doesn't know much about how blood feels. He's hardly much of a fighter. He's never been. He still remembers it though. After you've felt someone else's blood, it's hard to forget it. It makes imagining it easy, which is funny, because it's not like Skizz even died. He got stabbed a little at most. Everyone gets stabbed a little sometimes. That's just how life works.

He sighs.

"Will someone else do that next week, or is it just me?" BigB says.

No response.

"The task said I had to, uh, betray or build traps or anything they asked. Really emphasized the betrayal actually. Sort of cruel as a task, isn't it?"

No response.

"Whatever," BigB says. "If it's for missing the dragon fight again, I'm, uh, not sorry. Not much of a fighter, really. Not much of a dog, either. It was fun! Fun being the loyal guy for once. Don't like you trying to make that stop. But, uh, I've known a lot of dogs at this point, and I'm not one of them. I'm... something else. You know that, right? Now that you're actually paying attention?"

The Secret Keeper doesn't respond. He rolls his eyes. He figures he'll climb back into his hole alone and keep on being the 'something else' that he is. Maybe this time, the betrayal won't follow him for the entire season. Maybe this time, it won't be a stain on him forever. He can get lucky like that for once, right? He didn't want to. He never wants to. It makes his heart ache, every time he has to play the role of traitor. Surely, this time they'll understand, right? Skizz is understanding. Skizz said it was worth it. Skizz won't be like...

"I'll make a deal. Next time we fight a dragon, I'll go," BigB says, almost plaintive. "You'll stop trying to figure me out then, right? Put me in a box? You'll figure out what I am? Will that do?"

No response.

"Yeah, I'm gonna go work on my hole and tell Grian that none of that was a task. He'll make funny noises about it. Whoever's watching me gets to know about it, and no one else. Or I guess whoever's... listening? Is that what Jimmy's guys do? Man, I don't know. I was never involved that much. Maybe that's it, more than the dragon fight. You're mad I haven't been involved. Well, I guess I am now. Congrats. I'd do it again next week if I had to."

The Secret Keeper is large, and stone, and doesn't answer, but somewhere in the distance, BigB is sure that someone's laughing at him. After all, he's the one who had to betray his friends, and dig a hole, and hide from everyone, and everything else no one else is being made to do with their tasks. It's whatever, though. He'll deal with it. He always has.

His hands are so, so red right now. Not the rest of him. The rest of him is green and clean of blood. Funny how that works.

He goes to hide in his tunnels that no one can find him properly in. That's the advantage of living in the backrooms. No one ever knows what door he'll come out of next.

[hollybell51]

If I don't have you

Navigation

Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader

Mission Impossible (around MI3)

Word count: 6.6K

Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.

Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.

Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!

The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding. 

“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip. 

He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?” 

Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened. 

“That was fucking insane!” you burst. 

“Are you ok?” 

You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you. 

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” 

Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers. 

You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back. 

Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…

“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.” 

His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.” 

“A bullet graze!” 

“It’s fine.” 

You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.” 

“No promises,” he shrugged.

Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !” 

“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics. 

“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!

He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes. 

You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him. 

“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair. 

“Ethan?” 

“Yeah.” 

Another silence, though less tense. 

“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.

In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest. 

“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso. 

He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted. 

“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–” 

“No, (Y/N)–” 

“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall. 

Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast. 

“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled. 

In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?” 

You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own. 

“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–” 

No one’s coming. 

“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.” 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!” 

In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear. 

You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him. 

You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should. 

You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards. 

You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed. 

It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle. 

You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back. 

His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath. 

You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you. 

You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure. 

“(Y/N).” 

You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive. 

He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .

The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep. 

Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.” 

There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…” 

You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.” 

He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked. 

 You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know. 

“For yelling at me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–” 

“All that matters. You said.” 

You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle. 

“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.” 

The frown deepened. “Hm?” 

“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real. 

But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely. 

He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.” 

Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek. 

The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up. 

He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades. 

“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face. 

You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.” 

“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.” 

There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his. 

He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too. 

Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition. 

“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt. 

You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything. 

“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt. 

“Huh?” 

“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.” 

“All’s fair in love and war.” 

Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose. 

“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?” 

“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine. 

He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind. 

“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone. 

“Yeah.” 

“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?” 

Again, “Yeah.” 

You smiled. “What about me?” 

“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.” 

“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it. 

“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity. 

“What else?” you asked. 

He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.” 

Oh. Oh. 

“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.  

You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys. 

“Can–” 

“Yes,” you answered.

He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh. 

“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair. 

He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.” 

You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.

“What you’d sound like.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?” 

“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.” 

You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit. 

“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders. 

“Hm?” 

“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.” 

Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?” 

You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face. 

A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises. 

“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–” 

Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad. 

“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–” 

Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders. 

He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again. 

You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.

You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you. 

“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail. 

You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”

He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him. 

“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification. 

And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?” 

Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.” 

“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?” 

You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”

This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again. 

“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap. 

His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand. 

“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.” 

He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?” 

You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?” 

“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.” 

His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–” 

“Insane?” 

“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?” 

Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”

“Here?” 

“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.” 

“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again. 

“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.” 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin. 

“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?” 

He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other. 

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.” 

“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined. 

“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece. 

“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.” 

Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.” 

“Hm?” 

“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?” 

“(Y/N)–” 

You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

“Yeah, fuck, where do I–” 

“In me.” 

“You sure?” 

Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–” 

That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter. 

You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress. 

“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed. 

“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned. 

“What?” he asked. 

“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?” 

“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything. 

“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?” 

“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?” 

He nodded. 

“I still want to check them.” 

“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.  

You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.

“What?” 

“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” 

His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.” 

You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?” 

“Yeah.” 

His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.” 

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.” 

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.” 

“Guess I’m just that special.” 

“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.

[onewithblankets]

pro tips for administering your own t shots

aight so i’ve been doing the whole self injection thing for nine/ten-ish months now, and as someone who’s always been, and still is, a little squeamish around needles, here are some things that help:

when you wipe down the injection site (I do my thighs, intramuscular injection) with an alcohol wipe, wait a little bit for the skin to dry before sticking the needle in. i’ve found this helps reduce the sting a bit.

listen to music. it helps make the whole process a little less nerve-wracking when you’re humming along to a song you like as you prep your syringe.

along the same lines as the last point, I like to use certain beats of a song as a ‘countdown’ almost, to hype myself up for the injection itself. instead of going “three-two-one” and then sticking the needle in, i’ll go “alright, i’ll put on cotard’s solution and stick it in when he starts screaming.” definitely makes the anticipation of the needle itself more bearable.

the anticipation is always worse than the actual injection. don’t let your own brain psyche you out of taking your t for fear of pain. i came into intramuscular injections thinking it’d be awful pain all the time, but half the time it’s barely more than a slight sting and usually doesn’t feel like anything after I put the bandaid on. i think i was more sore in the first couple weeks than i ever am now, though, so i may have just gotten used to it.

don’t inject too quickly, once you have the needle in your flesh. testosterone is pretty thick, so it’ll be a little slower coming out, and trying to push it too hard too fast will just make it uncomfortable or a little painful. 

do all the prepwork and keep everything together in front of you before you even uncap the first needle. make sure you have all the alcohol wipes, needles, vial, bandaids, and sharps box right next to you. you don’t want to pull your needle out of your thigh and then realize you don’t have a bandaid to put on the bleeding hole. that stuff gets everywhere.

alternate your injection sites. don’t do the exact same spot every single week (or however frequently you do your injections) or it will build up tougher tissue and make it harder for you to do injections. i just switch between left and right thighs every week.

once your t is in the syringe, keep your fingers/palms FAR AWAY from the plunger until the needle is inside you. you do not want to know how many times i accidentally squeezed some t out of my syringe because i was moving things around and absentmindedly squeezed on the plunger just a little too hard

check out Howard Brown! very good high quality videos on how to do subcutaneous and intramuscular injections + how to draw medicine out of the vial in the first place. highly recommend.

that’s all i can really think of atm. might update this later if i think of more things/figure something new and cool out for myself, though. hope it’s at least a little helpful for some of you funny internet people.