#hes clunky but he was the first!!! he was the first!!! hes not owned!!!! he slowly turns into a corncob

[actuallysaiyan]

The First Time(Aka How Nanami Kento Lost His Virginity)Chapter Five: Drink Water To Cry Better

Chapter Five: Drink Water To Cry Better

warnings: mentions of alcohol, partying, slight suggestive themes, angst, bullying pairings: Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader summary: you and Kento get invited to a frat house party and he decides to take you out even though he much rather stay in. you two have been getting closer, despite your own denial about your feelings for him. during a drunken make-out session, Kento soon learns what he believes is the truth about your relationship. things are left unsaid and things are colder than ice.

taglist: @beneathstarryskies @seireiteihellbutterfly @kenpachisbrat.

@marikuchanxo @harlekin6 @gennaray @markleeisdabestdrug

@entirelysein-e @brokennerdalert. @sugurusprettygirl

Masterlist

As the weeks go by, you and Kento find yourselves teetering on the edge of being in a relationship and still remaining casual. You really are falling so deeply in love with him, but you’re in denial. You try your best to remind yourself that this is just a college fling, but you wonder if maybe you could really be in a committed relationship with someone like him.

At night, you think of him. Even while in your bed alone, you cling to your pillow and wish he was here with you. In the last little bit, he’s been staying the night even though he’s not really supposed to be. You’ve dusted off your old Nintendo 64 for the two of you to play Ocarina of Time well into the wee hours of morning. If you’re not playing Legend of Zelda, you two are falling asleep to AVGN playing on your clunky laptop.

Kento has found a place in your heart, and you fear you won’t be able to let him go. You don’t want to consider him exclusive, but you are also not eager to share him with anyone else.

As the second semester comes to a close, you and Kento find yourselves invited to a party at a —---. He’s finding excuses not to go, but the minute you say you might want to go for just a bit, he sees the appeal in it.

“I think it could be fun,” you mention as you two have lunch together at your favorite cafe. “It’s a good way to unwind after exams.”

Kento nods and sips his coffee. “Yeah, I guess I never really saw it that way,”

“Will you come with me? I wouldn’t wanna go without you.”

This makes his heart flutter. Kento, on his end, has found himself completely head over heels for you. He’s gone through his denial phase a while back. He had tried his best to hide his feelings for you, but the more you two hung out, the more he found himself just hanging on to your every word. The more he would take an extra second to admire you.

And with every moment that passed between you two, he longed for the day that he could fully call you all his. He wanted to hold you in his arms, post-coitus and in that beautiful afterglow and to finally whisper those three words to you. For now though, it was just a singular fantasy. The one he imagines whenever he’s aroused and you’re not around to take care of him.

“Earth to Kento,” you wave your hand in his face.

“Yeah, sorry sorry…” he shrugs and tries to hide his blushing cheeks. “I’ll come with you if it means that much to you.”

You chuckle softly, reaching over the table to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Just that little touch sends shivers down his spine. He can’t quite look you in the eyes right now, and you love the way his cheeks and tops of his ears are tinged just a little pink.

“It’s tomorrow night around 9,” you mention. “I’d like for us to go together.”

The words play in his mind, even after he’s promised to come by your dorm to pick you up around 8:30. He wonders what you’ll wear. Kento’s mind is very active that night, while he lays in his bed. He holds his pillow close.

The thought of you wearing a cute dress with fishnet tights makes his heart flutter in his chest. You were that type of girl too. He sees what you wear when you’re not trying to dress business casual for class. It turns him on to see you in such alternative attire.

The next morning, you two meet up for breakfast before a short morning class. You notice how he’s in a much better mood than usual, and you wonder if maybe the promise of cutting loose for a bit is making him happy.

The night comes quickly and you’re in your dorm texting a few friends and listening to music as you get ready. You settled on a gray and black plaid skirt along with knee high red and black socks. Your shirt was a cut up Green Day shirt you had bought the last time you went to a concert. You finished up your makeup in the mirror plastered in polaroids and old pictures taken from music magazines.

There’s a knock on your door and you rush over to answer it. Your breath hitches in your throat when you see Kento standing there, a single red rose in his hands. He’s blushing as he thrusts it in your direction.

“For you.”

Your eyes widen and you smile sweetly. You gladly take it, bringing the rose up to your nose. It smells floral and lightly sweet. Then you take in the look of the man who stole your heart. Dressed in his signature black skinny jeans and ripped up Vans slip-ons, he looks so good. And you notice the new checker print hoodie he’s wearing with his thumbs poking out the holes in the sleeves.

“You look really good,” you comment. You invite him inside and he sits on your couch.

He stumbles with his words. He tells you that you look pretty, but he means you look beautiful. He wants to take you into his arms, kiss you softly and tell you not to go out tonight. You two could stay in and finally take your relationship to the next step.

“Thanks Ken! Do you want to head out now?” you ask him after touching up your makeup.

He nods. “Y-yeah. Let’s go.”

You take his hand and grab your purse before you two leave your dorm. The walk to the frat house wasn’t far, so you two had a little time alone to enjoy each other’s company. The night is so beautiful. The sun had just finished setting and the sky was getting darker. The stars would be shining soon. You felt like this was one of those nights you’d never forget.

The minute the two of you step into the frat house, you know that this party is going to be wild. Beer bottles litter the ground amongst a group of drunken college kids. You look around as you and Kento enter the house, moving around waves of bodies that are either getting drunk or dancing. You spot a group of girls in the kitchen and you notice a few of your friends within that group.

“Hey!” You wave at them. Your fingers still interlocked with Kento’s.

The girls giggle before your friends spot you and they wave you over. Kento feels nervous about this. He knows what others think of him. They all think of him as a loser, a loner and someone who doesn’t fit in. What makes him fall so deeply for you is that you see him for who he truly is.

“Hey girl, glad you made it!” One of the girls comments, her eyes darting towards Kento. “You too! Nice to see you out of class.”

Kento shrugs. “Is there a reason for us to meet like this?”

You bite your lip in an attempt to stifle your laugh. “Awh, be nice, you.”

Kento smirks when he notices how some of your friends are trying to hide their laughter too. Maybe he could truly be a part of your fold. He holds your hand a little tighter.

You two make it to the counter where a large stash of booze is displayed. Kento grabs the bottle of whiskey, pouring some into a red solo cup. He hands you one, and the two of you sip on your drinks. It’s nasty and strong, but you two long to get a little fucked up tonight.

Throughout the night, you two drink your fair share of booze. Kento keeps a tight hold on you, preventing you from stumbling over or ramming into anyone accidentally. 

And finally, the moment comes when the two of you find a room that’s unoccupied. Your mind is a hazy mix of alcohol and lust for the man who’s been glued to your side this entire night. You kiss him first; it’s sloppy and hungry. Kento follows your lead, cupping your face.

The two of you make it to the bed, and you pull him on top of you. You giggle as he groans, then he kisses you again. His tongue feels a little tied, but he wants to tell you just how much fun he’s having.

“Such a good time when I’m with you,” he slurs between kisses. “I wanna…fuck I wanna show you just how much you mean to me.”

The minute you squeeze his hardened cock through his jeans, it seems to sober him up a little. He then realizes maybe he needs to cool off before he does anything else. Kento pulls away despite your protests.

“Just gonna get us water, ‘kay? Stay here, beautiful.”

When he steps out of the room, he’s wondering if he should even be leaving you in the room like that. You’re clearly drunk and anyone could enter. He decides to make it super quick. He goes into the kitchen, quickly swiping two bottles of water before making his way to the room again.

But before he can go inside, he hears girls giggling. Kento looks over his shoulder at the group of girls that you two had been talking to earlier.

“So,” the leader starts. “You’re the virgin, huh?”

The word sounds so nasty on her tongue. Kento knows you don’t care that he’s a virgin. You’ve been so patient and sweet with him this entire time. You’ve shown him the right way to explore each other. But the way she’s saying it now, it makes him feel ashamed of being a virgin at his age.

“You really think she likes you, huh? Come on, you’re just a pity fuck.”

The words cut him deeply. “Shut up, you don’t know her.”

The girl smirks, “And you think you do? Come on, get over yourself! She’s only using you as a pity fuck…or well not even cause you’re still a virgin.”

His blood boils and his heart is in his stomach now. He thinks back on all the things you two have been through together. Would you really do that to him? He thought that you two were really becoming close and things would progress really soon.

“See ya later, you fuckin’ virgin.”

With his stomach in knots and tears of frustration in his eyes, he enters the room. There you lay, on the bed. You look so fucking beautiful and he wants nothing more than to make you his. But now, he knows that maybe he’s been nothing but a joke to you this entire time. He gives you the bottle of water.

“I won’t be bothering you again.” He states. He hates that he’s doing this, but it was to protect himself. He watches as you slowly come to terms with the words coming out of his mouth.

Your heart flutters in a panic. You sit up, but you’re so dizzy. Kento wants to help you, but he’s hurting. He doesn’t want to let this continue if all you were doing was stringing him along. 

“Just forget we ever met, okay? You and I are done. There wasn’t anything between us anyway. Just continue your perfect fucking life without me.”

You stare at him in disbelief. You swore that tonight would be the night that you two would finally go all the way. And if not, you were ready to tell him how much you loved him. You feel tears stinging your eyes.

“Kento…wait…” You cry out. He shakes his head and turns away from you.

But before you can continue, he storms out. It’s only a few minutes later that your friends come in, sitting with you and consoling you as best as they can.

Kento walks home alone, his heart pounding and his mind racing with thoughts of regrets. He just messed up the greatest thing to ever happen to him.

[bmpmp3]

and another thing about vocal synth fans: we will always find some adult male voicebank to turn into a funny little clown for our amusement. some guy to communally bully in our talkloids, the miserable straightman to the shenanigans, the sad little freak punchline to our jokes. it happened to kaito. it happened to gakupo. it happened genbu. it even happened a bit to kevin (although he seems to have looped around somehow). and it will happen to you too, frimomen. it will happen to you too.

[fictionadventurer]

The Heir of Redclyffe is teaching me that what Little Women really needed was for the March sisters to have a clever, witty, sharp-tongued, disabled brother who was BFFs with Laurie.

[soullessjack]

he is so important to me

[dirty-bear-rick-sanchez]

Writing my trans Morty fic and I don’t want to have his birth name be Morti because I feel like we don’t get a lot of representation for trans people who completely changed their names but I also don’t want to come up with a random name so maybe I should just replace every instance of Morty’s birth name with [redacted]

[starbuck]

okay so maybe it was a little groundbreaking. maybe it’s slightly iconic. shut the fuck up.

[seoafin]

i have such knives brain rot it is UNREAL. can you imagine the scary dog privilege that you get on no man’s land. i want him to carry my bags and i want to cause problems on purpose with him and i want to cherish him.

you are so cute i could totally envision this with vagabond knives after the end of the series when he finally gets the character development and unlearns his genocidal tendencies. nobody is going to even approach you when knives is staring daggers at any person who gets too close 👍

[shwarmii]

it's just me and my Homegoods' autumn leaf print in black microfiber blanket against the world

[mybrainproblems]

sorry to everyone who already Experienced the finale in Nov 2020 but it took me a year and a half after i finished spn to get up the motivation to watch it since 15x19 makes a mediocre but serviceable finale and i already knew 15x20 sucked... just not the degree and manner of the suckage of it all.

maybe i'd be less insane about it if i hadn't gotten so far down the dabbnatural rabbit hole but i think it also gave me things to focus on besides dean dying. bc my toxic trait is that i actually enjoy the majority of dabb's writing and in every other episode he's written, the quality has been at worst, competent. it has never been the actual bones -- the narrative structure -- of the story that has issues. his missteps are usually the details that lay on top of the structure and while they aren't always forgivable (cursed s7), they are things that are frustrating bc they are details and not structural. 04x06 is fixable with minor edits! hell, even 07x22 is fixable. (the very premise of 07x08 is horrible but the actual structure of the story still makes sense even if the plot itself is awful down to the studs.)

i am smashing furniture, i am chewing drywall. i am going insane.

[k9wa]

⟁ TOUCH. ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — yearning for sensations long forgotten behind cool steel and blue blood.

⠀ OR

⠀ — you two can get along every once in a while.

⚠︎ mechanic!reader, rev comfort, boothill is a bit of a yearner, can you guys just fucking kiss already. gn reader wc 1.5k.

“you’re less obnoxious than usual,”

your voice snaps boothill out of his daze, eyes blinking quickly as he re-registers your hands in his torso messing with a few wires.

“you sick or something?”

the cyborg keeps his gaze down, watching the careful and precise movements of your hands, actions long practiced and refined. 

it's a little surprising when a flirt or some quick quip doesn't follow your comment— only a small huff of air through his nose as boothill leans further back onto his palms.

“nah. i'm fit as a fiddle.”

you spare a glance up, right eyebrow raising just a tad. you don’t believe him, and boothill’s too clocked out to notice your distrust.

though you don’t comment– not until the cavity in his stomach is closed up and all his pieces are back in place.

“that should be better,” you wipe the oil off your hands with an old rag hung from one of your belt loops. “how's that scratch healing up?”

boothill again is pulled from his thoughts by your voice, cybernetic hand subconsciously moving to the mostly scabbed and healed over cut on his jaw— the one you patched and gave him an earful for getting in the first place.

“‘s fine,” he runs his fingers over it as if he could feel the roughened skin. they linger over it just a little too long. “barely there anymore. we all done here?”

it's another comment that leaves you with a weird feeling in your gut— he always hung around, dragged out his repairs longer than they needed to take just to spend more time with you. to mess with you, ruffle your feathers while you pretend you don’t know exactly what he’s doing. it's almost disappointing when he expresses his eagerness to leave. not to mention the lack of his usual vibrato or high energy is a tad unsettling.

he tries to sit up from your work bench, but your palm against his chest pushes him carefully back down and keeps him seated. unbeknownst to you, boothill actively chokes down the simultaneous urges to swat your hand away and clutch onto it. did you know how insane your touch that he couldn’t even feel was driving him? did you know that he’d had his teeth grit since stepping one boot into your shop— the shop that he was only able to enter after giving himself a firm slap to his own forehead?

“what's with you?”

you folded your arms over your chest, eyes focussed calculatingly on the cowboy sitting in front of you. though the brim of his hat covers a good portion of his face, and his head doesn’t seem too keen on lifting. 

“what’s that s’posed t’mean?'' boothill doesn’t bother looking up, as expected.

“you look like a kicked dog.” 

boothill scoffs. “ain’t no sugar coatin’ it with you, is there?” 

“cmon,” you sigh, unfolding your arms to place them down on your table, caging either side of the cyborg’s hips. you give a slight lean forward as you put your weight down on them, and once more boothill’s caught between pushing you away or grabbing your shirt and pulling you closer. 

“talk to me, it’s weird seeing you all quiet.”

“ain’t you the one always tellin’ me to shut up?”

“boothill.”

he tilted his head back with a quiet groan, steel thumb rubbing at one of his temples. it's embarrassing, really, what he’s so hung up about. 

his thoughts drift to your hands on either side of him, that although calloused and stained with oil you’ll never be able to quite fully get out from under your fingernails, are still soft. human. not exactly delicate but not…clunky. or heavy.

he’s never really been one for vulnerability. where would he even begin? he’d hardened his interior to match the abrupt loss of his fleshy exterior. he didn’t feel he had a choice to do otherwise. now he’s left with the hyper awareness of just how bulky and inelegant he is— it’s not who he was before, not what he had. it never will be. 

“…just missin’ the way i used to be, i s’pose. i dunno.”

his eyes still dodge yours, pulling the brim of his hat down to block out your face from his peripherals. 

“just…forgettin’ things. how things feel against my fingers ‘n whatnot.” his words are half murmured, hesitant behind his lips.

if boothill had a stomach, it would have tightened and churned at your lack of a response. now he just feels silly, like you’re about to laugh in his face for the little bit of himself he’d just bared to you.

“not that i’m moppin’ about it or nothin’,” he quickly tries to save with a clear of his throat. “i mean, this ol’ hunk’a metal come in handy now and again, don’t it?” boothill straightens up a little bit, voice evening out. 

he’s still waiting for you to say something. literally anything— to give a half assed acknowledgement and let him go or call him an idiot. he eagerly awaits for you to just get either over with.

but rather than option a, or b, or even c to z, what he receives is your hand on his cheek, guiding his head to look back forward at you. 

…huh?

he feels frozen. your hand is so warm, it’s making his head feel fuzzy. it’s different than the occasional touch to his face from you, one to tilt his head up so you can see his neck or a lift of his eyelid to check on his eye.

it stays in place, long enough to make the area of his face you’re touching begin to warm as well. his eyes are locked with yours now, slightly wide and filled with uncertainty. he silently prays his cheeks aren’t blue.

“you can still feel here, right?” your question is so…innocent. it’s as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. your thumb slowly smoothing over his cheekbone is enough to make him feel utterly weak.

“…yeah. yeah, i can.”

he’s daring enough to put his hand overtop yours, keeping it in place. you smile slightly at that— not a teasing grin like usual, but a genuine one.

“you know,” your other hand brushes his bangs out of his eyes. boothill’s never been touched like this before, like he’s fragile.

“you don’t have to hide stuff from me.” right now, your voice is the most comforting thing he’s ever heard. he's blanking– you’re the only thing filling his senses. the smell of oil mixed with your body wash, the way you look at him as you speak, every part of it is so…grounding. it’s almost foreign, a sensation long forgotten behind layers of metal and code.

“i ain’t hiding things from ya, sugar plum.”

“quit it with that, okay?” 

your brows furrow lightly as you lean dangerously close. boothill can feel your slow, calm breaths fanning his upper lip. he resists the urge to gulp.

“i know you. probably more than you think.” you tilt the brim of his hat up gently, keeping it out of the way. it’s true, no one’s ever seen him in the ways that you have. comfortable, a little smitten, on and off malfunctioning.

“i don’t like seeing you upset,” boothill’s circuits stutter once your forehead rested against his. “so just talk to me next time.”

it’s not a request, but it’s not a demand either. perhaps “invitation” is a more fitting term.

“can we…” boothill clears his throat softly again, fingers lightly tightening around your hand. “do you reckon we can stay like this for a lil’ while then?” 

you nod.

“okay.”

you pull him a little closer, enough to place your cheek against his and give it a gentle nuzzle.

you’re warm. you’re soft. you smell good, feel good. he doesn’t want to let go.

one of boothill's arms snakes carefully around your waist, and slowly your chest is pulled flush against his while you’re stood between his legs. his face finds itself comfortably hidden in the crook of your neck, all while your thumb gently tracing the shell of his ear is enough to have him purring like a cat.

“you feel nice,” boothill says quietly, voice a bit rough. the rasp is endearing as always. “real nice, sugar.”

neither of you are sure how long you stay there, nor does boothill know when his hand began clutching your shirt as if he was afraid you would pull away. but the gentle whirl and hum of his internals are oddly soothing– like a built in white noise machine that puts your mind at ease.

boothill could have sat there forever, really. nudging his nose against the smooth skin of your neck and gripping tightly at what little physical feeling he had left.

you silently ponder kissing his temple, boothill silently ponders kissing your cheek. neither of you act.

“thank ya.” boothill's voice is nothing above a whisper. “been a while since…y’know.” 

you nod slowly, fingers idly twirling a piece of hair that hangs over his ear.

“you’re sweet when you wanna be.” you can’t help but tease him just a little.

“cmon now, i’m always sweet for you, ain’t i?” and he can’t help but throw a flirt back.

⠀ MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[daisynik7]

Rub You the Right Way

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~4.1k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio), hand job, face-riding, face-fucking, use and mention of sex toys, cum eating

Summary: You've always been cordial with your shy next-door neighbor Choso. One day, you receive the package you've been expecting, finding out a little too late that it isn't your package at all; it's his. What you find inside makes you wonder that maybe your sweet and quiet neighbor has wild side, one you’re curious to see for yourself.

Author’s Notes: First Choso fic! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Consider this my unofficial return from hiatus. Enjoy! Divider by the wonderful and super talented @/cafekitsune!

part 7 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

The trek home from the office is especially grueling today. Your backpack is heavy with a clunky work laptop that’s been due for an upgrade along with a pile of documents that need to be reviewed ASAP. One hand carries the dinner you bought at the station while the other hoists a heavy bag of groceries you picked up during lunch, thinking it would be productive to get as much of your errands done today before hunkering down for the weekend to do a job that doesn’t pay you enough to work overtime. 

You eventually arrive to your apartment complex, making one more necessary pit stop to the mail room. Inside, you recognize the distinct pink-hair of the boy standing in front of the lockers. He’s your next-door neighbor’s younger brother who visits from time-to-time. “Hi Yuji!” you beam at him. 

He turns to face you, eyes crinkling happily as he smiles. “Hey! How’s it going?”

You drop your bags to open your own locker. “I’m alright. Got a busy weekend working. And you?”

He kneels down towards the boxes in front of him. “Same, except studying for exams.”

“Are you picking up your brother’s packages?” It’s a well-known fact by now that Choso isn’t fond of leaving his apartment or interacting with people in general. It doesn’t bother you though; he’s a great neighbor who barely makes a peep. Never has he ever rubbed you the wrong way, despite his reclusive nature. Sometimes, through his brother, he’ll give you an offering of cookies from the batch he baked that week. On the days you’re working overtime, he’ll send Yuji to check in on you, making sure you’re not too stressed or overexerted. And on the rare occasion that the two of you meet face-to-face, either entering or leaving the apartment at the same time, your heart skips just the tiniest beat at how his face softens when you greet him with a smile. From these tiny gestures alone, you’ve determined that Choso Kamo is a sweetheart. Quiet, but most importantly, a sweetheart.

Yuji slides the stack out from Choso’s locker, answering you. “Yup. I also had some stuff delivered here, so I figured I’d just grab everything.”

You stare at the small package in your own locker, evaluating how you’re going to carry it to your room in one trip. There’s no space in any of the bags and you’re almost convinced that you can balance it on top of your head as if you actually possess the proper skills to do so (you don’t). “Need help?” Yuji chuckles. Before you answer, he grabs it, placing it on top of a box similar in size on his stack.

“Thank you so much!”

As the elevator rides to the third floor, you continue to chat casually with Yuji. The two of you walk to your neighboring rooms and when he reaches for his keys, the stack topples over, the boxes now strewn across on the hallway floor. He blushes, collecting them hastily back into a neat pile. “I’m sorry, I hope there isn’t anything fragile in there.” He quickly slides you a box, avoiding your gaze to hide his embarrassment. 

It's new office supplies you ordered for your workstation at home, so you hardly care even if there is a bit of damage done. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good,” you assure him, using your foot to push it towards your front door. “Thank you for your help, Yuji. Tell your brother I say hi.”

“Will do. Have a good night.”

Finally home, you drop all your belongings, letting out a relieved sigh. One-by-one, you put everything away: the groceries in their appropriate places, your lukewarm dinner in the microwave, and all your work junk on the dining table, where you’ll be sat at for most of this weekend starting tomorrow. You save the package for later, planning to refill your supplies tonight so you don’t have to worry about it the next morning.

You soon find out that something even better is waiting for you inside. 

~~~

Choso is sprawled on the couch, too lazy to cook dinner. He ordered delivery from Yuji’s favorite pizza joint a few blocks away, which should be arriving any minute now, according to his calculations. When he hears the door open, he sits up, watching his brother enter with a tower of boxes in his hands. “I don’t remember ordering that much stuff,” he grumbles, standing up to help him. 

“Most of these are mine. I think only this one is yours.” Yuji passes him a small box, which Choso quickly grabs to toss into his room, hoping to avoiding any questions about it. Truth be told, the contents of that box is way too embarrassing to explain to his precious baby brother. Inside is the sex toy he recently purchased online. It’s essentially a silicone cock sleeve, open on both ends for simple clean-up, made entirely of pliable material for ease and comfort. To put it simply, it’s a fleshlight. A state-of-the-art, new and improved fleshlight, he would like to emphasize. He’s been looking forward to using it all week and once Yuji leaves tonight, he’s going to give it a proper test run until he’s a puddle in the sheets. 

It’s been a while since Choso’s been intimate with someone other than himself. A few bad breakups and past betrayals have led him to distrust most people outside of his intimate circle. The unpredictable nature of people, strangers, is frightening to him, so it’s better to avoid them completely. He has the luxury of working a job that’s fully remote, and aside from his brothers and the few colleagues he is forced to converse with periodically, it’s easy for him to remain a recluse, and he’s perfectly content with that. As for his sexual needs, he’s managed to make it this far in this drought thanks to sex toys and pornography. And while he’s aware that it’s not the most glamorous lifestyle, it works for him. 

“By the way, your neighbor says hi,” Yuji mentions, opening his packages one-by-one. “She came into the mailroom.”

Choso says your name in the form of a question to clarify, though he’s certain of the answer. The only other human contact he has outside his circle is with you, his next-door neighbor. He doesn’t leave the house much, but on the occasion he does, he always hopes it’s you he runs into. He often worries that one day, you’ll realize what a pathetic loner he is and stop showing him that gorgeous smile of yours. So far, that hasn’t happened yet, so he cherishes those tiny moments every chance he gets. Something about that smile, something about you, makes him feel good. Safe.  

“Yup,” Yuji confirms. “She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.”

Before Choso can inquire any further, there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of their pizza. After thanking the delivery man, the two gather at the dining table, ready to dig into their dinner. Choso listens intently as Yuji laments on his weekly occurring university woes with a mouth full of pepperoni and sausage. As much as he adores his younger brother, he’s eager for his departure so he can have alone time to break in his new toy.

At eleven, without a crumb left of the pizza and the recycling bin filled with flattened cardboard boxes, Yuji finally announces that he’s leaving. He stuffs his newly delivered items, which includes textbooks, notepads, and a bunch of miscellaneous items, in his bag. “I’ll see you next week, bro. Take care of yourself,” he says, squeezing his big brother into a warm embrace. There’s always the smallest hint of concern in his voice whenever he leaves like this. Does he worry about him? For living a life of seclusion, constantly in fear of the outside world? Sure, it may sound lonely. In fact, it is lonely. But it’s easier to stay safe in the comfort of his own home than risk being hurt from the unknown. It’s better this way…isn’t it?

Choso muses on his brother’s parting words in the silence of his apartment for much longer than he intends to. He decides that the best way to keep him from spiraling further is a distraction, and that means fucking himself silly into temporary bliss until he knocks out for the night. Hidden away in various drawers of his bedroom are a plethora of options to choose from: vibrators, masturbators, cock rings, even the sex doll tucked deep in his closet. Tonight, however, is all about his shiny new toy. Pristine and untouched for him to ruin as much as he wants. He picks it up from the floor, ripping the tape off quickly, too impatient to inspect the exterior for any potential damage. When a stapler drops, almost hitting his feet, he stares down at it, confused. Thinking it’s a weird bonus item the sex shop has sent him, he chuckles nervously, still searching. Each item he uncovers leaves him more and more baffled: a container of paper clips, a wad of sticky notes, bundles of red pens, another fucking stapler. Finally, he checks the shipping label ripped partially from his haste, whatever color remaining on his face draining completely. 

This isn’t his. It’s yours.

Which means…

By the way, your neighbor says hi. She came into the mailroom.

She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.

Oh fuck. 

~~~

It’s near midnight when you’re ready to turn in for the night. You almost forget about the box sitting idly on the floor by your shoes, exactly where you left it a few hours ago. With your computer all set up for work tomorrow, you think it’s best to organize your new supplies before you actually do forget. At your desk, you open the package with a pair of scissors, excited for the new staplers you bought, a standard one and a heavy duty one. It’s surprising how neatly it’s wrapped, covered in tissue paper like some sort of gift. After removing all the extra layers, you finally get to the reveal, which renders you speechless.  

Nestled neatly amongst more delicate tissue paper, the translucent material almost luminous against the dim glow from the lamplight, is a sex toy. Call it what you want: a penis stroker, a male masturbator, a pocket pussy. There’s absolutely no doubt in your mind what is before you. A fucking fleshlight.

Besides the obvious appearance, the dead giveaway is the user manual included with it, displaying in big, bold print “The Cock Stroker 3000 – New and Improved!”. Lifting the box up to inspect the shipping label, you notice that it says Choso’s name, not yours. If you weren’t so stunned by this unexpected discovery, you’d be giggling at the absurdity of it all. Instead, you’re gawking at the lewd gadget, unsure what to do next. 

“Fuck!” 

An intense shout from the other side of the wall snaps you out of it. That’s the loudest you’ve ever heard your neighbor, and you can only assume that he has also just realized this unfortunate mix-up. There’s no way the two of you can pretend this isn’t happening. Besides, the last thing you want is for Choso to think you have a bad impression of him after this. Because you don’t, not one bit. It’s perfectly normal for people to have sex toys. In fact, it’s healthy. Even the thought of him using it on himself intrigues you. The hungry expression on his face, tongue lolling out of his mouth, those usually pale cheeks blushing a deep red. The obscene squelch of the wet silicone surrounding his engorged cock, leaking with precum. Closer and closer to the edge, ready to burst any second with your lips near the tip, ready to swallow his load…

You almost curse out loud yourself, ashamed for having such lewd thoughts about your sweet, innocent next-door neighbor. But maybe he’s not as innocent as you think.

Ultimately, you decide the best way to move forward from this is to nip it in the bud. With the opened package in your hands, you walk over to his front door, knocking three times. You hear a faint, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” from within, then hurried footsteps growing louder. Without removing the chain lock, he answers, peering at you through the narrow crack, not saying anything.

Nervous, you greet him with the best smile you can muster. “Hi Choso. I think there was a little mix-up.”

He clears his throat before mumbling a short, “Yeah.”

You glance away from him, staring at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his gaze for this next part. “I opened it without checking the label first. I’m so sorry.”

He shuts the door suddenly, startling you. There’s the distinct rattle of the chain being fiddled with and the door swings open fully, Choso towering over you, a serious expression on his face. He shows you a box, revealing all the office supplies you ordered earlier in the week. Without saying another word, you do the exchange, anticipating that this will be the end of it. 

It surprises you when he apologizes quietly, focused on the small space separating you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” He hides it behind his back, as if doing so will erase the image of it from your memory. “You must think I’m disgusting.”

You shake your head, ignoring the instinct to step closer and comfort him with a hug. The last thing you want to do is cross even more lines tonight. “I don’t, not even the slightest. It’s okay, Choso. This is totally normal and totally fine.”

“You don’t have to say that – ”

“But I mean it! I really do! There’s nothing wrong with it!” Desperate for him to believe you, you confess, “I have sex toys too, plenty of them!”

This time, he actually looks at you with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “You don’t have to lie for my sake.”

“I’m not lying!” you urge him. 

He retreats inside his apartment, speaking once again through the crack. “I appreciate you trying to make this better, but I think it’s best that we never speak again. Goodnight.”

With that, he shuts the door, leaving you with a lump in your throat, devastated. In your frenzied attempt to fix this, you return to your room, searching your bedside drawer for your favorite vibrator. If words aren’t enough to convince him, then maybe actual proof will. Without taking a moment to reconsider the hole you’re digging yourself deeper and deeper into, you pound on his door, the sex toy clasped in your other hand. 

When he answers, you shove it in his face, vindicated that you can prove your point with physical evidence. “See? I told you! I have toys too, so there’s nothing for you to be ashamed about.”

He squints at the vibrator squeezed in your fist as if inspecting it like a foreign object. “That’s it?”

You glare at him, offended by his response. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head to examine it at another angle. “There’s only one button.”

“One button is all I need,” you argue, defensive about your favorite being criticized. “Sure, it’s small, but that’s what I like about it. It fits comfortably in my hand and with just a single push of the button, I can experience three different levels of intensity. What more do I need?!” 

He smirks, amused at your rambling. “I just don’t see how something this simple can be useful, that’s all.”  It’s the closest to a smile you’ve seen from him; it has your belly fluttering. 

You hold back a laugh. “I bet it packs more of a punch than that Cock Sucker 2000 or whatever.”

“3000,” he corrects, grinning, causing your heart to race. “I haven’t tried it yet, but it’s the best on the market right now.” He hesitates, his next words coming out of his mouth slowly, testing the waters. “Maybe you can show me what your little toy can do. Prove me wrong.”

You never expected this from him, but that’s what makes this exciting. All you can think of in this moment is showing him just how wet you can get. “Fine,” you agree, stepping towards him. “But only if you show me what your little toy can do, too.”

~~~

Never in a million years did Choso predict that this would be the outcome of your bizarre mix-up. You, his next-door neighbor, on his bed, naked from the waist down. Your t-shirt riding up your stomach with your legs split apart, the cute vibrator you love so much pressed to your clit. He kneels in front of you, too transfixed at the erotic sight before him to give attention to the erection strained in his sweatpants. 

“You’re next,” you say, glancing at his lap.

He nods, all the confidence he had just a few minutes ago when he initially proposed this idea thrown out the window. Now, he’s back to being his nervous self, afraid to be vulnerable with someone he barely knows. 

You set the vibrator beside you, closing your legs. “Are you okay?”

He’s frozen, tempted to call the whole thing off. Go back to being neighbors and nothing more. Go back to being lonely Choso and pathetic Choso, who’s scared of everyone and everything  and – 

“Hey.” It’s only now he realizes that the two of you are face-to-face, foreheads pressed, noses touching. Your voice is gentle, your palms soft on his cheeks. You smile at him, full of warmth and compassion. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone,” he admits. “I’m nervous.” A myriad of what-ifs play out in his head. What if he’s bad? What if you don’t like it? What if this ruins whatever sliver of hope the two of you have at being friends? At being anything more? 

“We’ll go slow then,” you assure him, brushing your lips to his. That genuine smile of yours is enough to convince him that it’s worth the risk. That, and how fucking good it feels to have your mouth on his. He closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss, relishing the warmth of your breath. He finds himself gradually losing control of his inhibitions, his carnal instincts taking over, hungry for more of you. He slips his tongue inside, swirling around yours, kisses growing frantic and sloppy. You tug at the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you. His heart pounds in his chest as he roams your body, fingers grazing your perked nipples from outside your top. You whisper his name, so luscious and sweet in your voice. He’d be lying if he said he’s never imagined it before. How you’d sound whimpering from his touch. How you’d feel between his massive hands. How you’d look with his cock filling you up to the brim.

He can’t stand it anymore. He’s aching, begging for release from the confines of his pants. Quickly, he removes them, freeing his throbbing erection. You gasp, marveling at the size of it. “Oh fuck, Choso. You’re so big.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out, fumbling for the Cock Sucker 3000 beside him. He slathers a generous amount of lube on his shaft and inside the toy. Foreheads pressed together once more, you both focus on his lap, watching it sink smoothly down his dick. The coldness of the lube and rubbery flexibility of the silicone surrounding him is familiar, though having someone spectate makes this all the more titillating. 

“Fuck,” you swear, amazed at how it covers his entire length. You ogle at him as he starts slowly, eventually increasing to a steady pace. Your pussy flutters, incredibly aroused to see this man pumping his cock in front of you. For you.  

“Do it with me.” His gaze flickers to the vibrator beside you. “You should feel good too.”

You spread your legs, displaying your cunt to him, already sopping wet with arousal. His eyes follow your every move as you tease the tip slowly up and down your pussy lips. Finding the right spot on your clit, you place your finger on the button of the toy, bracing yourself for what’s to come. As soon as you press it, the vibrations from level one alone are enough to send you wild. Knees shaking, feet flexing, moans pouring out of your open mouth. He continues to watch you, restraining his grunts as he strokes himself faster. Desperate for more, you click the button twice, increasing the vibrations to the max level. Within seconds, you’re coming, back arched and head thrown into the pillows behind you. Tossing the vibrator aside, you stare up at the ceiling, dizzy and disoriented from your ecstatic high, pussy shiny with your orgasm. Choso’s voice is so faint, you don’t understand him at first. You sit up to face him, waiting for him to repeat himself. 

“Can you ride my face?” he asks meekly. 

More than willing to accept his request, you nod in response, grinning. His expression relaxes and when you lean nearer to him, palm pressed flat on his chest, he even cracks a smile as he’s lies down on the bed, eager to have you like this. You straddle him, facing away from the headboard while his head rests at the foot of the bed. Carefully, you lower yourself until his mouth is pressed to your pussy. His tongue circles your clit slowly and he releases his grip from his toy to hold onto your ass, squeezing the soft flesh firmly. You don’t take your eyes off each other as you rub yourself across his face, his mouth open, swallowing every drop of you. When you reach your second orgasm, you’re practically bouncing on him as he smothers himself deeper, humming in satisfaction as he sucks hard on your clit, flicking it with his tongue. 

You lift yourself off him, spent and completely wrecked. Still, you want to touch him, treat him as well as he treated you, make him come as hard as you did. You position yourself between his thighs, admiring the silicone sleeve hugging his dick. “Your turn.”

Sitting up on his elbows, he watches as you grab hold of the toy, stroking him with it. He moans, tongue hanging of his mouth, drool leaking from the corners of his lips, eyes half-lidded. His moans turn into whimpers when you start cradling his balls with your other hand, his body twitching from the sensation. The tip peeks out from the other end, a thick wad of precum collecting at the slit, so enticing that you’re salivating for a taste.

“Your mouth,” he stammers, barely able to speak.

“What?” you ask breathily, inching closer and closer. 

“Want your mouth.” He swallows hard, voice trembling. “Please.”

Excited, you remove the toy from him, in awe at the way his fat cock flops heavily against his abdomen. You take him in your fist, loving how hot and throbbing he is in your grip. He’s coated in lube and precum, so slippery with your fingers wrapped around his girth. Unable to resist any longer, you bow your head, licking the pearl off the tip, savoring the taste. He shudders, letting out a loud, “Fuck!” 

It’s so much better than a toy. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him is better than any masturbator, fleshlight, pocket pussy, whatever silly contraption he uses to get by. The swirl of your tongue gliding along the shaft, the vibrations of your moans as you take him all the way to the back of your throat, the view of your pretty head bobbing up and down his lap. Nothing in his collection compares to this. This is real. You are real. 

He fucks your throat, unable to resist bucking his hips against you, timing his thrusts to meet yours. It doesn’t take much longer for him to be pushed over the edge. You pull off for a brief moment to smile at him, pumping him fast. “Come for me, Choso. Come in my mouth.”

At this, he completely loses himself, muffling his incessant moans into his forearm, too shy to watch you guzzle down his entire load until he’s milked of every last drop. You scatter delicate kisses along the entire length of him, even down to his balls. Too sensitive now, he pats you gently on the head, making you look up at him, a warm smile on your face. He smiles back, caressing your cheek, thumb grazing your soft skin. You lie beside him, nuzzling into his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to a steady, relaxed pace. He slides his arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

This world is a terrifying place for Choso Kamo. But with you in his arms, he feels a bit braver. He’s safe with you. 

[rogueddie]

There are a lot of rumors about Eddie Munson. From his sexuality, to his religion, to him being some sort of supernatural creature.

Steve doesn’t put a lot of merit in most of them. They’re usually just bullshit people make up to entertain themselves with whilst beating down on the weird kid. Steve thinks it’s boring… usually.

He’s seen enough weird things happen around Munson to know that something isn’t right. Something about him is unnatural. And Steve is staying clear out of the way of whatever the hell he is, or whatever the hell he’s messing with.

Unfortunately, his friends haven’t gotten the message.

“Do it at your own house!” Steve complains, though he makes no move to stop them. He’s sure it’s nothing, that it’ll only lead to an annoying clean-up job, but there’s a nagging sense of dread writhing in his gut. “This shit is bull anyway.”

“If it’s bull then what’s the problem?” Tommy counters.

“Because none of you dickheads are going to help clean this shit up!”

“I promise to help you clean up,” Carol says. “There. Problem solved. Right?”

"It's still stupid," Steve mutters, glaring at the janky make-shift pentagram they've made. "And a bad idea."

It's drawn on nine pieces of paper- they wanted to draw it big on the floor, but Steve had but his foot down. He lets them use some of his moms candles as a compromise.

With the lights off, sitting with the two of them in a circle, it suddenly feels too real. Even Carol looks suddenly nervous.

Tommy is the only one still smirking, though Steve is sure that it's forced. His voice shakes a little as he begins reading off the paper he'd torn out a library book. His Latin is clunky.

At first, nothing happens.

Long enough that Carol says, "did you even say it right?"

"Yes, it even has-" Tommy starts.

The candles all blow out, suddenly. The light Steve had left on in the kitchen flicks off too, plunging them into complete darkness.

After a horrible moment, where they're still and silent, Carol yelps.

"Don't grab me, Tommy, that's not funny!"

"I didn't grab you."

"Wh- Steve?"

"No," is all Steve can get out.

"I'm turning the lights on," Tommy says. "This is ridiculous."

Steve listens to his footsteps and, when he sounds like he's almost at the light switch, he yelps.

"Fuck this," he says.

"What the fuck, Tommy!" Carol yells when they both hear him running past them. She's up on her feet immediately, chasing after him.

He wants to scream after them, plead with them to come back, that they shouldn't be abandoning the circle.

But, the same gut instinct that insists he stay where he is, keeps his mouth shut. Everything in his being is telling him that if he leaves, if he speaks first, horrible things will happen to him.

Something tuts, like a parent admonishing a child.

The living room light flicks on, so bright that Steve has to blink a few times to clear away the white spots.

Eddie Munson sits in the space they left empty.

"Someone didn't read the terms and conditions," he snickers.

"What..." Steve pauses, clearing his throat. "What are the, uh... terms and conditions?"

"Oh, they're simple, really. Look," he holds up the page Tommy had read the incantations from, pointing to the little paragraph at the end. "They even translated it to English! But all you need to know, big boy, is that you are A-OK."

"And... Tommy and Carol?"

"Eh, they're fine. Lucky, really. I'm trying to relax up here. I'm only gonna pay them back with a minor curse or two. Nothing lethal."

"Fuck."

"We haven't even got to you yet!" He spins around so hes laying on his belly, resting his chin on his palm. "You didn't technically summon me so you can just tell me to leave... or."

"Or?"

"Deal with no consequence, baby. One wish, whatever you want, free of charge. Well... I'd want your silence about the whole... summoning thing. Let's consider that payment."

He doesn't need his gut or book to warn him that it's a bad idea. Munson could be lying, easily. There could be fine print. It's a bad, very bad idea.

"There's... definitely no consequences? I won't, like, go to hell for this?" Steve finally asks.

"Do some charity work for a week, you'll be fine," he says, waving his hand around. "What do you want, King Steve?"

"Could- could you make someone love me?"

"Oh, ho ho ho! Who's the unlucky lady who said no to you?"

"No, it... it's not like that. I mean, um... my mom."

Munsons smile drops. The temperature drops with it, making a chill run up Steves spine.

"Your mom," he repeats.

"They're busy like, all the time," Steve automatically defends. "And they're barely here so, uh... of course they wouldn't- I mean, it's normal, right? You can't love a stranger or... whatever. It's fine. It's just... I don't know."

"Steve..." Munson pauses.

He groans, throwing his head into his hands, dramatically. He almost immediately flings his head back up, hair flying everywhere, giving Steve wide and pleading eyes.

"I can't make people fall in love or any shit like that. I can make illusions, that's it. Love is, like... way out of my jurisdiction."

"I- I'm ok with an illusion. Like, just one day or something."

"Steve, baby, you're breaking my heart."

"Please?"

"Jesus- ok!" Grumbling, Munson shifts so he's kneeling. "And in return, you won't say shit about any of this. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Great. Ugh. This next part is... weird."

"What do you mean, weird?"

"It's weird, I don't know. Deals about, like, love are sealed with a kiss."

"You're joking."

"Nope, and that's not even the weird part. Now, come on and pucker up, let's get this over with." He gestures for Steve to shuffle closer, waiting until they're sat close enough that their knees almost bump together. "You can still change your mind. Anything at all, Steve. Anything."

"I thought you wanted to get this over with?"

"On your head..."

Munson leans forward, kissing him. It's just a peck, simple and easy. No big deal, right?

Steve feels possessed. It's like someone lit a match in his stomach, leaving him lightheaded and confused. He's not sure how he ends up in Eddie's lap, clutching onto his shoulders, desperately trying to lick into his mouth. He feels so-

He wakes up in his bed, the morning light blinding him.

"What the fuck..." he mutters to himself, grabbing at his throbbing head.

At first, he thinks he's hungover. That he'd just had a weird dream... but he's wearing the same clothes. And, sat on his stomach, is a guitar pic. It's got 'corroded coffin' written on it too- Eddie's band.

"Steve!" He hears his mom call. "Time to get up!"

He scrambles out of bed, dashing down the stairs.

She smiles when she spots him, so bright and warm. She even raises an arm, laughing when he practically throws himself into her side and hugging her tight.

"Morning, sweetheart. Good dreams?"

"Yeah. Yeah, great. But, uh... I feel sick."

"Oh no," she frowns. She puts her hand to his forehead, cooing when she brushes his hair out his face. "Is it your stomach?"

"Yeah. Just... might be better to stay home today. If that's ok?"

"Of course it is. I'm sure we can find something fun to do together, yeah? How about we get a vhs movie, hm?"

"I'd love that."

"Great. Well, if you're feeling up to it, I've made breakfast." She steps away, plating the food she's cooked up. "Oh, did I ever tell you about Paris? It was beautiful, you would have loved it. We should bring you, next time we go."

Steve can't stop smiling. He's sure that his cheeks will be aching by the end of the day.

He'll have to thank Eddie- as soon as he can even think about him without blushing. He'll need to ask if it's normal to still feel... affected, even after the deal is done.

Part of him knows it isn't the deal. Part of him is too curious about how Eddie will react.

[feyascorner]

okay first of all i ADORE ur writing… wanna take a bite out of it..

anyway… uh… can i uhh… order a uhh…. astarion x tav.. and like..tav has a fucking insane pain tolerance and always has.. and like… uhh… one time she gets fucking TOTALED in a fight and like obvi it would hurt… and shes like crying subconsciously.. and when some1 points it out shes like “what???? why am i crying wtf???” and like looks down and is just fucking BLEEDING… n then.. astarion comfort…

only if u want thoo!!!!

a/n. Im like the exact opposite I'm very dramatic about the slightest pain but this is such a cute request so Ty!! ALSO PLS EXCUSE IF THIS IS A LITTLE CLUNKY I HAD TO TYPE THIS OUT W MY FINGERS🫠🫠

Astarion is grateful for your tolerance to pain.

Of course, he doesn't particularly enjoy watching you in pain, but he’s no fool. He knows the sting and the soreness that comes after he drinks from your neck. Well, at least, it should sting. However, it never seemed to bother you, and for that, he's forever grateful for it.

These strange sentiments expand past his thirst for blood, as the relief he feels when you’re battered up after a battle and you smile at him as if nothing’s wrong is incomparable to any other feeling he’s felt.

That relief does not come currently, however.

The battle was nearly hopeless. Overwhelmed in number, mages casting counterspell, fighters constantly aiming at you…he’s lost track of it all. By some miracle you and your companions stand victorious, and when he sees that you offer Karlach a lopsided smile, confirming that you're fine, he reaches to pick up one of his daggers.

“Tav—what in the hells, are you okay?”

It’s then that he spots the way your lip quivers and tears glisten threateningly at your eyes. And when you meet his own, they begin to drip down your cheeks like crystals and roll off your chin. He's seen you in tears before, but out of something more positive—not from pain. Before he can even tell what he's doing, he's rushing toward you.

“Why are you—” he sees the blood seeping from your stomach, and his face would've gone pale if he could.

You finally lift your hands to your face, eyes wide when your fingertips brush against the dampness of your cheeks. “Oh. Why am I?…”

Shadowheart scrambles to scrimmage around her bag. “Here, let me—gods, where did I—did we use all the healing potions?—”

“Oh for hells sake. Because you're bleeding!” Astarion hisses, his hand intertwining with yours as he drags you toward the nearest tree where he sits you down. He freezes when you flinch but you shake your head, wiping at your eyes. Your other companions are still searching the enemy corpses for anything that might relieve you of the pain, but they're taking far too long for his liking.

“I’m okay, it doesn't really hurt that much.”

“You’re crying.”

“I didn't even know I was-” you wince.

His eyes narrow. “Lay down.”

“What? No, I’m really fine!”

“Gods, love, please for once, listen to me. It’s quite straining to watch you clamber around with that ghastly wound on your stomach.”

You frown, but he guides you down anyway, careful to lay down your head against the grass. “Now wait patiently. Maybe if we’re lucky, our dear friends will find a potion before I start developing wrinkles.”

A momentary silence hangs in the air. It’s by no means uncomfortable, but there are words on the tip of his tongue he wishes to say. And when he notices you staring, he sighs.

“If you're hurt, tell us. I don't care how high your pain tolerance is—if you're hurt, call us. Call me. Don't be a fool and bleed out over a few enemies when we’ve been through so much worse.”

The sincerity in his voice is almost embarrassing. But with the way you're watching him so seriously, he can't bring himself to dwell on such irrelevant factors.

Then, you smile again, as if you've forgotten about the pain. “How minor can the pain be for me to call you?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Can I call you when I stub a toe?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I will.”

He stares at you with lidded eyes and you laugh. He feels the weight on his shoulders get a bit lighter.

“You may call for me whenever you wish.”

[drabblesandimagines]

Too Many Beds

Leon Kennedy x reader, fluffy nonsense

Leon drums his fingers on the wooden counter of the rustic inn as the old man types –taps one painstaking finger at a time – into the clunky desktop PC, pausing every so often to peer down his spectacles and mutter under his breath about new-fangled technology.

It’s been a hell of a day, too many close calls for his liking – the amount of times it felt like his heart stopped beating when you took a hit or had disappeared from his eyeline - and it felt like a miracle that you’d even came across this place off the beaten track. You were near enough dead on your feet and he wasn’t far behind, so he’s thankful that it looks like a decent amount of sleep in a proper bed is on the cards… if the man ever worked out the computer system. He’s glad he pulled rank and ordered you to sit on the battered old couch just behind with the amount of time it's taking.

The man bangs the side of the monitor before giving a nod. “Sorry, grandson set us up with this thing for that “world wide web” and I promised my Martha I’d use it. Looks like we have the one room left, son, only a double, but-”

Leon doesn’t hear the rest – a mixture of exhaustion and his mind starting to spiral with the possible implications of sharing a bed.

There’d been so many moments this mission where he’d been a millisecond away from wrapping you up in his arms and kissing you. There’d always been a connection between the two of you – a fluttering feeling in his gut that he hadn’t felt since Ada, even better that you were on the same side – but it had never felt the right time to act upon it, not when you were fighting for your lives.

But sharing a bed… Well, couldn’t get a more intimate setting than that, right?

He hands over his credit card – under an alias – and smiles. “We’ll take it.”

Setting up the billing takes just as long as finding the room in the first place, but at last Leon is rewarded with an antique-looking brass key, a keyring displaying 4 attached to it.

“Room 4, son. Just up the stairs and to your left. Have a good night.”

“Thank you, sir.” Leon nods in gratitude before he turns to find you nodding off on the sofa, head propped up by an arm that’s slowly slipping off the armrest.

“Come on, sleeping beauty,” he crouches down and offers you a hand.

You accept it with a loud yawn, allowing Leon to pull you up to your feet. Weary legs cause you to stumble into him with a mumbled apology, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest. He wonders if you can feel how hard his heart is pounding at your touch through both the layers of his shirt and bullet-proof vest, having swapped round the order before the two of you had entered the establishment to avoid any questions.

“Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

“Please.”

He places a hand on the small of your back and guides you up the stairs and to the left, towards the room in question. He keeps his hand there even as he slides the key into the lock and opens the door, preparing to explain the sleeping situation - he’d take the floor and you’d protest, claiming his back has been through enough trauma today and he should just cuddle up with you in the bed and-

His eyes widen as he sees the double bed of his dreams…

..alongside two single beds and a crib.

“Wow, that’s…” His hand drops from your back in defeat. “That’s a lot of beds.”

“Mm. He said it was the family room, remember?” You yawn again, taking a few heavy steps over to the first bed – the double - and collapse down into it, not even bothering to remove your boots, jacket or gun.

Leon closes the door behind him with a muted sigh before engaging the lock, and trudges over to one of the single beds, the mattress creaking under his weight as he sits.

“Leon.”

“Mm?”

“What do you think you're doing?”

He looks over to you, your face smushed against the pillow, one eye open, brows furrowed in a confusion that mirrors his own.

He shrugs off his jacket as he replies. “Going to bed?”

“Yeah,” you scoff. “The wrong bed.”

“Huh?”

“Get over here, idiot.”

If he wasn’t so tired, he’ll argue the next morning, he would’ve put up a performance of protest, maybe thrown in a witty remark, but his legs move on their own and he finds himself laying down beside you before he can truly comprehend his actions.

You roll over to face him and before he can blink, you capture his lips in a chaste kiss, allowing him to deepen it when he regains his senses, before pulling away with a content sigh and turn back over.

He wraps his arm around your waist, legs becoming entangled as he pulls you into his chest, pressing a kiss to your crown.

“This better, sweetheart?”

“Much.”

Best night of sleep he’s had in years.

--- Inspired by this post. Comments, likes and reblogs make my whole day x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[lizthewriter]

i'm right here / billy loomis

PAIRING  fem!reader x billy loomis

SUMMARY  you and billy had been dating for quite a while now. you had always been so dependent on him, so clingy, so needy, and you were starting to realize that maybe he didn't like you nearly as much as you thought he did. when you stop calling him and ignore him completely, he's not just angry, but he comes to the realization that he doesn't know who he'd be without you. he's lonely and he needs you just as much, if not more, than you need him.

TAGS  fem!reader x billy loomis, angst, fluff, if you squint, sexual tension, smut, only on the clothes stuff, billy wouldn't dare break my underwear rule, teasing, making out,, desperate men >>>, deranged men >>>>>, billy is a lil' toxic, just a lil' bit, cursing, slight stalking (come on, we're talking about ghostface here, get with the program)

QUOTE  "i'm calling you, pick up your phone . . . well i don't give a fuck about your friends, / i'm right here, here / well baby talk a look around, / i'm the only one that hasn't walked out, / i'm right here," - right here by chase atlantic

WORD COUNT  2.1K

WRITTEN  10.25.2023

A/N this is my first smut 😭😭😭😭 also i watched scream for the first time and if billy and stu weren't murderers ... omg 😭😭😭 anyways, i will get up another fic on sunday and one next wednesday ... PLS SEND REQUESTS FOR BILLY AND STU 😭😭😭😭

You once again hung up the phone in a huff - Billy has tried calling you for the fourth time that evening. You would have let the phone ring if the sound of it didn't set you off.

You tossed the clunky phone back onto the other end of the couch and settled onto the cushions with a relieved sigh. Finally, some time for yourself - you had been swamped with so much work recently, it was nice to finally take a moment to relax. You flicked on the television, channel surfing before the phone went off again. You groaned and picked up the phone, pressing the decline button before setting it back down. You let out an incredulous laugh at the irony of the situation. You were ignoring Billy because he barely spent any of his time with you and didn't seem to be putting anywhere near as much effort into your relationship as you were. You were so tired of being taken advantage of and eventually being walked out on by friends and family that you finally, for once, walked out on someone else first. But now, now that you've broken things up with him, he seemed interested in you.

"Asshat," you mumbled under your breath, finally settling on a channel playing some mildly entertaining thriller that was gripping enough to keep you interested, but not so much so that you were discerning and questioning every detail. You laid back down on the couch, head lolling to the side as you space out and got lost in your own thoughts. The one thing that startled you from your own head was the sound of the phone ringing once again.

More than irritated, you grabbed the phone and finally answered, shoving the clunk of plastic next to your ear. "Listen here Billy, I told you once and I don't want to say it again, I'm. Done -"

The voice at the end of the line spoke only your name in greeting, but it soundly oddly gruff and robotic. Not Billy's voice, which made you pause in hesitation. "Yes, that's me . . . what do you want?"

"I always thought The Sixth Sense was a sort of underrated masterpiece."

You launched up from the couch, fear settling into your gut as you glanced out the back patio doors outside. "What kind of prank is this? Stu, are you fucking with me again? Because I swear -"

"It's not Stu, sweetheart. Guess again."

You paused. It was a long shot. But why would he change his voice? You decided to play a little game of your own. "You know what I'm watching, so you must be somewhere outside, in the backyard, right?" You got up from the couch and stared out at the backyard, but no one was there. "Who is this? Randy? Bobby? Which ass decided to piss me off today -"

"I did." The voice, unexpectedly, came from behind you. You jumped at the sound and turned around to face Billy, who was holding up a portable phone. He hung up, tucking away whatever kind of voice modulator he'd been using, and took a step towards you. In return, you took a step back, placing your house phone on a nearby surface.

"What are you doing in my house, Billy? I'm having friends over soon, you can't be here."

"I came over to apologize."

"You?" You asked him incredulously. "Apologize? That's rich. I didn't know the word 'apologize' was even in your vocabulary."

Billy offered you a grimaced smile and took another step forward. "I really mean it this time, all right?"

"Oh sure, yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," you retorted with a roll of your eyes. You glanced at the clock and decided it would be best to prepare snacks now, before your friends got here. You began to walk past him, in the direction of the kitchen. "Go home, Billy, I'm done with you and your indifference."

Before you even took another step away from him, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his chest. He stared down at you, hunger, desperation, adoration in his eyes. You couldn't help but soften as you stared up at his face - even if you were doing this for yourself, you couldn't help but miss him. And fuck, was he the most beautiful bastard you've ever seen.

He ran his index finger along your cheek, his head bowed as his eyes trailed all across your face. "I didn't appreciate you like I should have . . . I realize that now. I guess it's true. You don't know how good something is until it leaves." He bowed his head closer and closer to you, and you couldn't help but feel yourself weaken. As though you hsd fallen prey to his seduction spell. You had to admit, it was easier to ignore his calls then to ignore his prescene, that sultry voice and those beckoning lips, the brown strands that you wanted to tug on oh so badly. "Give me one more chance. I'll prove it to you that I can be better . . . " And he said the one word you've never heard leave his mouth ever. His voice came out as soft as a whisper, as hot as the fiery gates of hell on your mouth. "Please. I need you."

Your breathes came out hot and heavy - you wanted him bad, so bad. But you knew you shouldn't. You always followed the same toxic, hurtful patterns. You needed to let go of the people that hurt you, but God you couldn't let him go. You tried to find an excuse.

"Billy, my friends are going to be here in ten minutes." Your voice came out much weaker, less assured then intended.

"I could give a flying fuck about your friends. They don't treat you right, no better than I did. Yet here you sit, cleaning the house, buying food and renting movies, all for people who could care less. If you're going to give someone a second chance, let it be me." He held up your hand, pressing gently kisses along the edge of it. His eyes met yours again, dark and lustful, filled with meaning. You just couldn't help yourself - you knew you'd regret this, but honestly . . . you didn't care anymore.

You finally grabbed the back of his head and pushed him down to meet your lips, hands tangling in those chocolate locks of his. His mouth tasted like pennies and cigarettes, apricot and clove. He was far from being shy, he equally reciprocated your actions if not overcompensated and pressed back into you hungrily. He was slightly rough with you, never enough to hurt you, only rile you up. He pushed you back towards the couch, your knees buckling as they met the cushions, forcing you to sit yourself down on the couch. His eyes roamed your body and he gestured towards your shirt.

You leaned up, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to your level. "No. I'm tired of initiating. If you want me, come get me." You released his shirt, sitting back on the couch with crossed arms and watching his next movements.

His eyes widened in slight shock. You had never been one to take the lead and boss him around, but now that you had, he found it incredibly arousing. And he also felt he owed it to you to give you whatever you wanted. After all, he'd been a terrible boyfriend and if he was truly being honest, you deserved better. But that selfish, possessive side to him couldn't let you go, craved you like a starved man.

He pulled off his shirt, revealing the chiseled chest beneath. He wasn't paticularly buff, but he was certainly well built and plenty aesthetically pleasing. He bent down, latching his lips back onto yours. He allowed your hands to roam over his bare torso, smirking slightly at the groan that left your lips. His hands gradually slipped under your shirt, pulling it overhead and revealing the lacy bra beneath. As strong as he was, he was easily able to shift your position so you were laying along the length of the couch. He crawled on top of you, one hand laying atop your breast, the other being used as a crutch to keep him balanced. His lips returned to yours, wet and burning with passion, running along yours smoothly. His other hand slipped down to your waist, tightening around it as his tounge poked through your lips and into your mouth. You couldn't help the soft moan that left your mouth, hips rolling up to meet his. You jolted as you were met with something hardened, a shiver running down your spine.

"Billy . . ." You whined, eyes pleading with him to stop being so painstakingly slow. You wanted him and you wanted him now. "Please. I missed you . . . need you."

"S'okay baby," he responded, lips now meeting the skin of your neck. You missed the feeling of his nose brushing against your skin with every kiss, his roaming hands exploring every inch of your body, those glances from.his darkened eyes that almost unsettled you. "I'll take care of it, I promise."

He rolled his hips up into yours, causing a moan to spill out of your mouth. You had wrapped your arms around his back, hands digging into his shoulder blades. "Missed your pretty little moans, baby." He lifted his head away from your neck, hand running through your hair as he looked down at you. "Promise I'll be better, hm? You'd like that?"

He rolled his hips up again with a smirk and you shut your eyes tight, only able to respond with a high-pitched "mhm!"

"You're - such a tease," you gasped, opening your eyes again, a faint blush spreading over your cheeks.

"I thought you liked when I teased you, pretty girl." You hated the smug smirk painted across his cheeks, but the thing you hated the most was that he was right. You loved the teasing, the degradation, the humiliation, the praise. He knew just how to get you hot and bothered, so much so that you couldn't help but snap at him. You know he did those kinds of things on purpose just you'd give him an attitude and he'd get to punish you. But if you were being honest . . . it turned you on.

"Just - please."

"Please what?" He asked with innocent eyes, rolling his hips up harder but keeping the bulge in his jeans pressed against you this time.

You groaned loudly, clawing at his back. "Not - not fair."

"What's not fair? This?" He rolled his hips upwards against, drawing another moan from your lips.

"N-no, stop -"

He let out a mock sigh of disappointment and began to draw away. "All right, I'll stop, if that's what you really want."

"No!" You exclaimed loudly, grabbing his hand and pulling him back towards you. "Don't leave . . . please."

You wanted to smack that stupid little grin off of his face, but then he dropped his knee between your thighs and the words you had wanted to speak suddenly left your lips. He glanced down at your pajama pants, toying with the waistband teasingly.

"Say the words then."

"What?" You responded with furrowed brows.

"Say, 'Billy, I want you to fuck me.'" His eyes bore into yours - the sweet chocolate now turned to charcoal black. He loved the effect he had on you, he loved messing around with you. Especially when you got all flustered and embaressed like this. "Come on, say it. I know you can, sweetheart."

You paused. "Billy, I -"

The doorbell rang, followed by the sounds of giggles. Your friends all shouted your name and dissolved into another bought of laughter. You glanced back towards Billy, torn about what to do.

He pulled away with a gentle sigh, planting a final kiss to your forehead. "We'll pick this up another time, yeah?" Desperate sex with Billy was always good, at least, you thought.

You held onto his hand for a few more seconss before it slipped away as he walked backwards towards the stairs. He must have crawled inside your bedroom window like he usually does. "Okay. I'll call you in the morning?"

He grinned. "Sounds good, sweetheart. I'll pick you up, too."

The doorbell rang thrice more, your friends yeling at you to come answer the door. Billy grinned and departed up the stairs, but not before grabbing his shirt on the way out. You picked up your own shirt from where it had been discarded on the floor and pulled it on as you approached the front door.

Your friends greeted you enthusiastically as they entered your house and while they were all excitedly chattering about the movies you selected, you could only think of Billy, stupid, seductive Billy.

[ittsybittsybunny]

ATLA Live Action Series Review:

The Good

Aesthetically this show felt right. Sure sometimes the outfits didn't quite feel lived in, but I always felt like I was watching a fantasy world with decent effects and interesting design. Also, I really enjoyed the sets!

Bending: Yes some of the fights feel very quick, but the bending looks cool. It is certainly better than 10 benders lifting one big rock. I can honestly say the opening bending fight scene gave me so much hope for this show.

Kyoshi Warriors: I loved seeing them in live action, and I thought Suki's performance was great!

Omashu: I think the mashup of the mechanist made sense since that is an important character overall and I would hate to see him cut. However, both Jet & the secret tunnels felt sloppily thrown in.

Northern Water Tribe: I really loved the way it looked, and appreciated the two episodes we spent here. I think Yue gained more agency in this interpretation, and why shouldn't the moon spirit be a waterbender. Also, episode seven felt the most in tune with the original show's spirit.

Zuko: I think he was one of the most fleshed-out and best parts of the show! Dallas Liu really captured Zuko's spirit, and the scene between him and Aang in episode 6 was wonderful!

Soundtrack: Hearing the original soundtrack bits is always great, and when I first heard the ending music I was so excited.

Is the show perfect, no - but I wouldn't mind a season 2.

The Bad

Pacing: Turning 20 episodes into 8 was bound to lead to some cuts...but oftentimes times things felt too quick or disjointed. I think there were editing problems contributing to this for sure, but sometimes things skipped around too much without a clear purpose as to why. Also, why bring in plots from later seasons when you barely have enough time already?

Writing: This show definitely suffered from exposition dumping, though it did get better as time went on. I think the biggest example of this is actually opening in the past rather than the present. We do not get to learn along with Aang that the world has changed, instead, we get to learn that 100 years have passed....which doesn't hold the same tension or worldbuilding.

Clunky Dialogue: Along with exposition, clunky dialogue is another example of bad writing. I think sometimes I felt like the acting was kind of meh in the beginning, but then over time I began to realize it had far more to do with the lines characters were trying to deliver. The actors themselves are not bad, just cursed with awkward writing and lines that feel out of touch with the setting they're in.

Main Trio: I don't entirely know that I believe Katara, Sokka, and Aang are friends as opposed to 3 people stuck together to save the world. Aang feels a little too somber for a young kid running away from his responsibilities, Sokka is protective, but not exactly the heart of the team, and Katara is sort of just there until the last two episodes. Where is her struggle, her desire to learn so strong she steals from pirates? Also, while Gordon Cormier did a great job, Aang does zero waterbending on his own, is overly serious, and tells Katara not to fight. Where is his desperation to protect his friends? It feels like they all lost emotional depth.

Tension: Bringing Ozai, Azula, and Zhao out in the beginning immediately causes us to lose the realization there is an even bigger bad. Part of why Ozai is so terrifying is he is a primarily silent villain until the third season when we finally see the face of the "big bad evil guy" behind it all. Yes, they add to Zuko's backstory, but again, they are revealing the villains too early. Azula is the antagonist of season 2 and one of my favorite characters, so I hope they do more with her in the future. Finally, Zhao is supposed to be an example of the uncontrollable nature of fire unrestrained, instead, he comes off as vaguely threatening with the supposed true power being Azula.

Characterization: While all characters are bound to lose something in a shorter show, it still felt like certain characters were more mutilated than others. I am sure there are 100 different opinions on who, but I think the biggest victim was Katara.

Katara: Katara manages to go from a complete novice to a bending master in what feels like a matter of days. The journey feels short, and that makes the results feel largely unearned. Katara is one of the strongest personalities in the show, determined, kind, and fiery. In many ways, she is the unpredictability of water - equally dangerous as it is necessary to live. She is the child of a war who lost her mother, forced to grow up too soon, and even raised her older brother. Yes, Katara often gets stereotyped as the mom friend, but overall she feels underutilized in this show. We really don't see enough of her journey until the very end.

Iroh: Iroh was always comedic but most importantly wise. Even when Zuko is trying to give himself advice, he mimics Iroh. Instead, he seems to be used more as comedic relief without the underlying experience. He just doesn't feel right. Also, he kills Zhao instead of Zhao getting himself killed - which is less about Iroh and more about the writing than anything.

Ozai is weirdly a little too nice. Yes, he burned Zuko and pits his kids against each other, but he feels toned down in a show claiming to be more mature than the original cartoon.

Azula is perhaps more realistically worried about losing her status as the golden child, but she is also missing the cruelty she and her father share. I understand worrying about making your character cartoonishly evil, but the Fire Nation is currently a deeply nationalistic empire trying to control the world. Where is the deep-seated belief that they are better than other people, not just trying to bring balance to the world? There is a line between creating complexity and toning down the very real evil inherent in this plan.

Roku: I can only say what the fuck was that. He was barely there, and not the serious master to Aang's youthful exuberance.

The Ugly

Show, Don't Tell: The show's single biggest issue seems to be speeding through story parts by simply stating things. Instead of allowing the audience to discover, trusting that we are smart enough to understand, let's just blatantly say things like Zuko is the only reason the 41st division is alive to their faces. Even though in the context of the story Ozai literally already said that.... it's the division, the division for Zuko, Zuko's division.

Thematic Misunderstandings: I think this show makes several minor changes with major implications, such as airbenders actively fighting the firebenders, when airbenders are known for their pacifist nature and the lie of an Airbender fighting force is actively propaganda. Similarly, Aang very quickly accepts his role as the avatar and doesn't even run away in the beginning. Without this conflict between his desire to be a carefree child and the fact that the world needs him - the show loses a key aspect of Aang's character. Also, the obsession with downplaying the avatar state as something dangerous feels like a disservice to the tradition, connection, and strength of the avatar, which can be permanently destroyed as the trade-off for that kind of power. It's dangerous for the balance of the entire world, not just because it's powerful!

The Agni Kai: Zuko's fight against his father is one of the defining moments of Ozai's cruelty, not just because he is willing to fight his child, but because Zuko tried to do everything right. Zuko shows deference to his father, apologizes, and most importantly refuses to fight! The determination not to upset his father and still be grievously injured and banished is a hugely important theme for the fire nation and Zuko's life as a whole. He tries to do everything he is supposed to and only regains his father's acceptance after he "kills" Aang. Zuko's struggle between moral vs. social right and wrong in contrast to his family is hugely important to his character.

-----

TLDR: ATLA was a fantastical animated television show that was never afraid to show character development and flaws. When you turn 20 episodes into 8, you are bound to lose something. You hollowed out the middle, leaving the shell of important moments and events without ever wondering if all the times in between formed the true spirit of the show.

Rating: 6.5/10 It's perfectly fine and worth a watch. Not a disaster, but certainly falls flat of the original.