#i love the commissions i got (one is bottom right)

[moonstruckme]

Hi, what about a remus x reader, where they get lost in the forest after separating from their friends during a fight with death eaters and remus has to keep reader warm with his body heat.

Thanks for requesting lovely! This is sort of like my apocalypse au, except it's pre-relationship

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus is limping something terrible. Each step looks more painful than the last, and yet he’s only quickened his pace since you’d first noticed it about an hour ago. 

You’ve been trying to think of what James and Sirius do when he gets like this. James would be kind but tenacious about it (“Everything alright, Moons? Hip bothering you? Why don’t we have a break? No, come on, we can’t have our best and brightest out of commission if something happens; they’ll kill us all if you’re distracted, Moony.”) whereas Sirius would probably just make something up (“Alright, the pebble in my shoe has worn me down. We’re stopping for the night.”), and you doubt either of those will work for you. 

You were really mostly friends with Sirius before this…this whole thing (it feels a touch dramatic to call it the end of the world, but it has certainly felt like the end of your world), but you’ve become necessarily closer with the other boys over the past few weeks. Needing to rely on one another for survival will do that to you. Still, you’re nowhere near penetrating the bond they have with each other. 

Without James or Sirius to help you, you decide to take your own, simpler approach. 

“Let’s stop.” 

Remus turns to look at you, bemusement warring with agitation on his face. 

“It’s going to be dark soon, and we won’t find them then,” you reason. “We should set up camp.” 

Some of the knee-jerk indignation in Remus’ expression cools, but he still seems frustrated when he says, “James has the tent.” 

You know that. “I know that,” you say, “but aren’t we better off trying to get some rest and starting again in the morning than running ourselves ragged looking for them all night?”

Remus sees the logic in it, you know he does, but his worry for your friends is fighting against his better judgment. You can understand that; you’ve been trying to squash a similar anxiety all day. You’d seen Sirius and James apparate away from the skirmish you’d gotten into with some death eaters just a second before you and Remus had apparated yourselves, so you know that they didn’t get captured or killed. Not there, at least. There’d been some miscommunication in where you were all apparating to, though, and you and Remus had found yourselves on a bluff with no clue where the other half of your band had ended up. 

You comfort yourself by thinking about how competent they are, that they’re too smart to die in the woods, and they’ve got all the supplies besides. James being the one to lug that heavy pack around has finally paid off; you’re sure they’re thinking about how you and Remus are managing without food or camping supplies, but you’d rather be worried about than worry. 

You let your pack slip from your shoulders and kneel to start going through it. Remus is stubborn, but he’s too nice to argue with you if you make it clear that you’ve already made the decision to stop. You’re right; he drops his own pack beside you a second later. You pretend not to hear his tiny exhale of relief as he lowers himself to the ground. 

You and Remus have been carrying the nearly useless, lighter stuff. Extra clothes, a tarp for when it rains, the line you all hang your clothes on if they get wet, a first aid kit. You dig to the bottom of your pack, hoping someone’s forgotten a bag of dried fruit or something down there, but no luck. 

“Maybe…” You look around you. “Maybe we use some of the clothes to pad the roots of that big tree, and then we could use the tarp to block the wind.”

Remus nods. “That’s a good idea,” he says, the vexation fading from his features along with the pain. “How about I work on the protection spells while you grab some brush for a fire?”

“Sounds good.” You give him a smile, setting a hand on his shoulder when he goes to stand up. “You can do it from there.” 

You don’t give him a chance to argue, moving into the woods to collect sticks and pieces of dried grass. When you return, the campsite is gone, and you force your breaths to even despite the feeling of wrongness as you push through the barrier Remus has put up. You find him setting up the tarp on the other side. He looks better already, you think contentedly, and you begin selecting the thickest clothes for your nest. 

The silence between you isn’t easy, exactly; it’s bogged down with fear for your friends and of the death eaters that had already tracked you down once before. Still, you like that Remus doesn’t feel the need to fill your silence with chatter. Before long the two of you are curled up atop your makeshift beds, breathing frigid puffs of air into the night. You’d given up on adding more brush to the fire awhile ago. Short of sleeping with your head two inches from the flames, there’s not much you can do to combat the biting cold. It’s all you can do to keep your teeth from chattering as you press your knees tightly to your chest, huddling under the extra jackets Remus had found to use as blankets. 

There’s no hope of sleeping when you’re trembling like this, but you pray Remus is better off. James always says he runs hot as a furnace, so you’re hoping his own body heat is keeping him warm beneath his layers. You’d hate to think of what the cold probably does to his stiff joints. 

“You awake?” Remus’ breath should be hot against your neck, but by the time it crosses the space between you it feels as frigid as everything else. 

You roll over to face him. “Y—yeah.” Your breaths are shudding, lips so cold you can hardly feel them moving. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alright,” he promises, the gentleness back in his voice now that he’s had a chance to rest. “Cold, though, so I imagine you must be even colder.”

You try to shrug, but movement only makes the chills worse, your body quivering violently against your will. 

Remus makes a soft pitying sound. “You want to share our coats?” 

He means your makeshift blankets. “I do—don’t want—to make you colder.” 

“That’s not how bodyheat works, love,” he says, sounding almost like he could laugh. He shuffles toward you, dragging his share of the spare clothes with him. “Come on.” 

You move towards him obediently. Remus brings you under the big coat he’s using for his torso, and you almost sigh at the warmth in there. You let your legs uncurl, getting as close to him as you can. 

“Oh.” It’s a surprised sort of coo, Remus’ arm wrapping around you to draw you closer. “Sweetheart, you’re freezing. Here, roll over.” 

He helps you turn with a hand at your hip, drawing you up against him. He really is emanating heat, warmth seeping from his front into your back and spreading from his arm around your waist to your entire midsection. Remus reaches over you, adjusting one of the jackets over your face, and you breathe hot air into the space, warming yourself. Your shivers die down as he begins to stroke slow, soothing circles about your navel. 

“Better?” he asks, once you’re nearly motionless against him. You hum, and you feel the quiet chuckle that reverberates through his chest. 

“Yeah,” you say, each exhale fanning hot against your face. “Thanks, Remus.” 

“I know what you were doing earlier,” he says, embarrassment quieting his voice. “I can look out for you too, you know.” 

You’re thinking of responding, but Remus’ body is so warm, and his hand on your stomach is so comforting, and you don’t get a chance.

[sincerlycas]

pretty lady.

summary: a connie drabble where he has to deal with dating the most prettiest girl.

warnings: mature scenes, slight smut, etc.

commission for: @tojisblondebimbo

don’t forget to dm me for commissions <3

connie loved you with his hearts content, he loved when you would come up to him squealing because you got a new dress, he loved the way how tight the dress clunged to your body leaving no where for imagination. your ass pocking out the bottom of the dress when you would bend over showing your lacy thong clinging to your mound so tightly.

connie loved the fact you were so damn pretty, you were hard headed and stubborn, but soft and poise. he loved how sometimes your beauty could get you anything. for example, you forgot your purse in the house so you turn to look at connie while pointing at the Chanel bag “pa pleaseee I’ll pay you back!!” shaking his head he agreed to buy it knowing damn well you won’t pay him back. but he knew something was up when you seemed to forget your wallet multiple times. what can you say, why would you spend your own money when your man is right there?

but you being pretty can also cause problems. the amount of times he had to beat niggas asses left and right because they couldn’t keep their hands off you. sometimes he wished you wore a plastic bag over your head when going out. he wished your dresses weren’t so mesh and tight on you showing everyone a preview of what’s up under there. but it’s not really his baby’s fault that she’s so pretty so all he can do is grunt about it and move along while rubbing onto your ass any chance he can.

the times he really loved though was being between your legs sucking with his hearts content. looking up momentarily seeing your bambi watery eyes staring right back at him, your plump lips letting out the softest whines possible. slurping sounds filling the room as you rock back against his face trying to catch your nut. connie’s tongue did wonders that sometimes you had to deprive him from the pussy. like one time he wanted to fuck while you guys were at a family gathering and cupped your pussy with his hand after slipping it through the slit of the skirt “connie !!” “whatt? let’s go in my old room hm?”

your hair messy and all over the place, makeup and lip combo smeared, legs kicking around everywhere, toes curling, back arching off the bed “you taste so good mama~ how come you won’t sit on my face forever huh~? don’t that sound like a good idea pretty lady~?” slapping the side of your thighs with pinching your overstimulated clit. “what you think mama~? tell ‘pa’ what you thinking in the pretty little head of yours~” biting your lip you grabbed his hand making him hover over you. watching your plum lips connie heard “you won’t be able to handle it pa~” did I forget to tell you he loved that slick mouth?

he couldn’t leave you alone even if he tried. you were a little bit toxic. everytime he went to do a deal you would latch onto him telling him if he left you in the house alone for an hour max you would leave. of course knew you were bluffing but he still sighed a stayed with you a while longer knowing if he you guys broke up, you’d find a nigga the same day. ouuu he was just like the song area codes by kali, that one line that said “matter of fact, scratch that imma send you a stack just cuz you fine as hell” and bitch that nigga hand you two racks!! while saying “give me a show and I’ll add an extra hermosa” who were you to decline the offer?

overall being connie’s pretty girl had many perks it’s a 10/10 experience <3

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥

↳ summary: everyone knew you loved your lazy sundays. but that didn't stop them from bothering you

↳ warnings: mentions of fights and ponyboy getting jumped. nothing serious

↳ notes: could be interpreted as platonic or romantic with whoever you like. just some silly times

↳ song: we're gonna move—elvis presley

masterlist | commissions | carrd

Sundays at the Curtis household were normally calm.

Maybe it was because that was the day before school would start up again for Ponyboy— it used to be that way for both him and Sodapop until his big brother dropped out —or maybe it was because that was the lords day; at least according to the bible. Whatever the case, you knew you could always rely on an unlocked door and comfy couch awaiting you each time you jumped the chain link fence in their front yard. Just as long as it was Sunday.

So, understandably, you were peeved when Steve Randal and Two-Bit had come bursting through the front door looking for a fight.

"Come on man!" Two-Bit, otherwise known as Keith Matthews by his mother and kid sister, but only by his mother and kid sister, was currently whining your name in a way that he would only do if he wanted something. "Those soc's deserve it for what they did to Pony yesterday!"

Warm sunlight from the clear afternoon day peaked through the window panes behind you, lighting up each and every crevice in the front room of the house. A great black and white picture show was running on the TV, the likes of which had captured your attention for most of the day as you lay on Darry Curtis' couch, only ever moving to help out with chores when asked by him or Soda.

You scowled from your spot on that same trashy floral couch as before, flipping Two-Bit off quick enough so that Darry didn't see you. Even though he was in the other room working on dishes with Soda, you knew he would be able to tell. He was magic in a way like that. Annoyingly magic.

"What's with the shake up?" Steve questioned through the cigarette in his mouth, looking down at you from his nose. "Just last week you were itching for a rumble, and now all you want to do is sit and watch TV like some bum?"

"Wrong. Now all I want to do is sit on the couch and watch cartoons like some bum." You corrected him with a bit of snark in your tone, knowing that he hated that sort of thing. You saw Two-Bit's lips quirk up in a smile from the corner of your eye, reminding you temporarily of the shared love of cartoons that the two of you held.

"It's Sunday." Soda strolled in from the other room with a damp rag in his hands, tossing it down on the couch cushions as he went to clap Steve on the back—the way he always did when he saw his best friend. "You know they like their Sundays, guys."

"Screw their Sundays." Steve scoffed without any real malice behind the action. "Dally's on his way over with Johnny right now to meet us before the fight. We just wanted to come and get you before they got here."

With a halfhearted groan you let your head hit the back of the couch. If Dallas was coming over, you knew that the gangs minds had already been made up. Dally could be awfully convincing when he wanted to get his way, and that was more often than not. Really there was no sense in arguing now, but sometimes you had less sense then you'd like to admit.

"I'll tell Darry ya'll are gonna start up a fight." You said in a last ditch effort to keep your lovely spot on the warm couch. You were just met with knowing smiles.

"Awh you know he'd let us go if we promised to not get anymore blood on his floor comin' home." Two-Bit's smile widened, and you knew that he could tell they'd worn you down. That's how it always went when they wanted to fight during an off day for you, and you should be more used to it by now.

With the beginnings of a slow chew on your bottom lip, you mulled it over. Despite what one could think about Darry, that he yelled at his brothers too much or was too hard on Pony, you knew he wouldn't hesitate to get into a fight of his own for one of his brothers, even if he had work the next day. And that was a stone cold fact.

The screen door to the Curtis home squeaked open for the second time in just a few minutes, the entrance giving way to two more figures in dark clothing and greased up hair. One was nursing a cigarette butt while the other swayed side to side in a nervous tick.

"Ready to split?" Dallas Winston let a puff of smoke escape his lips as he grinned, looking around at the small group that had gathered in the living room. Johnny Cade shuffled behind him, and despite the current situation, you made time to send a welcome wave in his direction. He nodded back with a light glint in his eyes.

"Most of us." Soda laughed at Dally's question, ratting you out with a single look in your direction.

"I swear to god man, we do this every time." Dally shook his head as if he'd been expecting this. He looked at you dead on, almost as if trying to pry an explanation out of you this time. You resisted the urge to scrunch your nose up as he did so.

"Don't worry Dal, we just got 'em on the fence." Two-Bit smiled, and you hated that he was right.

With a sigh, you dusted your lap off before getting up, ignoring the small cheer that came from Soda and Two-Bit as you did so. From behind them Johnny smiled that little smile of his.

Dally even let a small one of his own slip, and you cursed whoever decided to give him such long eyelashes. One wrong downward tilt of his head, and sometimes you felt like he could get you to do whatever he wanted if he just asked.

"I'm coming, but next Sunday if any of you so much as ask me into town, I'll start a fight of my own." You pursed your lips. Another cheer rose between the six of you, and somehow you just knew that next week the exact same thing would happen, just as it always did. Good thing it never really bothered you. Nothing these guys ever do would, even though you'd never admit it to them.

"And just to be clear I want you to know I'm only going because it was Pony that was jumped!" You raised your voice through the pre-celebration, trying to stop the smile breaking out across your face from growing any wider. "If it was any of you idiots, I'd go join the other side!"

Playful boo's broke out as Soda slung an arm around your shoulders. A hand was quick to fly up to your hair with an attempted noogie, but you shook your head wildly enough to hault it.

Leaving the security of the plush couch and the drone of the Curtis' TV, you found yourself walking down the street with Dally's cigarette between your lips, taking a puff of it before handing it back to him. As the white smoke drifted up into the blue sky above, you thought about the people around you, and smiled.

Now you just had to hope you wouldn't ruin yet another shirt with blood.

[rosedom]

Since you always serve us, let me serve you an imagination ( ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

Imagine aether or scara being so bratty and pouty all day, just genuinely being a cute meanie saying how they don't want to talk to you because they're so stressed out so you start kissing them everywhere and showering them with love, giving them the softest vanilla sex they've ever had. And the best part was you weren't even rough, you treated them like the king's they fucking are but they look so fucked dumb and cock drunk like they'd just beg you not to pull out because they just want more of your love cuz who wouldn't want a someone like you 😭🫰

—🪷

"in an open match, 【 🪷 】 has invited AETHER to play . . . stressed by day, blissed by night

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!amab!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!aether, snarky aether (at first), couch sex, vaginal fingering & sex, gentle & full of praise, creampie, cockwarming .

A/N : i chose aether ,, i am a simple man . . .

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

Today's been a busy day for Aether.

Commission after commission, all with no fruits to show for his reaping. And all day, he'd whined at you and shooed you away, pouting at you whenever you tried to so much as lay a soft kiss against his lips.

Really, he's been nothing short of a brat.

"I don't wanna talk to you right now."

You whine, draping yourself across your boyfriend's shoulders and nuzzling into his neck, shy of his blushing ear. The pointed tip of it jabs into your temple, but you pay it no mind as you busy yourself with the expanse of his honeyed skin. "But baby—"

Aether tilts, turns his head away from you, but it only serves to expose more skin to your light touch. He groans and reaches for your head, batting at your hair until you whine again. "'m stressed," he says, as if that's a good 'nuff answer for you.

"And I'm your—" Aether moves his hand to clamp over your mouth instead, keeping you from saying anything else.

When you lick at his palm, he grumbles at you, a disgruntled n' whiny "stopp." The sound is rather pitiful, really, but you grin nonetheless; it makes you wanna see what other lil' sounds you can draw out of his pretty throat.

"But baby," you drawl, repeat it, dragging your tongue across the freckles on his neck and pausing to suckle at the bob of his Adam's apple. "I missed you." You try to frown, right into the hollow of his throat, make him feel your hankering.

At his responding whimper—a sound you feel wash over your ear, a vibration that reverberates through your lips and down to your toes—, you can't help but go back to grinning, instead.

Hook, line, and sinker, all without even getting his knickers down to his knees !

So, "Baby," you say.

He tries to hum, at that; but his soft, sounding sound is more akin to another breathless whimper, one masquerading as a meak "hm."

"You're tired."

"No shit." Well. He's got his voice back enough to snide, to yip and yap at your gentle teases; but, really, he's loosening in your arms and under your wandering lips. His attitude is a only a weak façade, the physical accumulation of the day's—the week's, the month's, the year's, the fucking life's—stresses.

With a last, suckling kiss to a prominent freckle—more of a beauty mark, to be honest, pigmented and stark amidst otherwise subtle freckles, lots of sunspots—atop his clavicle, one you found by tugging his scarf down, you lean back on up and bump your nose against his.

Gently, you shush him; then you press your lips against his, soft and slow and sweet, letting him melt into you. He whimpers, again, even without the introduction of tongue.

Aether is, simply put, fuckin' exhausted.

You tell him so. "You're exhausted," you say, enunciate, nipping at his bottom lip as you leave it kiss-bitten and red. This time, he doesn't snark, and you know then and there that he's submitted. "Let me take care of you tonight, honey. Please?"

He nods, and, "Okay. Okay. Please." Your name is gasped out, too, smothered in the messy kiss you give him at the first go-ahead.

"My sweet Aether," you murmur.

"Y-yeah?"

Getting his garments off is easy: scarf, done; crop top, off and tossed away; knickers and boxers, gone in one fell-swoop. He's bare in front of you quickly, the expanse of scarred, freckled and sun-spotted skin absolutely appetizing, to you.

And, in gentle reply, smoothed right to the erratic flutter of his pulse: "Let me make you feel good."

After that, moving him to the sofa is an mindless thing; you push him to sit down, get comfy, for the mere seconds it takes you to strip yourself. Clothes gone—out of sight, out of mind—you tumble on top of him, and he giggles—tired, huffing lil' things, but still giggles, nonetheless—, and you smother him in kisses, in sweet praises.

His giggles turn to gasps, his gasps into quiet moans. You're working another deep mark into his neck when he starts grinding into you, and you decide it's time to move on. "Up, up," you mutter, taking hold of his pretty hips, the fat of them filling your palms, and spin the two of you around.

Aether yelps your name, clinging onto your shoulders as his world is upended. "What—" he starts, whines, but you settle him properly onto your lap and bump your groin against his. The whisper of your cock against his makes him shiver.

Around you, his arms shake; his abs ripple when you tease your fingertips down his torso, the hair of his happy trail; and his hips try to jump away at the feeling of your fingers across his cunt. You hold him down easily enough with one arm—a feat made easy thanks to his exhaustion, sure, but mainly the utter trust he placed in you—, and ask him, softly, "What'd I say, honey?"

"H-huh?" Whimperin' like a pup, he shakes his head, crying out when your fingers gentle him open, one, two, three. The process is long, sure; but it's an art, to you—an act of love as each finger slips inside, the stretch of each one you soothe with kisses and sweet words.

You curl the three of them upwards, soaked down to your wrist, bumping your palm against his jutting cock. "What'd I say, earlier? Told you I was gonna do two things to you tonight."

Aether whines, clenching around your knuckle-deep fingers. "Y—you, ah—" You slide them out slowly, and he catches his breath, hot puffs of air against your own marked-up throat. "You said you'd take care of me."

"And?" you implore, not unkindly. He mewls, shivers, lets you lift him up enough to nudge the swollen, pre-cum slick head of your cock against his hole. "And what, darlin'?"

He moans, high and ready, scrambling for hold on your biceps when you slowly drop him, giving him inch by inch of your cock. "A-and—" he tries, at first, before he crumbles and falls forward into your neck once more at the pressure of your cock against his g-spot.

"Breathe, honey, breathe. You're doing so well, lettin' me take care of you, lettin' me—"

"Make me feel good! You—" he squirms on your cock, crying out desperately into your neck. He squeezes your upper arms like his cunt squeezes your dick: deliciously. "You said you'd—you'd make me feel good."

Lifting him up is easy; dropping him is even easier. He mewls and moans, whimpers and whines, and he gives you total control of his tired body. "That's right, Aeth," you coo, nipping at his ear and groaning at the slick slide of him on you, you in him. "I said I'd take care of you, and I'd make you feel good. You're perfect, lettin' me do these things to you, lettin' me make you feel nice, just as nice as you deserve."

You know it's a little cruel, forcing him up and down on your cock when he's already this tired; but the strain in his thighs is sweet, the gentle motions of your cock even more-so. He's boneless with pleasure, melting into your body while you maneuver him in the way that makes you both feel oh-so good.

Your orgasm, then, takes you by surprise. It's a slow n' steady build, one that washes over you in gentle waves and has you tugging Aether down onto you—a motion that makes him cry out n' harshly clench around your cock and leaves his cunt, wet n' sloppy, spasming, milking you for your cum. But it's rapturous nonetheless, and you reach down to thumb at his own cock and bring him over the edge, too.

"Good boy," you murmur, the two of you reveling in the remnants of your orgasms: you, in the wet-warmth of his cunt; and him, with the heat of your cum settling warm and deep in him.

However, when you try to move, try to pull out your softened cock, he cries, squeezes tight on you and keeps you snug in him. "Don't pull out," he whispers, and who are you to deny him?

"Alright, honey." He settles back into your lap enough for you to pull a throw over you both, tucking him up in warmth from all sides—inner and outer. You can feel his contented sigh in your own chest, his arms falling limp around your middle as he deeply breathes, dozes off.

Holding him close, feeling the rise and fall of his body against yours, you wonder whether you may have made him feel a bit too good—if such thing even exists. (You don't think it does.)

Today's been a busy day, after all; tonight an even busier night.

writing with my dick out ngl . . . i kind of took the request in another direction (⁠>⁠0⁠<⁠；⁠) maybe not as cock-drunk as straight up cock-passed-the-hell-out.

1 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

[reidingandwriting]

latched on > keigo takami/hawks (mha)

Word Count: 1.3k

Ship: Sub!Keigo Takami (Hawks) x Dom!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut (very loose term), mentions of abuse from the hero commission, mentions of call girls (if you squint), mention of violence (also if you squint), allusion to sub drop

A/N: Baby’s first attempt at writing some attempt at smut, I may try and do a full smut with sub!hawks later, I love my whimpering baby bird <3

how did he go from feeling so, so good to so, so stupid in the matter of minutes?

he was in bliss not even five minutes ago, whining out mixes of your name and high keens of mommy! as you worked him through another orgasm.

bottoming was new for keigo. he had never had anyone he trusted enough to tell about his desires, with the commissions grip on him. his list of ‘approved partners’ who were vetted by the commission and could (would) be… handled properly if they were to spill any details about the number two pro hero. keigo rarely ever called them, never satisfied from the basic hookups they provided, wanting so much more from his partner that he was terrified to vocalize. hero work was so demanding, he wanted to turn his mind off and just. let someone else make the decisions for him. but that required trust, and he never had that with anyone. and then he met you.

you were a PA at his agency, and as time passed, keigo found himself captivated by you. drawn to the way you treated him as if he was any other civilian. like yeah, you recognized him as a hero and what he did. you knew your work hours would be hectic due to his hours, yet you never complained. never seemed to mind really, always greeting him with a soft smile and some form of jab about him ‘messing up your beauty sleep’. which would turn into flirty banter, little jokes, and during late nights, sleepy giggles and conversations keigo would remember forever.

the shift happened when you were a plus one to a gala with him.

‘i’m not your boss right now, stop looking so tense,’ keigo teased as he rested a comforting hand on your shoulder. ‘just think of me as your smoking hot arm candy’ you laughed at his comment and rolled your eyes.

‘okay, pretty bird’ you cooed to the hero and you bit back a grin at the way his wings puffed up from the nickname. your hand met his cheek, and you turned his head to face you. golden eyes seemed to be darker, pupils dilated as he focused on the sparkling necklace you wore. ‘if only my arm candy would pay attention to me’ you pouted and keigo’s gaze met yours.

‘how could i look away?’

from there, there had been an obvious shift in your relationship with the hero. casual touches turned into lingering, intentional touches. behind the safety of his office doors, “hawks” was occasionally replaced by ‘pretty boy/bird’ and keigo had to keep from whining every time the teasing nickname left your upturned lips.

he wasn’t sure exactly what shifted that got keigo in this situation. but he found himself pinned under you, writhing under your touch. gentle touches, firm grabs. feather light touches that left him begging for more, hard grips that had him squirming and thrashing, threats of tying him down only exciting him more.

he was beautiful, you kept telling him. which he heard from fans every day, he knew he was attractive. but hearing it from you? a whole other feeling. whimpering each time ‘look so pretty, birdie’ or ‘my beautiful boy, gonna cry for me?’ and ‘my good boy, so good for me’ slipped from your lips. his breaking point? your fingers gently lifting his chin up so his teary gaze met yours, peppering his face with kisses and whispering in his ear ‘wanna see you cum, songbird. deserve it, pretty boy, i’ll take care of you. just let go’

and god did he let go. strings of white spurted from his cock, over your hands, over his stomach, but keigo was too spent to care. he was truly fucked Stupid, basking from your coos as you talked him down, your hands petting him as he calmed down. suddenly, there was a shift in the mattress and keigo couldn’t stop himself from grabbing your arm, panic filling his body as he begged you not to leave him, he’ll be good, please stay, please let him stay, and he felt his grip on you tighten. and there’s where he made his biggest mistake. he couldn’t let go.

“it’s okay, birdie. i’ll be right back, just gonna get something to clean you up.” you soothed and you frowned lightly as his grip didn’t relent. “hawks?”

keigo flinched from the use of his hero name, missing the nicknames that you called him just a minute ago. “i-i’m sorry. ‘m so sorry, i can’t-“ keigo started to hyperventilate and you were on him in a second, by his side and pulling him closer to you. keigo curled into your body, face buried in the crook of your neck, and tears burned in his eyes. moments of silence passed until it dawned on you.

“you can’t let go, can you, bub?” you asked and keigo shook his head.

“it, it will stop in a little bit. i just… i thought you were leaving me and. i panicked, i lost control. ‘m so sorry,” keigo whispered and you carded your fingers through his messy hair, smiling as you felt the tension start to leave his body.

“not going anywhere, promise. just wanted to get you a washcloth so we could clean you up a little bit. but i can wait. however long you need, love.” you pressed a kiss to keigo’s head, humming as you slowly rocked him. you figured this could happen, but you thought it was such a small chance, you didn’t really prepare for it. but it was hawks. your hawks, your birdie. you could adapt. you’d take care of him.

a while later, keigo’s grip started to release, and as soon as he was able, keigo pulled his hand away. you tutted at him and took his hand in yours, and you started to massage the hand that had been gripping your arm. keigo found himself staring at the spot he had grasped you, hurt you he’s sure, and you called his name.

“are you okay now?” keigo blinked at the question. “feel up for a shower to clean up?”

“you.. you’re worried about me still? i hurt you.”

“and i just spent god knows how long overstimulating you. probably a little painful, even if it felt good.” you tilted keigo’s head up and pressed a lingering kiss to his plush lips. “i told you, hawks. i care about you, i’m here to take care of you. as long as you’ll let me.” it was your turn to blush, your cheeks burning but you kept keigo’s gaze.

“keigo.” he found himself whispering. “name’s keigo.” you mouthed his name, whispered it to yourself and the prettiest shade of pink covered keigo’s cheeks. “if it’s not gonna be any of your little nicknames, i.. i’d prefer keigo outside of work.”

“well, keigo,” you smiled as you pulled his hand to your lips, kissing over every knuckle. “why don’t we get you cleaned up? then we can come back to bed, order some takeout for dinner? i can make breakfast for us in the morning,” you offered and keigo felt his heart flip in his chest at your offer.

“that sounds perfect.”

an hour later, you were cuddled in bed, keigo on his stomach, head on your stomach as his wing draped over you. his breath hit your stomach, soft puffs leaving his lips as he slept peacefully. you combed through his damp hair, occasionally running your hand down between his shoulder blades just to see his wings flutter and his breathing shake a little. a small smile graced his lips as he slept and you let your eyes close, a matching smile on your lips as you dozed off into the best sleep of your life. you could get used to this…

[turtletaubwrites]

Sanji's Super Birthday Present ~ Part 2

Here's the long awaited (sorry!) sequel to Part 1 (WC 988). The request was for someone to commission a sex toy from Franky, and our love cook is about to enjoy his present.

Pairings: Sanji x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1105

Ao3 Link

Summary: You've never had so much fun giving someone their birthday present before. Sanji makes sure you know how grateful he is.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Swearing, Smut, Established Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Hand Jobs, Comeplay, Sex Toys, (Strap On), Bottom Sanji, Rimming, Anal Play, Pegging, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Shameless Smut

A/N: Both parts of this fic can be read on their own, but they would occur in the not so distant future of the We've All Got Needs poly fic. (Also, I am sorry about the wait, but this was one of my first requests. I don't think I would have done this smut justice back then, so I hope you forgive me, and enjoy this filth now 😅)

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“Bend over, birthday boy.”

Your voice had never sounded so husky, so dangerous, and the thrill you felt as Sanji arched his back was delicious. 

“Don’t keep me wait–”

Laughter almost poured from your lips, your teeth clenching down as Sanji practically flew to the center of the bed. This time he arched his back for you while he lifted that biteable ass into the air. 

“Fuck, angel, I love you so much,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering as he pressed his face into the mattress.

“Love you too, pretty boy,” you teased, pressing your lips against his ass cheek while your fingers caressed all that gorgeous flesh. 

Sanji was too much fun to play with. He was always so focused on you, all of his attention ripping you into throbbing pieces before he’d ever take anything for himself. 

This felt amazing. His eagerness spurred you on, a pleased hum moving through you as you spread his cheeks apart.

“I wanna make you feel soo good, honey.”

Sanji tried to reply, but let out a needy gasp as your tongue touched that sensitive ring of muscle, leaving wet circles and increasing the pressure until he made more pretty noises. 

“That feel good, handsome?”

“S-so good,” he answered, shaking as you returned to your work. 

You let your tongue press inside him slightly, just as you reached a hand between his legs to stroke his swollen dick. 

“Oh, fu-uucckk,” Sanji cried out, grunting as you felt that familiar twitching, his thick cock pulsing in your hand. You moaned into his ass, the whimpering praise leaving his lips only growing as his orgasm stretched on.

Leaving soothing circles with your palm on his back, you waited for your lover to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pushing himself back to sit on his heels, shaking his head at the mess he’d made on the bed. 

“We can clean the blanket later, sweetie. I’ll clean this for you though.”

“Gods, fuck,” Sanji practically shouted, laughing after you released his sensitive cock from your mouth. You grinned, the taste of his pleasure on your tongue. 

“You are my filthy angel, aren’t you,” he purred, pulling you in for a kiss before helping you tug the messy blanket off the bed. 

“Can I show you how much I love my present?”

Sanji didn’t wait for an answer, just went to his knees, smoothing his strong hands along your thighs as he pushed you back against the wall. 

“I–”

“You are so sweet to me. So perfect.”

Shivers ran through you as he traced around the straps holding his gift in place. A hand traveled between your thighs, bringing moans from both of you as he found the wetness that had soaked through your panties. 

“So good for me…”

Sanji pulled your panties aside, circling your clit before plunging two fingers inside of you. His other hand gripped your waist, keeping you steady as you met his dark eyes. 

“I love my gift, sweetheart.”

His fingers curled, dancing along that perfect spot within you, right as he took the strap on into his mouth, his eyes fluttering as he looked up at you. 

“Oh my– oh, Sanji…”

You had no idea that the sight of him shoving the toy down his throat would affect you like this, but with his fingers at work, you were already coming. He kept you pressed against the wall, moaning his name while he sucked that toy for you. Your twitching pussy squeezed his fingers, trying to pull him in as you fell apart. 

He hummed as he released you, helping you move toward the bed after giving the toy a few long strokes with his tongue. 

Shaking yourself to bring back your mind after that orgasm, you fisted your fingers into his hair, loving the little moan he let out. 

“It’s your birthday, lover. Be a good boy, and lie down for me. I wanna see your pretty face.”

A wicked smile touched your lips at the desperate whimpers he made while you went to the dresser. Turning back to him with a towel and lube, you found him lying at the edge of the bed, that pretty cock ready and leaking again.

“So good for me, handsome,” you rasped, pouring lube on your fingers while he pulled a pillow under his head to get a better view.

You let your tongue hang loose with want while you rubbed lube around his asshole. The noises and faces he made were already so frenzied, you couldn’t imagine what would happen next. 

“Gods, angel, please. You’re so–”

Your fingers cut him off, pressing in, testing, making him writhe as you wrapped your free hand around that swollen length. 

“How’s that, honey,” you checked in with a tease. “Do my fingers feel–”

“Fuck me, pleeease,” he pleaded, and you rewarded him with another finger. You went slow, but he begged for more. 

Sanji held his legs up, spread wide as he watched you drip lube along his new toy. The drool at the corner of his lips made your body tighten again, loving every second of his frantic pleasure. 

“You really like your present,” you faked a shy voice as you teased his asshole with the tip of the toy.

“Fuck yes, angel. Please…”

“Please, what,” you taunted, kissing his knee.

“Please, fuck me, sweetheart. Please shove that toy in my– Fuck. Oh fuck…”

Nice and slow, you rocked your hips into him, every face he made etching into your mind forever. 

He whined for you to go faster, so you fucked that curved toy into him, knowing it was hitting right where he needed it.

“Y/N, angel, so good–”

“Yeah, pretty boy? You like it when I fuck your ass, handsome?”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond as you grabbed his cock again, thrusting into him while you felt those thick veins pulsing in your hand. 

“Y/N, feels so– coming, angel,”

He choked out those words while you praised him. You let out your own soft moans of pleasure as you watched hot ropes of come spill out, covering his chest and stomach while his eyes rolled back. 

Letting him go only when he twitched and begged, you laid beside him to catch your breath before meeting his eyes with a grin. 

“Soo, did you like–”

“Best present ever,” he panted, rolling to kiss your cheek. “My filthy angel spoils me too much. Let’s clean up so I can spoil you back.”

His raspy words arched your back a bit, and you sighed as his lips met yours. 

“Mm, happy birthday, pretty boy.”

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Oh, Sanji 🥰🥰

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel | @vinsmokesangio

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[nyoomiin]

roommates: part three.

your new roommate is... odd, and recently, so are your dreams. still, despite the secrecy, the mystery, and his ice cold exterior, you have the feeling you'd waltz right into love with him. (maybe you already have before.)

pairing. scaramouche x gn!reader

tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, reincarnation au, post irminsul erasure

prev. masterlist. next.

“Me?” the boy asks hesitantly, glancing toward his companion for help.

Niwa — right, that was his name — laughs, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder and pushing him forward. “You're scaring him, my dear.”

You roll your eyes at your friend, then give the boy another cursory once-over. You were right. He'd be perfect for the garment you were designing. Beckoning him over, you grin at him as you lead him into your fitting room. “I have just the thing for you! Let me take your measurements first, then I'll tailor the clothes to fit. Niwa, I'll give you a discount only because you brought this angel here.”

“Hah! You're the best.”

Shaking your head with a fond smile, you turn toward the boy. He looked nervous, fiddling with the hem of his sleeves, but no matter — it was time to get to work.

You blink, rubbing at your eyes in an attempt to clear your mind, trying to recall the dream you just had. Yet try as you might, it slips from your grasp, the faint trace of nostalgia slipping away with the breeze.

It was blue, you think.

And that's when inspiration struck.

"It's perfect,” you murmur, holding up the finished product in your hands.

A soft, silky shawl of blues and teals, dusted with a faint shimmer — an olive branch for your roommate, so to speak. Honestly, you were getting pretty tired of him wearing the same outfit almost daily, and what better gift than one handmade?

He'd look positively angelic in it, you think. You only hope he doesn't slam the door in your face before you could give it to him. You huff. He had better like it. You hadn't rushed your commission and put all that effort into the shawl for nothing. Not to mention, the materials you used were nothing but the highest of quality. Hmph.

“What do you want?” comes his gruff response to your knock on his door.

At the very least, he wasn't outright ignoring you like he used to do a week ago. You grin, even if he can't see it. "I have something for you! It's handmade. Come and take a look at it at least. Pretty please?”

It's silent.

A minute passes, then two.

You sigh, turning away in defeat. Another day, then. Though at this rate, that day might never come at all… Well, you hadn't put in all that effort just to give up now.

"I'll leave it here by the door,” you call. Just for good measure, you give the door another rap to be sure you still had his attention. "I don't care what you do with it as long as it's not still here by tomorrow morning. Have a good night!”

You turn away to leave, but this time, it's with a petty, stubborn resolve. One way or another, he would be your friend. He had to.

(His hands ghost over the shawl, fingers trembling.

It's soft, he notes, and every thread carefully woven. The design embroidered on its edges is undeniably Sumerian, but he can tell its maker is undeniably you.

And his heart thrums, loud in his ears and suffocating in his chest. It's infuriating.

This version of you is not the same as the version of the past he had known — that he cannot refute. Yet from your smile to your needlework, down to the way you'd leave him a warm bowl of soup — how could you not be one and the same?

He sets the shawl back down into the box it had come in, only to notice a piece of paper at its bottom.

This is for you, it reads. I think we got off on the wrong start that day, so I made this for you to make up for it. I hope you like it.

He scoffs, amused at your attempts to befriend him. It had worked on him then, when he had been clueless and naive and far too trusting, but fat chance it would work on him now. You don’t even remember him, for fuck's sake.

Still, he thinks, perhaps he should indulge you just the once. For old time's sake.)

taglist. (send an ask to be added.)

@franaby @dragontammerz @ainnofinway @sketcheeee @briluvspnk @bunniicantsleep @featuredtofu @tragedy-of-commons @parkjayssi

[drconstellation]

The Assistant Book Seller

Edit 1 Dec 2023 - added missing information on the "ribbon pattern."

Edit: 3 Dec 2023 - correct information about middle pattern from creator

GABRIEL: Greetings! I'm Jim! It's short for James, but I don't need to keep telling everyone that. I'm an assistant book seller.

I'm sorry. Before I do anything else, I need to apologize for something I need to write further in. I didn't plan to write it, I just kind of bumped into it and, well, I can't ignore it. So...sorry. It's said. Forgive me for what needs to be done.

Although he arrived with nothing but a cardboard box and Rodney the Stunt Fly, Aziraphale made sure Jim was clothed in appropriate raiment while under his protection. We'll forgive him that he took a step back about, oh, fifty years or so to the 1970's, as Jim's overall look is a nod to the famous old sitcom "Open All Hours." So if he looks a little bit out of place, or, a little bit familiar, even, that's why.

While we are used to seeing angels in overcoats, it's Jim's vest that is the particular feature here. But I will take a moment to comment on the overcoat - not just the colour but its lapels. Aziraphale has obviously given him a colour with an earthly connection and one that indicate that he has bought Jim under his protection, but the lapels look quite neutral, with one up and one down. (Muriel is the same in their Inspector uniform, btw) This is the first indication they are between two things at the moment.

Onto the vest.

There is so, so much work and thought put into this vest! It was a one-off commission for the show, and the creator, Sandy Higgins, has said she is not allowed to give away the final design pattern. I have tried to contact her, and I'm waiting for a reply, so in the mean time I thought I would ask my keen knitter of a sister-in-law about one of the patterns I'm not sure about. "Well, that's Fair Isle knitting," she said, but she knew nothing about the individual line pattern I was interested in. Hmm, I kind of know that already, its in the notes that are guiding me for this meta, but hey, why not do a broader search and see what comes up?

So once I got back home I did. "Fair Isle knitting patterns" hmm...Wikipedia page for starters...what on *earth* is that at the bottom of the page...? YOU ARE. FRIKKING. KIDDING ME!!!!!!!

"See also: Gumbys"

oh ffs

I am so sorry that needs must make me mention Monty Python yet again, but here we are. And we must mention them, because this link is just too...unbelievably, deliciously good.

If you aren't familiar with the Monty Python catalogue, and don't recognize the mention of Gumbys, they were a set of characters that dressed and spoke in a certain way but the main points to take away were they wore woolen vests in the Fair Isle knitted style and their catch-phrase was - wait for it - "My brain hurts!"

I think we've heard that somewhere before?

CROWLEY: When you first arrived, you said you were here because they were planning to do 'Something Terrible' to you. So you remembered it then. Remember it now. GABRIEL: It hurts to remember. My head isn't built for that.

Right. Now we've got that out of the way...back to the serious stuff.

The colours used in the vest are not your typical angel colours. There is a base of angelic off-white and there are some bits of purple for his royalty around the shoulder area - sometimes you need to look carefully for it. Otherwise it is dominated by vintage shades of red and green. Well. Who's an agent of change driven by love, then?

The horizontal stripe pattern is partly to remind us of the classic biblical robes with stripes that ran along them, much like the style of Crowley's black and red robe in the Job minisode, but is also part of the traditional Fair Isles pattern work. And each row only has two colours, but up around the shoulder area we do see purple start to sneak in as a third colour.

On to the incorporated symbols! I'm going to go from bottom to top.

On the lowest two we feature Crowley and Aziraphale. We have Crowley's demon satyr tail from the Good Omens logo on the lowest stripe - the double-headed arrow.

The next stripe is Aziraphale, with a variation of the classic OXO pattern ("hugs and kisses.") The X is meant to represent his angel wings, and the O is modified to mimic the "o" with a halo in the Good Omens logo. I've highlighted all three in the image on the right.

The third row up is a Sumerian Star pattern that represents one of the flowers associated with Gabriel, the lily. They are supposed to represent the purity of Mary, mother of Jesus, as he had one in his hand when he visited her during the Annunciation.

The row above that is what I believe to be a Byzantium pattern, and is included to show "an Angel's ability to be timeless."

The next three rows are still under a bit of a question mark as I write this. I plan to come back and edit it in if I find the answer.

The bottom of the three is the Duke of Buccleuch pattern, "to celebrate the long and necessary contribution that the cottage industry of hand knitted items."

The middle one - ? (perhaps you, the reader, know? It looks like a spiralling ribbon if I stand back, but that isn't sparking any connections, either.)

Edit: @noneorother tells me in a reblog (below) that this pattern represents the shoelace from the magic incantation Aziraphale uses "Banana Fish Gorilla Shoelace." So it is ribbon-like! This then points to the Second Coming, as it the shoelace references the end of the book, and the last paragraph of the book references Yeats poem "The Second Coming" as well as the novel 1984. To me it is then also telling us there is a cycle occurring, or a cycle that needs to be renewed. This fits in with some other clues other meta-writers have been picking up.

Edit 2: Turns out none of that was correct - I heard back from the creator herself and it's actually the double-ended satyr tail pattern again! It just seems to make a bit of an illusion of a ribbon or shoelace.

The pattern below is a modified OXO pattern.

The top one looks like two rams horns facing each other. A hollowed out rams horn can be used as a trumpet, and is known as a shofar in Jewish religion. Gabriel was traditionally known to carry a trumpet.

The ancient meander pattern would be recognized by most people, included as another classic timeless pattern found all over the world. For some it symbolizes eternity and endless flow.

The wheels here appear to be Michael's ophanim wheels, that would have eyes around the rims.

The hourglass is to remind us that time is running out. Memento mori - "Remember that you die." It is a major theme in both series.

Right up high, just before we lose the rest of the vest inside the overcoat, we get a glimpse of a large diamond-shaped icon. I wonder if this is another stylized set of angel wings, like we saw in the Job minisode on Aziraphale's golden collar.

To finish off the outfit, he is wearing dark gray trousers with sneakers! I'm sure that's so he could keep sneaking up on Aziraphale in the shop, haha. His shirt seems a little too large for him and the tie is knotted too high and is not settled along his centerline. It's all at odds with his previous neat and sharp appearance as Supreme Archangel Gabriel.

I'd like to say a big thank you to @aduckwithears for helping me with information on the vest and finding the creator's other social media sites. You can see their two posts about it here and here.

[scar-lie]

Let’s Take A Shower [Natasha]

I DO COMMISSION JUST DM ME FOR THE INFO

Summary : Natasha just come from from a mission and she’s looking for her girl to cuddle and one thing leads to another

Pairing : Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Warnings : G!P Natasha Romanoff (Natasha Have a P), P and V, Fingering, Oral (R receiving), Bathroom sex, Orgasm control, Breast play, Finger sucking, Praise kink, Daddy kink, Unprotected sex, Biting, Hickeys, pet name (Pincess) [Let me know if I missed something]

Word Count : 1715

⚠️18+ Minors DNI, read at your own risk

No one has permission to repost my work anywhere, if you see it please let me know.

Natasha just got home from a mission and she's so exhausted, all she wants is her girl to cuddle with

"Hey, love, how was the mission?" her wife Y/N asked once she saw her wife walk inside

"Tiring," Natasha whispers, dropping her bag in the front door

Y/N meets her halfway and gives a hug and kisses her wife's lips, but Natasha keeps wanting to leave kisses on her wife all over her face and this makes Y/N giggle

"Ok stop, what do you want for dinner? we can just order" Y/N cup her wife's face and Nat pout with a sigh

"I'm full, Tony brings us in Shawarma" Natasha whispers and starts kissing her wife again until it turns into a heated one

Her hands start to travel up inside her wife's shirt and cup her wife's breast kneading them and this makes Y/N moan on Natasha's mouth

"Let's take a shower, princess" Then Natasha bite her wife's bottom lips, all Y/N do is moan while nodding

So she picks her wife and goes up to their room while making out on the way. Once they got to their room into their bathroom, Natasha put her down on the counter, moving her lips down to her neck, leaving a bruising mark on the way

She tore her wife's shirt revealing her wife's bare chest and went lower to her kisses to the valley of her wife's breast then she moved her lips on her wife's right tits while she's kneading the other one, making sure to give her perky breast the same attention

"Mmmhh, Nat" Y/N entangled her hand in Natasha's hair and her legs around the redhead's upper ass

"Fuck this tits" the red head moan biting the sensitive nub while the Y/N throw her head back biting her bottom lips

"More, Natty please" the red head smirk hooking her two fingers in her wife's sweatpants tugging it slightly

And Y/N quickly pushed up her hips to help the red head take it off with her underwear, and once it was off the red head lowered her kisses to her ribs in her stomach then to her V line while teasing her clit with her pointer finger

"Nat, please.....no teasing" Y/N moans bucking her hips up to try speed things up so that Natasha starts pleasuring her

"My princess is desperate" she whispers standing up to face her wife and this makes Y/N whine

"Shhh" then Natasha kisses her wife for a second then goes right back, kneeling in front of her wife's spread legs

She quickly dives in, sucking her clit harder and teasing her fingers in her entrance, dipping the tip and pulling away and this makes the woman whine from anticipation

"Please....Natty please, need your fingers" She moans bucking her hips and her hand the redhead's hair gripping it hard

"As you wish, princess" Natasha husked on her clit making her shiver down her spine

She entered her 2 digits into her wife's tiny hole, she moaned on her clit, feeling her clench in her fingers until she bottomed out

"Mmmhhh, feels so good" Y/N moaned, throwing her head back

"Fuck you taste so good, princess" Natasha man sucking her clit even harder and pumping her digits faster

"Mmmhh there.......just like that" Y/N bucking her hips

"Fuck, doing suck a great job, princess" Natasha praises and this makes her go crazy, she loves when Natasha praises her

Then Natasha stands up but her fingers are still pumping and she attaches her lips on her wife's tits again, sucking, biting and licking it

"Mmhhhh, so close............." Y/N moans constantly clenching to her fingers and Natasha's lips go up, making her sure she hover her lips on your skin on the way up to your jaw and under your ear

"Cum, whatever you want , princess" Natasha bite her ear lobe and sucks it

"Make a mess on my fingers, princess, coat it with your juices" you moan when she husks on your ear, watching you scrunch your nose, close eyes, eyebrows connected together and your mouth wide open, moaning silently

"Cum, princess, cum" she husked, your face is blown with pure pleasure and this turns Natasha on, making her member harder that it painfully hurts inside her suit

"Ohhhhh fuck" she curl her fingers repeatedly, brushing her fingers in your g-spot and you know your not gonna last longer

"Cum" Natasha demand and with one curl you cum hard on her fingers with a pornographic moan

"There you go" Natasha husked, kissing your cheeks and pumping her fingers slowly to prolong your orgasm and help you get down on your high

"Thank you....Natty" You whisper, kissing her lips

Once you both pull out, Natasha sucks her 2 digits, moaning at your taste, you watch her closely while biting your lips then get down to the counter, ready to go in the shower

"Fuck, princess you taste divine" Natasha moan getting behind you and make you look at the mirror

"So delicious" she husked on your ear then she quickly got rid of her pants and underwear then hump your ass

"Where not done yet, princess" she whispers, kissing and sucking your sweet spot in your neck, under your ear then she puts her cock, between your thigh then trust to it, making sure she's brushing your pussy then take her shirt off

"I-I thought..........wh-where gonna get-............Oh fuck, Natty.....Mmmmhh" you moan throwing your head back on her shoulder, giving her more access in your neck and clench around her thick staff that keeps pushing forward, going deeper inside you

"Mhhhh, fuck so tight" Natasha husked having a hard time pushing in since your gripping her hard and it makes her hard to move so she wrapped her arm around your waist then tuck her head on your neck

"Mhhh fuck.........le-let's.....oh fuck..... get sh-shower la-later.....fuck please more, giv-give it all to me" you moan arching your back, getting a new angle and grip her arm that was wrapped around you

"Mmmhhhh, fuck" Natasha moan and trust harder making her staff go deeper into you and her tips brushing to your cervix and this makes your eye roll to the back of your head

"Fuck.....s-so good, Daddy" you moan one hand grip the edge of the sink and one hand love up to Natasha's hair gripping it

"Fuck" Natasha moan biting your neck and her member twitch inside you when she heard what you called her

"So you have a Daddy kink huh?" she husked licking her bite mark and some hickey on your neck, made by her

"Oh fuck" you moan not caring if you called her Daddy, all is in your mind is how long, thick and deep she is inside you

"Seems like you're in your own world, princess" Natasha husked, putting out almost all the way leaving only her tip and slam back inside you

"Mhh fuck Daddy.....there fuck-fucking right there" you nearly scream when she keeps repeating her action.

"Fuck this pussy........such a good girl, taking Daddy so well" Natasha whisper kissing your shoulder and her right hand moves up to your breast and pinch it

"Ahhhh fuck, right there, yo-your making me feel....so fucking good" you mumbled with a moan scratching the back of her neck and her should then your nails digging in her arm that still wrapped around you

She keeps pounding into you, whispering how good you're taking her and how tight and warm your pussy is, then constantly kneading your breast, pinching and pulling it, adding pleasure on your body and on her own

Oh how does she love your tits, your tits are one of her favorites part of your body, she always wants to knead them, suck them and see it even in the public places, there's no way or no one can stop her to keep her hands on herself when your tits are on the table

"Mmmhhh fuck, so close daddy, please" you moan starting to match her trust too while she keeps watching you in the mirror while biting your skin

"Hold it, princess" she husk, seeing her mark on your chest, neck and breast and there's even a handprint bruise on your right breast along with hickeys

"Fuck you look so good at my mark" she growl fucking you harder and faster and the only your moan, pant and skin slapping can be heard in the room

"Daddy please" you whine, getting harder to hold your orgasm and clenching around her

"Hold it, princess, I'm close.......want you to cum around my cock" she mumbled kissing your jaw and cheeks then she moved her right hand down to your client and rubbed it in a hard circle making you cry

"Fuck.......I'm gonna cum" you scream not able to hold it anymore and her trust become a slow deep and hard trust that makes you drive crazy

"Cum" Natasha moans and with one trust you cum hard on her cock

While you're cumming and clenching around her hard she spills her seed deep inside you, filling you up to the brim that all you could is how she fills you up good and how full you are with her seed

"Fuck!" Natasha growl cumming and you silently moan, mouth wide open and head thrown back to her shoulder so was your eyes

"You're milking me dry" Natasha moans humping you to prolong yours and her orgasm until after a few hump she stops

Looking at you in the mirror, your legs are shaking that they can't hold your weight up anymore but Natasha quickly wrapped her arm around you to keep you up then your body all like a jello, one hand hanging in the side and one hand hanging over her shoulder so was your head on her shoulder

"Mmmhh thank you" you mumbled, clearly tired and wanting to sleep at how hard your orgasm is, that all of your energy drains

This makes Natasha chuckle, knowing too well that you're not gonna be able to make it in the shower on your own, so she kisses your cheek then brings you in the shower

Cleaning you both while you put all of your weight to Natasha the whole time, then she both dry your hair and change you both in only just her boxer and go to the bed, ready to sleep

Well only Natasha since you're already asleep since Natasha got you both out in the shower, so she lay you gently in the bed and got behind you, spooning you and kissing your head

"I love you" she whispered and you mumbled in your sleep that made Natasha smile and join you in your sleep

[yaekiss]

i loved that aether fic! can you pls make him a yandere for us?

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Top! Reader x Sub! Yan! Bottom! Camboy! Aether, reader's dick can be read as strap, he steals your clothes, possessiveness from Aether, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: Thank you for enjoying the camboy!Aether work!! It was really interesting to brainstorm about how he would behave as a yan!camboy so I got a little carried away again hehe, hope you like the ramble ! ♡

Yandere!Camboy!Aether who’s not only a slut but a slut for you ♡ His affection for you stems from how you always secretly check in on him during your streams together. Your voice is low as you ask him if the pace is alright, if you can start moving, if the position is comfortable for him. And don’t even get him started on the aftercare. The amount of care you show him contrasted with how harshly you slam into him has his mind spinning, creating some twisted contorted lust-filled version of love that he just wants to shower you with.

It’s no doubt that he’s super sweet towards you off cam but I feel like he’d also be a bit of a pervert in this AU. Once, after a collab stream together, when you left the room to grab a drink, he leaps up at the opportunity to steal a piece of your undergarments before you return. He stashes it in a Ziploc bag he brought along specifically for this and immediately chucks it into his luggage, stored underneath some bulkier lighting or filming equipment so that you wouldn’t find it. The second he gets home, he's pressing it up to his face and inhaling your scent as he strokes himself. Aether’s probably also a yandere who would commission a dildo that matches your size so that he can fuck himself at home while crying out your name as he watches your streams. Tears well up in his eyes as he can’t seem to cum, the artificial blue light from his laptop unable to replicate the sheer warmth in your gaze every time you take him, your voice through his speakers is too crackly and nothing at all like how you would whisper and coo slyly into his ear. Poor baby :((

During collabs, Aether constantly battles with the dilemma of whether: 

1. On one hand, he wants the whole audience to see that only you could pound his brains out like this until he’s blubbering and whining out things that make no sense. No one else can make you feel as good as him, right? (In actual fact, you do stream with others apart from Aether, it’s just that he vehemently chooses not to watch them, scowling at the notification that pops up whenever you go live with someone other than him.) Every time you suck a hickey onto his skin, pure dopamine floods his mind. You’re leaving a mark on him-! Wahhh means you really do like him right? Right? Rightright? 🥹

2. He wants you to only focus on him, so no more of your pesky audience! Aether hates hates hates it when you look away from him to address your viewers. Whenever he watches you turn from him to face the camera, there’s a small ugly part of Aether that bristles as you address them so endearingly. Mind muddled with jealousy and lust and desire, he wants to scream, “Why do you need to ask them if they’re enjoying the view? Just look at me, am I not enough for you?” But he knows better than that, the both of you are streamers after all and he wouldn’t know what he’d do if you ever got mad at him for ruining a stream. What if you never want to stream with him ever again? What if you cut off all means of contact with him!? The risks are too high for Aether’s poor heart to bear so no matter how his hand itches to turn off the stupid blinking red webcam, he holds himself back and just pouts at you.

All in all, Yan!Camboy!Aether is a pathetic perv teehee :3c

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Five: Somewhere in the Crowd There’s You

a/n: here’s chapter five of my purely self-indulgent fun — a little later than i anticipated because i was sick and got a little derailed. we are half way now and things will be heating up in the next few chapters, haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader.

warnings/tags: (10k words); mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

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“You sent too much money.” 

It’s your father’s voice that spills down the other line. Gruff in a way that alerts you your fears aren’t for naught, as he’s likely had many sleepless nights since the last you spoke. You recall days as a child, when your mother had been sick, and your father would stay awake all hours of the night, if only to clean up the house so she didn’t have to. To make sure that her worries were only meant to be on getting better and resting. 

“I…have a business and it’s going well,” you explain, chewing on your bottom lip. 

Across the room, Steve’s fluffing pillows and putting a champagne bottle on ice. Your guests will be here soon, likely within the next few minutes, though when your father’s name flashed across your screen you knew you needed to answer. 

“Only a few clients now, but I’m hopeful I’ll pick up more,” you continue, exhaling deeply. “I want you to have it. I know Caroline mentioned needing new shoes. Please let me do this.”

There’s a long pause. “Okay, okay. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Clinical year at school, newly married, and now a businesswoman. How is my son-in-law?”

“He’s…” 

Steve rushes into the kitchen where you’re standing, hands curling around either of your hips to shift you away from the refrigerator so he can pull out the charcuterie board you had commissioned for the evening’s gathering. 

“He’s really great. He’s been busy since we got back from our honeymoon, but he’s doing really well.”

Ever since your moment days ago in the kitchen, after Steve had pushed aside picking you up and opted to send Hopper in his stead, your relationship has taken new form. True to his word, Steve started a new habit of not answering his phone after you're done with your clinicals for the evening. Afternoons now had been spent watching your shows together on nights you didn’t have prior engagements with his coworkers, merely existing in the same room together, becoming…friends. 

Literal friends, in the truest sense of the word. And it’s more than you can ask for, though you can’t lie that even the slightest touches leave you a little breathless. There’s also the kisses to the back of your hand at dinner, the way he curls his palm around the top of your thigh while his coworkers regale a particularly interesting story, the lingering press of his mouth against your forehead when he’s feeling especially doting in mixed company. 

Progress. 

You’re making progress. 

“I actually should go and help him. We have company this afternoon. His cousin and wife are visiting us for the first time since the wedding. Still getting used to hosting gatherings as a couple, you know?” There’s a chuckle on the other end, and you know him well enough to imagine the slow shake of his head. “I love you so much and I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

The line clicks, leaving you to witness Steve elbow deep in the sink, washing your coffee mugs from earlier that morning. Your eyes slide to the perfectly operational dishwasher on his right side, though you can’t deny that the sight of your husband, bare arms shifting and moving as he works, is a lovely one. None the wiser of your ogling, you step forward to him, elbow leaning down against the counter. 

“You know, the dishwasher is empty,” you point out. 

“I am perfectly capable of cleaning a few dishes,” he grouses, rinsing a cup and settling it in the drying rack. “I also need to keep moving. Getting antsy now that they’re running late.”

“Hey, Steve?” You step closer, your front brushing his hip. He shakes his head as you do so, a laugh breaking free from his mouth as you grip his arms and still him in his frantic movements. “Put the sponge down. And the plate. The fork, too.”

The three items plunk down into the sink, a loud clatter in your otherwise silent home. Fingers curl around a hand towel and he reaches over to grasp his wedding ring, pushing it back into place against his knuckle. One thing you’ve found, and you particularly enjoy, is the fact Steve’s never taken off his ring. Not once. Even under the false pretenses of marriage, seeing him wearing a symbol of your union, of the vows you shared some time ago now, erupts dozens of bees into your bloodstream. Humming, buzzing, igniting your every nerve ending with electricity. 

“Are you okay,” you ask, hand coming to rest against his back. 

It’s the softest brush, and yet he turns his head all the same, hazel eyes meeting yours, and then trailing up the inside of your arm to where you’re touching. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he says unconvincingly, shifting to face you now. That arm drops as he does so, but is replaced by his two large hands cupping your biceps. “Just want to get through this afternoon and then I’ll be much happier.”

Your mouth opens to speak, to ask him why the stress over this afternoon, when his phone rings and the doorman lets him know Theobald and Cami have finally arrived. It’s not the first time you’ve met them. The first had been at your wedding, where introductions to most of Steve’s friends and extended family were done so in a rapid fire manner. They’d been kind enough; as much as one can be in a two minute conversation wherein you welcomed them and thanked them for coming to celebrate your “special day” with the love of your life. 

But now, seeing them there in the flesh, brought a new wave of nervousness into your belly. Theobald Cletus, with his dark hair that resembles Steve’s, with tan skin and the beginnings of wrinkles that crease his forehead and around the corners of his mouth. And beside him, his stunning wife with silky red curls that fell to her waist in ringlets, delicately freckled cheeks, and impossibly green eyes. Ethereal—she looked ethereal and, by your guessing, quite a bit younger than her husband standing with a hand against the smallest point of her back. 

As your mouth opens to speak and welcome them into your home, Cami rushes forward, curling her arms around your shoulders in a frighteningly tight hug that has you wincing and peering over your shoulder to your husband. Steve only shrugs as he steps forward and cups his hand around his cousin’s, only to be tugged forward into a hug of his own. 

“Theobald, you’ve met my wife,” Steve finally says once you’ve managed to extract yourself from Cami long enough to sidle back up to him, his arm settling around your waist, palm curling affectionately around your hip. One of the appropriate touches you’ve discussed, and yet it has your head spinning all the same. 

Just as it does every time. 

“Ah, yes.” His eyes flicker to yours. Darker than your husband’s, corners twitching as his lips curl into a smile. “The new Mrs. Harrington. How could I forget that whirlwind affair?”

Head dipping uncomfortably, you press your palm against Steve’s where it rests against your hip, sliding your fingers between his to lace them tight. “It was pretty crazy, wasn’t it?” Awkwardly laughing, you turn to look to Steve for support. “Should we take this into the living room?”

“Please!” Cami exclaims, flicking her hair over her shoulders. “I would love to hear all about the honeymoon. I want all the details. Should we be expecting any little Harringtons soon?”

Just as you say, “Absolutely not,” Theobald echoes, “My cousin loves kids. Always wanted a brood of them.”

It’s expected, you think. It’s a common question after marriage, no matter how inappropriate. Society says once you’re married you’re to obviously have children next. Frankly, it’s archaic and a ridiculous practice. And even so, Theobald’s words strike a sudden sadness into your chest. This thought that Steve so deeply wants children. A thought you could completely see come to fruition based on his interactions with El and Will alone. They’d been immediately endeared to him. All wide eyes and bright laughter, vibrant conversation, his endless bantering with them. 

Steve Harrington would be a good father to his future children one day with his real wife. Not the woman you are to him for the next three years. 

However, it’s at this moment you rationalize the error in your plans. A real couple would have had these conversations about future children already. 

“Not now, at least,” you giggle airily, curling your arm around Steve’s and tugging him close. His brows furrow as you add, “Right now I’m just enjoying spending time with my husband. I want to be a little selfish for a while yet.”

“Understandable,” Cami agrees, settling down on your living room couch, crossing her legs and revealing a stunning pair of Gucci pumps that likely cost your half of the rent while still living with Robin. “I love our two little gremlins, but they take up all our free time. Constantly running them around to school events, dance classes, sporting events.”

“Sweetheart, the au pair does all of that,” Theobald chuckles, earning a whack in the arm from his wife. “Enough about that. Tell me…how did you two meet? It all happened so fast.”

“As you already pointed out,” Steve warns, hand around yours growing tighter. 

Cami moves to open the champagne bottle, easing the tension in the room with the echoing pop. Glasses are poured and passed around the table, glasses coming together in a soft ‘cheers’ before you bring the champagne flute to your lips and take a large swallow. Bubbles burst against your tongue, eyes training on Theobald’s, just as he passes a look your way. 

A battle of wills then, you think. 

“We met at a party,” you begin, removing your hand from Steve's and gripping the bottom of his chin, shifting him enough that he’s looking at you. “We’d known each other for a bit through our mutual friend, and we’d always kind of danced around one another. In the same spaces always, yet too nervous to make the first move.”

Steve watches you carefully as you weave your tale that isn’t really a tale. It’s mostly the truth, with the romance added in. But it comes naturally. Pours out of you with an unexpected ease that has Cami leaning into her husband’s shoulder, green eyes twinkling as you speak. 

“And then one afternoon, Stevie bought me a drink and walked it over to where I was standing by myself. My friend had just left to use the restroom, and here he stood…all tall, dark, and handsome. We started talking that night and just realized how easy it was to be around one another. I’d never talked so much on a first date, and yeah—I considered that our first date. After that we spent nearly every day together. It didn’t take long for us both to realize we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together. Some might think it was rushed, but there’s that saying, right? When you know, you know. And with my school starting up again, and us wanting so badly to get married, we thought no time like the present. Now here we are.”

For emphasis, you lean forward. Close enough that Steve’s eyes cross, his mouth dropping a hint at the corners, before twitching upward when your lips press against the corner of his mouth. A tentative press of your skin just barely against his. You linger with your forehead against his, trying not to focus on the temperature in the room, or how it feels it’s creeping higher and higher with every passing moment you remain connected to him. 

“Here we are,” Steve echoes, breath fanning against your bottom lip. 

Were you to even move an inch, your mouths would connect. A thought he must have as well, because he brings his thumb up and taps your bottom lip gently, nuzzling your nose until you hear the excitable clapping of Cami’s hands where she’s sitting on the living room touch. Pushing the hem of your summer dress down back around your knees, you shift and take in the older man sitting across from you. His eyes are narrowed on your face, a twitch not unnoticed in his cheek as he jolts to his feet and suggests Steve and him have a little bit of time as ‘cousins’ on the private patio. Noticing your hesitance at him leaving your side, Steve brushes a gentle kiss against your forehead, pours you another glass of champagne, and promises he’ll be right back. 

With the door closed and the men left to their own devices, you look over to Cami. Cami, the picture of beauty. An image of a woman who walks in this world of the elites and has no qualms about it; steps into it and commands it, whereas you’re still walking around on wobbly legs like a baby deer. Even her clothes look like they were made for her. Luxurious fabrics that ebb and flow with her every movement, high neck of her summer dress leading to a gorgeous diamond necklace falling to the hollow of her throat. 

Across from her, your dress suddenly feels too tight. Gifted by your mother-in-law who insisted she owned her own fashion line, and therefore absolutely must dress her only daughter. A quick phone call wherein you protested her suggestions ended with a ring from the doorman alerting you a delivery of multiple garments had arrived for you. Various dresses for each occasion, pants, shoes, blouses and anything you could imagine ever needing were added to your closet. All elaborate in design, and becoming for a new wife to the CEO of a major contracting company. The biggest the city touted, if you were completely honest with yourself. 

Today you wore an off the shoulder floral patterned dress and the diamond earrings gifted by your mother-in-law as a bridal shower gift. You’d pushed aside the thought of heels for the afternoon; instead opted for a comfy pair of sandals that were maybe in their last season of use, but now they only looked garish in the light beside the Gucci pumps on Cami’s feet. 

Comparison, this ugly weed of a thing, grew up within you against your better wishes. Robbed you of what little air fell in and out of your lungs as you sat there, sipping your champagne. You didn’t care for these preconceived ideas of what a Harrington wife should look like, right? You were your own person, had been long before him, and would continue to be so after him. Yet sitting there, watching her gracefully move about the room, and commenting on the pictures you’d added from the wedding, reminds you of how some people were meant for this life. Some people were raised for it. 

You were not. 

“He looks so in love with you,” Cami trills, fingers running along the silver edge of your photo frame, lifting it nearer to her face for inspection. You know exactly which one it is. Jonathan had told the two of you to look one another in the eyes and press your foreheads together. He’d draped your veil over the both of you, the setting sun basking you both in a golden hour halo. It’s dreamy. A shot so dreamy it’s easy to believe it is of a man deeply in love with his bride. “That new love look. Cherish it. You know how these Harrington men are.”

Actually…you don’t. 

You’re not interested in even asking her what she intends by her words, but when she places the photo back down and turns your way, there’s a glimmer of something wet on her lower lashes. Awkwardly, you clear your throat, reaching over and offering to refill her glass. She heartily accepts, fingers combing through long amber locks as she settles back down on the couch across from you, crossing her legs once more. Again, she’s the statuesque image of perfection; cracks visible in her foundation, yet devastatingly beautiful all the same. 

“You’ve got the best one,” she sniffles, grasping a piece of cheese and a cracker within her index and pointer. “Stevie is a sweetheart. Always has been. Theobald is hard on him, and I always try to tell him to ease up. The late Mr. Harrington was always so rough on his son as it is without Theo breathing down his neck.”

The late Mr. Harrington. 

You knew very little of him. From what you’ve gathered—the very scraps of things here and there, as Steve never really mentioned him—their relationship, while his father had been alive, was a strained one. His parents had him later in life; a quick Google search would show as much. The heir to the company born with a silver platter before him, wanting for naught, pushed into the limelight. 

Still, hearing Cami talk about Steve…with pity—grief tightens like a vice around your heart. Envisioning those hazel eyes of your husband, staring up expectantly at a man who never saw his son’s achievements for what they were. And now, at his young age, trying to make his late father proud at the expense of his own self. 

Long hours, constant meetings, coaching calls. Pushing, striving, hustling.

With a long sigh, you glance toward the outside patio, where you can see your husband with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. His left hand curls around the stem of his glass, hand gesticulating wildly in the air as he talks with Theobald, hair in disarray. Like he’s been raking his fingers through it. Eyes trail his shoulders next, along the contours of sinewy muscle, then further up where you can visibly see the rigidity in his form. 

“Steve is…” 

Your voice breaks, eyes tipping downward to your bubbly drink in hand. Cami’s fingers curl around your wrist, a sympathetic frown lining her pristine features, and you know she’s thinking you’re caught up in your emotions. But in reality, it’s because there are so many things he is, all of which swirl like a muddied mess in your hazy mind. 

“Steve is a good man. He’s the best man. I’m really lucky to have him.”

When you glance up, there he is, grin gracing his features. It’s plain as day he’s heard you; those stiff shoulders slacken. Tension eases from the curve of his mouth, as well as in the grip of his fingers around his glass. Instead his face morphs into elation, feet carrying him over to where you sit so he can once more slide an arm around your waist and tug you close. 

Theobald regards you carefully in the distance, taking in the way you slide into the crook of your husband’s chest, seeking the warmth of him. The comfort of someone in your corner, seated in a room ripe with scrutiny. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers against your ear, just as Cami dives into conversation about her and Theo’s children, revealing photo after photo of their adorable faces on her iPhone screen. 

“We’re the Harringtons, aren’t we?” 

He chuckles brightly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

Day shifts into evening.

Conversations drift around lighter topics. Talks of your schooling, your plans for the future, the business you’ve started. A fact which, to your unamusement, Theobald finds more than mildly intriguing when he later corners you in the kitchen as Steve and Cami flip through the photos she had taken at the wedding on her phone (despite Steve’s pitying gazes for you to rescue him). Instead, you’d offered to start cleaning up, knowing your husband and you had dinner plans with another couple from the office. 

“A dog walking business…” He mutters, elbow dropping down onto the counter. “How quaint.”

“It’s extra money,” you say simply, placing a watery glass into the drying rack. “You’re a businessman, aren’t you? Isn’t it better to make all my money now while I’m younger?”

“That I am. And I would agree,” he murmurs, eyes trailing your profile. “It’s just curious since you know how wealthy your husband is. He’s CEO of the company now, and that’s not even counting the hefty inheritance he got as the sole Harrington son. That kind of money is generational. He could never work another day in his life and be well off.”

“My husband is supportive of my endeavors,” you grumble out, training your eyes on the kitchen backsplash. 

“Obviously,” he agrees goodnaturedly. “He loves you. Everyone can see it. All of a sudden our hard working golden child is leaving the office at normal times, running home to his lovely wife. I just hope he knows what he’s doing.”

Heat flashes like lava in your gut over the revelation that your ruse is working. It’s hindered by Theobald’s latter statement, mind stuttering over his blasé persona. The question as to whether or not Steve knows what he’s doing. Trying to hide your piqued interest, you harden your expression into one of neutrality. 

As your mouth opens to speak, Cami cuts you off with a shrill, “Theobald, they have to get ready for their dinner. We’ve overstayed our welcome. But I would absolutely love for us to do this again!”

Uncertain if you’re happy or sad about this latest development because you still needed further clarity over Theo’s words, you place the remaining glasses into the drying rack and slide your rings back into place, pressing yourself into Steve’s side as he approaches. For a dramatic flair, you even press your left hand to his abdomen, rings glinting in the light, head leaning against his chest as you wish them a wonderful rest of their evening. 

Theobald gives you one last fleeting look just when his wife nearly strangles you in another bear hug, and claps a hand against his younger cousin’s shoulder. “We will definitely have to do this again. It was nice officially meeting you, Mrs. Harrington.”

The doors slide closed and a sigh spills from your lips. Against you, Steve relaxes, hand rubbing up and down the length of your spine idly, eyes still fixed on the doors across from him. Slipping away from him, you quickly gather the rest of the snacks and glasses from the living room table and drop them down into the sink, pinching at the bridge of your nose. 

“Is he always like that?” You wonder out loud, whirling around to face Steve. 

His head jerks at your words, mouth pulling southward. The solidness of his right hip rests against the kitchen counter. You try to not dawdle on the way his bicep twitches as it rests on the surface beside him, nor as his fingers sprawl around the base of his jaw, keeping his head propped up. 

“He’s usually worse,” he admits. “What did he say to you?” 

“Just commented on my business,” you tell him, deciding to ease in with that before asking what his cousin had meant by ‘hoping Steve knows what he’s doing’, moving to place a plate in the drying rack. “He couldn’t seem to fathom how I would resort to the life of a peasant, when I should be rolling around in your endless buckets of money.”

Snorting, he teases, “Someone’s angry.”

“Yeah, and for once not at you, so I’d be thankful.” Your nose wrinkles as he barks out a laugh, head tipping back in his glee. Mirth bubbles up within your belly at the lyrical sound spilling from your husband, the way his cheeks stretch wide on his face, how the corners of his eyes crinkle in his happiness. “I told him I liked what I do. Is that so wrong? I like having my own thing. Just like you have your own thing.”

Without a warning, he turns the water off. Grips your shoulders lightly, turning you to him. “Theo is an entitled idiot, okay? He thinks he runs the company and the world, and anyone who doesn’t live like him is beneath him. Notice how he’s got this constant look on his face of disgust?”

At that, your lips twitch. Steve coaxes it further by shaking you slightly, earning a giggle. “He does kind of look like he hates everyone around him. It’s a wonder he married Cami. She seems sweet.”

“She is sweet. A saint for putting up with him for all these years, honestly,” Steve says, giving you one last shake until you’re wiping your hands off and slouching against his frame. “What?”

“I want a selfish hug,” you grumble against his shirt, face pressing into a sternum. 

“A selfish hug?” You can hear the questioning lilt, the probing in his kind voice. 

Nodding, you step closer. The tips of your sandals meet his leather shoes, hem of your dress spilling over the dark material. Your head shifts just the slightest, ear resting over the curve of his chest, relishing in the warmth of another body. This. Hugging? It’s not new. You’ve been practicing. As odd as that sounds, and though you don’t want to unpack it, since your argument with Steve he’s come home every day and greeted you with one. You’d say you’re pros at this point. 

“And what might a selfish hug be?” He muses, hands coming up to rest against the center of your back. 

“I just stand like this,” you begin, dropping your arms to your sides, letting them dangle at your hips. “And you hold me.”

You can feel the vibration of his laugh against your ear, but his arms tighten around you all the same, holding you in place. Melting into him, you rest in the comfort of his embrace. Merely focus on the sound of his breath pouring in and out of his lungs, the gentle beat of his heart beneath your ear, the brush of his thumb against your skin, soothing you. 

“You’re too much,” he says, but there’s no weight behind the words. Can feel his mouth curling upward against your ear. 

“Thanks, Steve.”

For the evening. For helping you in a time of need. For holding you now. For holding you tomorrow. You’re not really sure you know what you mean. But all you do know for certain is that, when his arms tug you closer, you loop yours around his waist, and your selfish hug becomes a real one. 

-

Lightning streaks the sky. Bright white illuminates your bedroom, then settles into dark once more. A loud boom echoes, rattling the foundations of your home. Jolts your bed, and thus your body out of it. Grasping at your chest, you try to tamper the frantic rise and fall. The rush of breath forcing itself in and out of your screaming lungs, ejected from your dreams into waking so suddenly. 

Another flash sparks your room in a moonlit glow. Falls dark a second later as you brace for the crack of sound that pierces your ears after. Groaning, you grasp the edge of a fluffy blanket on the foot of your bed and curl it around your shoulders, padding through your home in search of the living room, sights set on watching Netflix until you fall back asleep from reruns of your favorite shows. 

Only upon entering, you find you’re not alone. Already doused in colorful light from the episode of New Girl playing on the screen is none other than your husband. Where you’re standing you can see the frames of the thin glasses he wears, the unkempt bed hair at the top of his head, the hoodie pulled over his body to block out the air conditioned chill in the living room. 

“You’re awake…” It comes out hoarse, the rasp of your voice drawing your husband’s attention. “And you’re watching without me?” 

The mock gasp has him moving over on the couch to make space for you, your rear dropping down into the couch cushion beside him. There’s another blanket across his lap, impossibly soft and a pretty navy color that pops against the pale fabric of your carpet. Getting comfortable, you unloop yours from around your shoulders and drape it across your bare thighs, sleep shorts doing very little to block out the chill in the air. Once satisfied, you lean back and watch the chaos between Jess and Nick unfolding on the television screen. 

“What are you doing awake?” you ask after some time. Wince as another boom of thunder rattles the walls of your home.  

“Couldn't sleep,” he says, breaking off into a yawn. “Had a lot on my mind.”

“From dinner or…?” 

Dinner itself hadn’t been stressful—at least nothing that occurred would have alluded to as much. You’d met up at an Italian restaurant with a business partner of Steve’s and the business partner’s husband. Two older men in their fifties, with graying hair and a kindness that radiated from them. Most of the conversation had been of things outside of work, so you’re uncertain as to what might be bothering him. 

“Not dinner,” he confirms, pausing the show on the TV screen. His head rolls back to rest against the plush cushion, hands coming up to press into his face. Slides his palm down the contours, exhaling deeply. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”  

“Oh,” you mutter softly, picking at a nonexistent thread on the edge of your blanket. “That’s fine. I just figured—”

“It’s nothing personal toward you. I just don’t want to bother you with it. Why are you up?” He queries, head turning to look in your direction. 

“You never bother me.”

Steve levels you with a blank stare and you laugh. “I’m not afraid of thunder…but it definitely woke me,” you admit quietly, sounding more than a forlorn without meaning to. “My room gets really dark at night with the curtains, so when it lit up from the lightning I was a little spooked.”

“Understandably,” he says. “Want me to grab you coffee or tea or something?” 

Head perking up, you ask, “Do we still have the camomile? If it’s no trouble, I mean…”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if it was,” he says, but there’s no hint of any condescension there, only his increasingly familiar thoughtfulness.

You lean your chin over the top of the couch to catch the retreating form of Steve’s back swathed in his dark hoodie. “Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” he says, starting up your warm drink. “Want anything else? We still have those chocolate covered strawberries from dinner.”

“Do you want the chocolate strawberries from dinner?” 

His grin turns wry. “Maybe.”

“Bring them over, you grown up baby,” you tease, extending a hand so he can place the covered plate in your awaiting palm. 

Peeling back the tinfoil, you rest the tray on the coffee table, hiking your blanket higher around your thighs. Steve’s pouring hot water into a mug that says ‘Future Veterinarian,’ humming a familiar tune as he works. 

“You usually do honey and…a bucket load of sugar, right?” 

Eyes roll. “I like a spoonful of honey in my camomile and nothing else. The sugar is for my iced coffees, thank you very much. Also thank you for making sure Hopper always has it on standby lately.”

“What’s that thing you said to me when we first talked about us getting married?” He taps his chin mock thoughtfully, his other hand twirling a spoon around the inside of your cup. “Happy wife, happy life starts with always knowing her coffee order.”

It’s true, and you hide your lips behind your palm at the realization he’d been listening as he crosses the space between you and rests the steaming mug in your hand, muttering quickly, “Be careful, it’s really hot.” 

“Thank you,” you say as he drops back down into the couch and plucks a chocolate covered strawberry off the tray. “I know you didn’t want to talk about what’s bothering you…but I figure…I don’t know. It’s storming out, we’re both not getting much sleep tonight, we could play a game or something.”

“A game?”

Nodding, you add, “An icebreaker. I know we talk more now, but we could try and get to know each other better. A little look into the person we married.”

Your husband shifts on the couch beside you. Presses his back into the arm rest and stretches out, arching a brow pointedly. Smirking, you do the same. Shift just enough so your back is up against the opposite end, your socked feet just barely brushing Steve’s. 

“Okay. Night out or night in?” you ask. 

“Before…night out.”

“Before?”

“Well, now you force me to watch Gilmore Girls.”

“I don’t force you! And it’s only been a few days. I’m sure it’s an absolute horror of spending time with the woman you fake married,” you gasp, feigning terror. “Just admit it. You like spending time at home.”

His eyes are set on yours as he says, “I like spending time at home.”

“I’d agree for myself as well. Life is so busy as it is lately, it’s nice having a space to come back to.” 

One thing you’re very grateful for on a growing list is the space your new bedroom has given you. Sure, it can get lonely, but it’s an escape from the long days, a haven from stress, a bed to crawl back to when your eyes can hardly stay open any longer after a particularly hard day at clinicals. 

“My turn,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his middle. And no, you don’t allow heat to crawl across your chest at the mere sight of his chest and arms flexing from the motion. “Would you rather go forward or backward in time?”

“And what would be my purpose of going forward or backward? Am I rectifying my mistakes? Seeing the future? Looking to see how my life pans out?”

“I…it’s whatever you want it to be.” He blanches. 

“I don’t really have a lot of regrets in life. I make a choice and however the cookie crumbles is how it crumbles. Exhibit A,” you say, holding aloft your left hand, where two rings glint in the dim living room. “So I probably would want to go forward. But that’s dangerous, because if you go too far forward, you might see things you don’t like. I definitely wouldn’t want to know how I, uh, you know? Check out of here. What about you?”

Steve pauses for a moment, brows drawn in thought. “Honestly? There are things I’d want to change about the past, sure. But I think I’d want to see the future. See if all I’m doing is worth it, you know?”

“You don’t think what you’re doing right now is worth it?” You wonder if he’s talking about the business. Assume he must be, but don’t press any further. 

“I wonder sometimes, yeah,” he admits. 

“Well, what would you be doing if it weren’t what you’re doing right now? To see if something else would potentially be worth it.”

He rubs a hand along his neck, shrugging. “I thought about being a teacher once. My dad thought that was a silly idea. But I’ve always been good with children, and I think I could have been good at that.”

“You are good with children,” you tell him, thinking to Will and El. To the friends you’d met at dinner in the past weeks who brought their little ones. “I don’t think that’s a silly idea at all. Not in the slightest, and I’m sorry if anyone ever made you feel that way. Like your interests were inconsequential.” 

“Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he asks, “Movie night or date night?” 

“Are you asking me on a date?” His eyes grow wide at that. Cheeks darken visibly in the moonlit living room. “I’m teasing you, Harrington. I think there’s a case that those can be one in the same. I would say broader…I love the idea of going out for a date, but I love those inside sort of dates more. They’re more intimate, there’s the comfort of your shared spaces, the fact there aren’t any crowds around you. Only that important quality time with your partner.”

“I don’t have much to contribute there, seeing as I haven’t dated much in the past year. And now I won’t be for another three years.” He chuckles, combing fingers through his hair.  

“Okay, this question is super serious.” You fold your hands across your midsection, inhaling deeply, eyes shut. “Would you rather have a third nipple or an extra toe?”

“Seriously!” 

“I’m very serious, Steve.”

“Extra toe.” He reaches up to rub the back of his neck again, wincing slightly as he presses into a spot between his shoulder blades. 

Your lips tug southward. “Are you hurting?”

“Just my office chair, I’m sure,” he grumbles, nonchalant. 

“Get on the floor.”

His brows arch. “Huh?”

“On the floor,” you repeat, tapping the space in front of you on the carpet below. “In front of me.”

“Why?” 

“Do you trust me?” 

He doesn’t answer. Instead, long limbs slip off the edge of the couch and settle down where you’ve asked. You move to tuck his hoodie in as best as you can, fingers moving to spread across the slope of his shoulders. He exhales deeply at the first press of your hands in the muscle wrought with tension. A low sigh spills free, head tipping back to rest on the cushion nearest to your knee. Fingers crave to brush the hair along his scalp, to see if he’ll make that same, soft sigh once more. But instead you continue, pressing slowly into his flesh, listening to his cues, figuring out what works and doesn’t. 

“Would you rather have a big family or a small one?” You ask after Steve has gone quiet, thinking back briefly to the moment earlier with Theobald and Cami. 

Steve, with his wishes to be a father. Steve, who wants a huge brood of Harrington babies. Steve, who wants a family. 

And yet it’s not even that. Not the questions as to what he sees for his future. It’s the tangible worry of slipping up in your facade. Of revealing too many cracks in the foundations of your dynamics. That had been the first, and you know if this relationship is going to hold up for three years, communication is a must. Absolute transparency at all times, so as to not muck it all up and land yourselves both in some hot water.  

“Growing up, it was just me. My parents had me a little older in their life. They were already further into their careers by the time I was born. So…it was often just the au pair and myself,” he explains, letting go of another deep breath. 

His body slackens against your knee caps. Warm flesh of your husband pliant beneath your fingertips. 

“I always had this dream of giving my kids the opposite of what I had. Always knowing love, family outings, doing everything with them. Dance class, football, acting—whatever they wanted. And I’d wanted as many as possible. A silly dream of six of them, running all over the world together as a family.”

“It’s not a silly dream. None of your dreams are ever silly, Steve.” 

Warmth pools as Steve slides his hand up and covers yours where it rests against his shoulder. Heart stuttering, you continue, “Your family will be lucky to have you some day. I, for one, haven’t given much thought to that aspect of life. I hope Theo and Cami didn’t find that suspect. I just…”

“Have been busy with school. You’re becoming a doctor, that’s time and hard work. No one can fault you for that.”

“Right. Yeah.”

You resume your kneading, fingers stroking at shoulders, down the sides of his neck, attentive to all the tension. He grows softer beneath your fingertips, head against your knee, his eyes closed. Where you’re sitting you can see the moles on his face, the length of his lashes, the lines of his nose. Pretty. He’s pretty, and it’s always something you’ve known, but being so close—

“Sunrise or sunset,” Steve asks. 

“Hmm, sunrise.” You poke at the middle of his forehead, and hazel eyes meet yours. “That one was simple.”

“I could tell you were overthinking,” he says simply. “We’re not going to be perfect at this marriage thing. But no one expects us to be.”

“I still think we need to get our stories straight at the very least. And I sorta messed that one up with the honeymoon baby thing.” You shrug, palms sliding down a bit onto his upper chest. He’s still sitting there, taking you in with his stare, hand around yours. “Kind of why I suggested this game.” 

He offers you a gentle smile, saying, “Then let’s keep going.”

The conversation continues until the sun begins to change colors. Until the rain has since stopped, voices carrying above the television playing low in the background. You learn Steve’s a romantic; loves movies like the Titanic and The Notebook. And will also admit to enjoying some of the same romantic comedies you do. 

He prefers rainy days, because he enjoys the respite they give from a constantly busy city just outside the walls of your home. He’d rather have happiness than wealth; enjoys chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven for dessert (and you make a note to pick up some stuff to make them on your next planned night together); he’d never had any pets growing up, but he’d love a dog. 

And you tell him about yourself. How you love cozy socks and would prefer scrubs over real clothes; how you also never had pets growing up and would love to adopt and foster as many as possible one day; how you enjoyed fantasy over romantic movies; how you’d watched Titanic about a hundred times in your life and you still cried. 

How you wanted to watch it with him next, and he agreed, stating it would be the next thing you do when you cook together. 

Before long he’s yawning and your eyes are closing. His fingers remain around yours as you knead his muscles, prattling on about your plans for the week, school, your friends. And he talks about his own schedule, his meetings, proposes dinner for the both of you that upcoming Saturday. A cooked meal in, with a movie and some wine. Maybe you tease him a little, because he makes it easy when he blushes that pretty pink, and maybe he grins up at you fondly, eyes hooded in his sleepy daze. 

Eventually, you lay on your side and he remains in front of you on the floor. You’re hardly awake as he drapes a blanket over your form and tucks a pillow under your head, whispering to one another as the sun starts to come up over the city. 

Eventually, both of you fall silent at last, comforting sleep there to find you. 

-

“I want to make it very clear before we go in there that we are not getting a dog. We are donating all the things we bought earlier, and then we are going home and having dinner together,” Steve reiterates for the umpteenth time that day. 

“We are not getting a dog,” you repeat, mock stonily, looking your husband dead in the eyes. 

Clearly unamused, he shoves at the arm you have jokingly curled around his forearm, but there’s no malice there. Only a gentle huff of laughter as he opens his car door and rushes around the other side to help you out. You never need him to, but he insists every time. Even offers an arm for you to grab as you hop onto the sidewalk. Once back on solid land, summer dress dancing around your kneecaps, Steve walks around to the back of the car and lifts the box of pet food, blankets and toys you’d picked up while at the pet store. Today, you decided, you wanted to give back to the local shelter in your new town. 

And maybe you had an ulterior motive of trying to realize a dream of your husband’s by making him fall in love with a shelter dog in a way where his only option is to bring them home to live with you forever. But he’s been adamant all morning—so certain today’s events will not lead to four legs becoming part of your odd little family.

Inside, you’re greeted by one of the workers. A woman named Chelsea rushes around the counter to collect your donations and asks if you’d like to walk around a bit. Steve’s reluctant at your side, sunglasses peeled off and tucked into the neck of his shirt, but he comes along all the same as you grip his palm within your own and drag him along behind you. 

You pass dozens of kittens and cats. Young and old all alike as you go. Some who meow as you pass, and others who linger in dark corners of their confines. It breaks your heart seeing so many, wanting to adopt them all, knowing you’re unable to. Sensing your unease, Steve squeezes your hand tighter and listens for the both of you while Chelsea speaks and your mind wanders. 

“Down here are all our adoptable dogs.”

It’s a sight you never get used to. Dogs barking as you pass, bodies brushing against their cages, yearning for attention. You linger by Chelsea as you walk, rubbing noses and ears and backs. Tongues glide over your palm, wet noses brush your skin, dark eyes hold yours through metal bars. Somewhere in the midst of introducing yourself to all your newest furry friends, you find Steve’s hand is no longer in yours. Turning on the heel, you find him crouched low to the ground, fingers curled inside metal bars, softly speaking to the animal hidden within. 

“Oh,” Chelsea mutters, shock evident in her tone. Steve looks up to her imploringly, then glances back at the dog inside. “That’s a new arrival. A ten month old male Bernedoodle. He’s a black tricolor puppy. His previous owners got him as a gift, and turned him over when he started getting bigger. They’re a smaller breed, but have a lot of energy and unfortunately you see a lot of this happening. People buy luxury pets and drop them off when they become too much. He’s been very timid since he arrived.”

“He just lost his family,” Steve says to no one, swallowing thickly. The woman at your side doesn’t speak, only watches as your husband continues to gently coax the puppy forward. “Hey buddy. I’m Steve. Wanna come over here? No?” 

“Should we…” the woman beside you begins. 

“Yeah, let’s give them a moment,” you mutter, a little breathless as you turn around and face the other direction, quiet footsteps carrying you further away. 

But you still hear it. 

Still hear Steve’s voice in your ears. A sad, “I know what it’s like. Feeling left behind, left alone. Especially from the people you want to love you most. But you don’t need to be afraid of me. I get it.” 

There’s an echo of soft paws padding against a tiled floor. And the soft exhale from Steve. “There you go. See, I’m your friend. I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

And when you and the shelter worker turn around, you find Steve with his fingers in the puppy’s fur, that pink tongue of his brushing over the inside of your husband’s wrist. That resolve in Steve’s eyes crumbles, your heart shattering along with it as you press the heel of your palm to your sternum. 

He turns to Chelsea and asks, “Can we take him out? Just for a minute?” 

Chelsea passes you a knowing look and that minute Steve requests turns into an hour in the yard outside of the shelter. The puppy seems hesitant at first, lingering near Steve’s thighs as you stand nearby. But once Chelsea hands Steve a frisbee and ball, it’s as though the puppy is sparked to life once more. Soon enough he’s frolicking around the field, playful yips streaking the summer silence as he retrieves his toys and rushes back over to Steve, paws pouncing playfully against your husband’s designer jeans. 

But he doesn’t care. 

No—you haven’t seen him light up like this in the nearly three months you’ve been married. The joy illuminated his features. The crinkle of his eyes at the corners. The belly laughs as the puppy eventually knocks him to the ground and demands belly rubs on the grassy floor below. He falls in love before your eyes. With no warning, impossibly fast, and so suddenly it comes as no shock to either you nor Chelsea when he asks about adoption. 

As you sit in the lobby with the puppy on a leash on the floor, you turn to Steve, grinning widely. “You said we weren’t getting a dog.”

Steve pats his new fur son’s head and grins as the dog tips his head back to look longingly into his new father’s eyes. It’s sickeningly sweet, and does things to your insides that makes you feel hot all over. You chalk it up to the shoddy air conditioner system, tugging at the neckline of your dress to let the air chill your slick skin. 

“I couldn’t leave him,” he says, brushing fingers along a furry ear. 

“He picked you.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Fond. Smitten. He’s so in love it’s ridiculous, and all you feel is affection. 

Affection. 

Towards your husband. 

New. But maybe not so scary. 

You lean down to pet the puppy’s neck. He jumps up and scrambles up with his front paws against your lap, licking a broad stripe along your chin. “Steve, we have a puppy.”

Your first pet. 

His, too. 

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s only staring at you. You swallow. “I guess we do.”

A few questions and references and a small adoption fee later, and you’re both the newest proud parents of your still presently unnamed new puppy who pokes his head in the front seat as you drive to the nearest pet store in search of all the things you’ll need to make his transition as simple as possible. 

Steve, ever doting as he is, grabs the leash as soon as he helps the little guy out and greets you as usual on your side of the vehicle. You spend the better half of the afternoon purchasing things for him. A dog bed, food, toys, a new collar with his name and address engraved into it. 

Charlie Harrington, you both eventually decide, when the cashier asks how you’d like it engraved. 

Charlie Harrington, who the doormen at your apartment building immediately fall in love with as you later walk in, you holding the puppy’s leash this time, and Steve trying his hardest to carry all the things you bought. 

Charlie Harrington who bounds happily into your home and immediately starts sniffing around in his new space, excited to simply be around people who love him in such a short span of time and want to play with him like he deserves.   

“I’ll get started on dinner, if you want to show your fur child around the house,” you tease, laying out Charlie’s shiny new bowls on the floor, and the basket of toys and bones you got for him in the living room, right by his bed beside it. 

“You are a sneaky woman,” he jokes, coming up behind you in the kitchen. 

Heat blooms where he rests his hand on your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek like it’s something he’s done before in the confines of your home, with no one looking. So casually, and yet stark in contrast to the riot of butterflies that stir to life in your stomach. 

“And why might that be?” 

“Played that ice breaker game with me, found out I never had a pet, and then brought me to a shelter…where I then got a pet.” 

You shrug, turning on the stovetop to let the water boil. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But you’re welcome. Now go—play with him. I know you’re itching to. You’re like a little kid on Christmas right now. It’s kind of cute, Harrington.”

“Thank you.” 

He smacks another kiss to your cheek, his face pink from your compliment, before rushing into the living room where you hear Charlie barking as he’s once again joined by his new best friend. You reach over to tap Steve’s phone, where Spotify is already open from the car ride, and hit ‘play,’ Leon Bridges the background music to your cooking in the kitchen and Steve’s laughter as he crawls on his hands and knees to rub Charlie’s stomach on the floor. 

Perfect. 

It’s about as perfect as a day could be. 

And later, as you sit together in the dining room, with Charlie sitting patiently in the corner, and talk about the evening, you start to think maybe being married to Steve Harrington for three years will be a little more difficult than you imagined it would be. 

Because the feelings stirring in your chest are beyond that of friendship. 

No—there’s a suddenness to the clarity of your realization that you like your husband. And the sinking reality that this is merely transactional. 

In three years you’ll go your separate ways. Just as you both intended months ago at that coffee shop table. 

“You’re overthinking again,” Steve points out, reaching over to center your engagement ring on your left hand. His thumb lingers over the diamonds. “I was telling you about the benefit gala in a few weeks.”

“Oh,” you mutter tiredly. “Sorry. Yeah, uhm, I’ll go. Obviously. It’s part of our arrangement.” 

“If you don’t want to go with me…”

“No, I’ll go,” you say, taking a sip of your wine glass. “Black tie dinner event, I’m assuming?”

“Buy yourself a new dress kind of event, yeah.”

“Okay, yeah.” 

You nod. 

It’ll be October. 

Approaching four months into your agreement. Time is already flying. 

“Our first big event as a couple outside of our wedding,” you state plainly, gathering your things and Steve’s as you rise to your feet. He grabs the wine glasses and follows you down the hall to your kitchen, dumping all your dirty pasta plates inside. “Anyone I should know or be aware of when we’re there?”

“It’s a lot of partners in the company. Some celebrities, actors, musicians, models. Eddie will be there—he’s been invited. It’s a little bit of everyone. This time they’ve organized donations for a shelter for homeless youth in the city.” He hands you your wine glass, peering into your eyes. Noting your lingering hesitance from your overthinking once more, he continues, “I can cancel you as my plus one. Say you’re not feeling well—”

“No,” you place a hand on his sternum. Pause when you realize what you’ve done. He trails his eyes south where you touch. You don’t move away. “I love the purpose of the benefit. I want to be there. I-I want to go with you.” 

“Good,” he says, stepping closer. You could reach out and touch the outline of his jaw like this. The lines of his perfect nose. “Because I want you there with me.”

You don’t miss the way his stare lingers on your face, or the timber of his voice. The darkness in the depths of his eyes. How the weight of his chest against your palm as he pushes forward has it stuck as a barrier between the two of you. Mere inches of separation. 

It’s confusing, maddening, and terrifying all the same. 

Two years and nine months. 

You’ve got this. 

-

-

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 4

WC: 2,6K

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: Transfeminine Mountain, AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, First Time, Bottom Swiss, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cuddles, Love Confessions

...and boobies

“Do you wanna go back to bed?” the barmaid asks and Swiss’ jaw quite literally drops at the intention glinting in her eyes. “You–you wanna…?” he stutters dumbly.

Notes: Thing are finally getting spicy! This chapter is another commission for my bestie @jazz-bazz <3

Read chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 4 under the cut or on AO3.

Three months in Sundown. The happiest and most peaceful Swiss has ever been and somehow it only keeps getting better.

His horse is finally well fed and properly taken care of, even he himself is eating well—he’s even got a little bit of a tummy already—he’s got friends, and a comfortable bed to sleep in, with the most precious little bed warmer included. He’s got his girl and Swiss still can’t believe it’s not all just a dream.

It’s just barely afternoon, the saloon is empty except for him and Mounty behind the bar. She’s just busying herself with wiping down some glasses and rearranging bottles on the rack—humming as she does so. Swiss, as usual, is being a creep sitting in one of the boots with his legs crossed and sipping a drink as she stares at her. Though, he supposes, he’s got the right to stare after those two months of actually being together.

The barmaid seems to get bored with the pointless tidying up of the already tidy bar and she wanders up to Swiss. He grins as she gets closer, hoping she’d sit next to him and let herself be pulled in by him, but instead she wipes that smile off of his face, turning it into a stunned expression as she pulls her skirt up to straddle his lap right there.

“H–hi,” Swiss stutters.

“Hi, cowboy,” Mounty replies before leaning down to kiss the shock off of his handsome face. He huffs into her mouth and regains a tiny bit of composure, just enough to kiss his girl back.

He has no idea what possessed her but he is not going to complain.

Swiss wraps his arms around her, hands wandering down to squeeze her ass through the long skirt now covering them both. She does the same to his biceps, digging her little claws into his light linen shirt.

Swiss is pretty sure Mounty sucks his brains out through his mouth, because he has absolutely no idea what’s even going on around them; all he can think of is his girl nestled right over his chubbing up cock and her soft lips glued to his.

Mounty latches her mouth onto his neck and all Swiss can do is whine as his cock kicks pathetically in his pants. He nearly forgets they’re still in the open, that someone can come in at any moment and even though everyone knows they’re together—and even though they are both clothed—Swiss doesn’t particularly feel the need to be walked in on by some random person. Or worse, Dewdrop.

“Do you wanna go back to bed?” the barmaid pulls back and asks and Swiss’ jaw quite literally drops at the intention glinting in her eyes.

“You–you–you wanna…?” he stutters dumbly at the idea alone. Mounty grinds down on him as she grins.

“Mhm.” She nods simply. “Think it’s time, don’t ya?”

“Uh-huh, y–yeah.” She giggles at him as she climbs off of his lap and Swiss could cry. Not for long, though, because in the next moment she’s grabbing his hand, pulling him up and dragging up the squeaky stairs to their bedroom.

The next thing he knows he’s being pushed onto the aforementioned bed and Mounty is crawling over him to kiss the breath straight out of his lungs again. She settles himself over his lap, but keeps hovering and not making contact besides their lips. Even though Swiss’ arms feel like they’re covered in lead he moves to place them on Mounty’s thighs and tries to pull her down.

“Nuh-uh, wait,” the barmaid tuts at Swiss before playfully snapping her teeth at the tip of his nose. “So eager, cowboy.”

“M’sorry, sweetheart, you–you’re–”

“Already got you so stupid? I didn’t think you’d go down so easily.” Mounty pulls her hands away from Swiss’ face and stands up. She digs under her skirt to fumble with her panties and the man’s eyes widen when they get thrown at him—he doesn't know if them landing on him was the barmaid’s intention. He fights the urge to grab them and bring closer to his face, instead staring at them laying on his chest in near horror as their owner continues getting rid of her clothes piece by piece.

Swiss is able to look away from the discarded underwear only when expanses of bare skin catch the corner of his eye and somehow they widen even more. Mounty’s left only in her skirt and a tiny piece of a flimsy fabric covering her tits. Swiss has never wanted to shove his face into anything more than those.

She smiles at him and takes a step in his direction to take care of his own clothes. The shirt he’s wearing is mostly unbuttoned and so loose it’s more off him than on him, but the pants are tight. They’re tenting anyway.

Mounty takes a moment to run her pretty hands over the bulge and pull a breathy grunt out of the man before she gets to freeing him from the leather prison. She pops the button and drags the zipper down with a smirk on her face. Swiss is out of his mind and his pants aren't even off yet.

But not for long, because—even though he’s not very helpful—Mounty gets them off of him soon, and it’s him who’s cock is being left on full display as the barmaid is still clothed where it matters. She wraps a hand around him, just to feel, and her skin is so soft Swiss chokes on his own spit trying to simply breathe.

“That good?” she asks and he nods so fast his ears start ringing. His jaw is still hanging open and he might just be drooling.

“Sweetheart, please, can I–can you…boobies?” Swiss begs dumbly and Mounty can’t help but snort. She’s really got him wrapped all around her little finger. She’s not cruel, though, so she pulls away to get rid of yet another piece of clothing. The barmaid lets it fall to the ground and that’s when Swiss really does start drooling—just a small trickle from the corner of his open mouth.

She chuckles at him and deems him messed up enough to finally get rid of her skirt, too. She’s not ashamed of what’s under it and she isn’t worried about Swiss thinking less of her in any way. He knows what she’s got—since the day they met—and they wouldn’t be where they are if he had any reservations. The light blue fabric pools around her ankles and she steps out of it with grace.

Swiss is pretty sure he’s dying. He doesn’t know where to look, because Mounty’s tits are the two most beautiful perky little things on Earth, but her cock is just gorgeous. It’s not big by any means—it’s rather small, actually—but Swiss wants to drool on it anyway. Which reminds him–

“Sweetheart, I don’t–don’t know how to say it so it’s not weird,” Swiss starts—sobering up a little bit—and it fades out into an awkward little chuckle as he scratches the back of his neck, “but I’ve never done anything with…with another dick.”

Mounty snorts loudly again–so loudly she embarasses herself a little and quickly puts a hand over her mouth. The man raises his eyebrows in offense, painfully turned on and equally enamored. “Sorry, sorry. Well, you have a dick, too, so you should know what feels good, yeah?”

“Uh-huh…I guess,” he mumbles.

“I can show you…more. But only if you want.”

“I want to…I want whatever you have to give me.” The barmaid walks back to him, steps in between his spread legs and kneels just on the very edge of the bed. Swiss’ eyes divert again when she leans over him and her tits bounce slightly right in front of his face. Seconds ago he was drooling, but now his mouth goes dry. “Please, sweetheart.”

Mounty smirks; Swiss may just regret saying that in the future. Today, though, it’s all for him. She will show him everything.

She moves to kiss him again and fully pull his shirt off so she can press their chests together. Truth be told, Swiss’ own boobs aren’t much smaller than hers, but neither of them seem to mind—or even notice. The man moans into the kiss and grabs at her bare waist, gasping at how soft her skin is all around. Maybe it’s just that he hasn’t touched anything so delicate in years, but Swiss knows he will never, ever, touch her without reverence.

Mounty drags her hand down the man’s torso—playing with the hair covering his chest and stomach on her way—and to his cock. She strokes him lightly a few times, gentle movement up and down, and just then she gathers some of the precum that’s beaded on his tip to smear it on her palm.

Swiss is lost in her mouth as the barmaid wraps the same hand around both of their shafts and squeezes to stroke them together. They moan in unison; although Swiss’ is way louder.

“Oh, fuck, oh, sweetheart, that’s–” he whines. Mounty understands

It's not what she has planned, though, and she doesn’t want to run her man down too fast, so she gives up on the slow petting soon enough.

“Do you want to top or try bottoming?” the barmaid asks him and even though the question makes sense, Swiss feels so high he can’t make any of it.

“Wh–what does that mean…exactly?” He’s flushed so deeply he feels like he’s on fire, and Mounty doesn’t tell him, but to her it makes him look impossibly more attractive. Or maybe it’s just her perversion.

Still, she explains. Rather bluntly. “Do you want me to put my dick in you, or do you want to put yours in me?”

“Oh, I–I think I…uhm…” Swiss stammers, suddenly flooded with performance anxiety.

“Hey. It’s okay to want it. To want to try.” Mounty both senses and sees his doubts and can easily imagine all the gears in his head working in overdrive. “It won’t make you any less of a man if you like it, too.”

“Uhm…o–okay.” The man has no idea how just a few of her words can be so soothing and reassuring—enough to instantly calm his mind. He lets out a shaky breath. “Okay, I want to try.”

“Tell me. Tell me you want me to fuck you.” The barmaid smiles brightly and Swiss’ stomach twists. He’s never been so fucking turned on.

“Please, sweetheart,” he mumbles. All quiet and weak. “Please, fuck me.”

Mounty nods and pulls back just to reach up and put three of her fingers into Swiss’ mouth. “Make ‘em wet, cowboy.”

Swiss wraps his tongue around the digits and tries to obey and not choke as Mounty shoves them down his throat to the third knuckle. He drools—all sloppy—and he supposes that was the barmaid’s plan.

She did want them wet and she does pull them out soon enough, satisfied. She uses her clean hand to hook one of Swiss’ muscled legs over her hip and give herself room to work, but before she does anything else she leans back down to kiss the man again.

“I’m gonna put my fingers into you. Is that okay, are you ready?” She asks—right into his mouth—and the sheer gentleness in her voice makes Swiss shake. He nods frantically, and reaches out for the barmaid’s free hand. She smiles as she takes it and squeezes it reassuringly before bringing the other hand down between Swiss’ legs. 

Mounty keeps her eyes on the man’s face as she circles his rim with the tips of her finger before slowly and gently pushing her index finger in. Swiss breathes heavily, but there’s no discomfort showing on his face, so the barmaid thrusts it further in, until it’s buried in him up to the third knuckle. “You doin’ alright, cowboy?”

“Uh-huh,” Swiss murmurs, staring right into Mounty’s soul with wide eyes. She nods and pulls the finger back a fraction before pushing it back in. She doesn’t curl it yet, focusing on making the man used to the feeling of having something inside him and stretching him out gently.

Soon enough the barmaid deems him ready for another finger, then another, and Swiss all but blacks out as she pets inside him like that. It’s maddening and it’s so good he can’t even feel embarrassed about the fact that his girl has her pretty fingers up his ass. Especially when she–

“OH,” Swiss moans loudly and his whole body jerks as Mounty finally curls her digits and finds a spot inside him that makes him truly see stars—that he didn’t even know he had. The barmaid chuckles, clearly proud of herself, and pulls her fingers out. Swiss can’t help but notice how empty and cold he suddenly feels.

Not for long, though, because Mounty settles herself over him properly and the tip of her cock is kissing Swiss’ hole and he is shaking. “Please, sweetheart, gimme, I–I need you.”

Mounty kisses him when she pushes in and Swiss’ mouth falls open as he cries out in pleasure. She can’t help but beam at how it’s her who this big, strong man moans for, who he falls apart under, who he let show him the world.

The barmaid starts to thrust slowly—a gentle pull back and forth, but every move still knocks Swiss’ breath out. He’s absolutely out of his mind, he doubts he’s ever felt so good. He’s truly floating.

He wants to warn Mounty that it’s not going to be a long ride, but his tongue feels too heavy and too light in his mouth all at once. He holds her hand with an iron grip and he’s so lost in her beautiful eyes he’s not even looking at her tits swaying with her every thrust. Gut-punched noises keep spilling from his lips and when they get loud Mounty drinks them all up from the source.

Swiss gets close embarrassingly fast, but neither of them cares. Mounty isn’t far behind; drunk on all the sweet reactions she’s pulling from the man. She knows it’s time when he starts clenching around her uncontrollably and when his cock kicks where it’s trapped between them. The barmaid latches her mouth onto his own again and thrust that little bit harder. It doesn’t take much more for Swiss to go right over the edge.

“Fuck, oh, fuck, I love you, oh god, I love you, Mounty, I love you, I love you, I–” Swiss babbles deliriously and the barmaid freezes—for just a split second—at what’s falling from his lips. He cums, spilling pearly white between their stomachs and goes boneless right there under the other.

Mounty grunts as she pulls out and strokes herself once before she cums, too, staining the sheets between Swiss’ legs. The man heaves for breath with his eyes wide and pupils blown and Mounty smiles. She did him good.

She pulls the dirty sheets out from under Swiss and uses them to wipe down his stomach and herself before throwing it onto the floor. Mounty grabs a blanket and crawls up the bed to curl up against Swiss’ chest, covering them both with the soft fabric and it doesn’t take long for the man to come back down with her soft, warm skin plastered to his.

He wraps his arms around her to return her embrace and Swiss shudders.

Mounty has to ask, though, “Was that… You love me?”

“Shit…” Swiss curses as she reminds him of his babbling. A bolt of dread shoots through the barmaid at his reaction, but the man isn’t done. “I’m sorry, it ain’t how I wanted to…but I do. Yes, I love you, girl. I love you so much.”

“Good,” Mounty grins, “‘cause I love you, too, cowboy.”

Swiss sighs deeply with relief, before promptly blurting out, “Thank fuck.”

[edith-is-a-cat]

Malleus Draconia x GN!Reader (No pronouns used or mentioned, can been seen as romantic and/or platonic, and written in second person)

Word count: 651 TLDR: Showing Malleus Howl's Moving Castle with a side of some sad thoughts. Comments: I honestly think Malleus would love Howl's Moving Castle. I may be bias because it is my favorite movie..

You are sitting in Ramshackle after the events of Idia's overblot, still having so many memories of previous ones on your mind. You're laying on the couch trying to think of what to do to take you away from the intruding thoughts of what could go wrong next. Grim is already asleep even though it just barely hit sundown. You decide to take a walk.

You throw on an old hoodie from when you first arrived, it gets surprisingly cold in Wonderland at night. Just when your hand meets the cool metal of the doorknob three solid knocks are heard from the other side. You twist the knob slowly creaking it open just enough to see who is there. Surprisingly, the figure was familiar, looming and almost eerie in the low lighting, Malleus Draconia. "Greetings, child of man." the still shrouded figure softly spoke, as if he could spook you, "May I come in?" You nodded as you opened the door for him. Why not, company could be better than a walk to shut your nagging and anxiety filled thoughts up. Your eyes follow Malleus as he walked around like he knew this places as well as the back of his hand. You invite him to sit down in the lounge while you go back to rummage in your room for anything to entertain the prince with. You carefully sift through your belongs that have been mostly in your room's closet ever since you arrived. As luck would have it you were going to a sleep over when you were almost ran over by that damned carriage. You wonder if your friends worried where you went... you stop your thoughts right there. No time to worriedly wonder about your presence back on Earth, you had a guest over. You continue to rifle through your closet when you reach into the bottom of your old backpack for your hand to hit something hard. You pull it out to see it was a DVD copy of Howl's Moving Castle. Score! you found at least something to show him, hopefully he will take an interest in it. You shake off any dust that might have gathered on it, you were going to watch it at that sleep over. If Malleus was to stay the night then you guess its quest would be fulfilled. Either way it would be fun showing him something from your world. You go back to the lounge with your prize from the hunt in hand. Holding it up like a certain lion cub. You look to Malleus, who sits perched on the couch, for any comment. He cocks his head as he softly asks, "If I may ask, what may you be holding?" "Movie, from my world." You proudly say as you beeline over to the TV and all the tech stuff you got as an apology for what happened with the last overblot. You have to take a minute to look around the TV and figure out which gadget would work with what gizmo. After a taking an almost saddening amount of time turning on everything, you grab the remote from it's spot on the TV cabinet. You then turn and take your spot by Malleus. You finick with the remote until you can finally get the correct setting to work the TV. Malleus looks at you with pity but decides it's better for you to learn by yourself. You eventually figure out how to work most of the remote and have satisfied yourself with the setting enough to finally play the movie. "I really think you are going to like this" you chirp as you lean back into the couch. The prince silently nods as he intently watches the the TV. Oh, only if you knew what you had done. He did not stop talking about it for weeks, even suggested commissioning a gargoyle of Howl's bird form.

Ending comment: Uhm! Hi!! thank you for reading.. I wrote this in Auburn's inbox and though "eh I'll post it too"

[rindough]

that first anon again: oh my god losing my religion by r.e.m. for boothill. this man is SO full of teenage angst, sitting in the corner of one of those old timey country bars all veiled in shadow looking at the person he has feelings for laughing and dancing in the crowd, completely mesmerised as he rests his chin on a hand with a focused expression, mouth slightly open, and absent-mindedly traces the rim of his glass with a finger from the other, almost without realising. You ain't slick, dude. Go talk to them.

God, I am so fucking normal about him.

OH YA i forgot to reply to a question from ur prev ask, sure! u can give me indie songs as well heheeee, and ngl i wasnt expecting this song but its one of my fav songs to vibe to!!!!

OKOK I GOT THE IDEA AND I FIND IT CUTE buttt i kinda put a twist to it if thats okay!

--;

so lets say you're a regular at this diner in town, you had your fair amount of visits here with your friends, your family, even alone. boothill has seen it all, but god at each time he tries to strike up a conversation with you, it either comes off awkward or him just flying off his seat from trying to 'smoothly' whoosh onto the stool.

he doesn't know what made him this... intrigued by your presence, why is it that everytime the door bell chimes, he glances by the door to see if it was you, the way your voice echo in the quiet diner, the way you spun around after you got your order and straight out the door you walked. he wants to know why and how has he suddenly had the balls to walk up to you, and just start some small talk.

unfortunately on his side, it got to the point where it only ends in 'hi's or 'i see's. he thought he could do it, he thought he could whoosh his way in n perhaps whoosh his way out out this diner with u tagging along. but look at where he is now, it's not that you don't get along, but with the way he looks into your eyes and stutter whatever he wants to say, fumbling over words and fall into silence while you wait, while you search his eyes, his body languages. Waiting for something more, as the man himself got you to become a nervous mess too.

but overtime, he gradually became standoffish, he no longer sits beside you at most of your visits, he doesn't look high up above the diner booth to check if its you (he observes from the window instead 🙄), he just waves, he just stands up to go at your presence, he just-

he no longer visits the diner.

in fear and perhaps shame, he and his cyborg body, you would prefer someone much more... human, right? what does it take for a cyborg like him to woo someone he fancies?

it's impossible, he thought. at this point, he'll just give up and not think about the thing people call, the thing he once dreamt of having, love. he'll just give up the act and focus on some... commission he has or whatever...

but does he really though?

"dude, since day 1, are you still gonna mess this right up?"

the voice behind him pulls him out of his trance, the spunk haired man stays put in his seat, the fold of his index rubbing his bottom lips while a thumb rests on his his sharp jawline. choosing to ignore the blond waiter by his side. the waiter throws his tablecloth aside.

"hello?" he snaps his fingers at him, earning a 'tsk' from the man.

"whaddaya want? can't ya see i'm busy?"

"busy doing what? staring at them from this corner of the bar? i know that look of yours, i saw what happened last time-"

"and what? what makes you think i stand a chance with them, best believe 'm gonna look after them from far away. they don't needa see me here, they don't gotta see me at all."

the waiter groans, as if the man in front of him is being blind or feigning ignorance to escape falling in love, to just... dwell in his insecurities. "bro, look at the way they look at you!"

boothill stays put, eyes blinking at your swaying form, your head shaking side to side at the music. the way you jump, throw your hands up, his mouth falls slightly ajar at the way you move. his throat runs a little dry at the way beauty could exist in many forms and at anytime, and this was one of the many times he had found beauty in you. he had found himself longing for you.

it's agonizing honestly.

both on your end and on his.

you're here swaying to the music from the speakers, mingling with other youngsters in your town, hoping that when you turn around to start talking, it'd be the one you've been looking for this whole time, the one whose clumsy way of flirting leaves you wanting more and more. the night was young and there's ample time for him to visit the diner, but... would he?

for him, he wishes he was the only one under your spotlight, the one making you laugh, oh how he loves the way your lips curl into a smile, the way your eyes twinkle.

if he was out there in the crowd with you, best believe he'll twirl and dip you down on the dancefloor and make you have the best night and dance of your whole life.

he turns his head sideways, looking at the blond. "what's with the way they look at me?"

then he turns back to observe you. maybe, just maybe, you would turn around at a certain degree and meet his yearning gaze. wondering if he can make you feel his presences by drilling holes into your skull.

"..." at this point he's defeated, he can't be bothered to explain all these lovey-dovey pre-dating crush nonsense to this sulking cowboy.

"y'kno mister, they've been looking for you every time when you're not around the diner. do i gotta explain more? do i gotta explain the 'where's boothill? have you seen him? has he visited today?'" he mocks, "ya wanna know what happened when i told them no every single time? they just left the diner- not ordering anything!"

the spunk haired man hums, now no longer focused on you, but instead, his back facing the crowd as he stares into the prepared drink before him, finger circling the rim of the glass as the complaints of the waiter goes unheard.

if what the man was saying is true, then... but... why? what made him special enough for you to promptly ask for him at every visit. and he bet it was every visit, since he's not even in the diner every day for months. so, why did he have to leave?

was it the fear of judgement?

was it fear of rejection?

or was it the fear of losing you?

so-

"so?" the waiter quirks an eyebrow, "what do you plan to do with that information-"

he can't back down now, the aftertaste of soulglad lingers the back of his mouth, he's walking, walking towards the crowd, thank god your back was facing him... otherwise he wouldn't be doing what he was doing now, otherwise he'd instantly run away again. and he does not plan to let you search for him again.

"hey." he whispers, smiling gently at the way you suck in your breath at the sight of him.

he never thought he'd feel his heart melt much more than before the moment your soft lips mellow into a smile, the twinkle of your eyes refreshing his past, yet brief memories with you.

"hi."

--;

©  2024 rindough, do not repost or plagiarize.

[lehguru]

THINGS TO SAY AFTER KISSING + GOJO SATORU

prompt 4: "never again—"

info: prompt list by @/dumplingsjinson !! bsf!gojo, cw for swearing; not proofread + commissions are open!

you had to admit that your best friend was hot. since your teen years, gojo satoru was loved by girls and boys everywhere, but, even if you could agree he was a gorgeous man, you never understood why they went crazy over him.

when you looked at satoru, all you could see was the insufferable annoying man that you had to deal with everyday; if you tried to ignore him, he would simply show up at your place and not leave until you reassured him that you weren't mad. you loved him, of course, but you never truly understood the people that fawned over him.

"can we kiss?" you asked while he had his head on your lap, his closed eyes opening wide immediately.

his eyebrows shot up. "why? are you finally in love with me?"

you rolled your eyes. of course that would be the first thing he would think about. you slapped his chest, making the man whine—it didn't really hurt him, he just enjoyed being extremely dramatic—, and growled. "no, you fucking idiot!" you placed a hand over your eyes. "nevermind."

he got up and slid closer to you, almost sitting on your lap. his pink lips pouted and he tried to use his boyish charm on you, "no, tell me! you can't leave me curious like that!"

"i was just wondering—" you interrupted yourself with a sigh, imagining the headache he would give you over that. "wondering why people came back to kiss you, because you're a horrible company. that's all. that's why i asked."

the silence that followed your confession was... uncanny.

you didn't have the courage to look at his face. you knew he was getting ready to make fun of you and you would mever hear the end of it. in the eerie silence, you heard him inhale and you opened your mouth, ready to tell him off

"alright."

"fuck off— what?" your eyes went so wide, you thought they would pop out of their sockets. "w-what did you say?"

"i said 'alright'." he smirked, his rosy cheeks being slightly pushed up. "i mean, i always wanted to know how your lips taste like."

you rolled your eyes. of course he would still have his fuckboy attitude. for what seemed the thousandth time that day, you sighed; this time, gojo held your chin and made you turn to look at him. his piercing blue eyes darted from your lips to your eyes.

"you sound like a old geezer when you sigh."

before you could yell at him or make fun of him back, his lips crashed into yours. your anger melted into surprise and you let out a yelp; with a chuckle, satoru deepened the kiss, his tongue invading your mouth. you relaxed in his grip, it wasn't a bad kiss, the way that satoru tilted his head and moved his lips showed that he knew what he was doing. but... it didn't felt right. even after he nibbled at your bottom lip—he knew you adored that—you still couldn't fully enjoy the kiss.

when you both were out of breath, gojo pulled away, a string of spit connecting both of you. he licked it up and closed his eyes. after a couple of second in silence, you both said in unison.

"never again—"

you snapped your heads to look at each other and laughed loudly. you shook your head, silently appreciating that he agreed with your opinion for once. he laid his head on your lap again, this time he was the one sighing. his slender fingers rested against his forehead and he murmured, loud enough to reach your ears.

"can't believe you're the only best friend i don't want to fuck."

you slapped his chest again and you both chuckled.

2024 © content belongs to lehguru, but the characters used in them belong to their respective creators!!

[frenchfrywrites]

They put eggs in him?!

MINORS DNI

Ehe thank u for the commission @peedpanties <3 i love that i got to write abt some of my fave things in the world such as eggs and crying men and pee and levi :)

Warnings: amab gender neutral dom top reader, sub bottom Levi, levi has a vent + tentacle hemipenis, animalistic/demonic traits, piss!!, eggs!!, ovipositioning, dacryphilia

To your utter delight and surprise, Leviathan is the one to suggest the eggs.

“Stop smiling at me like that,” he scrunches his nose in mock disgust, laying on the bed in front of you, his legs spread with you seated comfortably between them. “It’s weird.”

But you can’t help it, you’re so proud of him for working up the courage to ask you to try a new kink with him. Most times it’s hard enough to remind him that it’s okay for him to indulge in the stuff you know he likes. It’s a big deal that he not only let you know about his interest in ovipositioning, but that he had prepared and researched and wanted to jump right in.

“Okay,” you hum, and don’t stop smiling at him. “Are you ready?” and here’s where the blushing begins. Levi nods, looking away, but spreading his legs wider for you. This is the Levi you’re prepared for when it comes to trying out new kinks: the cute, bashful, and sometimes nearly unbelievably shy Levi. 

You know to take it slow and easy with him, watching him carefully for any negative reaction. Luckily, because of his preparation, there won’t be the typical shuffling and maneuvering, and you’re able to simply reach for the lube next to you to generously slick up your fingers. Levi gasps softly when you run your wet fingers along his vent, spreading his lips open, so you can access his hole. 

You’re hard just from looking at him (well, the kissing and heavy petting that occurred earlier to soothe Levi’s nerves certainly helped), but your cock will go largely neglected during this. It might hurt and annoy you later, but right now you’re so consumed with Levi that you can almost forget how turned on you are. 

Your first finger slips in easily, rubbing against his already gooey insides. His hemipenis are still sealed away within his vent, and your finger brushes against the appendages every so often. Levi lets out a breathy whine when you slip in a second finger. 

The five silicone eggs that came with the ovipositor are the most beginner friendly that you could find, while still fulfilling Levi’s desire to feel full. This is your first time trying this, after all, and you wanted to make it as safe and inviting as possible for your predictably anxious lover. You figure if you can get him comfortably stretched out with three fingers, he’ll be prepared enough to take the eggs.

It’s not long at all before you’re able to slip in a third finger, and Levi melts into the bed beneath him, purring loudly. His vent has gotten more wet as you’ve loosened him up, and you can feel his cocks trying to press their way out. Your fingers dance around them, working Levi up even more with each brush against them. 

“I think you’ll be ready soon,” you tell him, flexing your fingers open and closed, making sure his vent is open for your eggs. Levi makes a little noise, a sign that he heard you, and he tightens around your fingers. 

After a moment more, you slowly slide your fingers out of him, causing Levi to whine softly. The tips of his cocks peak out of his vent, wriggling as they try to free themselves. Levi brings a hand down, pressing the heel of his palm against his hole to keep them in (he grinds against his hand a little, but you pretend not to notice). 

Picking up the ovipositor you then lube it up quickly. It’s shaped like a tentacle, which did not surprise you in the slightest.

“Good to go?” you ask, noticing that Levi is still covering his vent. 

“Yeah- yes, we just have to wait a second cause I’ll- um- cum too quick,” he practically whispers that last bit. You coo,

“Aw okay, just let me know when you’re ready,” you tell him, leaning down to kiss him. Levi moans against your lips, opening his mouth for your tongue. He makes all sorts of noises as you kiss him deeply, and you swallow them up eagerly. 

“Ah,” he huffs after finally pulling away, “‘m ready,” he tells you, looking up with those big amber eyes that make your knees weak. 

Slowly, he moves his hand, revealing his vent to you once again. You press the head of the ovipositor against his entrance, and it pops in easily. From there it’s smooth sailing, with you only pausing momentarily for Levi to adjust.

When there’s a little of the shaft left outside of him, you stop. Grabbing one of the eggs placed next to you, Levi’s eyes are wide and wild as he watches you lube it up. You smile to yourself as you watch his third eyelid blink, wetting his eye while still letting him continue to watch your every move.

“Okay,” you say, mostly to yourself, and sounding entirely too excited. Levi lets out a breath you didn’t know he was holding when you push the egg into the ovipositor. You move it forward through the tentacle by squeezing a bit of the shaft. From there, Levi flexes and squeezes his vent around the ovipositor, and you’re unable to tell where the egg is until he gasps loudly.

“Oh! It’s in, it’s in,” he tells you excitedly, reaching out to touch you. You grab his hand, and he squeezes it, smiling happily and purring loudly.

“Feels good?” you ask hopefully. Levi nods,

“Yeah, um it is good, mhmm really good,” he blinks slowly, one eye and then the other- a telltale sign that he’s losing control already. Your cock throbs, knowing that even with only one egg inside, Levi is already so affected.

“Good!” you’re relieved that the experience so far is meeting his expectations, and making him feel good. “Another one?” He nods at your question,

“Yeah, please,” and with that, you’re slicking up another egg and repeating the process. Levi moans as it travels through the ovipositor, his voice cracking when it deposits into his vent. Then you push in another. It takes longer to press in this egg, and there’s a couple of times where you wonder if you should stop and give Levi a break, but he seems adamant and determined to keep going.

Levi holds onto your hand through it all, going from completely lax to a vice-like grip within a matter of seconds. 

“Ah-are you sure they’re all going to fit?” he asks breathlessly after the third egg slides into his vent, glancing over at the remaining eggs. It’s the first time that he’s shown any hesitence, and you know that means it’s time to heap on your reassurance and support. You coo,

“I think you can take two more baby,” he preens under the praise, “you’ve done so well with the first few, these next ones are going to be easy as cake,” you promise, leaning in to kiss his sweaty forehead. 

“Okay,” his voice sounds wobbly, but excited. You give him a moment to adjust to the three eggs inside of him before lubing up another.

Like you’d predicted, Levi’s able to take the remaining eggs into his vent. It takes even longer for these to deposit, and he’s gasping by the time the last one pushes inside of him. 

“Oh there we go,” you muse, rubbing his thigh gently, “they’re all in, good boy,” Levi moans weakly. You watch as his vent twitches around the ovipositor, adjusting to the weight and feel of the eggs inside of him. 

“How do you feel?” you ask curiously. 

“S’full,” he slurs, one of his hands coming to touch his belly. He sighs dreamily, “oh, ‘m gonna keep your eggs safe, I’ll-I’ll take good care of ‘em,” he babbles. You smile, suddenly very aware of your own arousal. 

“Aw, so good for me, darling,” you hum, reaching down to gently tug on the ovipositor. Levi whines, but ultimately lets you pull it from his vent. His hole gapes and you can feel your cock twitch. 

“Fuck Levi, you look so good,” you groan. Levi hiccups,

“You can’t fuh-fuck me when the eggs are inside,” he reminds you solemnly. 

“Are you gonna help me out some other way then?” you ask, grinning. Levi nods happily, mimicking your smile. It takes a moment while you shuffle around, but soon you’re laying next to him, so Levi can jerk you off comfortably. 

His hand is shaky and clumsy as he strokes you, but you’re so close already, you don’t mind much. 

“Mhmm Levi,” you moan, “love the way you look ah-all stuffed full of my eggs,” his pace stutters at your words. Levi’s eyes are glued to your cock, and he’s practically drooling. He rubs your tip, collecting the pre-cum bubbling there. 

Levi moans alongside you, rubbing his thighs together to quell the growing arousal in his gut. You want so badly to touch him, but he’d been very serious about not getting off until it was time to take the eggs out. He’d explained that one of his biggest fears about trying out the experience was accidentally letting an egg slide out of him before he was ready. 

Even though he’s not being pleasured by you, Levi seems more than content with watching and helping you get off. He licks his lips, flicking his hand up and down along your cock, faster and faster.

Your hips jerk into his fist as you feel your orgasm quickly approaching. Looking at the slight bulge in Levi’s stomach gets you off quicker than you’d care to admit. 

“Um, please cum,” Levi begs softly, “I wanna see it,” and you’d have to be dead to deny him. With a soft gasp, you clutch onto him, spilling over his newly bulged tummy. Levi moans alongside you, feeling how you pulse and twitch in his hand. 

When you’ve regained your breath and go soft, Levi smiles, 

“That was so hot,” he whispers, all flushed and cute. Unable to help yourself, you kiss him sweetly. When you pull back Levi looks mildly uncomfortable.

“No offense,” he starts, “but I wanna get cleaned up before it dries,” he tells you, very clearly referring to your cum. You laugh, and ease your way out of your bed, then help Levi to his feet. He’s a bit shaky, so you help him to the bathroom.

“Um, so the plan is,” Levi starts, as you grab some wipes to clean him up, “that I’m gonna keep these- your eggs in all day,” he reminds you. 

“Mhmm,” you make an affirmative sound, and Levi continues.

“I want you to be there when they have to come out again,” you look at him with a loving smile,

“Of course! I want to be there too,” you assure him. “I think,” you begin, when Levi goes quiet, “you’re going to have to help me out again after I watch you,” Levi’s jaw drops and his face goes up in flames. 

“Omg, you’re such a perv!” he cries. With a laugh you roll your eyes, because he’s so obviously calling the kettle black, but don’t say anything and instead start to tenderly clean him.

The two of you are with one another for a bit longer before parting ways. Levi heads (slowly, shakily,) to his room, and you go out, promising to return in a few hours. 

Levi thought it’d be easy to keep the eggs (your eggs, he keeps reminding himself) inside him all day long. He’s not a very active person, and he’d figured that would work in his favor. 

The walk to his room was agonizing. Though you’d been there to help, Levi was terrified of someone finding him in this state. You’d sworn that no one would be able to tell, but he felt his limp was obvious. And the way the eggs had moved inside of him was just a preview for how the day would continue.

For the first few hours, Levi’s in heaven. He can’t stop smiling to himself and running his hands over his stomach, so giddy and lovestruck over the fact that you did this to him. It’s remarkably easy to convince himself that the eggs are real, and they’re your clutch, and you chose him to carry them. It’s a fantasy he’s had a hundred times before, and is made so much more intense because he can feel the eggs inside of him.

Soon though, Levi runs into a few issues. 

He hadn’t thought about how they’d slide and rub against his hemipenis any time he shifted in his chair or got up. He hadn’t thought about how there would be a constant press and bulge against his belly, reminding him that the eggs were seated deep within him. 

He had especially not thought of how to pee with them inside. 

When Levi felt the first pang of need from his bladder, a similar pang of anxiety shot through his body. What if they fell out while he tried to pee? The fear of the eggs popping out overcame his need to relieve himself, and Levi very quickly came to the conclusion that he should hold his pee. 

Not even two hours later, Levi is squirming and pressing his legs together as he tries his best to distract himself from how badly he has to pee. He can feel the eggs pressing against his bladder, and any time they move he feels like he’ll burst. 

His palms are sweating, and he feels like every hair on his body is standing up. Every so often, shivers rock their way from the top of his skull down to the tips of his toes. And, as much as Levi would hesitate to admit it, his vent is wet from the anticipation that comes with holding. The eggs moving around inside of him are painful and arousing all at the same time and it’s making Levi lightheaded. He finds himself grinding himself against his chair, wanting so badly to get off, but knowing that he can’t do that without wetting himself. 

He looks at the clock, and there are still a couple of hours until you agreed to meet up in his room again. He doesn’t know if he can last that long. 

Forty-five minutes later, Levi leaks a bit, and he can feel the eggs shift inside of him. In this brief moment his worst fears get confirmed, if he pees, your eggs will surely be pushed out of his vent.

Scrambling for his phone, Levi dials your number with shaky hands. 

“Hi lovely, how-”

“I need you,” Levi rushes, uncaring of where you are or with whom you’re with. 

There’s a second of rustling before he hears your voice again,

“What’d you say?”

“I need you,” he whines, pressing his hand against his vent to stop more pee from leaking out. 

“What’s the matter? Are you safe?”

Levi lets out a frustrated groan,

“Yes, look I need you here so I can take your eggs out, they’re- I have to pee so bad and they’re making it worse, it hurts so bad, and I’m so crazy horny at the same time– ew why did I tell you that?” he whines, humiliation making him feel hot, hotter than he already feels. Unable to help himself he continues rambling, “like I’m probably sitting in a puddle with how wet I am– ugh– I just need you here, please, ple-”

“Okay,” you breathe into the phone, and Levi feels a tingle go down his spine at how flustered you sound, “okay, shit, I’ll be there soon baby, can you wait twenty minutes? Can you last that long?” Levi scrunches his eyes shut, knowing every second of that twenty minutes is going to be agony for him.

“Yeah, just hurry? Please?” he hates that he sounds so small, but Levi doesn’t think he’s ever been this desperate before. 

“I’ll see you soon,” you promise, and with that you hang up.

Levi feels more and more like a caged animal with each second that passes. It’s right when he considers dropping his pants and pissing on the floor, letting the eggs drop out of him, and humping the puddle that’d form on the ground to get off, when you enter his room.

“Thank fuck,” Levi feels relief pass through him at the sight of your face. 

“Sorry I made you wait,” you tease as you make your way to his desk chair and take him into your arms. 

“It’s okay,” Levi whispers, and you lay him gently into his bed, “I’m gonna pee, I have to pee, I’m sorry, I held it for so long, I’m so full,” he rambles while you strip him of his clothes. 

“It’s okay Leviachan,” you practically tear off your own clothes next, “lay back and relax baby, let me take care of you,” Levi does as he’s told and melts like butter into his bed. 

“You can let go now, baby,” you coo, pressing down on the now very obvious protrusion on his stomach. Levi keens, but it takes him a moment before a spurt of piss leaves his vent. 

“Oh there we go,” you moan as a heavy stream leaves his body, soaking you entirely. You both moan simultaneously, Levi’s eyes rolling back into his skull at the relief, and your eyes glued to the way his piss splashes against your cock. Your dick is hot and heavy already, bobbing against your abdomen as you watch Levi piss himself. It’s not long before the first egg begins to press itself out of Levi’s vent. 

“Good boy,” you moan, pressing gently against the bulge in his stomach to help him along. Levi purrs loudly at the praise, gurgling and bubbling in some nonhuman language. 

“Ungh,” he grunts when the first egg slides out of him. You take it, tossing it elsewhere,

“Feel better?” you ask, rubbing his belly soothingly. He nods dumbly, his stream dying down. You inch your hand from his stomach to his bladder, down to his vent. He’s wet from pissing in front of you and being edged for hours, making it easy to slip your fingers inside of him. With your help it’s not long before you’ve got all but one egg removed from his vent.

He's a panting, whining mess by the time he finishes. Levi’s flushed from his face down to his chest, his legs trembling, and his eyes watering. Fueled by your praise, and the pleasurable stretch from the eggs, his vent is sticky and gooey enough that you haven’t had to use lube.

Levi tells you more about it later, but in the moment you don't know about just how intense it is for him to push out the eggs. The way they stretch and rub against his gooey vent walls as they leave has him seeing stars. Not to mention the way he's grown so attached to the eggs, and the fact that they're yours; there's an emotional aspect to it that overwhelms him. He feels an abnormal sense of pride over the fact that he kept them so safe, and that you're going to have so many babies together.

There's a feeling of emptiness that sinks in with each egg that he pushes out. On one hand it's a relief, that his hemipenis have more room to wiggle around, and the pressure on his bladder being relieved is euphoric. On the other hand, Levi got very accustomed to feeling full, and he's already starting to miss it. The language that slips past his tongue tells you all of this and more, but it falls on deaf ears for now.

“Just one more darling, you’ve done so well so far,” Levi hiccups at your praise, his face scrunching as he concentrates on flexing his vent to push out the final egg. 

When the last one stretches and slides out of his vent, you cheer, and he lets out an exhausted wail. 

“Aw so good baby, so good, you did so good,” you heap on the praise. Levi looks at you with his big, wet amber eyes, his bottom lip wobbling. You worry it was too much, and that he’s overstimulated or hurt in some way. 

Before you can get a word in edgewise, Levi sobs “I feel empty,” pathetically, fat tears running down his flushed cheeks. 

“Oh sweetheart,” relief floods through your body at the fact that there’s not something terribly wrong. You brush his sweat soaked hair away from his forehead, “want me to fill you back up again?” you ask, looking at him for confirmation. Levi nods his head,

“Please?”

You pull away from his body to blindly feel for the lube that’s somewhere around his bed, watching intently as Levi’s tentacle cocks squirm out of his vent now that the eggs are gone. They add to the sticky, wet shine that coats Levi’s thighs, vent, and belly as they search for something to grind against.

It’s an incredibly difficult task, but somehow you manage to coat your cock with the lube while letting your other hand rub and stroke his hemipenis.

“Ooh!” Levi’s sobs are interrupted when he feels your hand touching him, his head knocks back against one of his pillows at the intensity of the sensations. You’re reminded that the eggs rubbing and moving against his cocks have been subtly edging him for hours. 

“Oh Levi, baby,” you coo, but your sympathy falls on deaf ears as Levi’s crying starts up again– this time from pleasure, not pain. 

“Please,” Levi begs, his voice cracking. He’s not asking for anything in particular, but you know what he wants. 

Gently, you rub your cock against his puffy, sensitive vent. Levi keens, nearly hyperventilating. You take a hold of one of his sweaty hands, “need you to take a deep breath for me, darling,” you stress as you rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb. Levi sobs, frustrated that he’s so close to getting what he wants, and yet you’re making him wait for it. He then closes his eyes, and takes a couple of deep, shaky breaths. 

It’s only once he’s calmed down a bit that you slide your cock inside of him. Levi lets out a long, drawn out moan when he’s once again filled up, his sobs slowly subsiding. 

“Thanks,” he hums softly, so quiet you nearly can’t hear him at all. You smile, continuing to press yourself into him until your hips are flush against his clammy ones. Levi looks at you dreamily, utterly sedated from having your cock inside of him. 

You let out a groan when you’re balls deep; he’s so hot and sticky inside, clenching around you like he’s trying to suck you in further. You’re not sure that you’re going to last long, but Levi isn’t any better off. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, Levi starts pissing as soon as you thrust your hips. He must have not gotten all of it out with his first release you think as you both moan simultaneously. The second stream of pee leaving his bladder makes the two of you more wet and sticky than ever before. You’re unable to hold back the erratic, quick thrusts of your hips as you watch him let go for a second time.

Levi’s cocks are thrashing around excitedly, and you bring a hand down to soothe them. He lets out a choked moan when you touch them, his vent twitching and squeezing around you. He’s going to cum soon, and you know you’ll follow right after. 

His stream dies down eventually– with a few quick, short spurts leaving his vent before he’s finally done– and then all it takes is a couple more perfectly timed, perfectly angled thrusts for him to cum all over you. His hemipenis throb as cum shoots from their tips onto his stomach and chest. Levi arches his back, his mouth dropping open in a silent scream. 

“Gonna cum,” you sigh, so quietly you think Levi might have missed it entirely. But his eyes snap open, looking at you intently, 

“Inside, cum inside, fuh-fill me, please,” he begs, wrapping his shaky, sticky legs around your waist. 

His begging pulls you over quickly, and you cut him off with a deep moan of his name on your lips. You make sure to press yourself flush against him, pushing your cock as far inside of him as you can manage as you cum, satiating Levi’s need to be filled up. 

Fucking him through your orgasm, you only stop when Levi sobs and hiccups. You pull out and try your best to lay next to him within his small bed, ignoring his nasally whine when you leave him empty again.

“Wow,” Levi breathes after a moment, his voice hoarse and strained from how noisy he got.

“Good, huh?” you tease, pulling his limp body into your arms. Levi purrs softly and snuggles into you, noddling his head.

“Well yeah,” he huffs, “I’m the one who suggested it, so uhh obviously it was gonna be good lol!” he snickers. You laugh along with him, still so pleased with how much more confident and comfortable he’s gotten in your relationship. 

“Next time I want to try more eggs,” he tells you, and you’re surprised he’s already thinking about a next time. 

“We can talk more about “next time,” in a bit,” you suggest, honestly excited for what other ideas he may have, “right now though, I think we should focus on getting cleaned up.” The pee surrounding the two of you has gone cold, and you would much rather be submerged in the welcoming warmth of a nice bath right now.

Levi snorts and nods his head, “yeah, I’m literally so sticky and gross right now,” he peels his thighs apart, revealing how your cum is currently leaking from his vent and mutters, “yuck.”

It takes a bit to get him there, but soon you have Levi in the bath, leaning against you. There’s a comfortable quiet between the two of you, but it doesn’t last long, as Levi soon begins to ramble about his big plans for the next time that you breed him full of your eggs.