#i think those are sufficient tags ???

[bloodmoonblitz]

@bylerween2023 day 5: Came back wrong. When you watch him while he sleeps 😍🙈 (close-ups + extra sketch under cut)

Also... I couldn't decide if i wanted will to look straight forward, or at mike so have this version too:

[anguis-sapphire]

Socialising At The Beach incident leaves five full and one very very tired

[cobraonthecob]

instagram is going nuts over a ring suspiciously on a finger where an engagement ring usually goes...honestly i'd bust my ribs from laughing if either carmen or george did a piasco-esque post stating that it's not that

[aeide-thea]

literally had some tabs still open from, like, august, which on the one hand yikes but on the other hand sometimes bad takes you vaguely felt as though you should address delete themselves in the interim, so, you know, you win some you lose some…

[orcelito]

listen. romance in the culinary. akechi cannot cook bc he never got the chance to learn. i think he tried experimenting when he first started living on his own, but it went Disastrously bc there's so much backround knowledge you need for even the simplest of things. if you have no one to teach you, it's very difficult to effectively cook.

so goro gives up. he accepts he's a bad cook. he doesnt have time for it anyways.

but akira. akira loves to cook. cooking is a love language, especially for him. he wants the people he loves to be nourished. he wants them to eat well. he wants goro to eat well. so he cooks for him, of course he does.

but romance in the culinary. he realizes the origin of goro's inability to cook. and he decides to try to help fix that. goro didnt have anyone to teach him before, but he does now. akira will teach him how to chop vegetables, how to make soups and noodles and eggs, how to brown meat and fry shrimp. hell, he could teach him how to make sushi too, since goro loves it so much.

with akira's help, he gives goro the chance to have this bit of independence he never had before. as much as akira loves cooking for him, he wants goro to be able to cook for himself. akira will make it happen.

[lovesomehate]

You are a patient saint for this dumbass. Here's this fuckery

TW: severe non-con, kidnapping, mentions of torture

A Month and the After [part 1]

1

This fucking life. Laura thought that after werewolves and the shaky start to their relationship that things for her and Travis would be good. Sure they had bumps but they were the bumps that people dealt with in everyday life with a few from past experiences thrown in. Things that they could get through. This didn’t feel like one of those bumps.

During the planning and packing for a road trip, they seemed to miss the notice of some deranged freaks that went about kidnapping, assaulting, and killing people.

Their car breaks down, but thankfully at a gas station, but not so thankfully in the middle of the night. After the whole thing at Hackett's Quarry and how she inadvertently got Max infected and the both of them imprisoned she thought she would have learned to be a more cautious bleeding heart. But across the street in the dark of a ditch, the weeping and please of a stranger breaks past her protective walls.

She runs over to offer assistance and is immediately ambushed and knocked unconscious, the calls were playing from a recording. When Travis comes out he sees her just as she’s being hoisted onto one of the two people's shoulders. A big fucker, pushing the deceased Bobby Hackett into second standing in the scope of size. He lets her slip into his partner's arms and rushes his full tank of a body towards Travis, subduing Travis just as easily.

2

When they awake it was in a basement. A bright light reveals grungy walls and a nearly barren space. They are chained to the wall and floor. There is clattering to the right of them where the big man is rifling through some things. A door opens and from down the stairs come a pert, lithe figured woman. She's clearly a few inches short than Laura, with dark brown hair, bewitching green eyes, and a threateningly playful smile.

"Jake!" She squeaks, "Why didn't you tell me they were awake?"

Jake looks from what he was doing over to the three. At the woman, to Laura and Travis then back to the woman and shrugs, simply going back to his business.

"Ugh." The woman huffs. "That brother of mine. Well, it's nice to meet you, Laura, and Travis." 

"Our licenses." Laura states not bothering with the "how do you know" game.

"And the news!" She says in a sing-song voice. "That whole tragedy at Hackett's Quarry. A corrupt sheriff, ex-sheriff. And a serial killer survivor."  Travis and Laura glare daggers at her. "Ugh, it's just one of those amazing stories of a century AND you two are a couple now?"

Neither Travis nor Laura say anything but the question of how she knows must have still been clear on their faces.

"Or don't act so shocked, we went through your things obviously." She kneels down. "That frisky lingerie, the toys, the rope."

She gets closer to Travis.

"No condoms though. Does our little cop shoot blanks?" She roughly grabs his crotch earning her double glares that she could give less of a shit about.

She doesn't let go. Instead, she keeps groping, feeling him through the fabric. She undoes his pants and boxer briefs for a better look.

"Tsk. Almost seems heartbreaking for this...well, I can't say little now can I?"

She snickers and still she doesn't leave Travis. Instead, she works his cock out stroking, kissing, and licking as Travis grows hard. He feels so disgusted with himself. He knows it's not his fault, he knows his body is just reacting to natural touch, but still. He closes his eyes.

"Get your hands off of him," Laura demands with a yell!

The woman merely sank her mouth all the way to Travis's base, causing him to involuntarily jerk. She looks at Laura maliciously and mischievously through her lashes as she took Travis down her throat over and over.

Travis is making sounds of pain, displeasure and unfortunately pleasure. With wet pop and far too much saliva the woman lifts herself from Travis and stands.

“You know I wouldn’t normally fuck an old guy or a cop or in this case both.” She works her skirt and panties off and unbuttons her blouse some. “But you’re not that bad and clearly still in good health so I’ll make an exception.”

“Get the fuck away.” Travis spits.

The woman slapps him. 

“That’s no way to talk to a partner.” She glances briefly to Laura. “Do you talk to her like that?”

Travis does speak. He grits his teeth as she sinks down onto his length and starts to ride him. She moans as she does. Loud, obnoxious and exaggerated just to piss them off. She changes her position some leaning back to rest her hands behind her on Travis’ legs. Unfortunately that does something and Travis’ hips snap upward meeting her as she was descending. 

“Oh! That’s it!” She’s too pleased. “Get into the fun of it.” 

She rides him harder and faster and despite his best efforts Travis’ body keeps betraying him, thrusting upwards to meet the crazed woman. He doesn’t want to look at her and he didn’t want to see what Jake was doing so he reluctantly looks over to Laura. Laura who’s red with rage staring as if she were willing the woman’s head to explode, before making eye contact with him. 

He feels sick at betraying her, at how she looks at him with pity and remorse for not being able to help him.

With a groan the woman stands up and takes something from around her neck. A key which she uses to unlock Travis from the wall.

“Don’t think about anything, you know how fast and hard my brother can hit.” She said, Jake looks over having finished with whatever he was doing and watches intently.

She sits down and beckons for Travis.

“What?” He asks, trying to resist the temptation to charge the woman for the key despite the large looming presence in the room.

“I didn’t cum, you didn’t cum.” She shakes her head at Travis like he’s a fool. “We’re not done, so get over here and fuck me.”

Travis and Laura grimace. The woman’s face falls into a snarl.

“Fuck me. Or Jake will show little miss how it feels for a big young man to take her.”

Travis and Laura bristle and blanch. Indeed Jake has come closer and is disgustingly eyeing Laura.

“Don’t touch her.” Travis goes over to the woman.

She lays on her back while Travis gets on his hands and knees above her.

“Kiss me.” She says, earning her a disgusted glare.

She glares back. Travis exhales and complies, giving her a kiss on the lips. She strikes him strongly across the face.

“You know damn fucking well that’s not what I wanted.” She hisses.

Travis pushes his anger down and goes to kiss her again, when the woman puts her hand over his mouth.

“What?” She yells and she laughs.

“I don’t want a basic kiss. I want you to kiss me like you kiss her.” She gestures with her chin over to Laura. “And I want to you to fuck me like you would her. Rough, I’m assuming, but also like you love me like you do her.”

“You demented bitch!” Laura shouts.

Travis holds his tongue. He dare not even try to speak or else he’d probably rip the bitches throat out with his teeth. He complies to the demands. He looks over the to Laura with apologetic eyes.

He has to sacrifice his memories with Laura to even treat this woman a fraction as how he would with Laura. He sacrifices the kisses they shared on the road. He focused on the memories of Laura’s lips, this woman bites too much her kisses feel more like a violent competition. 

It was all wrong. Trying to layer Laura's moans and whimpers over the shrills and caws. The sweet scent of her lotion and sweat over the suffocating perfume. And yet he does, he has to. His stomach falls as he feels his orgasm build. Hates even more that it was evident in the way he started to slightly thrust harder and faster.

“Say my name.” 

“What!”

“Say my name like you say hers. Say it loud. It’s Tara. Scream my fucking name.”

“T-” he tries

“T-”

He pauses to work the name up his throat and off his tongue. He has to say it like he would Laura’s.

“L-Tara.” Manages though the method is odd. “L-Tara.”

If she notices Tara doesn’t say anything and just keeps moaning. Eventually Travis is able to drop the L from her name and manages to make himself hold the woman, Tara, closer as he would Laura.

Laura’s watching with tears on the cusp of falling. Jake is watching evidence of him getting turned on straining against his pants. Travis is uttering Tara’s name, he’s screaming in his head, and he hates how disgusting his body is. By the time Tara speaks again he already knows how to answer and play his part.

“How good do I feel?” She asks, clawing at his shoulders.

‘You don’t’

“You feel so fucking good.” He chokes out. “So right for me.”

Tara bares a wicked grin and looks at Laura. 

“Better than hers?”

‘Never.’

“So much better.” He says kissing her breast then kissing her.

Travis and Laura keep an eye on Jake who comes close rubbing himself through his pants. They both can’t stomach how casually Jake is watching his sister be fucked.

Travis starts to loose the pace of his thrusts. He goes to pull out when Tara’s legs wrap around his waist. He wants to stop thrusting, his body doesn’t, he unquestionably should, but he knows he shouldn’t.

“Why?”

“Because maybe it isn’t you.” Tara mocks with a sacchirne grin. “Maybe she’s the reason you don’t have kids.”

‘She’s not. I’m not. Shut up!’

“So, how about we make a baby happen.”

That makes Travis stop dead. He’s right the edge, he’s in her, but he doesn’t cum. What she just said resounds through him and even his body wouldn’t dare to think of giving this woman a child. His mind took him out of existence for a moment and returned so he could fight the bile threatening to come up.

Tara pulls her legs to signal to him to get back to moving. He only manages to do so on the third pull of her legs that was accompanied with a growl. He gets himself back to pace quickly. He was already on edge, but he needs to hold on just for her to finish first.

And thankfully she does. A loudspeaker keen as she arches her back, pulls him close and shudders around him. The only satisfaction Travis feels when filling her is that the act is finally over.

Then Jake is loomed over Laura.

“Don’t you think about fucking touching me.” Laura screams and kicks, landing blows that Jake doesn’t seem to care about. 

Travis pulls out of Tara roughly and only spares a second of thought to pull up his pants. They fell regardless as he tackles Jake. For his effort Travis is grabbed and slammed into the wall, with a nasty smack. Travis recovers enough that he positioned himself between Jake and Laura. 

Jake’s bear sized hand clenchd Travis shoulder and throws him back crashing near his sister. Travis recovered despite his pants and the shake up of being flung. He getst between Jake and Laura again.

“Don’t fucking youch her! You said you wouldn’t!” He yells from a bruised face.

“Nooooooo.” Tara stands fixing her self up. “I said he wouldn’t touch her…if you didn’t fuck me. I can’t help if he gets horny and wants to have his own fun.” 

“Don’t touch her.” 

Jake rolls his eyes while Tara stares at the couple thinking about something. She connects with Laura’s glare and a sickly smile grows across her lips.

“Jake.” Tara says causing her brother to stop his attempt of throwing Travis away again.

“Don’t touch her.”

Jake looks confused as a big brother would, Travis and Laura where confused in terror.

“Why not?” Jake asks.

“Cause he wants to be the knight in shining armor. The big old goody cop trying to make up for his sins. So let him. It’ll be more fun if the bitch watch her lover suffer for her safety.” 

“Fuck you.” Laura spits.

“Yeah we’ll be fucking him. We haven’t had a toy in a while and we’ve never shared one.” 

Laura and Travis grimace. Tara pulls Travis’ pants around his ankle and playfully gives him a slap on the ass.

“Leave him alone.” Laura yells. 

Instead Jake spreads Travis’ legs more,  fondles his ass, holds Travis’ hip in place and his own cock in his hand.

There’s enough time for Travis and Laura to fully realize that Travis is positioned right above her. Jake shoves in ripping a howl of pain from Travis. Laura screams as well, a cry of fury. Travis braces himself against the wall as Jake starts a slow pace with brutal throasts. 

Tears fall from Travis’ face and he doesn’t know what to do. He closes his eyes, but it just makes the burning sensation heightened more than it needs to be. He’s tryies to push the feeling away and just leave his body a shell, but then he remembers, when he never should have forgotten in the first place. He’s doing this for Laura and leaving her, even mentally to this hell would be unforgiveable. He peaks down to her and hates it. He fpathetic with the tears falling from him onto her and she looked at him with nothing but worry and sorrow.

Laura has grown to know Travis enough to recognize the story his face was telling. She watches him flash through the various states. She watches Travis’ face to help in someone way, not leaving him to this alone.

Jake groans and pulls Travis flush to him. Once again Travis feels like throwing up. Jake pulls out looking sickly smug at what he’s done. Semen and blood leaks out of Travis. On shaky legs he manages to bend down pull his pants up, falls to his knees and rests on his side on the hard floor.

Jake re-secures Travis’ wrists to the chains. Jake and Tara have matching smirks that Laura wishes she could carve off their faces. 

“Well it’s late so we’ll be back in the morning to take care of you more.” Tara follows her brother up the stairs. “We’re gracious hosts really.”

The core light is turned off leaving three dim bulbs to illuminate everything. Laura looks to Travis whose curled in on himself.

“Travis?” She doesn’t know why she whispers.

It was obvious he wasn’t okay.

“I’m fine.” He answers,

“No you’re not.”

Travis doesn’t say anything.

“We need to get out of here. I can’t let them hurt you anymore.”

“Whether we get out or not, I won’t let them hurt you.” Travis says. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Shh Travis.” Laura’s happy that there’s enough length to the chains that she can give Travis a comforting pat from where he lays, even if only on his leg.

3

The routine is a perversion of Travis’ when he had her and Max imprisoned. She was suddenly so appreciative of it.

They were fed, small portions. Sometimes allowed to actually eat or it was humiliatingly shoved in their faces. They were given showers, but always together. It was the one moment they could be intimate with one another in the smallest way. Laura and Travis didn’t know where, but knew they were being watchied, but they didn’t care. They could actually touch each other even though they only really hugged and kissed.

“Laura please.” Travis’ voice trembled, as he pulled her close.

Since the first time Tara and Jake took him, they continued to do so and it ran havoc on Travis’ mind. He wants Laura to touch him. To confirm for him that he wasn’t sick. That he wasn’t loosing his need and attraction to her by the sick fucks that held them captive. She peppers him with kisses and affirmations of her adoration and love for him, and letting him know that she knows he loves her he wouldn’t be doing this otherwise, to not let them win.

Turns out that they’re there for a month. The entire length of their whole trip and Laura couldn’t help the shock of the fact taking her back to that summer at Hackett’s Quarry. 

Food, shower, food and sleep. This is the bases of the routine. They are surprisingly able to request the restroom without problem.

“We’re not animals.” Jake laughed.

When that didn't happen Laura and Travis were left to their own thoughts and each other. The other times Travis was being…

Laura could feel a permanent bitemark forming on her tongue. Sometimes Travis is held back after showers while she is taken back downstairs. Sometimes she wakes up and Travis wouldn’t be there and wasn’t brought back for a while. Tara would come down and taunt her, leaving the door open so Laura could hear Travis scream. 

Travis made some sort of deal. Tara couldn’t cut her, stable her,  or piss on her (again) but she did take to hitting her and spitting on her. They trade insults and Laura has to tread the line so carefully not to set the woman off to take her anger elsewhere. Laura makes sure to memorize every wrinkle, curl, and pore on Tara.

Travis began to recede into his own mind quickly. He barely eats, having to be hand fed food and water. He’s distant during their shower time. He doesn’t ask for her touch and he shrinks away some if she tries to initiate on her own. She can hug him, but he doesn’t reciprocate, she found victory in that he still let her and that she could help watch his back. He doesn’t sleep peacefully. He mumbles in his sleep, twitching and shaking from his nightmares and crying to never wake. Sometimes he would rest against her, saying her name like a protective spell and Laura wishes she could do so for him outside of his dreams.

Another turn of events happens when Tara and Jake start coming down to the basement without Travis and then the man himself would appear afterwards. Apparently he’s been deemed…Laura grimaces, trained enough to not run if left alone for a little bit. And maybe…Laura shook the thought but she wanted to through up anytime one of them came near. If they did Travis would dutifully stand up and start undoing his pants, unless told to stop only cause he was being taken upstairs.

The worse was she woke up to the sounds of fucking. Across from her Travis had Tara on the wall, her legs wrapping around his waist. He was bucking into her enthusiastically and Laura can’t help but match it to memories of how Travis happily did the same to her. What made this the worse;

“I love you.” Travis murmurs between kissing Tara on the lips, on her neck. “I love you, I love you. You’re so good to me. So good for me. I love you Tara, so much.” 

This finally breaks the cracks in Laura. She hates giving Tara the victory of seeing her cry. Laura can’t get a proper thought together on whether Travis is putting up an amazing, necessary act or if they’d really taken him from her and himself.

It was the former thankfully. She doesn’t know this until Tara had comes down in the early morning to be the bitch that she is. 

“How ya doing?” She smiles. “Sorry that you had to sleep alone, but I wanted my Travis with me through the night.”

‘He’s not yours, you sick cunt.’ Laura has to hold herself composed or else she’d be frothing at the mouth.

“He’s upstairs waiting in Jake’s room. My brother loves to sleep late.” She taunts, licking her lips at Laura’s anger.

When Laura clenchs her fist she realizes something was off. Her hands where behind her back and there was something resting in them. A sound comes from upstairs. When Tara turns around,

“Jake?” She calls up.

Laura looks down and realizes that she was holding something sharp. Also her chains areundone! And if she thought about it some she can feel and remember the lingering heat and soft pressure of a kiss on her temple. 

Another scream from upstairs.

“Jake!” Tara makes her way to the stairs.

Then another scream; Travis.

A loud scream, a shattering of glass and clanging of various items. The fire alarm shrieks to life. A joint scream between Jake and Travis. Tara rushes up the stairs and Laura hates that it still takes a few seconds time to shake her chains off. If it didn’t she would have done more than stab Tara in the calf.

“AH!” Tara’s scream is so satisfying.

The woman kicks and Laura falls only a few steps back down. She recovers and shoulders the door before it could fully close. Now upstairs she could see the chaos. Travis started a fire and it was consuming the kitchen, the smoke rising. 

Travis is bloody and Jake is choking him, ignoring the blows Travis is striking to his side and head. Jake at least was bloody as well, evidence of Travis having stabbed the massive man, a knife stuck in him still. 

Laura quietly walks forward.

“AH!” Tara, has the worst shriek.

She comes from the side smashing a vase into Laura. Laura falls, arm hurting and a cut on her head. Tara mounts her trying to take hold of Laura’s weapon. 

“AH! You bitch.” Laura screams, Tara bit her hand!

In retaliation Laura delivers a proper headbutt to Tara’s face. Tara recoils and Laura lifts her hips, rolling Tara off and Laura is now on top. She brings her weapon down, missing Tara’s neck too much for her liking. Tara yanks at her hair, Laura’s free hand claws at Tara’s, their other hands wrestled for the weapon.

Travis emits a rough cough of air. Laura looks to him and he’s purple in the face. Laura pushes her thumb into Tara’s eye. Tara let go of Laura’s hair and hand to wrench her face free of Laura’s nails. Laura swipes at Tara, only hitting the woman’s arms, but deep enough. Quickly standing Laura delivers a swift, strong kick snap Tara’s back and she laid there dazed, hopefully unconcious.

Immediately Laura leaps onto Jake’s back and begins to stab the man in the neck. He roars in pain and tries to remove Laura. She presses her head between Jake’s shoulder blades. Her yanked hair be damned. She keeps stabbing, hitting him in the side and even managing to get him in the eye.

At this Jake stands and rams backwards into the wall. Laura was smashed against picture frames and fell. She briefly notes that the family in the photo was distinctly not Tara and Jake. The massive man goes to stomp her head, misses and gets her hand instead. She hollers but is thankful, his aim was thrown off thanks to Travis. He grabs the knife he dropped before Jake started chocking him and charged into the man, plunging the knife into this side.

It’s bullshit the amount of damage Jake can take. They are weakened, but they don’t stop. Despite only holding himself on his knees, Travis manages to stab Jake again, in the stomach, and drag the blade some. Laura gets a good stab in Jake’s leg, above the knee.

Sirens are heard approaching causing Travis and Laura to briefly realize how close to normal people and homes they were, that they weren’t actually somewhere far from help. Jake shakes them off and goes to grab the unconscious Tara. He escapes through the front door, spots the fire trucks and police cruisers and limps away as fast as he can manage.

Laura emerges from the house, Travis apologizing for her having to bear so much of his weight. They collapse into the oncoming paramedics.. It was over. Mostly over. They’re to stay at the local hospital for a while.

I’m about to hunt some people down! (Or maybe Laura will 👀)

[rachymarie]

Ok now that i got all that off my chest i feel somewhat compelled to balance out all the rambling negative text posts with flowery posts and imagery before i go down for the nap 😅

And I shall drink my catnip* tea (Red Seal brand "Relaxing tea") in a vain attempt to "chill out" and get to sleep asap to be able to be awake again by 4pm and hopefully leave the house in time to avoid the 5pm rush hour traffic (traffic is usually triggering for me and can bring up the trauma from walking around lots of traffic in psychosis and unable to cross roads and reading into "the signs" from the traffic lights) oh boy I've done it i can now kinda feel the globus sensation lurking lol

So onto that relaxing tea

[spencerreidenjoyer]

love bites | spencer reid x reader

word count: 2k, rating: 18+/explicit

tags: established relationship, hickeys, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, overstimulation

a/n: hello again... i'm back with another pwp fic... idk where this came from ngl, but i sort of ran away with this idea of spencer leaving hickeys and this happened lol. also i've been having chip taylor (mgg's character in 68 kill, a guy who has the biggest, wettest eyes and fucks like a madman) on the brain lately so this is definitely inspired by him too ❤️

(p.s: you can also find this fic on ao3!)

Spencer always wants to give you everything you want. He’s eager to please, with those wide puppy-dog eyes that stare up at you, that gaze that makes your insides warm, the tension between you two that makes you want to spread your legs. Not like you would put up a fight anyway.

He was already such a sweetheart on the date you just came home from, a nice dinner at a nice restaurant. Spencer was a proper gentleman, who was playing footsie with you under the table. You’d wanted to jump his bones the moment you’d left the restaurant. You hoped Spencer would get the hint, from the way you were tracing circles with your fingers onto his thighs on the drive back to his place.

“Baby,” you hum, while Spencer kisses down your neck. He always treats you like a princess, makes you feel so revered.

Sometimes, he loses himself in making you feel good. You have to call his name again – “Spencer–!” you say, in a whimper, before he responds.

“Hmm?”

“Are you leaving marks?” You ask. You feel a little conscious about it, because having to wear a turtleneck to work in the summer heat is definitely funny, but kind of embarrassing.

Spencer’s lips pause against your neck. He murmurs, “Do you want me to?” and you feel his warm breath on your skin as he says it. Your hair stands on end, your body reacting to how close Spencer is to you.

Spencer pulls away, and you mourn the loss of his warmth for a moment. He looks at you, the hazel of his eyes so deep and sweet that you feel like you could lose yourself in them. “Then I can leave them in places that you don’t have to worry about.”

“What? Where?” You ask, but your mind starts running already. His lips on your body. His gaze, scorching as he stares up at you.

He doesn’t give a verbal response, rather lets his hands fall to your waist and slips his thumbs under the waist-cutouts of your dress. Where the tips of his fingers touch your skin, you feel like you’re burning with desire already. Spencer asks, “Can I?”

“Please.” Your voice comes out breathier than you’d like.

Spencer pushes your dress up, revealing your thighs, your stomach. His fingers skirt over your skin softly, the touch almost ticklish. The dress goes up, up, up, until Spencer helps you tug it over your head. Even with the sweet gesture, him getting you undressed is making you flush, the attention he gives you and the lust in his gaze making your stomach flip.

Spencer’s lips find their way back to your neck. You hold your breath as he kisses his way down the column of your neck, taking his time. He kisses your collarbone, then the top of your breast. He nips the skin between his teeth.

“Someone’s bitey,” you gasp, trying to joke.

“Did you know that while the Brits call hickeys ‘love bites’ , you don’t actually need to bite to break the superficial blood vessels under the skin’s surface? Suction is often sufficient to cause bruising.” Spencer murmurs, as if the fun fact is absolutely necessary to him giving you a hickey on your breast. It’s cute to you, though. It kind of turns you on.

“‘Love bites’ are a cute name for hickeys, though.” You laugh. “And sucking… Isn’t that kind of gross?”

Spencer’s eyes flit up to meet yours. “I think it’s hot… I mean, being so desperate to mark you up, that I can’t control myself. Being willing to do anything to make it known that you’re mine.”

Arousal washes over you. “Jesus Christ, Spencer.”

He surges forward to kiss you, slow and languid and kind of sloppy. Still, you can feel the desperation behind his movements, his eagerness as he basically eats your face off. Spencer pulls back panting, eyes studying your face, your shirtless figure, your breasts in your bra. He stares greedily. You’re wet between your legs already.

Spencer dips his head down to press his lips to where your breast spills out of the cup of your bra, flicking his tongue over a spot he’s chosen. His front teeth graze over your skin gently. Spencer nips the skin between his teeth, sucking softly. It makes your hair stand on end – the wet sounds coming from his mouth, the heat of his breath on your skin, the slow but pleasurable twinge of pain that sinks in when he sucks a mark into your breast.

It’s erotic, the way your hand is tangled in Spencer’s hair, holding him close to you as he continues to mark up your chest with his mouth. Spencer’s hair is so soft between your fingers, slightly messy and curling at the ends. He’d moved on to mark up your other breast, his large hand cupping you perfectly, like you were made for him.

Spencer litters hickeys all over you, on your tits, your stomach, and he kisses along the waistband of your panties when he gets to them. You only have to whimper to get him to slide them off as well. He kisses your hip bone, while his hand on your other side feels you up. You feel Spencer slide his hand from the swell of your ass, to feeling the meat of your thigh, before his hand comes around and pushes your leg out to spread your legs.

“Babe,” you moan, as Spencer bites down gently on your plushy inner thigh. His tongue laps over where he had bitten, acting to soothe you from any pain, and he sucks a mark into your thigh. You see the marks of his teeth and the redness of the spot, the beginnings of a bruise. He moves over to your other thigh to give you another mark, then his lips trace their way closer to the heat between your legs, giving you more marks on the way up.

You gasp when he presses a kiss to your clit, your wetness extremely obvious to you now as he blows cool air to tease you. You shiver. Spencer laughs, “Needy. You’re so wet.”

“Because of you, baby,” you sigh, running your hand through his hair to push it back, letting you admire his gorgeous bone structure and those wide eyes of his. “Need you.”

Spencer hums, smiling to himself, as he settles himself between your spread legs. His hand comes up to your heat, two fingers spreading your lips before he leans in, licking a fat stripe up across your hole, to your clit. You moan shakily as he flicks at your clit, playing with you, the tip of his sharp tongue making pleasure jolt through your body.

You let out a sigh when he presses his face deeper because you didn’t think he could get any closer, and you feel his mouth on your cunt– slurping, licking, breathing heavily as he eats you out fervently. He gives you head like he was born to do it. The way he pleasures you makes your head spin, amidst all the slick, wet noises, and Spencer’s own eagerness to make you feel good.

You lock eyes with Spencer, his piercing gaze meeting yours from between your tits. It’s almost funny, but you’re too turned on to even joke about it. You tighten your grasp in his hair. He whimpers, a sound you never get tired of hearing, and the vibrations to your cunt make you shiver.

You want him in you, now. You tell him that. Spencer pulls away, his wide eyes seeming dark and serious.

He wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, shiny with your slick and fluids. You watch the pink of his tongue dart out as he licks his lips. You whimper a little as he gets onto his knees between your spread legs, his nice button-up, slacks and boxers off and on the floor. You admire the smooth lines of his body, the softness of his stomach, his happy trail leading down to where he’s hard and leaking into his hand.

There are no words exchanged, just a knowing glance that tells Spencer to hurry and do it. Spencer’s always been good at following instructions, and he knows you and your likes like the back of his hand. You know he always wants to please.

One hand on your hip, Spencer’s other hand guides his cock to your hole. He teases the head of his cock over your clit, circling over your entrance. You can only imagine how wet and sticky you are down there, with Spencer’s cock making you even more of a mess.

He puts the head in, watches intently as he slides in, and you look up at Spencer, breathing hard. He stops for a moment and begins to pull out, only the tip inside of you. He’s such an ass. You glare at him. Spencer grins cheekily.

“Spencer–” His name leaves your lips brokenly as he suddenly presses himself deeper, in, in, in, until his cock is bottoming out and you feel so incredibly full. “Fuck me.”

Spencer grunts, eyebrows furrowed as he starts fucking into you. He goes hard and fast, knowing that’s how you like it: his skin slapping against yours, the slick sounds of his cock pounding into your hole downright obscene. Even while you shake from the force he’s putting into fucking you, Spencer’s face reads like he’s trying hard to keep it together, trying to concentrate on making you feel as good as he feels.

His mouth falls open as he grips the headboard, fucking you relentlessly. You hold onto his biceps for dear life, close to screaming as he rails you. Spencer moans, as your fingernails dig into his arms in your desperate need, “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight, angel. All wet for me.”

“Spencer, fuck, oh my God–!” You cry out, helpless, horny, feeling like you’re in heaven as Spencer fucks you just how you want, just how you need. His cock hits all the right places, deep inside of you, fucking you open like you’re made for him.

And then, your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your body jolting with the pleasure that overtakes you. It’s so good, Spencer ramming into you till the overstimulation starts to sting, pleasure tinged with pain around the edges, and your clenching and writhing has Spencer pushed over the edge as well, his head dropping between his shoulders as he comes with a groan, loud and whiny, his load spilling inside of you.

You’re both breathing hard, but your eyes meet his, and you share a small smile. Spencer has paused, cock softening inside of you, and he kisses you softly. You taste yourself on his lips. You don’t care, and kiss him back. Both of you giggle when you pull away.

One of Spencer’s hands falls from the headboard to your body, his fingers gentle as they skirt over your curves, a sharp contrast to the way he was fucking you just moments ago. His hand slides over your breast, your stomach, your thighs – thumbing over the marks he’d left behind. Spencer presses down on one on your inner thigh. You moan as he grabs the meat of your thigh eagerly. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee.

“I love you,” you giggle softly, feeling like you got your brains fucked out. “You’re too sweet to me.”

“Why wouldn’t I be sweet to you, darling?” Spencer answers softly as he leans in, kissing your jaw gently. Your cheeks feel warm. “I love you too. Let me clean you up.”

You hum softly, laying back while Spencer gets up. You watch as Spencer, even more gorgeous in his post-orgasmic glow, grabs a small towel and slips onto the bathroom. He emerges quickly enough, the towel now damp, and slides back into bed next to you.

Spencer glances down at where you’re wet and messy. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, mind clearly busy, and asks, “Wanna let me finger you before we really go and get clean?”

You let out a laugh, and after a moment’s pause: “Yeah, okay."

[fairyhaos]

◈ adorable and insufferable // joshua hong

joshua x gn!reader, 1.5k+ words

tags: sick fic, fluff, crack, established relationship, joshua makes small snuffly bunny noises when he's sick

warnings: food mention at the end

notes: for his birthday present, i give him a cold. as you can see, i love him very much.

Your boyfriend is sick.

He is, also, an absolutely terrible liar.

That leads you to the situation right now, where you’ve cornered Joshua in the kitchen, hands on your hips, a bunny spa headband pushing your hair back, and it’s not the most intimidating sight but Joshua gulps all the same, eyes darting around the kitchen nervously.

He’s looking for an escape route. You can see it in his eyes, clear as day, so you step even closer, voice dangerously calm as you speak.

“No, keep your eyes on me,” you say, face set into an angry frown. “Shua.”

Joshua looks at you, and tries not to breathe too weirdly. “Um. Y/N?”

You look him up and down, and then slowly fold your arms. “Shua,” you say again. “Are you sick?”

He blinks rapidly, and then has to stop, because it makes his head feel all woozy. “No?” he tries, and then coughs a little. He’ll claim it was out of nervousness, because you look kind of terrifying right now, but your eyes immediately widen at the sound, and he knows he’s busted.

“You are!” Instantly, you lunge for him as he tries to dive past you and escape this interrogation. “Joshua, come back! You’re sick!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I swear I’m not,” he insists, trying to pull away from the iron grip you’ve clasped around his wrist. Resistance is futile, though. You’re not letting him go, now that him and his wellbeing are involved. “Y/N, baby, please, I’m totally fine.”

“No you’re not,” you say firmly, and then begin dragging your whining boyfriend out the kitchen and towards the stairs. 

“I—” He sneezes, then, a loud and wet sneeze that scrapes at his throat and makes his eyes water, and he pauses, shocked. He sniffles, rubbing his nose. “Okay. Maybe I am.”

You shake your head, partly exasperated, partly fond, and continue pulling Joshua up the stairs.

He’s been shuffling around the house looking mildly ill all day, and you’ve been waiting for the right moment to pounce on him and get him up to bed. Because Joshua, when he gets sick, utterly refuses to give in and accept that he’s coming down with something, always waiting until the last moment to finally admit defeat to whatever illness has plagued him this time.

By the time you’re opening the bedroom door and ushering Joshua inside, he’s looking considerably worse than before, face all flushed and eyes watering from the sudden coughing fit he had while coming up the stairs.

“Come on, baby,” you coax, tucking him into bed. You press a hand to his forehead, a little alarmed and a little amused by how quickly he managed to look severely ill during the short walk upstairs. “Sleep.”

“I can still function, you know,” he insists as you pull the covers over him. “I can—I can do things.”

“I’d rather you not,” you say, smoothing down his hair and tucking away a few stray strands. You shake your head in faux disappointment. “I knew you’d get sick from all those days where you went out wearing all those thin layers in winter. What were you thinking?”

Joshua huffs petulantly. “It’s called fashion.”

“It’s called making yourself sick,” you return, and then chuckle at his pout. Leaning down, you press a quick kiss to his forehead, brushing a finger over his cheek fondly. “Now sleep. You’re going to feel way worse tomorrow if you don’t.”

He grumbles, but there’s a small smile on his face as he bids you goodbye and asks you to shut the door properly on the way out.

───────────── 💗

Your boyfriend is very, very self-sufficient. He tries not to bother other people with his struggles and his concerns, but he’s also very terrible at hiding it away when someone asks him directly if everything’s okay.

He’s also really weak in the face of attention.

Which means that while he’s very self-sufficient, the moment you notice he’s unwell and call him out on it, he melts instantly and gets taken over by his sickness so quickly that it surprises you every time.

Slowly, you creak open the bedroom door, peering inside to see Joshua staring blankly up at the ceiling. His head snaps towards you as you walk across the room, but his eyes are all glassy.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, and all he’s said is your name but it’s like he’s speaking through a ball of cotton. 

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, smiling a little, because his eyes positively shine when you confirm it. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you place a damp towel over his forehead, feeling his cheek with the back of your hand, and wince a little at how warm he is. “Goodness me, Shua, you’re burning up.”

“No, I’m not,” he murmurs. “You’re burning up.”

You smile a little, pinching his cheek lightly. “If you were this sick, then why didn’t you say anything, hm? You should’ve told me earlier.”

“I’m not that sick. I can still do stuff,” he says, eyes falling shut just slightly as you begin stroking his hair, a relaxing movement. “Hey, hey, Y/N, watch this.”

“Hm?” You stop stroking his hair, sitting back and waiting patiently. 

There’s a long silence, and then Joshua cracks an eye open to look at you. He looks expectant—well, as expectant as a person with an extremely high fever can look—but when you don’t say anything, a small frown creases his brow.

“Didn’t you see it?”

“See what, baby?”

“The cartwheels. I did cartwheels.”

The statement is so absurd that you think he’s joking, but his face is set into such a serious pout that you can’t help but laugh a little, because there's something about fever-drowsed Joshua that is so adorable.

“You didn’t do any cartwheels, baby,” you say gently, and go back to stroking his hair. “You didn’t even get up.”

Joshua frowns, the pout deepening. “Oh.” His eyes close, and then open again. “I did them in my head, though. I’m sure I did.”

Cute, you think helplessly, unable to stop the smile spreading across the face. “Okay.” You kiss his nose. “I believe you. But I’m gonna go get you something to drink and eat, and then you’re gonna take some meds, okay?”

He makes a small noise of discontent when you get up, and then coughs, giving a pathetic sniffle like a sad little bunny, and you almost want to just stay next to him and never leave his side.

“You’re gonna need to take the meds to get better faster,” you say at the door. “I’ll be back soon, promise. Wait here.”

Joshua makes that sad noise again, but he watches you go. “Okay,” he says, all mumbly. “I promise not to cartwheel away.”

You laugh a little, because good lord, he’s so adorable. “Okay. I’m trusting you, alright?”

“Mhm.”

You close the door and walk down the stairs, shaking your head fondly.

───────────── 💗

It’s only several days later that his fever finally lets up, and he’s well enough to walk around the house once more. You wake up to Joshua in the kitchen, a blanket around his frame, making pancakes.

“Baby?” you ask, rubbing your eyes and yawning. “What are you doing?”

Joshua turns to you, and then grins, eyes crinkling fondly. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, and deposits the last pancake onto a plate. “I’m making you breakfast, of course. Here. Eat up. Want some french toast too?”

“Wh—huh?” you say, incredibly intelligently, slowly sliding into the seat that, like the gentleman he is, Joshua had pulled out for you. “Why?”

“It’s a thank-you present, obviously,” Joshua says, as he busies himself making french toast. As if the pancakes and spread of fresh fruit and waffles (he cooked waffles too?) aren’t enough. “I’ve been insufferable over the past few days.”

You chuckle a little, thinking of Joshua insisting he can do cartwheels while you try to spoon feed him soup. “Yeah, you have. But I didn’t mind. You’re my boyfriend. Of course I’m gonna put up with you.”

Joshua laughs. “Thank you, Y/N. What would I do without you?”

“You’d be dead without me,” you say, incredibly seriously, and it makes Joshua laugh again. His eyes are still a little puffed up, but he beams at you, all full of life, and it makes you grin too.

“You’re totally right,” he says, and leans over to peck you on the cheek. “I love you.”

You smile, taking hold of his chin and bringing him down to press a longer kiss to his lips. “I love you more.”

Joshua quirks a grin at that, kissing your forehead for good measure before going back to the bread. “Let’s not start that argument again. Eat your pancakes, sweetheart, before they get cold.”

You look over at him as he busies himself making yet more food, and it makes you a little dizzy, really, just how much Joshua loves you. And how much you love him in return. Even when he’s doing cartwheels in his head and insisting he’s doing them in real life.

“Hey, now you’re all better, you can do those cartwheels you kept wanting to do.”

“Really? Should I?”

“Yeah! I bet I can do them better though.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29

[maniculum]

Gauging Interest in an Idea

I've noticed a couple notes on the original scorpion post along the lines of "wouldn't it be fun to engage in Bestiary Telephone and try to draw animals based on garbled descriptions?" And I was like, that wouldn't be hard to simulate, just find a friend to read you bestiary entries but not tell you what the animal is... and then I had a Thought.

I have access to an academic library and a reasonable fluency in Old and Middle English. I bet I could find a transcription of a bestiary in one of those languages, do a quick-and-dirty modern translation of each entry, and post them on here once a week with the actual names of the animals replaced by nonsense words or something.* Then people could try and draw them, with the same amount of information a medieval artist who had never seen this animal would have had access to.

*Yes, translations of bestiaries do already exist (I even have one on my shelf right now) but I don't know of any that are public domain and so I think it might be Not Cool for me to basically serialize the entire text on this blog.

I figure anyone who wants to play can post their drawings of the week's animal on their own blog using the randomly-generated nonsense-name as a tag, then at the end of the week I can round them up, link to the artists, and reveal what animal the text was actually describing. (No guarantee that the animal actually... exists, though. Lots of made-up critters found their way into these bestiaries over time.)

Before I get into finding & translating a source, though, I want to make sure there are at least a few people out there who would be interested in participating, because if nobody wants to draw stuff, then it's just a translation exercise for me, which, while fun, isn't an ideal use of my time. So:

I'm setting the poll for one week, and if there seems to be sufficient interest, I'll start getting the text together. (It'll probably take a couple weeks after that to get started, because I do have other projects and whatnot.)

[comradekatara]

Genuinely asking—what changes would you make to the adult gaang designs? :)

this is such a fun question thank u for enabling me. i mean i draw them as adults sometimes so also check out my /oldergaang tag if u want visuals (altho i also change my designs a lot because my art is nothing if not inconsistent) but if i was just going with like standard character designs like if i could redesign that hideous “old friends” poster for example…

aang: get rid of that fucking. chinstrap. don’t give him white man features because what the hell is that. and let him wear his off the shoulder monk robes from book 3 because he was slaying with that fit. actually the way aang is drawn in imbalance is basically perfect i would retain that design into adulthood. thank u peter wartman for all that u do….

katara: i don’t mind the older katara design (from the little we see of it) but it’s also not nearly as cunty and slayful as i would like. katara is genuinely interested in fashion and loves experimenting with clothes and hair and makeup, i refuse to believe that as she ages and has more resources to tailor her style to her own personal tastes she wouldn’t get a little funky with it. like she kind of just looks boring and uninspired in her older design, and that’s unacceptable to me because she should be hot. adult katara should be the hottest woman you have ever seen in your life. and she should be buff, also. shredded, even.

toph: any signifiers of copness are obviously unacceptable to me. but even more that than, it’s very important to me that older toph is distinctly butch. i think she would cut her hair the second she realizes that there is no reconciliation to be found with her parents and that there is no reason to adhere to those confucian values. and she would wear a lot of sleeveless outfits (sort of like the shirt korra wears in “korra alone”) to show off her biceps and also space bracelet (spacelet) that is her prized possession forever. and she’s just kind of a hot hippie butch legend . period.

zuko: in the old friends poster he literally looks like a lizard so just like. no. wtf. and i like his long hair in theory but i don’t like that it’s styled after ozai and not ursa, i think his hair would be shwoopier and frame his face more. and his robes should be less spiky and militaristic and more designed for comfort because that’s what makes him feel most like his true authentic self and he deserves that. also weird for a guy who is trying to demilitarize the fire nation to wear an armor-adjacent type of outfit. so mainly he’d just look softer and more like his mom.

sokka: i hate buff goatee whitewashed sokka that is some kind of demon. lok did so little with him and yet said so much (all of it egregiously wrong, ofc). sokka would be fairly tall (although not as tall as aang) and have defined muscle but in a sinewy, lanky way. and despite always having enough to eat he’d still look somewhat malnourished just because he’s constantly overworked and exhausted and never takes care of himself. and his ponytail would be longer but he’d still shave the sides. and the older he gets the darker his clothes get until he basically just wears black all the time because at some point he realizes that it’s more advantageous to remain culturally ambiguous if he’s gonna be a cosmopolitan. and he wears glasses (which were a gift from kuei). and sometimes he uses a cane because he didn’t sufficiently take care of his broken leg after the war ended and now he’s paying the price for it. and his cane has a blade inside too, but he rarely ever even pulls out the blade because he can incapacitate someone with just a wooden stick anyway. so he looks like if a nerd was a shadow was about to collapse at any given moment was secretly ruling the entire world. and he’s not in any sort of front-facing position of power whatsoever but he’s actually pulling all the strings from behind the scenes, and it’s exhausting. his eyebags are visible from outer space.

suki: i don’t even think there is a “canon” adult suki character design besides her in her kyoshi warrior armor and makeup but to me casual suki just starts dressing more like sokka. like the loose baggy sleeveless shirts (except in a lighter shade of blue bc kyoshi island colors) and tight pants and boots. it’s a very dykey look already and they’re basically girlfriend twins so their styles would merge even more than it already has within the show itself. like sometimes people think that sokka and suki are siblings because they dress so similarly and give off such a similar vibe and they’re just like “but we’re literally different ethnicities??? and also we are currently making out????”

okay bonus round bc i can’t just neglect them

azula: she cuts her hair really short and as an adult leaves it to shoulder length for the most part because that’s more comfortable for her. like zuko, she also starts dressing for comfort, and for a period in her late teens stops wearing makeup altogether. she gets back into wearing makeup as an adult, but she stops caring about whether or not she leaves the house with lipstick on, and it becomes more about the process for her than the result. she’s comfy and cute and dykey.

mai: sokka is her lesbian style icon so after her first haircut that was inspired by toph’s haircut to piss off her parents, she gets an undercut and starts wearing her hair in a ponytail like sokka. as she gets older she also gets more confident in her body and doesn’t feel like she needs to wear baggy long-sleeved clothing at all times or she’ll die. and she isn’t rail thin as an adult either because she starts letting herself eat more than a single grain of rice at a time. also, she gets a sword.

ty lee: she becomes a kyoshi warrior so she starts incorporating more blues and greens into her wardrobe, but also more oranges and yellows after she embraces her air nomad heritage. and she just dresses very colorfully and has a vast rotation of different cute little outfits. and i think she’d also experiment with different hairstyles once she has the freedom to define herself outside of the aesthetics expected of her. she looks beautiful always

haru: he finally shaves that thang

[darlingmbappe]

The Loneliest | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: Your fiancé missing your birthday is the icing on the cake to a horrible couple of months. Now, you’re left to pick up your broken pieces, ending the chapter in your life that includes Kylian Mbappé.

Warnings: Complete angst all the way through, Kylian being a bad fiancé, fighting, breaking an engagement, lots of crying, cussing, this one’s kind of long so beware. Spoiler: no happy ending. Let me know if I missed anything. — English is not my first language —

Mornings used to be your favorite.

You’d wake up way too early to the sound of Kylian’s alarm for your liking, but it didn’t even matter. The hour or so you got to spend with your fiancé before he left were sacred, it was special. They were filled with easy conversation, tired hugs and sleepy kisses on the shoulder, the occasional quickie, or at least a cheeky squeeze of your ass. It felt like very moment spent together was precious. You felt loved by Kylian so much it made your stomach turn with butterflies just thinking about him.

Now, it felt like those domestic moments were a distant memory. Sure, all couples gradually get less and less lovey-dovey the longer they’re together, but the change was drastic. It was like you barley knew him anymore.

You’ve attempted to start conversations with Kylian about this. Multiple times, in fact. Immediately, he’d get defensive, ending in arguments that kept getting worse and worse. It’s difficult to have to tip toe around your feelings in order to avoid a fight. He stopped making you feel special.

This morning, you woke up knowing it will be a hard day; all alone in your shared king sized bed.

Today is your birthday, and you don’t think Kylian knows this. After many weeks of deep reflection and thought, you know that today might be the last day of your three and a half-year long relationship with Kylian Mbappé — a man who stole your heart and still has it. Once treasured, now barely beating. The diamond sitting on your left ring finger had started feeling like a foreign object, like something your body wanted to reject. It’s lost it’s comfort, now you seemed to lug around old memories you clung onto for dear life.

Kylian didn’t come home last night, though you saw on his private Snapchat story that he was safe, sound, and plastered out of his mind at some club with friends you didn’t even know. He couldn’t find it in him to text you back after 9 o’clock, when that morning he said he would be home no later than 8:30. He found a simple ‘going out, don’t wait up for me’ to be sufficient communication for the night.

You called Kylian, instead it went straight to voicemail. Your texts to him weren’t going through, either. He didn’t have training this morning because the coaches had a conference in London, so you knew he had to be home soon.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way to the kitchen for a bowl of bland cereal and coffee for one.

“Happy birthday to me.” You mumbled, looking down at your sad birthday breakfast. Compared to the last few years where Kylian prepared you a delicious meal, hired a chef, or took you out to the fanciest café in Paris — this meal actually made you lose your appetite.

Across town, Kylian was waking up with a pounding sensation in his head and no recollection of the night before.

“What happened last night?” Kylian grumbled as he woke up to the bright sunlight streaming in from the open shutters. His neck had a kink in it from passing out on his friend Paolo’s Airbnb couch in the early hours of the morning, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel. “Fuck.” He covered his face from the blinding rays and felt around for his phone.

He hasn’t gotten drunk that heavily in so long, but when two of his old friends came to Paris for a few weeks, he couldn’t resist giving into their pleads when they’d asked him to tag along for a fun night on the town.

“Bro, you were so drunk last night.” He heard his other friend Bernardo chuckle, his voice almost gone as well from the festivities of the previous night. Kylian sat up, seeing both men looking half dead and clinging onto coffee mugs like a child would cling onto its mothers leg.

The guys chuckled in the kitchen. He smelled eggs cooking but they just made him nauseous. “What time is it? Where’s my phone?”

“Oh…” Paolo snickered and pointed at the bowl full of rice in the center of his kitchen island. “Yeah, man… I don’t know if the rice did much for it. It’s fucked.”

Kylian shot up toward his cell, not even remembering putting it in the rice last night. He carefully picked it up, the entire screen was shattered.

“Putain…” He attempted to hold down the power button just in case, glancing over to the microwave to see the time. 12:36pm. “Merde!”

He had an important meeting with his PR team about potential sponsorships for next years season at 2 o’clock, and if he showed up sweating whiskey with an obvious hangover, the brand reps might think twice before giving him any deals.

He bid his old friends goodbye but not before promising to go out again soon. A short taxi ride later, he was able to make it back home just a little after 1 o’clock.

Kylian bursts through the front door, booking it toward the shower in your ensuite bathroom, running right past you on the bed without a glance or even a hello.

You’d been trying to decide all day if you were pissed at him or just super sad, but seeing him ignore you that way made you realize that it didn’t matter. He stopped making you happy, making you both pissed and sad — a dangerous combination.

You get up and follow him in there as he hopped around trying to take his skinny jeans off.

“I’m gonna be late.” He panted, sliding inside the shower.

You assumed if he knew he would’ve said something… happy birthday… I love you… I’m sorry…

Curious and resentful, you stand close to the shower door so he could hear you. “Where are you going? I thought we…” You blink tears back, sighing and trying to get control of your wavering voice, “… I thought we could do something tonight.”

This wasn’t even the plan, but you were trying to find anyway for him to redeem himself.

“No, (Y/N). I can’t today, okay?” He snapped. “I’m in a rush. Can you please just pick out a nice outfit for me, quickly.”

You shake your head in disbelief, wiping a stray tear that rolled down your face, sniffling once. Kylian hears this and pokes his head out. “Hey,” his barely softer, “Look, sorry but I’m in a huge rush. It’s been a shit morning.”

“Me too.” You mumble, disappointment laced in your words but Kylian didn’t seem to catch onto it.

“Also, my phone shattered at some point last night, so can you call Thérèse and have her drop me off a new one at the training center?”

You huffed, getting control of your emotions that were simmering into anger. One more chance, you thought as you were about to walk out of the bathroom, you turn. “Do you want to do something when you get home? Maybe even just dinner here, a movie?”

“Maybe.” He said back, turning off the shower. All you could do is roll your eyes and bite your tongue. You were trying to give him every opportunity to come back from this.

You didn’t want to end it, but you promised yourself that if he fucks up today, that was it. You can’t keep hoping he’ll become the person he was before. He won’t listen when you talk anymore or even meet you in the middle. You have too much respect for yourself to settle for someone who can’t appreciate you.

You dry laughed. “Maybe.” You mocked, another angry tear rolling down your face, storming back into the bedroom and getting under the covers, arms crossed.

You wanted to sob, but choked it down when Kylian stormed out of the bathroom, wet and holding his towel up around his waist. “Why are you so moody?” He didn’t even look at you, just shook his head and threw his hand down, exasperated when he realized you weren’t putting an outfit together for him. “I just asked you to help me out.” He tusks. “Are you just going to lay around all day, then?”

You knew this tone. The one where something else was bothering him except he expressed it by nitpicking at anything in front of him. Being with him for so long, you knew how to gently pry out the real reason why he was snappy. Right now, there was no way were you even attempting to help him out in any way.

“Looks like it, huh?” You gritted through your teeth. You could practically feel the eye roll he gave you even though neither of you would look at each other.

He muttered something you couldn’t hear as he walked into the closet, hurriedly throwing on some outfit. “I didn’t feel like fighting today, (Y/N).” He growled and threw on a white hat. “Today has been miserable so far.”

“Miserable for you?” You gaped, face getting angrily red.

“Oh, don’t start.” He spat, grabbing his keys and walking out of the room.

You jumped up and stomped out of the room behind him, seeing him almost at the bottom of the stairs. “Kylian.”

He groaned, continuing to run down the steps. “I don’t have time for a fucking fight right now!”

“Kylian!” You yelled from the railing just as he grabbed the door handle. With an exasperated turn around, he locked eyes with your teary ones. “When you get home… we need to talk.” You didn’t try and hide your sadness this time, knowing how the talk was going to end. The sentence squeaked out, like your forced it.

He paused, taking his hand off the door handle. “Fine.” He said this differently upon seeing your broken demeanor, shuffling in place. Kylian checked his watch, looking back up at you. You stared back, watching him hesitantly leave your shared home.

Kylian knew he’d been fucking up with you lately. Coming home late, forgetting to call or text back, paying less and less attention to you as the season progressed. He knew he was getting too comfortable and at some point stopped putting in any effort. The worst was that he’d been taking his frustrations out on you, shutting you out. He watched as you tried to smile through his snarky and quick comments, feeling bad immediately but he just didn’t know how to deal with that kind of guilty emotion.

Your engagement has been a long one. Nine months in and you guys hadn’t even set a date yet. Time kept slipping through the glass, he wondered when the last time you’d even brought up the wedding was — wondering when the last time he even thought about it directly after.

The whole way to work he watched out the window, lost in thought about how he needs to be better. So much so that his driver had to tell him that they’d arrived. He was actually early. With a big fake smile on his face, he did his best to set it all aside, turning on work-mode.

Meanwhile, you had a really nice cry. The kind where you just let it all out because you knew no one was around to hear or pity you. Once you pulled yourself together, you gathered your suitcases from the attic.

It was obvious you couldn’t take everything that was yours. You’d bought so many things for this place, for your shared home… so you focused on the things you were for sure taking with you. All your clothes, makeup, sentimental items, and the fruit bowl you found in a market in Spain were secured inside your bags. You stopped and cried so many times… over a pair of shoes that he bought for you or a picture that brought back sweet memories… all these momentos felt wasted.

Yesterday, you were certain that he would remember what today was. So certain that you convinced yourself you didn’t need to get a hotel. You wished you did, because doing it today felt so final, so depressing. And, upon looking at your empty side of the closet, vanity, side table, bathroom shelf… you had to pull yourself together and be strong. Remind yourself why you’ve resorted to this.

Back at the training grounds, Kylian snapped his last photo-op with the CEO of some athletic wear company, absolutely drained from having to pretend for hours. He had sent his assistant off for a new phone when he saw her, knowing you didn’t text her about him needing one.

He trudged over to Hakimi now that all of that was over, sitting down with a long huff, placing his head in his hands. He hadn’t talked to him all day, being occupied with offers and whatnot.

“Man, I’ve been texting you all day.” He patted his back once, turning to face him.

Kylian looked up at his friend, shaking his head. “It broke last night. Thérèse is out getting me a new one now.”

Hakimi sensed there was something bothering Kylian, but knew not to approach him too strongly. He nodded at his answer. “So, uh… I bet (Y/N)’s pissed, right?”

Kylian blew a raspberry. “Oh, yeah… so pissed…” He nodded with the most exhausted look on his face. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

“Well, I mean, Hiba would be pissed too.” Kylian raised an eyebrow, still confused on how he knew about your fight. “You know, if I had to work on her birthday like this.” He laughed at the thought. “I’d have a lot of groveling to do. Or, did you guys plan something on a different day?”

Kylian gazed up at Hakimi, eyes widening with the vague memory of todays date. “Wait.” He gulped, hands hovering over his head. “Is today the…” he flipped the calendar in his mind, praying that Achraf was mistaken about that. “Ah… merde! Putain! Shit!” Kylian smacked the table and bounced up out of the chair, heart beating a million miles a minute.

Hakimi stood too, watching Kylian pace with his hands cradling his head. “No… Kylian, you didn’t…”

He nods, panic settling in hardcore. “I yelled at her today. I asked her why she was being moody. I didn’t come home last night— ah baise moi, mec. je suis un putain d'idiot!” He cursed himself. Ah fuck me, man. I’m a goddamn idiot!

Thérèse speed walked over to the man in crisis, holding a brand new phone. “All your data’s transferred and everything!” She cheered. Kylian probably didn’t even thank her, going directly to his messages with you to text you that he’s so sorry and coming home right now. When he clicked on your icon, he saw all of the messages you sent him last night

You: Ky will u please come home — 9:25 pm

You: I know ur friends are in town and all but I seriously need u with me tonight — 10:48 pm

You: hello?? — 11:51 pm

You: are u okay? Do u need a ride? — 1:35 am

You: I’m getting worried. please just reply. I need to know ur okay Kylian — 1:40 am

You: nice Snapchat story. Good to know ur fucking fine. — 2:46 am

He ran a hand over his face, beginning to sweat with guilt. His eyes lowered on the screen, the small grey message by the keyboard truly making his stomach knot up even more.

(Y/N) stopped sharing their location with you.

His heart fell in his chest, churning… he felt like he was going to puke. Suddenly all of the conversations you tried to start with him about his behavior over the last six months came flooding back. The same conversations he moaned and groaned though, always deflecting until it turned into a fight. God, how badly he had been treating you… like you were a menace in his life — when really, without you, he wouldn’t be able to go on the same.

He began trying to call you and gathered his things, but his calls simply rang until it went to voicemail. “I-I have to go.” He stammered, almost tripping over his feet. Hakimi watched, shocked at the state of his best friend, knowing how he could get sometimes.

Kylian jumped in the town car as fast as his world-renowned legs could get him there, giving the driver instructions to get him home, and quick. The whole way he cussed at slow drivers, construction workers, red lights. He checked his new phone for the time; 10:37 pm and still fifteen minutes away from home.

God, please let her still be home.

He won’t know what to do with himself if you just left.

‘We need to talk’ rung over and over again in his head like a jinx. The way your voice cracked, the tears he saw you hold back. She’s so strong, he thought.

I raised my voice at her. I forgot her birthday and then treated her like she was the problem.

He pinched his leg to distract himself from crying. He has to be level headed, calm, logical, loving, and very apologetic— everything he hasn’t been for the last months. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, but can’t imagine what his life, his future will look like if he lets you slip through his fingers.

No girl has ever made him feel like this. Everything he looked for in a woman you embodied tenfold and he fucked it up. He has to fix this.

Kylian didn’t even let the car come to a full stop when he arrived, tripping over his own feet, realizing he left his coat in the back seat but really not caring at all. He just has to know you’re there. He looked toward the driveway, seeing your car still parked in its usual spot.

Thank the lord.

Fumbling with the keys, his shaking hands clicked the door open, seeing only the living room lamp on.

“Bébé?” He called. He saw your figure looking at him from the couch. “Oh, (Y/N)…” he breathed, walking over to get closer. You stoop up, meeting him halfway. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He heaved, breathless from his pounding heart.

The dull yellow light illuminating the side of your face showed him how puffy and red your eyes were, how downturned your usual smile was. He saw what he’d done to you, all the months you’ve had to walk on eggshells, the conversations that he’s turned on you, how he forgot your special day.

You still didnt say anything, keeping your arms crossed, looking him in the eye — the while begging yourself internally not to cave. His sweet eyes knew how to reel you in. You weren’t going to cave. You couldn’t.

“I forgot your birthday…” He whispered sadly, guilt drenched his tone, sending a cold depressing shiver down your spine.

Your eyes brimmed with tears again, but you bit your cheek and shook them away, having to be strong for yourself. “So, you finally remembered.” You sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, bèbè. Time just…” he stopped himself from making anymore excuses, “I’m just a fucking idiot. And I’m going to make it up to you. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” He stammered, voice shaking from nerves.

“But, it’s not just about the birthday, Kylian. It’s been… it’s..–”

“–I know, bébé. I’ve been horrible to you. Truly horrible. You never deserved any of that.” He cautiously lifted his hand to yours, grabbing your fingers. All the words he was going to say suddenly didn’t feel good enough. No I’m sorry is going to feel sufficient.

You looked at your tangled hands, he played with your fingers anxiously, trying to catch your gaze, but it now stayed glued to the floor.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with teary eyes — that of a wounded puppy. It broke him. “We need to talk.” Your words were laced in false strength, false confidence.

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do once you leave him. Flying blind isn’t something you did very often, but you knew it’s what had to be done.

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly, trying to guide your hand toward the couch to sit. “Let’s talk. We can talk this all out, right?”

His hopeful tone made your heart break even more. The guiltiness that radiated off of him made it harder to do what you had to… his face fell when you let your hand slip back into your folded arms, turning away from him, sniffling.

“Kylian, I can’t… I can’t sit down with you and hold your hand and let you apologize to me. It’s not how this is gonna go.” Wiping your cheeks roughly, you turned to see his dropped face. “This talk… it’s going to be really hard. For both of us.”

He approached you, putting his hands on your forearms. “You’re scaring me, bèbè.”

Your lip quivered, not knowing how to tell him. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Kylian. I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you so much, (Y/N). I know we can work through this. I know it.” He pleaded, moving his face around to try and get you to look at him.

“No, Kylian. I love you, but…” You finally looked up, noticing he’d started crying as well. Ouch. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Sure, he was scared and sorry about what he did but the possibility of breaking up seemed impossible. Not like he was immune to repercussions, but you two just made sense. He loves you impossibly too much, but he’s forgotten to show you.

Kylian stood in shock, he felt his heartbeat in his teeth, his throat dry. “Don’t say that.” He whimpered. “Please, don’t say that.”

His hands traveled up to hold your face and he bent down to your level, needing you to look at him, to see how regretful he was, how much harder he will work at this. He touched his forehead to yours, wrestling with the temptation of falling down from anguish.

You shook your head between his palms, letting the tears fall freely, a small sob escaping. He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, attempting to hold you closer, squeaking out the smallest words; “Bèbè.” “No, no.” “Please.” “I’m so sorry.”

You grabbed his wrists, using all your strength to pull them from your face. Immediately, you turned around and grabbed a duffel bag he hadn’t noticed was sitting on the armchair. Your feet took you toward the exit.

“No.” His voice broken, his own face scrunched up and soaked with tears. “No, where are you going?”

It took everything in you not to comfort him, run into his arms, tell him it will be okay.

You pushed your instincts down and turning and shrugged instead, now feet away from the man you love, closing in on the front door. “I’m…” You felt a choking sob threatening to spill out of your mouth and had to look away, silently crying out with your hand covering you mouth. With a deep breath, you continued. “I’m leaving.”

“Well, when will you be back?” In just a few strides, he was back in front of you. He couldn’t help but hold your face again, wiping more tears with a gentle but pleading touch.

You gripped his wrists again, only this time, you weren’t strong enough to pull them away, instead feeling his warm skin one more time.

With a small shake of the head, you responded. “I’m not coming back, Kylian.”

“But… but this is your home. It’s our home.”

“I’m sorry, Kylian.” You finally ripped his hands from your face once more and adjusted the heavy strap on your shoulder. Turning around, your feet drag you to the front door. You reach into your back pocket and take out the house key that’s not longer attatched to your usual tassel keychain and set it down on the table.

He stood there and watched, now feeling helpless in this heart wrenching situation. It doesn’t seem like this is real, he has to be having a nightmare, just watching you leave his life and there’s nothing he can do about it — but it doesn’t stop him from trying, begging. “Amour, no. I can fix this, please just give me a chance to make this right.” He was desperate, once again approaching you.

Kylian sniffled, watching your every reaction, hoping for a glint of anything that would allow him to make it up to you. You looked down at your hands, then your left ring finger… everything in your body was holding you back from taking it off, but you mustered up every ounce of self control.

Kylian looked away as you slid the engagement ring off, hearing the light clink of it being set next to the keys. With his hands at his sides, back slouching, he looked back at your face, nodding in defeat.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated in a squeaky whisper.

“Me too.” He nods, looking down at your empty hand. He couldn’t but reach out, trapping your fingers delicately with his fingers, stepping closer.

His arm snakes around your waist, holding you, shaking with his suppressed cries. You allowed yourself to hug him back, to close the chapter, to feel his warm embrace again before you never would again.

The hug lasted for a while, swaying back and forth and crying into each others shoulders. He smelled like he always did, and you noted how hard it would be if you came across his familiar scent again. He also was getting high on your fumes, indulging in the coconut scented shampoo he had become addicted to. The touch of your hands clasping at his back made him cry harder, squeezing you tighter and lovingly.

You pulled back once your cries calmed, sniffling. He stayed close, lifting his eyes to look into yours. Before he knew how to stop himself, he closed in the space, landing his salty lips on yours, closing his eyes. You kissed him back, hating how much you’d miss him. The way his fingers dug into your hips made you lightheaded.

It’s too hard to stop, but you had to. Pulling away, you turned around quickly and left, sobbing all the way to your packed up car.

Kylian was glued in place. His heart had been put through a blender, his head throbbed, his chest was cold without you with him. He saw the flash of your headlights backing out and leaving the property reflect inside the dark and empty home.

He’s miserable, hollow. He’s angry at himself, maybe at you, even if he knows this was his own doing… the whirling in his brain wasn’t anywhere near as loud as the silence after you left — a deafening silence that followed him up to us bedroom, one he now only shared with his thoughts.

It killed him when he saw there was no longer a charger plugged next to your side of the bed, that your slippers were gone from their usual spot by the corner. None of your favorite books were displayed on the shelves, your skincare products left just a ring of residue on the sink. Stepping into the closet, he noticed it still smelled like you, but everything was gone. Everything but the shirts of his that you had stolen through the years, now neatly folded on top of one of his dressers. He wished you had taken them to remember him. He wished he could turn back time and do everything right.

Above all the sadness and the gaping hole is his heart was determination. He fucked up but he wasn’t about to do it again. You would not be the one that got away. It may be the last thing he ever does, but he’ll make it all up to you. He was prepared to go to the furthest lengths to hold you again. But, for now, he needed to wallow in self pity, feel everything that he needs to feel.

Not even on the chilliest Parisian night had his bed felt as cold as it did that day.

A/N: Okay I feel like I kinda dragged that out but angst! I’m contemplating a part 2 but I also kinda like leaving it at this… would y’all want another part? Also, the title is inspired by the song The Loneliest by Måneskin, listen to it after reading. Their new album is so fucking amazing. — Requests for Kylian Mbappé are open! —

[tarrynightss]

Thinking about jealous Price…

Tags: Smut below cut, fem!reader, bit of praise kink

He would hide his feeling pretty well while out in public, merely wrapping an arm around your waist or squeezing you tighter against him. Whoever complimented you or even dared to flirt would receive a polite yet threatening smile. “Real looker, ain’t she?” Most were smart enough to give a curt nod and scramble after that.

What Price wanted to do when someone hit on you was knock their damn teeth out, but he couldn’t exactly do that to some random civilian with a mouth too big for their brain. He had a reputation and code to uphold. Now… if some bastard already on the hit list dared to say something unsavory about you, then it was fair game. A finger less on them or a broken knee wouldn’t go noticed.

How people even THOUGHT to flirt with you was a mystery to him. He was often around you, and even when he wasn’t, didn’t they see that ring on your finger? Or that pretty necklace hanging around your neck? Those were his ways of making sure everyone knew you were taken, that you were his. And even then some people had the balls to challenge it.

Feeling jealous definitely amps up his teasing game, making his rough fingers trace over your soft thighs or just below your collar bone, refelling in the heated glance you send his way. He’ll breathe into your ear that he can’t wait till you both get home, and you know exactly what he’s thinking about from the gravely tone of his voice.

Once you get somewhere private his hands are all over you, hot and heavy as they trace your curves eagerly. His kisses are passionate and forceful, leaving you gasping for air against him. When he gets you so riled up that you moan into the kiss, he pulls away, settling himself on the couch, his sturdy legs spread. He doesn’t even need to say it. He wants you to work for it, to show him that it’s him that you want.

While you’re on your knees for him, gagging on his fat cock he showers you with praises. “So pretty.” “Always treat me so well, sweetheart.” “Only want to feel your pretty lips against me.” He keeps going till your face is heated from more than just effort by the time he cums down your throat.

After he feels sufficiently spoiled, it’s time for the real fun to start. He’ll fuck you rougher than usual, preferring to put you on all fours and slam into you from behind till you are a sobbing mess, both of you drenched in your combined fluids. While he’s ramming into you he’ll make you say that you are his, makes you tell him how good his cock feels in your tight little pussy. When you answer him he’ll reward you with a nice hard slap against your ass and groaning appraisal of what a good slut you are for him.

If you decide to get on top of him instead and ride him, he’s over the moon. Let him feel how much you desire him by running your hands over his broad chest, by telling him how handsome he is and no other man can compare. He’ll fuck up into you desperately, his breathing growing more rapid with every praise that falls from your lips.

No matter how he takes you, it will be deliciously frantic, taking you for as many rounds as he can before collapsing together in a sweaty mess. He’ll hold you tight to him, showering you in gentle kisses and caresses.

Once the edge is taken off by sex, he might feel some insecurity creeping in. “You know how much I love you, right? I never wanna lose you.” Only your warm smile helps ease the worry. All you need to tell him is that you know, and that you love him so much as well. Throw in a hug and he’ll settle against you, feeling like the luckiest man alive as you lay in his arms.

[steviewashere]

I Am the Kiwi

Rating: General CW: None Apply! Tags: Post-Canon, Post Season 4, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Insecure Eddie Munson, Negative Self Talk, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Calls Eddie Munson Pet Names, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson

🥝—————🥝

Maybe he shouldn’t bother their tentative relationship by asking insecure questions.

But that’s not how Eddie’s mind works. He’s never known peace unless there’s been an answer. If he senses the beginning of a question like the itchy fur of a kiwi on his tongue, he has to spit it out. And only then, even if the answer is bleak and even if the answer is negative, he’s at peace with it. He’ll just remember to cut the skin off later, taste the fruit for what it is, find something else about it to savor. Because not everything is sweet. And most of the world is bitter like the skin of that kiwi.

He peels the skin off, hair and all, offering it out to Steve to ponder. In the quiet space of his living room, surrounded by warm love in the shape of Wayne’s mug and hat collection, the five year old instruction manuals for appliances they don’t even have anymore, and amber lightbulbs stained with the broken limbs and melted corpses of stink bugs. Maybe he is an unfortunate bug, drawn to Steve’s light. Maybe he is willing to give himself, all of himself, the ugly parts and disgusting parts to something warm and savoring and bright inside Steve. He knows he is. He always has been.

In the quiet, Steve hot under his arm, droopy with fatigue, chuckling low at the sitcom on the television set, Eddie prickles with unanswered unease. He drags his rough palm down Steve’s soft right arm, fingernails dully scratching from mole to mole, pressing into his loose muscles. Eddie leans his head down, cheek laid atop Steve’s voluminous hair, and he breathes him in. Fruity sweetness, floral undertones, some sort of professional salon shampoo. He kisses tender.

“Why do you love somebody like me?” He breathes. And in the quiet, he startles himself, no matter how much that question begged to break free. Steve tenses in his hold, but Eddie can only force him in tighter. Fingers pressing harsh into his fatty parts. Nails mean and sharp and jagged. He buries himself farther into Steve’s beautiful hair.

His boyfriend is gorgeous. And he’s self-sufficient. Kind in a way Eddie seems to have forgotten to be. How can somebody like Steve love him?

Steve doesn’t answer right away. His breaths falter in the room. Like he’s trying to catch his breath after being scared in a haunted house. Maybe, if Eddie allows himself to marinate in it, maybe it’s exactly like that. There’s something rippling, haunted, venturing lonely and howling under Eddie’s skin. He thinks it started with his mom’s death, percolated when his dad went to prison, came full bloom like a crumpled flower on Wayne’s doorstep so many years ago. In a way, Steve is scared. Not scared of Eddie. Or the truth. But this third thing, of answering the question. Of finding the right words, to which Eddie knows he struggles with—so in all aspects, asking something partially insecure and partially selfish is demeaning. It’s, if Eddie thinks about it, challenging Steve’s love. 

There is no response, not yet. But what does fill between them is the live studio audience laughter. The laughter of people who probably didn’t find the joke particularly funny or even clever. They’re just there to laugh. To see behind the scenes of some TV show. To be recognized among the crowd.

Sitcom laughter. And Eddie refuses to let Steve see him.

He hears Steve take a tentative deep breath. The back of his hand touched by the softness of Steve’s palm. And he’s reminded, even in the simplest interactions such as this, that they come from two different worlds. Of all those biases he held onto for years. Unable to get over himself or get with the program. Steve is nothing of what Eddie thought. He’s a jock, sure. And he’s got the better life in some ways; nothing to really label him as other and a status that seems to override him, but it’s not negative. He isn’t a bully. He’s soft and kind and sweet and loving, not a douchebag. A good person. Where, sometimes, Eddie feels as though he lacks all the qualities that Steve seems to be plentiful in.

“Eddie—“

“No, sorry,” he apologizes immediately. His voice small and childlike. “Sorry, that’s not okay to ask. You love me and that needs to be enough.”

Then, Steve shifts. Pulling himself away, sitting on the edge of the cushion, turning to be face to face. And Eddie’s ashamed. He’s mad at himself, too. If the heartbreaking soft sadness in Steve’s eyes is anything. His little frown, pulling down his pretty lips and furrowing his eyebrows and making him wrinkle in all the bad ways. He tilts his head and peers at Eddie.

“I love you because I just do,” he murmurs, “I don’t know how to explain why I do. You’re unlike anybody I’ve ever loved.”

Eddie swallows, takes a breath, and asks, “In a good way or a bad way?”

Steve’s gaze softens. The sadness still lingering, but replaced by determination, even the lightest form of it. “Always in a good way,” he whispers. He reaches out, takes Eddie’s right hand in his left and squeezes. He’s so soft. “You know who you are. And you’re loud about it. I admire that about you.” He closes his eyes, thinking. When he’s gathered, his voice is enamored and murmuring, “And, baby, you’re gentle even if you don’t realize it. You know how and when to take care of the people around you. I’ve never—I’ve always been the one to do that in relationships. You make me feel…Complete.”

Eyes back on him, Eddie swallows most of this insecurity. “Really? You think I complete you?” He questions meekly.

Then, Steve nods, not even taking a moment to consider. Because he just knows. “Yeah,” he mutters, “I know we just started this whole…thing—“ he swings their tangled hands back and forth between them. Eddie chuckles, earning him the most earnest smile he’s probably ever seen. “But, I have a feeling that we’ve got something special. Plus, we’ve got all the free time in the world, y’know, now that it’s not ending. We’ll be okay. I love loving you.”

“I love loving you, too,” Eddie murmurs in turn. He brings his free hand up and brushes some stray strands of Steve’s hair back. Thumb tickling down his temple, swiping under his eye where it’s heavy and blue. “I’m sorry for doubting your love.”

“Honey,” Steve sighs. “It’s really okay. I get it, you know? Everybody has their insecurities. Hell, I have some deeply awful ones.” He leans into Eddie. His warmth radiating once more. Breath ghosting over his cheek, words soft, “I will always reassure you. Because I know you’d do the same for me.” And then, Steve presses a tacky, sweet kiss to his cheek. The tip of his nose crumpling with the soft plunge he gives into Eddie’s skin. He is cracked open raw and for once, instead of being turned away or shunned, somebody is there to enjoy him. Steve is there to savor. “You’re special,” he whispers, “my special one.”

Eddie can only melt in his hands. He’s content with this answer. Fulfilled.

This relationship may be new, but Eddie knows it’ll soon be something sacred. Like the sticky, sugary green insides of a ripe kiwi.

🥝—————🥝 Fun fact, I'm allergic to kiwis. Found this out after my tongue got itchy from the skin of a kiwi. That was a scarring thing to discover in the middle of my kindergarten snack time, tell you that much. Haven't had one since.

[wing-ed-thing]

Best Friends with Gaara Relationship Headcanons

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns

𓆃 The epitome of an adult friendship; you won't see each other or talk for months, but when your schedules magically align weeks later, you pick up exactly where you left off like the time you hadn't seen each other was nothing.

𓆃 Despite not being able to spend regular amounts of time together, your friendship with Gaara is the most stable, closest, and valued friendship you probably have.

𓆃 After all, Gaara's leading a country, and with the bustle of shinobi society, you have your hands full with your profession. Especially if you're pursuing an ambitious shinobi career, you're going to be away traveling for long periods of time.

𓆃 And if you're in the ANBU, you can expect to not see your loved ones for extremely long periods of time.

𓆃 Perhaps if you're a citizen of the Sand, you might see each other more often, but your relationship wouldn't deviate much compared to any other distance.

𓆃 But the time between spending time together isn't what defines your relationship. While the distance appears rather severe on paper, the times you are together, it makes you forget about all the time you were apart.

𓆃 Perhaps it's a lunch or a dinner out, but it lasts for hours just catching up on all the crazy things you've been waiting to tell each other.

𓆃 And when you get older, perhaps Gaara will pull out a physical list of things he's written to tell you along with a new pair of reading glasses.

𓆃 You quite literally never run out of things to talk about, cutting loose with each other just reacting to the various outlandish things you've endured during your time apart.

𓆃 Gaara typically sits very silently when you're talking, expressing his interest through the hand he holds up to his lips.

𓆃 He doesn't make many gestures of acknowledgment outside of his intent forward staring, but know that he's listening very intently.

𓆃 And while he's not a man to have extreme reactions like gasps or surprised outbursts, he will add his own dry commentary that will have you melting with laughter.

𓆃 The rare times he offers a closed-lipped smile and a chuckle are almost always with you.

𓆃 He may cross his arms over his chest, but if in doubt, you can tell he's laughing by the shaking and bobbing of his shoulders.

𓆃 It's quite the sight, and sometimes his employees will try to subtly gather around your meeting spot to catch a glimpse of the ever-serious Kazekage smiling and laughing at jokes.

𓆃 But just because you don't see each other often doesn't mean you're not there for each other.

𓆃 Gaara can and will exhaust all the resources he's able to in order to help you out. He doesn't like to make a show of it and will deny it when he can, but he's a ride or die friend.

𓆃 He's also willing to roll along with more impulsive plans than he lets on. Whether it's spontaneous dinners or a crazy plan you've been dedicated to since lunch, Gaara isn't above pushing back some of his affairs to indulge you.

𓆃 Granted that the things that need tending to aren't urgent.

𓆃 Sometimes you'll write letters, but those are few and far between. But the moment you mention you need assistance, Gaara is more than willing to pull strings to help you where he can.

𓆃 It's always just the right amount of help. He can't solve your problems for you, but he can offer you precisely what you need most times.

𓆃 Prepare to fight over the bill at restaurants and think of something really thoughtful for special holidays because you're constantly making thoughtful gestures to each other.

𓆃 Gaara is comically cryptic about gifts.

𓆃 "Do you have sufficient area in your home?" he might write to you one day, "I'm sending you a gift that needs... sufficient area. I can't tell you how much, or it'll ruin the surprise."

𓆃 He'll also try to leverage his position as Kazekage if you won't let him grab the bill or accept a meaningful act of service— which is all in good fun of course.

𓆃 You'll be smacking his hand away because he's offering to put money down on the table, and he'll look you in the eye with a very serious expression, "You're daring to defy the Kazekage?"

𓆃 It's clear that you and Gaara care about each other very much, so much that your friendship can never be broken by things as silly as "time and distance."

𓆃 You will always be there for each other and remain great and loyal friends for a lifetime.

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