#just pretend he’s off to the side. He doesn’t like being touched it his sleep unlike these two

[fantasykiri5]

Soft Morning Light

And the flat version. I’m really happy with this, I just draw it today after work! Something soft to distract from session 7 :,)

Edit: I was trying to embed this in the actual caption but I can’t do it from what I’m on now and tumblr won’t let me edit my post from mobile for some reason so, here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CpNp4g8yTv0

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ KISS IT BETTER — GETO SUGURU.

contents. post hidden inventory arc, healing suguru agenda !!, fluff + established relationships, suguru has nightmares :(, chest kissies for sugu <3, reader lays on top of him, like very cheesy banter my bad

suguru gets nightmares—it’s expected, but it’s not easy. it breaks your heart—very painfully so—every time he jolts up with frantic eyes and labored breaths.

he tries to shake you off and pretend he’s fine the first few times, but by the time it’s happened enough, he resigns himself to letting you handle things, just like you always do.

it’s easier when you handle things—he’s starting to realize that more.

“another one?” you mumble through a yawn, sitting up and hugging him from behind as your cheek rests on his bare back. he grunts, hunched over with his head in his hands.

“‘s okay,” he says quietly, “you can go back to sleep.”

“we both know i’m not doing that, suguru,” you hum, palm rubbing slow circles into his abs. he sighs, melting into your touch eventually as he leans against you, head falling back to lay on your shoulder.

“sorry,” he whispers, “i didn’t wanna wake you.”

“i wish you would,” you hum, tracing his nose delicately as you kiss the side of his head, “i wish you’d let me help, baby.”

“you already help enough,” he mutters—almost bitterly, you note, “i don’t need to make you lose sleep over it.”

“you’d do the same for me,” you say gently, “wouldn’t you?”

“of course,” he says instantly.

sometimes, suguru is too kind for the world. it tramples him and leaves him curled on the floor under its cruelty. sometimes, he gives too much and forgets to take, to ask, and it’s starting to show. it’s starting to pile up and become too much and you think, just for once, someone should give to suguru too—because he deserves it.

“it’s a two way street, y’know,” you smile against his temple, “wake me up next time. please?”

“you really wanna see me at my lowest, huh?” he tries to crack a joke and dodge the question—but you know suguru, and you know what he needs. sometimes before he knows himself, even.

“everyone needs someone in their lowest, baby,” you mumble, “it helps more than you think.”

it’s silent for a bit. it’s like that more often than not with suguru these days—he’s silent, prefers the quiet and tender moments alone with you when you happen to catch them. he doesn’t have the energy to talk, and you don’t make him, and he’s grateful. he’s grateful when your fingers weave into his hair and your lips find his cheek, when you’re content with laying your head on his chest and just being there as he thinks.

you look down as he lays against you, his back to your chest and his body slotted between your legs, resting in your hold. it’s silent—he doesn’t always want to talk, and you don’t make him.

and he’s grateful.

finally, he breaks the silence first. “i felt it all over again,” he mumbles, “the…on my…”

his hand instinctively covers his chest, and you know what he means—he doesn’t have to finish, doesn’t have to say anything else before you press a tender kiss to his head. suguru doesn’t have scars on his chest. shoko’s reverse cursed technique heals well enough that the scars on his chest don’t remain even a little. it’s almost like it never happened—no proof of the x shaped slashes from blades to his chest.

but suguru can still feel his skin slicing sometimes—in fact, he thinks he can never forget it.

“hmm,” you think out loud, “well, there’s only one remedy for this i’m afraid.”

he looks up and raises a brow, staring at you before you crawl from under him, letting him plop down against the pillows as your body turns to hover over his.

“what are you—”

“mwah,” you press a wet kiss to his chest, starting from his collarbone before continuing in a diagonal line down the rest of his sternum. he can’t help but let his lips slowly widen into a smile with each one, letting out a soft chuckle when you tickle the skin slightly. “i read somewhere that kisses are really good for healing,” you murmur.

“ah yes, your doctorate from webmd is really coming in handy,” he teases, grinning when your lips press against his collarbone once more, on the other side this time as you peck along his chest in another diagonal line. it’s silly, a little pointless even—the wounds have long healed and you can’t even be sure you’re kissing where the scars would be, but suguru seems to brighten considerably with every touch of your lips.

it’s enough.

“well, my handsome patient,” you say cheekily, “did that help?”

“oh yes,” he nods dramatically, “i feel better than ever. thank god i have a gorgeous doctor like you.”

“hmm, i am rather gorgeous,” you brighten, giggling as he pulls you down by the wrist to kiss you softly. his hands are on your cheeks, cupping your face delicately as you hum against his mouth. “better?” you ask pulling away, pecking the corner of his mouth.

he nods, wrapping two strong arms around you as you lay over his body, grinning up at you.

“better,” he assures, “they should let you open up your own clinic. you’d put the hospitals out of business.”

“but suguru,” you gasp, “then i would have to kiss random men—surely you can’t let that happen!”

“you’re right,” he plays along, eyes widening in faux concern, “i can’t. i guess i’ll have to be your only patient.”

you smile at him—it’s radiant enough to clear the dark clouds of his shoulders, gentle enough that he feels the hardened parts of him start to go soft just a little. sometimes, suguru gets nightmares—they’re not easy, but you make them feel a lot less impossible.

it’s enough.

“what a waste of my higher education,” you sigh, “but fine. you’ll be the only one i kiss better.”

“i’m so grateful,” he snorts, pulling the blanket over your bodies as he holds you close.

sleep comes easier that night—and every night after.

i’ve decided to give this lil healing sugu series a tag so it’s: #operation: heal suguru! and you can click the tag below on this post to read the earlier drabbles !!

anyway unseen footage from this moment is that i actually sucked his tiddies as i kissed his chest. bc lord knows he just needed his tiddies sucked and he’d have been 100% happier and fine

[feyre-darling92]

Task Force 141+ Alejandro Headcanons

They find you sleeping on the couch

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

He comes home late from work, exhausted after a particularly long day, longing for your touch, to hear your voice.

However he receives no response after calling your name a couple of times

He is frightened that something happened, the only thought crossing his mind being that something bad has happened. With a gun in his hands he slowly moves to the living room only to find you snoring on the couch.

Breathing out in relief, he puts the gun away, softly muttering “You’re going to be the death of me love” 

Placing a kiss on your cheek and adjusting the blanket that had fallen on the ground, he takes his time to admire you.

“You know it’s not very polite to stare” you mumble with a sleepy voice without opening your eyes.

He smiles to himself and takes your hand, “How can I not stare when you’re right in front of me?”

Seeing you blushing always amuses him

“Missed you” “Missed you too”

Despite your protests he picks you up, bridal style, and moves you to bed.

“Simon, you’re in bed with your work clothes” you say as you turn on your side getting comfortable.

“Shut up and sleep, love”

Johnny ‘Soap’ McTavish

Just like Simon he worries a little when you don’t answer to him calling your name

He finds you sleeping with the television open, watching the tv show you watched together.

Turning it off, he kisses you and you wake up.

“You’re home” you yawn, kissing him again

“You were watching the tv show without me” he pretends to be angry and even thought you deny it he doesn’t believe you

One kiss on the cheek and he forgets it

However, he lies on top of you, trapping you between him and the cushions as a punishment

“Johnny get up” you playfully push him away, yet the big man he is he doesn’t move an inch “No” he responses burying his nose at the crook of your neck

Your protests stop here and you wrap your hands around him

Needless to say, you both sleep that night at the couch

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

“Darling, I’m home” he excitingly rushes to the living room of your shared apartment only to find you asleep and half off the couch

He tries to laugh quietly, unsuccessfully

With gentle moves he lifts you and brings you to your bed

You however wake up while in his arms

“You’re late” you kiss his cheek, “Is this my shirt?” “Maybe”

You slide under the covers and wait for him, but after a few moments of not feeling him by your side you open your eyes

He is actually watching you, so much in love with you that he can’t help himself admiring you 

You put him out of his thoughts by throwing a pillow at him

“So, you have chosen death” he chuckles and jumps to the bed, tickling you

No matter how much you protest he continues and only when you’re out of breath he stops

“I love you” “I love you too” you hug him through the covers

John Price

It is past midnight when he returns from the base, the paperwork keeping him away from you

All of his exhaustion immediately leaves when he finds you asleep on the couch, reports still in your hands

He can’t help the smile appearing on his lips 

He moves to take the paper from your hands, or at least tries to because you wake up

“Hello, handsome” you say with a sleepy voice

“Hello, my darling” 

He sits next to you, gently stroking your hair, “How was your day?” you continue trying to convince him that you’re not sleepy anymore

“Good. Now it’s better. Should we go to bed?” “No, I’m awake”

You’re not in fact fully awake 

“Sure thing” he picks you up like a baby and you wrap your hands around his neck

However you refuse to let him go, “Love, will you let me go?” he chuckles

“No” your grip around him tightens

“Alright” He lets himself sink on the bed with you, shoes and gear still on, “Should we at least get under the covers?” he asks after a few minutes only to hear you snoring.

The next morning you wake up under the covers with John asleep next to you

Alejandro Vargas

“Cariño, I’m home” he enters the house only to be met with silence

The first thing he notices is a plate of warm food on the table, waiting for him

He can’t help but melt at the gesture

His eyes immediately find your sleeping form

He tries to approach you quietly but the wooden floor creaks underneath his boots, waking you up

You wake up from the sound, lifting your head to see who’s there

When you realize it’s Alejandro your eyes soften and you run to him

Wrapping his arms around you he hugs you tightly, “I missed you” “I missed you too”

He takes a moment to observe you, loose ponytail and sleepy eyes only make him to adore you more

“Should we go to bed?” he asks but you say no, “You should eat first”

He tries to convince you that he’s fine but you finally win and you both sit at the table talking about your day

Once his is done you both go to bed and lie down together in each others’ arms 

It’s a peaceful evening

[tarrynightss]

How they are during your pregnancy + how they are with the baby

Pairings: Jake, Quaritch, Tonowari, Tsu’tey x fem!reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, childbirth (nothing graphic), fluff

Jake Sully

With Jake the pregnancy would definitely be a planned thing. He does his best to prepare himself, talking to Norm and anyone else he can find that has a good pair of brains. He wants to know exactly what to do in every situation that might occur, even reading up on it. It’s cute and you are glad that he’s doing his best to protect both you and the baby, but after you are a few months in, you almost want to rip his head off when he asks “Does your back ache? What is your pain level on a scale of 1 to 10?” yet again.

He’s constantly fussing over you, especially when you are getting close to your due date. The regular checkups from the human scientists have your Tsahík fuming, but Jake wants to make sure all ground is covered. He’ll take all the death stares if that means you and the baby are healthy.

Jake almost starts running circles like he’s in looney tunes when the birth starts. Another Na’vi has to force him to sit down by your side, and even then his tail is constantly swatting all over the place in anxiousness.

The type to say “god damn!” when he watches the baby being pushed out, making you almost snap his hand in two.

He won’t be able to take his eye off of his child when it’s born, hugging both you and them to his chest. He’ll kiss your sweaty forehead, crying as he tells you how well you did and that he’s so proud of you.

Sorry but when the baby is a few weeks old he definitely pretends to drop it because he thinks it’s funny, earning angry hisses and swats from you.

Will constantly cuddle with the baby when you aren’t holding them, rubbing his nose against their little belly. He’ll also love squishing their cheeks together and playing with their tiny ears, having them make funny faces at you.

Gags at least once when changing a diaper but doesn’t complain, just soldiers through.

Miles Quaritch

Who gave this man another kid?!? You did, and when Miles finds out he almost drops dead. He had just kinda assumed that they had snipped his ability to reproduce away just as they had snipped his ears. Boy was he wrong.

When your stomach starts growing and your urge him to touch it, he does so with much reluctance as he’s scared he might hurt the child. The tiniest hint of movement under his hand makes his ears perk up, and he’ll bend down to lay one against your belly. Na’vi hearing is incredibly good and he hears the thrumming heartbeat of your child instantly. “Our baby,” you whisper and caress over his hair. He repeats it back to you, accepting it a little bit more.

Miles continues telling Spider that you’ve just gotten fat until finally the boy has had enough, clearly seeing that you are pregnant. He gives his dad an earful about how he couldn’t even take care of him, so why the fuck is he having another. A valid point, but Miles tries to tell both himself and Spider that that was human Quaritch, not him. The boy accepts it just because you’ve always been a motherly figure to him, but he shoots Miles glares whenever he comes near.

He does his best to take care of you but this man is not exactly used to being gentle. He’ll cuddle you and rub over your stomach and back, trying to suite your aches. Where he fumbles is when you’ve been up almost all night, puking your insides out, and he dares to complain about his sore back. SORE BACK?!! He’s sleeping on the ground after that.

Strangely enough, as the months progress the pregnancy seems to be what forms you, Spider, and Miles into a true family. Both enjoy putting their hand on your stomach and feeling the baby kick, Spider letting out an excited “wooow!” at the force every time.

Miles starts sharing with Spider the few memories old Quaritch had of him as a baby. “Your head was gigantic,” Miles tell him, staring up into the sky with a grin. Spider laughs out a no, peeking over you to see his father. You lay like this often now, side by side as a family. “Humongous,” Miles doubles down, making you all cackle.

Miles is scared when you give birth, his eyes tightly closed as he holds onto your hand. He knows he doesn’t deserve to have this after all he has done, but lord, please let you and the baby be alright. He holds his breath till finally, he hears the baby’s first cry, his eyes snapping open. Both of you cry as you cradle your child close to your heart.

Suddenly becomes an expert on how to handle babies, constantly telling Spider to be careful with this or that, barely even letting him hold the baby the first few days.

Takes pictures of your child with a leaf hat on or something and finds it absolutely hilarious.

Carries the child everywhere, strapping them to his chest like a real male wife.

Tonowari

The first child born from your union is nothing short of a blessing to him. Even when your stomach is barely noticeable, he constantly touches it and it becomes a comforting feeling for the both of you.

Parades you around in front of the clan like you are the rarest jewel. He’s so, so proud of his beautiful mate, so happy that she’s carrying his child. He wants the whole world to see.

Tonowari constantly gives you massages, not even giving your feet or back the chance to start aching. He was already big on doing so before, but now you aren’t leaving the tent before the morning massages are done.

He’s so supportive and there for you that he goes as far as to hold your hair while you puke. You can scream your hormones out at him all you want and this man will just smile to himself, noting how ferocious you look like this.

Tonowari basically is the midwife during your birth, holding onto your arms as he helps you pace your breathing. When you push he puts his forehead against yours to comfort and support you.

Holds the baby up for the others to see after they’re born, the biggest smile on his face. He won’t stop bragging about his child to anyone who will listen. Every bump or blink is worth a reward in his eyes.

Takes the baby to watch over the ocean, telling them stories about all his adventures. When the baby eventually starts being able to point, he’s absolutely delighted, following to see what their chubby finger is pointing it. Whether it’s a simple barnacle or a fish, Tonowari will tell his child in great detail about whatever peaked their interest.

Tsu’tey

Finally. He has waited so long to have his own family and he’s absolutely overjoyed when he hears the news. He’ll pick you up and spin you around while laughing and cheering, making everyone around you wonder what is going on.

Tsu’tey was always protective of you, but with the pregnancy that gets 10 times worse. He’s constantly hovering over you, never letting you go out alone in the fear you’ll get hurt. You try to assure him you’ll be careful, but that’s not good enough. Too much can happen in a blink of an eye. He simply won’t allow it.

Instantly starts collecting beads for both the baby’s songcord and for their first neck piece, though the second will still have to wait a long time to be worn. He’s just too excited, already fantasizing about all he will teach his child, all the memories they will make.

He talks to the baby every night when the two of you are alone. Tsu’tey lays his head against your belly and tells your child all about his day, but also stories about what he and you have gotten up to in the past. It’s heartwarming to you to just lay back and watch him, chuckling now and then at his words.

Tsu’tey doesn’t just hold your hand during birth, he sits behind you, holding in his lap. He breaths with you as if one, stroking lovingly over your arms and legs as he encourages you to keep going.

Love is a word not strong enough to express what he feels for your child. As soon as their eyes meet, he smiles the brightest he has ever done in his life. The baby is perfect in his eyes, a beautiful mix of the both of you.

He loves sleeping with the baby cuddled up against his chest. At first he was too scared he might crush them, but after you swore you would watch him during those little moment, he gave in. It were the best naps he’s ever had, his heart beating as one with his child. Tsu’tey hadn’t thought he would ever feel this at peace.

[rodolfoparras]

Grabs you. I have a thought I’d like to share…

Reader being Price’s little guard dog.,, yk he’s always around, looking after him, almost growling at people if they get too close to him or say something he considers rude. Price just calling him his mutt ,and he knows reader will do whatever for him so he just drags him around and will use reader whenever he wants. Reader will absolutely demolish him if needed, desperate like a dog to have Price under him 🫡 I needed to let this out

Thinking about being Price’s guard dog and accidentally hurting him during a mission. Again, wasn’t on purpose. He had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time, with your claws accidentally grazing his sides that had left him out of commission for a while.

Price forgave you as soon as it had happened. He knew that having a guard dog by his side came with consequences but you couldn’t forgive yourself, had silently promised yourself to stay away from the older man (at least til his injuries healed or til the guilt stopped eating away at you. )

Price hadn’t noticed it at first, too busy with recovering from his injuries. But once he had fully healed up, he noticed you being distant especially when he tried to initiate something.

You’d usually make up some excuse or even pretend to fall asleep.

Price hadn’t thought much about it. It’s not like you were in a relationship with him anyway. If you didn’t want to sleep with him then that’s okay.He’ll just wait for you to be the one to approach him first.

But days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and Price had started to wonder if you even had a deal at all.

If you wanted out of this , he rather you tell him than leave him hanging like this.

So Price stalked you to your room, cornered you up against the wall and confronted you about the issue.

You had played dumb with him, pretended not to know what he was talking about but Price knows you like the back of his hand, knows that something is nagging at you. What kind of owner would he be if he didn’t know when his pet was struggling with something?

So instead of making you use your words, he had your actions speak for you, tentatively locking his his lips with yours before stripping the clothes off of you.

You followed his lead without complaints, slowly but surely tumbling into the sheets with him and for a split second Price thinks that this issue must’ve been all in his head.

All friends with benefits sure must have their periods of time where they don’t do anything?

It wasn’t until you were a couple of rounds in when Price had noticed something.

You’d been taking him apart with your fingers and mouth, fucking him into the mattress til his mind went numb and his body felt overly sensitive to your touch.

But you didn’t come once, matter of fact you hadn’t begged and pleaded like you usually do. Price had founded it a bit strange but you must’ve been too engrossed with his pleasure to think about yourself.

But that won’t do.

Good behavior like this deserves a treat so with the last bit of strength in his body he straddles your waist, pushes your cockhead past his puckered rim, and sets a steady pace with his hips.

It doesn’t take much before he notices you inching closer to your release and Price feels a sense of pride bubbling in the pit of his stomach as three words slips past his lips.

“Cum- ah cum for me” Price says between labored breathes while practically bouncing on your lenght.

“Cant- I cant sir” you slur out head shaking side to side.”please - please no” you continue to speak , mind delirious as ever but desperately trying your hardest to hold off from cumming”don’t don’t - deserve it,”

And in that moment a light bubble goes off in his head…the reason as to why you’ve been distant, …the way you’ve been acting ever since his injury,…

You were punishing yourself and trying to make up for hurting him.

“Bloody hell… “ Price squeaks out “Do you ah- do you think I care about that boy? I don’t give a damn just cum for me” he croaks out, now desperately holding off on his own orgasm.

“I cant - “

“You ah-you can and you will”

[moonlightndaydreams]

The Country Club // MDNI

student (adult aged) Minho x older fem reader (age gap not specified). CW under the cut.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8

🎾🎾🎾🎾

Minho has his sights on a woman he shouldn’t be looking at. Older, richer, out of his league. It’s alluring to him, wanting what he can’t have. Touching someone who doesn’t belong to him.

He’s seen you around the grounds of the country club where his dad works a number of times now, and he knows you’ve seen him too. Your eyes linger on him whenever he walks past you. Do you think about him in your bed at night? He wonders.

CW: unprotected p in v sex, in a public place, spanking, taunting, rough sex, reader gets grazes on her face, blood kink, Minho bites reader, creampie.

🎾🎾🎾🎾

He gets hard in his pants just thinking about you in your little one piece swimsuit he saw you in the other day, by the pool. He often finds himself masturbating to the image of slipping into the water while you’re sleeping on one of those floaties. He’d caress your leg, starting at your ankle and making his way up your inner thigh. You’d part your legs, pretending to be asleep, letting him have access to your warm cunt.

Or you’d slide off your floaty and tug him towards the side of the pool and pull his cock from his swimmer shorts, demanding he put it in you.

Would he ever get to feel you wrapped around his cock?

One afternoon he’s walking through the grounds and sees you standing by the hedge near the tennis courts, in your cute white tennis dress cursing at your phone.

“Someone shit you off?” Minho teases.

You look up angrily, like you are about to murder the person who dared speak to you. But your eyes turn curious when you realise who it is. The boy who pops a boner everytime he sees you.

“Your name’s Minho.” You say. It’s not a question.

“Yeah.” He says not breaking eye contact with you. He swallows hard. There’s no one around just you and him. Alone.

He sees you look down at his crotch. Amusement crosses your features when you notice the bulge in his white slacks.

“Follow me.” You command.

🎾🎾🎾🎾🎾

You’ve got him around the other side of the hedge, with your chest pressed into a brick wall and his cock buried deep inside your cunt. You’re both panting, desperate for release. Skin is slapping loudly. He’s pounding into you hard. Your teeny tiny lace panties torn and shoved into his pocket, a keepsake for when he’s alone later.

He grips your hips harder, digging into your flesh. You’ll have marks, and he wonders what your older husband will make of them, when he sees you naked. If he sees you naked.

“Fuck, your pussy’s so tight, doesn’t your husband take care of you? All closed up like a virgin?” He growls low in your ear. “Do you like having a younger guy, a boy, fuck you good like this, huh?” He thrust into you extra hard. “Fill you up over. And over.” He pushes himself all the way into you and then presses a little more. So deep.

You grind back against him showing him how fucking good he’s making you feel. “I don’t know, boy. I think you’re holding back. I think,” you pant, “you can fuck me better than this.”

Minho growls and tugs your head back by your hair. “Oh, you want me to really tear up your pussy, huh?”

He slides you down the wall so your ass pokes out further, and your back is curved just beautifully. “Just warning you. This might hurt, Noona.” He drapes your skirt over your back and slaps your ass cheek hard making you squeal. Again, his hand comes down. You didn’t know he could grip your hips any tighter than he is now, but he is. And then he truly slams into you.

The new angle has your eyes watering, crying even, and your hands flail around trying to find purchase on the wall in front of you. With every brutal thrust, you keep slipping, and your cheek scrapes against the rough bricks.

Minho feels like he’s lost control. He knows he is being rough. He knows it’s probably hurting you. But the sounds you’re making. They’re so guttural, raw, animalistic. He’s never heard a girl let go like this. They’d always been shy about sex noises. But here you are, out in the open and not giving a shit who might hear. It’s like you’re a wild woman who can’t be tamed. And fuck does he want to tame you.

He digs his teeth into his lip as he watches his cock emerge from your warmth, glistening in your arousal, and groans as he pushes it back inside. Over and over. Harder and harder.

His brow is sweaty, and you are struggling to keep your footing. But he’s so close to cumming that nothing is going to stop him. Minho grips a fistful of your hair and pulls you up so your back is against his chest and pushes you back into the wall again. “You gonna cum for me, Noona. Cum all over my cock?” He snakes a hand around to rub your swollen clit, making you tighten your grip on his cock.

Then he has the urge to do something he’s never done before. He attaches his teeth to your shoulder and bites down hard, drawing blood. A metallic taste fills his mouth. A scream escapes you, and you frantically fuck yourself back onto his cock and cumming hard.

Minho can’t hold on any longer, and cries out as he cums deep inside your pussy, grunting and growling as he fills you up.

You look an absolute mess when you stand up and smooth your dress down.

“Fuck.” Minho whistles under his breath. Your white dress is stained, your face has a graze on one cheek, and there’s a small trickle of blood on your shoulder where he’d bitten you. He knows you’re going to have bruised hips and cum leaking down your leg.

He really has fucked you up, and the satisfied grin on your face says you loved every second of it.

🎾🎾🎾🎾🎾

A/n: I’m thinking of making this a little series of these two and their little meetings. Let me know if you want more.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @chansbabyg @kangnina

@fun-fanfics @weareapackofstrays @xxkissesforchanniexx @enjaken @itsseohannbin

[stardew-shitposterino]

Stardew Valley Bachelors and how they deal with their secret crush on the farmer

———-——————————

BEHOOOOLD! I’m kind of back but I’m not because I have a job and feel tired most of the time. I still need to get used to adult life. Anyway, here are the bachelors and how they deal with having a fat crush on you, you cutesy farmer person covered in filth!

Contents might be a bit NSFW so MINORS…you know what not to do *fights them off with a stick*

Enjoy my brainrot 🍓🥰

Sam:

-Sammy is a cute little guy, almost like a dog wagging it’s tail when they see their owner.

-he is SO BAD at hiding it

-he will dream about you two jamming on a big stage together. In his ideal world, you two are a successful duo who make noise rock (kind of like the white stripes minus the weird siblings or married controversy)

-Sam will write songs about you. It’s not intentional per say, and he thinks he really sucks at writing love songs, but it just happens whenever he has to think about you. The words just start flowing.

-he might or might not have had some steamy shower fantasies about you…while in the shower. Jodie keeps complaining about the water bill being unusually high 👀

-yet, Sam is usually not too horny when he is in love with you. He is more gushy and daydreamy than anything

Sebastian:

-homeboy works with nightcore versions of love songs to cope with his longing

-he isn’t the type to show his feelings so openly, so no one really notices his crush on you. Maybe Sam, but well, he is Seb’s best bud. Of course he can tell

-He notices how his sleep has improved since having a crush on you. He willingly goes to bed earlier to have some time to imagine scenarios of you two

-just you and him together on his cool ass motorcycle, driving into the night and ending it with a passionate kiss (sounds familiar?)

-well,,, let’s just say Seb is increasingly horny since having a crush on you. Before, he was almost certain he is some sort of asexual, but nope 😃 he’s healthy and extremely down bad for the filthy farmer who eats raw fish out of the pond 🥰

-what I mean by horny? Uhhh… he didn’t really need to rely on certain websites to satisfy his needs, that’s for sure 👀

Harvey:

-Harvey is a good man. A very good man

-god bless his soul 😫

-Harv isn’t the type to have crushes easily…I can’t believe it either, considering his crush on Maru who is way younger than him 💀

-but in my head, he isn’t the type to be all lovey dovey over someone. That’s why he’s so bad at hiding it. But you don’t really notice. You just suspect it but it could also be his usual anxiety lol

-it happened anyway😎 and he doesn’t know how to cope. At all.

-he has to think about you at all times, especially when he looks at the empty jars of delicious pickles you’ve made him

-This man is usually collected, but now?! He forgets everything, can’t even form a comprehensible sentence at times when his mind is busy thinking about a romantic picknick date with a lovely farmer

-Harvey’s libido is pretty much a dead beat horse 💀 but now he even feels the desire to do some nasty nasty at times. It’s still pretty tame, he’s a gentleman through and through, but wild for him to have those feelings and longings after what feels like decades. He’s not mad at it. He has felt low-key dead inside for so long so this is very exciting and he’s eager to explore this side of him…despite being anxious 😭

Elliott:

-bet your ass he’s the prince of crushes

-he is very dedicated and welcomes those refreshing feelings with a kiss

-feeling better than usual AND having inspiration to write ?! SIGN HIM UP

-he will use every chance he can get to talk to you, maybe even get you drunk (in a non creepy way) because he likes when you’re unapologetically authentic and let loose. It makes him feel more in touch with your soul (or some shit idk I’m not a poet)

-Elliott is NOT SUBTLE

-you practically know from the start that he has the hots for you, but it’s kinda funny seeing him try to pretend it’s not that way…if you can even call that pretending not to be 😭

- his passion doesn’t end at his artistry. This guy will spend a lot of time in his shower thinking about what could be, or sitting at the docks at night just staring at the sea (he’s NOT doing anything nasty in public, peeps. Don’t get it twisted)

-I can also see him recreate a romantic bedroom date he’d love to have with you…but it’s just him 🤷🏼‍♀️ self care king 👑

Shane:

-like Harvey: HE CANNOT COPE!

-he hasn’t felt like this since high school. Every other encounter with potential partners was surface level and only based on sexual satisfaction

-so caring about you, thinking about what makes you happy and how he could be the reason you smile every day, that’s a lot for him

-as stupid as it sounds, he spirals and becomes low-key miserable over it. Give this man a 101 lesson on how to process emotions 😭

-despite the constant anxiety he feels, he low-key enjoys it. It’s kind of hopeless as well as pointless in his honest opinion, but there is this believe, that 0.00001% chance (in his mind) that he could turn his life around and be happy with you, married and maybe have a child of his own one day

-but that’s wishful thinking, riiiiiiight? So what does a self loathing piece of alcoholic man do instead of making a move? Yeah, self pleasure even more than usual, to get at least a bit of serotonin and the willpower to get his shit together, at least for you if it isn’t for him. He’s pretty rough with it too (ouch, unless you’re into that)

-sorry bros but him having a crush is not really all that cute. He’s my cutie pie, but let’s be real: him dealing with those feelings he tried to shut off for so long will be tragic in a way. He’s battling his inner demons here. So yeah… :(

Alex:

-my man, my maaaaan 🥰

-he has earned a soft spot in my heart, bless his soul

-so Alex has a crush on you from the start, it’s basically canon

-can he show his feelings? Yes! Can he do that in a way that can be read as the feelings he tries to get across to you? NO!

-low-key bullying is his love language 🥰

-at least in the beginning. He’s a bit anxious and fears he isn’t good enough for you, so he doesn’t try to be authentic. Being the jock jerk everyone expects him to be gets a reaction out of you and that’s better than nothing, right?

-he’s neither the poetic nor the intellectual type, so he doesn’t process his emotions by writing them down or putting them into words. Just imagine him going about his work-out routine, just thinking about your beautiful smile and rocking bod while sweating like a hog

-Alex and quiet ? Yes that’s possible. I imagine him to go quieter than usual since having a crush on you. He processes everything internally and that takes a lot of time for him as he usually just shrugs off his emotions and doesn’t try to brood too much on them. But now?! He can’t but blush in silence as he just imagines how soft and small your hands must be next to his (yours are way more impressive than his and calloused to the gods, but let him have this moment)

-when it comes to being nasty…Alex is a serial romantic. We know that he probably was the lady’s man back in school so he probably got some action one way or another. In other words, man has the libido of a teen that just hit puberty 💀

-despite being quite horny, he was able to manage to just do it every other day. Now, he cannot even get out of bed in the morning before doing it as you pester his dreams and make his hormones go crazy first thing in the morning…so many nice boxer shorts were lost along the way 🫡

-he also did his own laundry for the first time during that period lmfao

[softshuji]

𝟎𝟔:𝟏𝟏𝐀𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

Title: Smile for me

Summary: Rindou knows he's not getting any younger, but old insecurities are hard to fight- luckily for him, you're there to kiss them better. Link for masterlist here!

cw: afab!reader, talks of insecurities, pet names (kitten, princess), Ran being a stellar big brother, Rindou getting embarrassed easily and being a simp lol, some brief kissing and mentions of sex (nothing explicit), he's literally so cute and sexy I can't stand it. Reblogs appreciated!

Rindou is perturbed.

He’s used to waking an hour before you, 7AM with the sun still making a haphazard climb over the windowsill, all the weak and watery light he watches fall over the crest of your sloping shoulder from behind, his cheek pressed to your hair. He hopes you don’t notice, the alarm of his phone buzzing and snoozed, five minutes he thinks he can spare to spend here, you unaware of how his arms tighten around you, the shaky breath that comes from his dry lips and all the love he never mentions that he wishes was easier to talk about to you. 

You stir, slide a hand along his muscled forearm, the slight frown of your scrunched eyebrows loosening, a breath blown between parted lips and you settle again into sleep as Rindou untangles your legs from under the warm covers.

He hates it, this moment right here. It’s a visceral lump that sits in his throat when he pulls the covers back over you, slides your hair to the side to kiss just under your ear, your cheek, a finger that comes up to touch at you, a stray eyelash he pretends he’s lifting, because it’s easier when you can’t see. 

‘Mhm Rin,’ you murmur and stir, turning over to reach to where he should be, the indent of him in the memory foam where you hope your hand can feel the smooth muscle of him, soft hair and warm breath, the ridges of his shoulders where your arms want to come around. 

He watches you, bashfully, hiding a smile and embarrassed somehow, this many years later, knowing all there is to know about you, the wounds you’ve cleaned that even Ran hasn’t seen, the fights and arguments that led to the two of you walking out, coming back, kissing and apologies you’d never doubted were just there, days that started out tense and ended with the two of you with your foreheads pressed together.

He hates shutting the door on you like that, sprawled on your stomach, holding the duvet close to your chest, your face turned towards the sun that slips in through the slat in the window, a gentle breeze that pushes the curtains inwards, the peace he is leaving behind that he’s never sure he’ll live to see again.

When he pads to the bathroom, unceremoniously in fact, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, the tufts of his hair sticking up one side, tired eyes lined with shadows that drag down his skin, it is knowing that fact, that it could be the last time, that he’s not lucky enough to maintain what he loves and needs so much in any way that doesn’t mean pain.

He does need you, and he’d spent so long denying that fact, the cold and dark nights made warmer by drinks and drugs and parties that never really meant anything outside of those singular moments in time, when his mind is just so far away from the bottle or the glass or lines on the flat tables.

You like this routine of his though. Coffee made for you that sits in the pot till you wake, despite his absence, warm towels pulled from the dryer, leftover dishes washed and dried, the diligence he hopes is able to communicate what he can’t, a kiss left lingering on your lips, a “see you later kitten” that never feels sufficient enough when he leaves and his car backs out of the driveway. He stops every morning before driving off, a last look at the house, at the window where the blinds sway in the breeze, a secret pang in his heart when he remembers he’s left his heart in your palm.

But something else is on his mind right now and it bothers him with a lance of sharp pain when he sees the crease along his cheek that he swears is a little too new for his liking.

He runs a finger along his cheek, along his chin, golden honeyed skin that stretches taut when he frowns at his reflection in the mirror, a minor razor graze nicking along his jaw and the hard slam of his heart cracking along his ribs when the mark along his cheek doesn’t fade. 

‘Huh?’ he says, leaning forward, towards the mirror that fogs with his breath, a hand braced on the porcelain sink, the purpling strands of his hair pulled back by a baby blue headband. Yours, obviously. He’s long since lost the stubbornness of being insecure and uptight about these things, the fabricated fragilities that became too tiring to have when he realised it made you happy to break down those barriers he was so determined to keep. That being said, Rindou knows he’s not as young as he used to be, that the days and weeks of life have caught up to him, whether he’ll admit it or not. It’s been years since you met and the days and weeks of new love have long gone, leaving a soft and peaceful security in your wake.

His finger trails along the crease, a curve like an eyelash along his cheek, cupped around his mouth, the wisp of shorter hairs kissing at his cheekbones as he frowns, confusion and uncertainty slipping over his skin.

He avoids covering it up despite this, the ample tubes and pots of various skincare that neatly line your medicine cabinet stay untouched, but he gingerly touches his cheek, lets a finger trail along the crease even still, wondering if you’ll notice when you kiss him goodbye, sitting up in bed now, the pastel lilac duvet slipping off your shoulders. When the sun brushes against your skin, he halts at the door, the telltale marks and bites left on your neck and chest that leave a thick and dizzying desire in his throat. 

He is quiet when he meets Ran an hour later, a sullen type of silence that even Sanzu cannot coax from him, all pointed glances and chewing lips and half hidden behind his hair, as if Ran cannot sense the uncertain and tenuous scowling that he hates he’s still doing this many years later. 

Ran slides his chair along, feet propped up on the table, a glass of something dark held between two fingers, deliberate glances from the side of the viridescent violet of his eyes now falling on his Brother who sits back with his arms tightly folded over his chest.

‘So….’ he starts, and leans back in his seat, an eye trained on the way Rindou shuffles further into the leather, haunches and hackles rising on instinct, the turn of his eyes fixed on the mahogany table. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?’

Rindou stiffens, turns his cheek away, the flash of his eyes burning luminous as he sinks into the chair and really, it’s silly, he knows this and he hates that he cycles so often around to this behaviour, with Ran, with you, the same vulnerability that’s too terrifying to show despite all you have seen together, as if he is any less just because he feels.

Ran sighs, blows a forceful gust of minty breath between his lips and raises an eyebrow in deliberation. ‘Maybe I can help, whatever it is,’ he says. ‘Did you have a fight or something?’

Rindou churns the words, grinds them between his teeth, soft whispers that take effort, that take the force of him chewing them out from the lump in his throat, all the insecurity that he loathes, that has him stiffening under his Brother’s weighted stare. ‘No, nothing like that.’

‘So? What was it then?’

‘Nothing, just forget it.’

‘Not going to happen Little Brother.’ And Ran grabs the arm of Rindou’s chair, pulls while his foot hooks under the leg, Rindou moving closer despite his ambivalence, and Ran almost chuckles when he audibly hears him scowl, tut under his breath in defiance, feet planted on the floor and dragging across the plush carpet.

He softens a fraction here, a soft and gentle squeeze of his heart, the lump in his throat that seems to scrape against his thoughts when he realises the resistance is so futile because it’s always been like this, Ran pulling him along, coaxing the words from him in a way he’s never given gratitude for before despite how much he cares. 

He has a memory, a vague flash of an image behind his eyes, the two of them running, huddled together, Ran coaxing Rindou to show him the cuts and bruises from his overzealous moments during fights, a soft and subdued “you’re such an idiot” that was always laced with affection, a plaster and bandage that Ran was always so quick to have on hand for his little Brother, food that he never ate so Rindou always had more.

‘You’re going to laugh,’ he says and hates it, weak and shamed as the sun climbs over the buildings, the whir of the heating that permeates the otherwise silent room, a raucous laugh from Sanzu that resonates through the gap in the door.

‘Yeah you’re right I am.’

‘See, I knew it-’

‘I’m kidding!’ A beat and Ran turns his chair, stretches his long legs under the table, sitting upright now and turning entirely towards his Brother who blows a wisp of wisp of hair from his forehead. ‘I’m not going to laugh.’

A beat, again, Rindou sharing a glance, a narrowing of his eyes through the individual strands of his hair, conflicted thoughts and fears bouncing around in his head before he uncrosses his arms and flexes his lithe fingers on the arms of the chair.

‘Well?’ Ran says and slides the glass along the table, a faint and chiming click as it meets the decanter. 

Rindou knows of course. With Ran, it’s always been a lot harder to tell than it has with him. Ran hides many things well and there’s the assumption that he’s so high above, so far removed, impossibly perfect in all things, that there can never be anything wrong with a man like him who has so much and wants for so little.

But Rindou’s the only one who has been there during those moments between. Gels and creams that Ran diligently applies, as if he can make himself something more than human, nights spent with the three of you sharing confessions by the fireside that the others have no knowledge of, moments in which Ran is not a Haitani, neither of them are, moments in which they are just brothers setting aside their burdens for the promise of light.

He looks at him now, tired eyes that still shine with mirth and exuberance despite himself, despite how exhausted he is and pretends not to be, the weight of all he has seen and shouldered for the both of them, the rock he has carried so that Rindou can stretch his hands a little further, be a little more, worry a little less and his heart fills with something that tastes like gratitude, this many years later when the two of them have grown out of petty jealousies and hurts that never mean anything.

‘Well- it’s just- it’s this okay?’ And Rindou turns, towards the floor to ceiling window, the weak and watery sunlight now dancing over his skin, a hand moving to pull back his hair as he glowers still, chewing haphazardly on his lip in anxiety. He lifts his other hand, touches at the crease in his cheek and points, as if accusatory, at the sharp indent of the skin, a little removed from the dimple in his cheek he’s still so embarrassed by.

Ran frowns, shuffles forward in his chair, eyes narrowing and searching, a slight shake of his head that has his earring tinkling, his rings catching the light as he rests his chin in his palm. ‘I don’t understand, what are you referring to here?’

‘What- what do you mean?’ Rindou points again, a finger zeroing in on the sharp crease, the curve towards his mouth he’s spent the last hour trying to hide behind his permanent scowl. ‘It’s this- this stupid wrinkle right here, I don’t understand how it got here.’

Ran pauses, the light slipping across his eyes, a slow and calculated smirk spreading across his lips as he reaches for the decanter again, deliberate movements that mirror the rise and fall of his eyebrows over the glass. ‘Oh…I think I understand now.’

And he takes a sip, eyes lifting from the glass to Rindou now settling back into a scowl, arms folded again, the crease hidden behind the wisps of hair falling over his forehead.

‘So what is it?’ he asks and purses his lips.

Ran smiles, genuinely, casts a glance towards the window where the sun makes a steady climb over the buildings, a swath of shadow that looms bright over the floor, the sparkle of buttery sunlight falling on his skin as he arches, catlike on the chair and leans back with his eyes closed. ‘Ask your wife when you get home. She’ll know.’

‘What does my Wife have to do with it?’

‘Just ask her, she’ll tell you.’

Rindou slows, as he usually does when you’re mentioned. Erratic heartbeat calmed by the thought of you, a soft and tentative quirk of his mouth that comes unbidden at the image of you, at the mention, at the concept and he finds he can’t help it, that it’s impossible for his body not to betray him like this. So he worries less for a time, touches it tentatively throughout the day, a self conscious glance at the mirror every so often, at his phone screen before it illuminates with the picture of you, his thumb catching on the screen before it fades to black once again. Ran sees, and Ran knows and it’s less subtle when he pats Rindou’s back at the end of the day, a ‘drive safe’ that he leaves pressed to his Brother’s jacket like a charm, and all the worry of being his only family, of knowing he’d die for him at a moment’s notice.

When he returns, a tired and subdued “I’m home Princess” that you hear over the sound of the splash of water slipping down into the bubbly froth of your soak, your chest flutters, as it usually does when you meet the sultry cadence of his voice every day. You wonder if it will ever not be like that, if you’ll ever not feel a better, newer version of yourself with him, a caterpillar shaking off its chrysalis, if there will ever come a point where his hands do not feel safe and strong and perfect on you. 

‘I’m in the bathroom Rin,’ you say as he comes around the corner, his jacket held over one arm, sock-clad feet in a matching pair of fur slippers. You’d say it was cute but you know he did it for you anyway. There’s little he doesn’t and you feel spoiled sometimes, unworthy, undeserving, when you find he’s constantly stepping out, stepping in for you, things he does that he never asks for payment for. 

‘The water’s still warm, come in baby.’ You lift your arms, and he flushes despite himself, when the water makes a beeline for the dip in your breasts where the bubbles rest, wet skin that’s shiny and luminous under the low lighting, a candle that has the shadow of your cleavage splashed on the wall. 

‘You don’t mind?’ And he shrugs his shirt off, his back flexing as he tosses it- and his pants- into the laundry basket, the black swirl of ink swallowing the light, and you press your thighs together on instinct, at the heated flush that crawls along your spine every time. 

It’s rather unceremonious when he sits in front of you, his back to your chest, breasts pressing against his shoulder blades, a drawn out sigh spilling past his lips when he leans into you, your hands coming up to tangle in his hair, light scratches against his scalp, lips ghosting over the swell of his muscled shoulder. And you don’t mind at all, the weight of him against your body, the need for support that he’ll never ask for, the give and take that has you drawing out his fatigue with your kisses pressed to his skin.

‘How was your day?’ You lather shampoo in your hands, fingers wrinkly from being submerged for so long, and run them through his hair, down to the tips, a gentle massage of his scalp that has him biting back a groan as he settles against your chest. 

‘It was okay, the usual.’ He keeps it clipped, firm, enough, because he likes hearing you more, the soft and sweet lilt of your voice he keeps close to his chest, in his heart for safekeeping, tucked away behind the guns and blood, the countless deaths he’s seen and caused. 

‘Just okay?’

‘Just okay.’ A beat, a long and pregnant pause. And then- ‘Actually…’

‘Yeah?’ You pause, your hands braced on the showerhead, warm water slipping over the soft and bronzed swell of his shoulders. ‘Close your eyes- I need to rinse.’

His eyes flutter shut, a warm sigh, a flush on his skin that isn’t just the water. He lifts his hands, massages your thighs splayed on either side of him, calloused fingers inching dangerously close to that patch of sensitive skin and it feels…nice to be touched like that for the both of you. He thinks of how easy it is to be taken care of by you, how the need is never shameful, never something he feels guilty for wanting, how he’s taken care of and loved so perfectly and maybe it has changed him in some way, down to the fibre of his bones, a lighter, softer version of him that he reserves just for you. 

‘Mhm, yeah, Ran wanted me to ask you something- said you’d know the answer,’ he says, over the splash of water, bubbles receding now to where they cling at the sides of the tub. 

‘Go on.’

There is water splashing over his eyes and he lifts his hands momentarily to push his bangs back, his forehead glistening with soap, the suds clinging to the soft and inviting swell of his shoulders and you resist the urge to kiss- to bite- to sink your lips against the toned muscle. 

'Mhm, you know…lots of things don't you princess?' he says, a hand now splayed across your thigh on the right side again, thumb grazing the soft inside, shiny skin now covered with a wet and tantalising sheen. 

You suck in a breath, your hand juddering, stuttering against the roots on his scalp, a soft massage and rake of your nails along the fine wet hairs. 'Y-Yeah? I know some things baby, what is it you need exactly?' And his thoughts are far away, long and lithe fingers grazing the back of your thighs as he lifts them to squeeze at, the imprint of his hands leaving a rosy red on your skin and you shudder, your arms brushing his as you run your hands through his hair and squeeze the ends. 

And then he turns his head, a hand braced over the lip of the bathtub, wet hair now splayed across his shoulder and points to his cheek, where the offending crease now curls at the side of his mouth. ‘Can you tell me what this is? It’s been bothering me all day, and Ran said I should ask you and that you’d know and I hate seeing it and-’

‘Rindou.’

‘Yeah?’

You soften, a hand moving from the water to cup his cheek, water slipping down your forearm, off the crook of your elbow where the soap suds gather and cling before dropping with a plink. He sinks, unbidden against your palm, eyelashes kissing at his cheek from where you run your thumb across his cheekbone, eyes flitting and fluttering closed as a soft sigh spills past his reddened lips. 

‘You are very cute, do you know that?’ you say and your fingers drift to the back of his neck, a light trail of soft touches, the water-roughened pads of your fingers skimming across his neck, the spill of ink on the dip of his throat, Adam's apple sliding and shifting under your touch and he makes a choked sound, something between a gasp and a cough, clearing his throat in a way that does little to hide the creeping embarrassment in his chest.

‘If- if you’re just going to make fun I’m going to-’

‘Shhhh,’ you say, a slight lean forward that has your nose bumping his, a slight pull of your hand to bring him closer, your breath now ghosting over the soft cupid’s bow of his shell pink lips, glistening and pearly under the light. ‘I’m not making fun of you, but you really are quite special aren’t you? I’m so lucky to have you.’

He swallows, presses a chaste peck to your lips that he knows will lead to more, as if often does, and his hand comes to hold your chin, fingers that grip your jaw just right, your hair falling over his knuckles and clinging, as you do, to the fibre of him. He wonders if the charged moments like this will ever feel less electric and he dreads that one day it might feel like a chore to kiss you like this, to hold you in his hands with the rough fingers grazing a line along your sensitive neck and it aches inside when he thinks of ever not having you, of ever not seeing you again.

‘I don’t understand what you mean, don’t you think it’s serious? It means I’m ageing doesn’t it? I’m getting old.’ He hates that there’s a waver in his voice then, a tremble that seems to reverberate with the lump in his throat, a horrible and terrifying insecurity that now lays itself bare before you.

You click your tongue, a soft smile that tugs at your lips and you stroke his cheek, thumb moving over the crease back and forth. ‘It’s a smile line silly. That’s why Ran wanted you to ask me. It’s what happens when you’re happy a lot.’

‘A smile line? I don’t understand, don’t most people hate them?’

‘Well I don’t. I’d rather you be happy, and to know you’re happy, makes me happy too. To know that you like your life with me, makes me feel very lucky.’

‘Oh. But it makes me look older doesn’t it?’

You tilt your head to the side, a slide of your hair against your skin, your chest now close enough to brush his, the goosebumps prickling across your arms. ‘No, it doesn’t. And y’know what Rin, so what if it did? You are all the more handsome and sexy and gorgeous to me, and that won’t change if you get older. I’m not getting any younger either.’

It grates on him that it hurts inside, that it makes sense. But it does, really does. When he thinks of how many smiles he fights watching you sleep, watching you dream, kisses pressed to your forehead, to your cheeks and the back of your hands where he grins when you flush and look away and the concept of running home to you hasn’t changed in all these years. He thinks, after this long, the excitement might have worn off if you’d been anyone else, if he’d been any less in love and any less willing.

‘But you’ll always be pretty to me,’ he says, matter of factly, and unaware of how the heat rises to your cheeks so overtly, as if it’s the simplest thing to believe, as if it’s an irrefutable fact. Because it is to him. 

‘And you’ll always be the most handsome, sexy, beautiful man ever to me too.’ And damn him, for how your voice wobbles now, how the tears gather on your lashes so easily, pulled so freely, how it aches and stings your chest with so much love to see him so earnest, the flecked hue of his eyes where your reflection shimmers under the candlelight. You press a soft kiss to the crease and his eyes widen, an almost apprehensive stiff frown that bleeds into love when your lips touch his cheek again on the other side. 

He pulls you first then, your chin still in his hand, a heated press of his lips to yours, slotting so softly, a perfect fit that has you eliciting a small gasp, and his tongue touches yours tentatively, shyly even, a bare and wispy brush that has you leaning further into him. And when you break, the thin line of saliva does too, a string that falls onto your chin. 

It’s an hour later when the two of you are back in bed, glowing with the aftermath of sex and now huddled under the covers, you on his chest and him winding the ends of the duvet around his fingers. There is much talking in those moments, a little after, when he glows and giggles and laughs and pulls you close enough to feel the warmth of you on him, when time is everlasting and waiting in the palms of his hands, when the two of you are infinite.

You get a call from Ran a day later, a quick and quiet ‘thank you, for everything you do for him,’ and you bask in the unspoken love and understanding the three of you share, the golden thread that ties you all together. You know they’re long past it now, days of green and simmering jealousy that always permeated every sarcastic word. You know that’s part of growing up, and they have and it’s easier now, when they are old enough to appreciate each other and hold tighter to the memories they share. 

Maybe you are right, Rindou thinks as he dresses for work in the morning, leaving the sleeping you in the warm confines of your soft and perfumed bed.  Maybe it’s not so bad. 

Does it bother him that he’s shrugged off this old version of himself for you? The old him that found fault often, that ran headfirst into cynicism because it’s what he knew, what he was used to, that was gruff and aggressive and awkward because it hurt to be anything otherwise. Does it bother him that you’ve changed him enough for it to be so visceral?

It should, and yet it doesn’t. He likes it in fact and maybe, just maybe, he finds himself not biting back the smile when he kisses you before setting off, a lingering press of his lips to yours, that tells you everything he can’t.

a/n: hi, this was actually a present for my dear @tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang (i am so sorry it came so late but I hope you like it anyways) between writing and trying to find a new job, it's been tough to find the time and motivation, but I enjoyed writing this, I kinda cried like a few times y'know, as you do lol. Enjoy everyone!

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @sin-and-punishment @deskaisers @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax @blackfire2013

let me know if you'd like to be added!

[unfinishedslurs]

RIP Mike Wheeler’s heterosexuality

“Is being gay contagious?”

Steve stares at his phone groggily before putting it back against his ear. “…Mike?”

“Is it?”

“It’s three in the fuckin’ morning is what it is.” He rubs his nose, Mike’s words finally catching up to his brain. “Seriously, Mike? No it’s not fucking contagious, you’re not gonna get the gay disease or whatever from me. I promise you’ll keep liking girls.”

He’s a little hurt, even though he knows the question is innocent. They’ve been asking a lot of questions, like the inquisitive little assholes they are, but none of them had seemed like they weren’t okay with it. Until now.

“…that’s not what I meant,” Mike says. Steve realizes that his voice sounds shaky, even over the phone.

“Then what—“ he cuts himself off, realizing halfway through his bitching that there was only one reason Mike would call about this. “Oh.”

“Can you pick me up?”

“It’s three in the morning,” he repeats, even as he starts wondering where he left his keys. “Your mom…”

“Steve,” Mike pleads. “Please?”

He sighs. “I’m on my way.”

Mike is sitting on his doorstep when he pulls up, head in his hands. Steve doesn’t have to get out of the car, he stalks to the passenger door with all the vitriol of a boy with too many emotions to hold in, and wrenches the door open hard enough that Steve worries he’s going to break it.

“Watch it, noodle arms,” he says, trying to pretend this is normal. Maybe if he acts like it’s not well past midnight, Mike will relax.

It doesn’t work. Mike slumps in his seat, not bothering with the seatbelt. “Can you just drive?”

Steve drives. Doesn’t really know where they’re going, but it doesn’t matter. Just away seems to suffice.

He eventually pulls into a side road

“I’m scared to even touch another guy now! Because apparently hugging is gay when you’re older, and so is sleeping in the same bed, and telling your friends you love them, and…and I’m fucking scared all the time, ‘cause what if they’re right? How do they know? How can they tell by just fucking looking at me? It’s bullshit!”

“Shit, kid,” Steve says, heartbroken. “Shit. C’mere.”

He pulls him close, and Mike turns his face into the crook of his neck, shaking. His shirt collar starts to get damp.

“I don’t know what to do,” he cries. “I thought it was normal, I thought everyone was just…so scared all the time, and we just didn’t talk about it. But then you said that thing about being afraid and pushing it down, and I didn’t— I tried to ignore it. I tried so hard not to think about it, Steve, I swear I tried.”

“I know you did,” he says quietly. It hits him that he might be the only one who really gets it. Eddie gave up denying it long ago, deciding to evolve into something else for them to focus on. Robin’s a girl. Which doesn’t mean jack shit in most cases, because being a lesbian fucking sucks in a town like Hawkins, but girls aren’t as obsessive about it. Sometimes when they compare notes, Robin will just stare at him.

Mike shakes his head. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” he mumbles tearfully into his shoulder.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve says with a surprising amount of vehemence. He grabs Mike by his scrawny little shoulders, pulls him away so he can look directly into his bloodshot eyes. “Not a damn thing, do you hear me? There is nothing wrong with you, and anyone who tells you otherwise deserves a swift kick in the balls. Got it?”

Mike responds by bursting into loud, messy sobs.

Steve just keeps holding him, running a hand through his hair and soothing him gently, like he wishes someone had done for him or Robin or Eddie when they were young. Finally Mike pulls away, embarrassment starting to set in.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve asks instead of a meaningless platitude he knows Mike wouldn’t accept.

Mike gives him a suspicious look. “I guess.”

“I’m scared too. All the time.”

“No you’re not,” Mike snorts. “You don’t need to make me feel better just because I’m a pussy.”

“I’m not joking,” he says. “Why do you think I dated girls? Why do you think I went through so many lengths to hide it? It’s fucking terrifying, man. But you know what makes it less scary?”

“Dating girls? Marrying a woman?”

“No.” He pokes Mike’s chest, right over his heart. “People. Friends who love and accept you. Friends who know what you’re going through, even.”

“Do you…” Mike chews his lip. “Do you think Nancy would be okay with it? With me?”

“Absolutely I do. She was okay with me, wasn’t she? And I was her boyfriend.”

“Yeah, but it’s different when it’s your family, right? Sometimes people don’t care if someone is… people don’t care until it affects them. Do you think Nancy is like that?”

He knows Nancy isn’t like that, but that's a talk they’re going to have to have themselves. “I really don’t,” he encourages. “I think she’d be really glad to know this part of you, actually. She loves you.”

“…I know,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t… we made this dumb no secrets pact the first time the Upside-Down happened, I don’t know why. It’s stupid. But…I don’t want to keep secrets from her anymore.”

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 1.0 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Character Moodboard

Bradley spends the night. Venice changes things.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, explicit pictures, making out, arguing, deception, 18+ minors dni, wc: 5.2k

…

“Sure,” There’s this underlying feeling that he should feel more awkward about this than he does. If he thought too hard about it, he would certainly start to consider the more embarrassing side of the predicament he has found himself in. “If you want.”

When the main focus of his day, for the past four years, has been sex in its various forms, it comes to be such a natural topic, that sometimes Bradley forgets that it’s a taboo. Well, he had been able to forget, until he came across you.

He must be out of his mind. Something to do with the phase of the moon, or his sleeping patterns, or… just the way you’re fucking looking at him. Your skin flushed with heat. He can see you’re warm without touching. Those soft sounds you made for him are fresh in his mind.

You’re sitting on the bed in front of him, one knee crossed over the other in your sweet, patterned wrap dress, staring up at him with eyes teaming with curiosity, and shame. So much, all at once. He can see you, sitting there and making it so complicated, frightening yourself.

It’s all so simple, really. He just wants to make it simple for you.

He starts by clearing his throat and shooting a glance downward at his tented jeans. “You don’t have to touch—“

“I just want to see… one… up close.” You tell him, heat spreading across your cheeks as you lift your gaze to look him in the eye. The sound of your own desires out loud is something that makes you shudder. You pull back slightly, and shift against the bed.

Bradley’s eyes dart downward again, at the pried open zipper, torn loose belt, and the straining bulge in his jeans, then presses his lips together in a moment of silent consideration.

With you, he has never been so unsure of himself.

“How long have you been engaged for, again?” He asks you, bringing a hand up to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck. Your eyes widen just slightly. Not because you’re a woman being reminded of her infidelity, something else entirely. Something about Malcolm, Bradley just knows it.

“Alright, alright,” Bradley sighs, considering briefly how a person should go about this. His art classes come to mind — he stood naked pretty freely then, this is no different to that. Except he wasn’t supposed to be hard in those classes. “Don’t feel like you have to do anything.”

You push yourself upright as he steps off of the bed and squares his shoulders slightly. Hands settled politely in your lap and your posture perfect, Bradley can’t pretend he isn’t a little bit thrown off. It doesn’t change anything.

Sex and curiosity are natural forces, and neither one are something to be ashamed of. He feels like he’s convincing himself of that more than anything.

Your attention is caught by the light from the lamp catching on the gold of his necklace as he stands up a little straighter, and then promptly torn away as he pushes his jeans and boxers down in one slow movement. And there it is. In your peripheral, you’re expressly aware that it’s there, in all of its aggressiveness. You fight not to just stare.

Following the line down his sternum and across the taut, tanned skin of his stomach, across plains of soft brown hair, your eyes grow wide once again. Then, you squint. He watches you fight to control your expression.

The question is written, quite clearly, all over Bradley’s face. He’s wondering how you have managed to be in a relationship for as long as you have, without seeing a penis in the flesh. But you have. You’re not that naive — and Malcolm isn’t that pliant.

You inhale slowly, staring at what is directly in front of you. Bradley’s body is unassuming under those ill-fitting clothes, but not once he’s out of them. Far from it, in fact. Another time, you might have spent more time looking at the big picture, exactly how Herculean Bradley’s body looks. For now, it’s hard to focus on anything but what’s between his legs.

Bradley hasn’t ever felt this fidgety with his clothes off before. Your gaze on him makes him nervous — and that’s weird — he can’t remember the last time a woman made him nervous. Actually, he can, but that was a long time ago.

Your eyes look dark in the dim illusion of the dust-brushed lamp, and the streetlights outside. A thatch of neatly-trimmed dark hair sits across his pelvis, following down from the line of his navel, sitting perfectly between the two deep V’s that trail from his hips.

There’s a moment before you remind yourself to feel some shame in the unabashed way you’re staring at him like some kind of drooling loon. Blinking, you lift your chin and look him in the eye, pressing your thighs together.

He isn’t looking at you like there’s something wrong with you. After observing the almost perverse way you were studying him, he’s watching you with nothing in his eyes but faint amusement.

You know instantly that he wouldn’t hold this against you. Anything you chose to do, or not to do, he wouldn’t feel any differently about you either way. You’re certain. That doesn’t change anything. You sigh and lean back on your palms.

“You’re circumsized.” You note.

His mouth twitches as he pulls his jeans back up to cover himself again. “It was all the rage in ‘53.”

Your brows scrunch together just slightly, watching him buckle his belt. “You’re older than Sports Illustrated, you know that?”

Bradley seems to think for a moment. He can’t pretend to have been familiar with Sports Illustrated in his childhood more than seeing it being read by fathers of friends that he had.

“How do you know when that was? — Didn’t peg you as a fan.” Bradley reaches around you for his shirt.

“I wrote a piece on it in my Freshman year. It was my first Ivy League perfect score.” You tell him, but when he turns, you aren’t smiling. His mouth pulls down at the corners as he sinks fo his knees in front of you, brushing his fingers softly over your cheek. “My father tore it to shreds. He was so angry about what I had written.”

Bradley sets his shirt on the ground and squeezes your knee softly. “What was it about?”

“Daddy has been an investor in the magazine since 1961,” You explain to him, your mouth finally twitching up into a small, less-than-amused smile. Bradley’s thumbs circle soft patterns along your thighs. “I wrote a case study into the swimsuit issue, and the argument that it presents women as a product for consumption. He was furious. I thought he was going to throw his dinner at me.”

Bradley’s face changes. He doesn’t like the way you’re telling him this with a smile on your face. But, he isn’t going to start an argument about your father tonight.

“Which side of the argument did your essay fall on?” He asks, lifting his chin to look at you. You smile at him, and shrug your shoulders.

“I thought it was a dirty magazine then, I think that it’s a dirty magazine now.”

Bradley huffs out a small sound of amusement and lets his head fall forwards to rest against your knee. “One of these days, I’m going to get a real answer out of you. You know that?”

He wants to know more, and the idea for once doesn’t terrify you. Your mouth tugs at a smile as he kisses your leg softly.

“Will you still stay tonight?” You ask him, lifting your chin to look up at his face. He makes a soft sound of consideration, then pulls a face. “Please?”

“Okay.”

It’s strange, and you know that Bradley would think so, that you have never shared a bed with a man overnight before. Back in Ithaca, you’ve got a spacious off-campus room in a three bedroom apartment that your father pays for and never visits. Malcolm could stay over ever night for all anyone else knows.

But, you have never invited him to.

It would be cruel to make Bradley sleep in his clothes, you know that too. So, when you come back from the bathroom with the taste of peppermint toothpaste on your tongue, and slip into bed beside him, you try to be prepared for it.

It’s not so bad. It’s a mild night, the window is cracked and there’s a chilled breeze passing through the room. Bradley’s bare arm is warm as yours grazes it. Reaching out blindly, you flick the bedside lamp off without opening your eyes.

Beside you, Bradley’s mouth pulls at the corners.

“Are you going to stay over there all night?” He asks into the dark. He hears you fidget, your skin brushing against the sheets.

“Yeah.”

He snorts a soft chuckle and turns onto his side, draping a heavy arm across your middle, curling his fingers around your hip. Your muscles spasm and your middle goes rigid as he drags you unceremoniously closer to him, leaving you with no choice but to consider how he feels without his clothes on.

Arms straight, practically statuesque, your attempts to remain still fail as the knuckle of your ring and little fingers graze the white cotton of his boxers.

His warm breath fans across your shoulder as he pulls you closer, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. “Relax, honey. It’s just me.”

His palm splays open across your front, his bare chest firm against your back. Calvin Klein white cotton boxers are loose, and breathable, and through the dark your mind instantly takes you back to what you saw earlier.

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you close your eyes and will yourself to settle. Behind you, Bradley doesn’t seem to be having the same struggle. You can hear his breathing growing deeper, his weight leaning into you just a little more.

The Polaroid picture. His thick thighs bracketing Natasha’s naked chest. Her lips parted into a perfect circle. You think of how he made you feel earlier, him grunting into your skin as his hand worked under the thick denim of his jeans.

“Why’s your heart beating like that?” Bradley mumbles into the curve of your neck, practically making you jolt out of your skin against him. “Hey, hey… are you alright?”

His hand strokes softly at your arm as he lifts his head and tries to lean forward to get a peek at your face.

“Mhm,” You squeak softly, closing your eyes and pressing back against him. “I’m fine. Goodnight.”

His lips quirk through the dark of the room as he hugs his arm tight around your middle, turning his face into your skin and kissing softly at your neck.

You don’t wake with the sunrise, or with the sound of an alarm. Instead, you wake with a tingling in your legs, and skin against your cheek. Your thigh is slotted between Bradley’s, he’s got one arm cradling you to him, and he’s snoring softly in your ear.

Even with a soft groan, and the attempt to stretch your arms, Bradley doesn’t budge. His warm chest rises and falls against your cheek, the smell of his skin drawing you in like a lullaby. Sleep threatens to come for you again, but you can hear birds chirping. It’s got to be time to get up soon.

He must be on the verge of consciousness himself, hugging you closer, turning his nose toward your hair, nuzzling into your skin.

“Bradley?” You hum. Nothing but birds chirping, breeze from the city outside. “Bradley?” As you nudge him, there’s nothing again.

Pushing against his chest, you wriggle free of his grasp and prop yourself on your palm. He blinks, face pulling into a frown as he lifts his head to look around him.

“What’s up? — What time is it?” He mutters, his voice deep with sleep as his brown eyes try to focus through the morning light. You don’t know, and you make no effort to check. Instead, you lean forwards and kiss his lips. One soft peck, your palm bracing against the hot muscle of his chest.

He hums out a pleased noise, following you onto your back and pressing his weight against you, challenging you with a deeper kiss. Bradley kisses you again, just as soft. Building into it with gradually modern generous pecks. His hands bunch at your nightgown, taking advantage of his new shorter length to shove it up around your waist without issue.

Suddenly, it doesn’t matter what time it is anymore. Or that he never rejoined the group last night. Nothing matters but the way his weight feels on top of you, his warmth grounding you into the mattress, his taut stomach pressing against your soft skin as he slots his thigh between yours.

There’s something familiar about it, creeping at you like a chill. His hands are strictly stuck to the safest parts of your body: your thighs, your waist, your face. He’s kissing you so passionately that you’re dizzy with the sense of him, and he’s so gentle with his hands — but there’s a discomfort itching at you that just won’t leave.

Then, the alarm clock on the bedside table rings out loud. He pulls back with a soft breath.

“I… I should go.” He realizes, trying not to commit too much attention to his half-hard cock pressing into your thigh. You swallow softly, trying to do exactly the same.

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you this afternoon.” He presses one more chaste kiss to your lips. As he busies himself with getting dressed, you’re certain that you should be overcome with shame of the things you’ve gotten up to so far. The feeling just doesn’t come. Some grand delay, or perhaps you’ve turned a page, but you can’t find it in you to mind either.

The itinerary for the day is changed by Natasha’s sudden appearance, just like everything else has been. With her and Doctor Mancini being in town, Bradley seemed to think that their insight would be useful for the group. As he walks into the lobby ten minutes later than he should be and spots her standing with her arms folded, looking at you like dirt on her shoe, he starts to think that he was wrong.

“Ah, here he is! — Good Morning, Bradley.” Pasquale greets with a grin, patting Bradley’s shoulder as the professor joins the group. “Well, we’ve already gone over the briefing and we’ve got a lot to see today. Let’s get going!”

Bradley agrees with a nod and gestures for the group to walk ahead of him. The sun is already high in the sky and warming the city, the breeze is slow today, barely there. It’ll be worse when they move further inland after this.

He pushes one hand into his pocket and sweeps his damp curls back with the other. Ray-Ban caravans and a t-shirt that would only fit right if he was a size bigger, sports socks peeking over the top of his eye tops. He dresses younger than thirty-three and he’s always been gorgeous.

Natasha walks by his side, staring at the back of your head with contempt. Cute outfit you’re wearing. She wonders if the man who put a ring on your finger would like it.

“So, did you take her virginity?” She asks coolly, meaning it with every ounce of venom with which she had spit it. She hadn’t really taken great comfort in hearing the way your peers had mocked you last night. Just because you apparently won’t put out for you fiancé, doesn’t mean you are immune to Bradley’s charms.

“No.” He answers, lengthening his stride. He doesn’t care to learn which one of them told her about you.

“This is a new low. I can’t believe you’re being this stupid.” She shakes her head, crossing her arms firmly over her chest as she walks.

All at once, Bradley stops walking and rounds on her. She wobbles, her expensive loafer dipping between the cobbled floor and making her wobble. “Me? — What the fuck were you trying to pull with those pictures?”

When he’s up close, standing under the summer sun and staring at her, it’s so easy to pretend. Looking into his eyes, he never hurt her. She never hurt him. She’s still his girl, they’re still planning to spend the afternoon laying in bed, reading.

It’s the only time that she doesn’t miss him.

“You know how this goes. Things in Como — we didn’t — I had more that I needed to say.” Bradley leaves every year hating himself for letting her get away, and it’s the only thing that brings her solace. She’s just supposed to watch him move on?

“That’s your problem, Nat, you don’t know how to talk to me until we’re naked. This isn’t healthy.” He bites back, unfazed as a crowd of Belgian tourists turn to stare wide eyed at the two of them.

“Don’t tell me what’s healthy, Bradley, you’re fucking one of your students!” She snaps, her voice practically a low snarl. Still, she has the decency to have lowered her voice. He forgets — she’s classy now.

“I’m not fucking her.” Bradley, truthfully, doesn’t have a leg to stand on. You tried to sleep with him and he told you no, but only because you weren’t ready. If you were, he can’t pretend that he wouldn’t have.

“Please. I saw the way you ran after her.”

“My sex life is none of your business. Does Luca know you’re here because I am? — Did he forgive you yet?” September through to May, Bradley thinks a lot about the time he spent loving Natasha. Guilt wracks his entire being. He finds himself furious for the time he cost her. And yet, standing in front of her, this conversation always winds up being the same.

Her eyes widen. He promised not to bring last summer up. Last august, when Bradley visited after his students went home, and Luca caught the two of them in bed together. He had almost left her.

“Does that poor little girl even kno—“

“Don’t call her that.” Bradley sighs, rolling his head back towards the old roofs and clear skies. The idea makes him so uncomfortable. It’s easy to forget, when he’s not looking at you in the backdrop of your college town, that you’re much younger.

“Does she know what a vindictive prick you can be, Bradley?”

Yes. She spent half of the trip so far arguing with me. Bradley doesn’t give her the real answer. He hasn’t in a long time. There’s a pause between the two of them. Venice doesn’t slow down for anyone. The city bustles around them while Bradley turns his gaze back down towards her.

“I’m sorry. You know that I’m sorry.” He says quietly. She stares at him. He can see it in her face that she’s fighting not to stand and scream. Instinct drives him forwards. It’s muscle memory as he reaches out and takes her face in his hands. “But we can’t keep doing this.”

Her jaw flexes against his palms, anger burning through her the way that smoke fills rooms. Effortless, all-encompassing. Hard to stop.

“You should tell her now,” Natasha practically spits the words towards him. She doesn’t pull away from his touch. She only ever has once. She, one day, will again. She’s sure of that much. “That it’s always on your fucking terms. Give her a chance to get out while she fucking can.”

With that, she pulls away from him and yet again, he watches her go.

Bradley keeps his distance. He watches Doctor Mancini, a man who knows exactly who Bradley is and somehow, loves him even after, teach the class all morning. He doesn’t dare look at you, in those short, rolled up blue Levi’s shorts. Not until that afternoon, once you’re tucked away into a quiet study room in the Marciana Library.

You sit opposite him with one knee bent and your foot resting on the edge of your own chair, watching him quizzically. “Are you going to be this quiet all afternoon?”

He shoots a look across at you, his chin resting on his palm. Then, he looks back down to his work silently.

“Fine, I guess I’ll fail.” You huff playfully, sitting back in your chest and crossing your arms over your chest. This time when he looks, his eyes flicker down to your chest in that cute green tank top. He knows you’re taunting him. “It’s a real shame… to have come this far, and to just be abandoned…”

“Cut it out.” Bradley scoffs, taking his glasses off and dropping them into the centre of his page. He turns in his seat and looks across at you, suddenly cold.

“Alright, say what you want to say. The anticipation is killing me.” Your mouth twitches into a grin as you sit upright in your seat, scooting it across the aged wood to grow closer. He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the sun shining through the light blue fabric of his linen shirt as he stretches his arms up and rubs harshly at his face.

“There’s something I need to tell you — something I did,” When he drops his arms down again, his eyes are focused on the chip in the years old floorboard, his fingers curling around your knee. You’ve never seen him this remorseful. “I want you to hear it from me.”

Blinking, you nod at him. You’ve never seen him look quite so scared.

“When we met, Natasha and I were both twenty-two. I was fresh out of the Navy, and Natasha was in her last year of university here,” He hasn’t ever been this fidgety before. He stares at the floor of the library, like his sole purpose is to count the grains in the wood. The sole of his sneaker taps out of rhythm.

Opposite him, you wonder exactly how his brain operates. There’s no need, really, for him to explain himself to you. Tomorrow, you’ll leave Venice and you will probably never see Natasha again. Yet, he seems to really want you to understand.

“She was one of the only people in town that spoke English, and she lived right downstairs. For the first two months, she just let me follow her around — I didn’t know what else to do,” There’s no way on Earth that Bradley can explain to you the way that he was feeling when he first got to Sorrento.

He was twenty-two, he had just left the Navy. His grandmother had died three weeks earlier. He was alone in the world, with no idea what to do with the rest of his life. He was angry that he had made it back from the war — furious that he had served for a further two years after that.

“She pulled some favours for me, I spent six months taking different classes around the country, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Came back, and decided that I wanted to do with mine, whatever she was doing with hers.” The more he tells you, the more you can feel his guilt dripping through his words and saturating the air.

The room goes thick with quiet as Bradley sweeps his curls back and tousels his fingers through them. His hands can’t seem to find peace, never stilling as he immediately sits back to dip a hand into his pocket and reach for his cigarettes.

This is the kind of situation that requires you to be quiet, you know that much. It’s not of conversation. He’s clumsy enough with his words, stumbling through them, losing his train of thought, that you don’t dare interrupt. You watch him pluck one from the pack and set the rolled stick between his lips.

Flicking open the top of his silver lighter, he ignites the end and inhales. Briefly, his eyes flicker up to yours. He hates talking about this.

“She wanted to be an archeologist. I was more into the literature side of things, but it worked. We connected. We moved in together three weeks after I got back.” He tells you. You give him a small nod. It ticks over into the afternoon, and behind you a church bell starts to ring loudly.

He clears his throat, “But her father was paying for all her studies, her rent — everything. On the condition that when she was done studying, she would come back home and she would marry whoever he told her to marry. So, then she started her masters, and she was going to get a PHD. It felt like that day wasn’t coming.”

Bradley spares you of the details. How much he loved her, loved their life together. The lemon tree in the courtyard behind their apartment, and the way the sun cast shadows across their bed in the early morning. The way Natasha would smile at him.

“Until she was about to finish her PHD, and her dad says he picked a guy, and a date, and a venue for the wedding. Only — I had proposed first. We were engaged, and… as far as I saw it, we were just waiting until she graduated to tell her father.”

He proposed to her. They were engaged. Somehow, you just can’t picture it. You can’t picture the cynical fate-denier in front of you getting down on one knee and asking the woman that he loved to spend the rest of her life with him. The revelation draws nothing but a deep breath from you.

That’s not how it went, anyway. He didn’t have an expensive diamond, he didn’t get down on one knee and propose in front of your entire family. The two of them didn’t celebrate with champagne in crystal glasses. The way Bradley proposed was nothing like the way Malcolm had.

No, Bradley had proposed without a ring, laying in the grass in the park near their home. She had been laying in his lap and reading to him. He thinks about that day often.

“She didn’t see it the same way?”

Bradley rubs a rough hand across his jaw and closes his eyes for a moment. Even now, with the power of hindsight on his side, he doesn’t understand why she couldn’t just see it the same way he did. He had done it all alone. She wasn’t even willing to try.

“It’s a hard field to break into, especially if you can’t support yourself. There isn’t always a lot of money in it. She made the decision without me, and I was angry. She was going to marry this stranger, live off of her father’s money for just a little longer… then, we could be together.” Bradley scoffs almost bitterly and pinches at the bridge of his nose, like it gives him a headache just to remember.

“So… what did you do?” Whatever it was, it can’t have been that bad. You’ve seen the way she looks at him. He lifts his chin, takes the cigarette from between his lips, and looks at you.

His shoulders are heavy, his lips downturned. He looks older when he’s serious like this, more mature. He inhales deeply, and follows it with a burdened exhale. Ash from his cigarette falls to the floor, settling in the space between his sneakers.

“She was at the beach one morning, and someone knocked at the door, so I answered it,” He answered wearing nothing but a pair of still wet shorts, dusted with sand and saturated with salt water from his swim, his towel draped over his shoulder. He had gotten home a few minutes before, he had a class to get to later. “It was her father, looking for her. He freaked out when he saw me, asking who I was. I told him.”

He sets the cigarette back between his lips and inhales deeply. Your nose wrinkles at the smell of smoke filling the room.

“…You told him what?”

“I told him everything,” Bradley’s voice is quiet now, so filled with shame that the weight is dragging his words down. “That we had been living together for four years by then, that she wasn’t ever planning on coming home. It wasn’t my place. I could have lied, but I didn’t want to.”

You close your eyes for a moment, and think of your father. Of what would happen if he ever found out that you let Bradley spend a night in your bed. Then, you swallow softly and bite at the inside of your cheek. “What did he do?”

Bradley swallows thickly. It feels so much worse to say it out loud. “He never spoke to her again.”

There’s no real answer to grace him with. For certain, you know that your father never would have spoken to you again. You know that he would cost you everything, just like he had her. He seems to think that you would like to know more — your silence makes him start to tap his foot again.

“She married the guy, she dropped out of school, she left me, but it was too late. Her father was just angry at us for lying to him. He… died last May.”

Pressing your lips together, you exhale through your nose and blink at him. “He didn’t speak to his own daughter for four years?”

“I cost her the rest of her time with her father, and the career she could have had — because she was going to leave me.” There it is; what he was so ashamed of. The admission of guilt. Purpose in what he had said to her father.

Still, there’s something that makes you scoot forwards, the wooden legs of the chair scraping across the floor as your hand reaches out and your fingers curl softly around his wrist, “You didn’t know that he would react that way.”

Bradley stubs the cigarette out on the back of the lighter and sets it down. He leans in close, his knee setting between yours, his eyes growing warmer as he leans in. “No, but I knew it would hurt her and I did it anyway.”

You let him stay just as close. The cigarette smell lingers between the two of you. The sunlight catches that diamond on your finger and his gaze flickers downwards briefly. When he looks back up, you’re as serious as he has seen you, with none of the anger that usually accompanies it.

“I understand.” Your nails are a pretty blush colour, perfectly polished. They look out of place tucked into his large palm, your thumb stroking across the back of his hand. His eyes search across your face, his brows drawing slightly together.

“Which part?”

“I understand why you wanted to hurt her. I get why she wants to hurt you,” You tell him, the smell of his cologne lingering between the two of you, willing you to ignore the smell of the burnt tobacco. You close his fingers around yours, holding his hand between both of yours. “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of.”

It’s all true, every word of it. But it’s deceptive nonetheless. If Bradley had ever tried to ruin you the way he did to her, you’re certain you wouldn’t treat him with the same kind of kindness that Natasha does.

Bradley hums softly. The late June heat settles between the two of you, prickling at the back of your neck. Reaching down, his fingers curl around the leg of your chair, dragging it closer again. His knee sits between yours.

Your mouth twitches, hinting at a smile as he leans in close and swipes his thumb across the bone of your jaw.

“You feel like getting dinner with me tonight, honey?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard @sugarcoated-lame @kmc1989 @cherrycola27

[lady-lostmind]

The Wall

Love is: Letting yourself be loved.

a @steddielovemonth prompt Thank you @oh-stars for betaing this!

WC: 1490 | CW: very brief smut | Rating: E

ao3 link or under the cut

Steve has always had trouble believing people really care about him. He spent a lot of time alone growing up. A lot of holidays with nannies when his parents went off on vacation. A lot of birthdays on his own. He never really had actual friends. Even in high school. He just had…followers. He had people who liked what he could give them. A big empty house and a lot of guilt money from his parents. Of course he was popular. That didn’t mean people actually liked him. That they gave a shit about him. 

He thought he finally found that in Nancy. That he finally knew what it was like to have someone care. That really loved him. 

Bullshit.

One word. That’s all it took. Alone again. 

It’s taken a lot of time to let himself believe the people in his life now want to be there. Robin has helped. Having someone he can count on to be there whenever he needs her. Learning that love can come in different forms. That even though Steve misread things in the beginning, she stayed. That she chooses to spend all her spare time with him. That she wants to work the same shitty job together so they can spend even more time together. She’s the first person he’s let the wall slip down for. That he lets really see him. Isn’t afraid she’ll drop him if he lets her get to know him. 

Steve wants to let that wall down for Eddie. He knows he’s going to lose him if he doesn’t. Knows he’s not being fair to him. But it’s hard. And Steve is scared.

They’ve been together for almost a year now. Steve loves him. He loves him more than anything. He wants to scream it from the rooftops. To stare into his big brown eyes and whisper it over and over. To show him in every touch of their skin. He loves him so fucking much. But he hasn’t said it. Actually…he hasn’t said it back. 

It’s been months since Eddie first murmured those words against his lips. At first, Steve had written it off. Eddie was buried to hilt in his ass at the time. Hurtling closer and closer to the edge. He thought he didn’t mean it. That he just got…caught up in the throws of passion. But then he’d said it again. 

They were laying in Steve’s bed, wrapped around each other, close to dozing off, Eddie’s hand trailing softly along his side. “I love you, Steve Harrington.” 

It was quiet. A whisper, really. And Steve had panicked. Screwed his eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. That he hadn’t really heard. He felt Eddie settle in against his back, slipping off to sleep himself, and Steve laid there, heart hammering in his chest and mind whirling. Because if Eddie started talking like that– Steve would start to believe him. And then Eddie would inevitably get tired of him. Would stop thinking the clinginess was cute. Would realize how dull he is. Eddie would move on. He’d leave Steve behind for bigger and better things. And Steve would be crushed. He wouldn’t survive this one. 

So, when that little crack started forming in Steve’s wall, the moment he heard those words slip from Eddie’s mouth, he tried to patch it. Build it higher. Stronger. Because if it came crumbling down, Steve would come down with it. 

He never mentioned it to Eddie. He ignored the way Eddie’s eyes would linger on him when they fell quiet. The tension growing more and more the longer they sat in silence. He knew Eddie wanted to ask. Or maybe wanted him to ask. Or he was waiting for a response. An answer to the unasked question that comes along with those words. Do you love me too? And Steve does. Of course he does. But if he says it, the wall will come down. 

It’s been months. Eddie hasn’t said it again. Steve doesn’t know if he’s accepted that maybe Steve just didn’t hear him. That he really was asleep, or if Eddie has taken his silence as his answer. That Steve hasn’t brought it up…or said it back, because he doesn’t feel the same. Maybe Eddie’s busy building walls of his own. Because there’s been a shift. 

It’s subtle. They still see each other almost everyday. Eddie still flashes him that million watt smile when he walks through the door. They still fall into bed with each other. But there’s less and less soft kisses. Eddie’s hands don’t linger long after they finish. He still nods when Steve asks if he’ll stay. Still wraps his arms around him when they fall asleep. But in the morning, he’s gone. Doesn’t linger for morning breath make-out sessions and wandering hands. 

Steve knows he’s pulling away. Slowly. Like it’s killing him to do so. Like he’s fighting against his need to stay. But he knows if he doesn’t fix this soon, he’ll lose him for good. 

–

Steve taps his fingers on the steering wheel, hitting the horn again as Robin stumbles out the front door, shoes in her hands, and runs over to the car, slamming the door shut as she flops into the passenger seat. “I was still brushing my teeth when you pulled up, dingus. You’re like twenty minutes early!”

Steve doesn’t even pull away from the curb. She’s right. They have plenty of time before their shift. He turns in his seat to face her. “Eddie said he loves me.” 

Robin drops her shoes in her lap, mouth popping open a little in shock. “When?” 

Steve sighs. “Three months ago.” 

Robin’s mouth drops even further and she smacks his arm. “Why didn’t you tell–” 

Steve watches Robin’s face fall. Sees the pity glaze over her eyes. “Oh, dingus. You didn’t say it back?” 

Steve shakes his head. “The first time was– well. Let’s just say I wasn’t going to hold him to it the first time–”

Robin’s face scrunches in disgust.

Steve rolls his eyes and ignores her. “But after. We were falling asleep. He said it again and I–” He winces. “I pretended I didn’t hear. That I was sleeping.”

Robin’s mouth pops open again and she swats his arm. “What did you do that for!?” 

Steve rubs his stinging arm and flails his hands around. “I don’t know! I just–couldn’t say it! And now things are weird. Like he knows I heard him. I just– I don’t know Robs. I don’t know if I can do this again.” 

Robin sighs and leans forward, grabbing his face and making him look at her. “Listen to me, Steve Harrington.” She shakes his head a little in her hands. “That boy loves you. I knew that long before you told me all this. It’s obvious.” A little smile tugs at her mouth. “And Eddie is not Nancy Wheeler.”

Steve winces, tries to drop his eyes but Robin pulls his attention back to her with another little shake. “No– Listen to me.” She stares into his eyes until he sighs and nods. “I know you have trouble believing people love you. But take it from me, someone who absolutely does. Someone who knows exactly how lucky they are to have you in their life. Eddie loves you. And if you just let him, he’s not going anywhere.” 

Steve sucks in a ragged breath, fighting the tears threatening to spill over. “He’s pulling away. I can feel it.” 

Robin shakes her head. “Because you’re pushing him, babe.” 

–

Steve drops Robin off at work apologizing over her insistence that it’s fine, she’ll cover for him, and he should go now. “Steve. Go get your idiot. I’ll be fine.” 

He feels like he’s going to puke. Can’t believe he almost let this slip through his fingers. Hopes it isn’t too late. That he didn’t fuck this up. That he didn’t ruin everything because he was scared. Is scared, as he feels that crack forming again. His carefully crafted wall starting to come down. 

He pulls up in front of Eddie’s and hurries to the door, knocking quickly before he loses his nerve, shifting on his feet as he waits for–

Eddie pulls open the door, his brows scrunching in confusion. “Hey, I thought you had to wor–”

“I love you.” Steve just blurts it out. Knows if he hesitated at all he would chicken out. 

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he freezes in the doorway. Steve hovers on the porch, heart pounding in his chest, his palms get sweaty as what feels like an eternity passes before Eddie seems to come to himself, a wide grin spreading on his face. He reaches out and tugs Steve inside by the collar of his shirt, slamming the door behind him and pressing him against it in a fierce kiss. 

Eddie chuckles against his lips and shakes his head. “I knew you heard me, you little shit.”

[cinnamonest]

the incel scara post activated my single braincell..

Just imagine his mom just got married to yae miko and reader is now his step-sister, this girl isn’t even an overly nice bubbly girl he can hate on for getting on his nerves, she just keeps to herself and only talks to him when his game gets too loud or his side of their shared room gets too dirty.

“Can you pick up that potato chip bag from the floor? It’s been there for a week…”

“Shut up… cant you see im in the middle of the game?!”

Even though he yells at her to mind her own business he cant help but overtime becoming fond of her (the only female his age he sees more than 1 hour every day) He probably jacks off while shes in their room too pretending to be asleep so she doesn’t notice, he even gaslights her into sleeping with him since “its okay we are not even related”

He probably develops a sister complex too, even though he sleeps with her, he cant stand his sister even being in a 3 meter radius of another guy. (Yes only after he started sleeping with reader he considers her his sister) It bothers him so much that he started choosing reader’s wardrobe, and checking her phone so she doesn’t end up like other girls. It has become his life mission his pretty and quiet little sister stays like this, pure and only touched by him.

Meanwhile Ei just thinks reader is just such a good influence on him since scara is not screaming at his pc at midnight for once in his lifetime

Im sorry I just love the idea of scara having a sister complex 😭

For your information he is Grandmaster ranked in league of legends and he is not about to let YOU interfere with that with your dumb cleaning requests 😤😤😤 he’s busy. Just do it yourself, it’s not like you have anything important to do, unlike himself who has skills to be honing.

He takes his crippling addiction to online games very VERY seriously and God help you if you do anything to mess with him regarding that. One time you were mad at him for not listening to you because he was in the middle of a ranked game, so you huffed, stomped out of the room, and immediately went to unplug the router… you get a few seconds of silence before the predictable, but nonetheless frightening, yelling of your name and storming footsteps headed straight for your direction. You start to regret your choice a little bit as you’re chased around your own home, squealing and stumbling until inevitably tackled and dragged back to his room. No one else is home either, so no reason to hold back…

[tojisun]

i adore you

jake sully x fem na’vi reader

!! smut - minors dni; daddy kink (central plot point); breeding kink; size kink; hinted age gap; possessive jake; dumbification but only if you squint

: jake’s the one with daddy kink in this teehee (happy father’s day king); an indulgent fic mostly tbh - it’s the daddy issues, i swear; jake’s older than reader but his attitude is kinda leaning more to how he is in a1 than in atwow; hope you guys would love it <33; title is from salvatore - lana // 2.8k words

you hold back from sighing again, curbing your rising annoyance as you try to be patient, waiting for jake to just tell you what’s bothering him. he’s been lost in his thoughts for a long time now, his fingers pausing from fixing the harness of his ikran, the new leather that you pieced up for him lay untouched on his lap. you almost hiss at him, wanting to know what you can do to help but how could you offer him any support if he’s being tight-lipped?

you return to stitching up your tewng, your ears pressed on your hair as a sign of your agitation, as you cover the tears with the other parts of the same cut of leather that jake would eventually incorporate into his saddle. you can faintly hear your tail thrashing behind you, no doubt announcing your ire, but jake is still so distracted by whatever is coiling in his mind and he does not seem to notice your tense silence.

you are reaching the last of your knot, your tongue ready to hiss a question to him, when jake completely drops his saddle and turns his big body to face you.

“sweetheart?” he starts, sounding so unsure with his small voice. your tail stops flicking, the irritation instantly being replaced by worry at seeing jake’s eyes furrowed with so much nervousness.

mirroring him, you let go of your tewng to face him. seeing your empty hands, jake doesn’t waste any time to pick you up from where you sat to drop you on his lap. he holds onto your waist, his palm warm on your sides and his thumb ghosting patterns on the edges of your belly. you giggle at the touch, breaking the tension, and you feel jake’s shoulders relax now that you are in his arms.

he has always been so tactile, so clingy with his affection. at first you thought it was because of his fear of being stranded in an alien world, but after many nights spent with his bigger body curled around your back, you learned that it is just the way he is.

it is unfathomable: the toruk makto being so clingy, unable to sleep unless you are in his embrace with your head pillowed by his arms. who would’ve known that the mighty warrior could be so adorable?

“ma’jake?” you ask when he remains quiet. “is there something wrong?”

he shakes his head, smiling at you softly. “nothing is, baby.”

he licks his lips, tilting his head to the side like he is mulling over what to say next. you remain quiet as you loosely loop your arms around his shoulders, waiting, watching, knowing that when jake is like this he wouldn’t hide pretend that nothing is plaguing his mind.

“i was jus’ wonderin’ about somethin’.” his voice is gruff and low, almost like a breath to be shared in the small space between you two. “it’s been- i’ve always wanted- but it’s embarassin’ and-”

you cut him off by cupping his cheeks, urging him to look at your eyes again. “ma’jake, you have nothing to be shy about with me.”

you watch the way his eyes dilate, the ambers almost disappearing into thin rings, at every word that falls off your lips. before you could even marvel at the change, you feel the way he nods, the movement soft and fluid, and your lips tug up in a smile. jake smiles back at you before he pitches forward and plants a fleeting kiss on your lips.

“when we mate, there’s something i want you to call me by,” he murmurs onto your lips when he pulled back just far enough to break the kiss, while keeping the grazing touches between your bodies.

“what’s it?” you ask just as breathily, feeling the change of mood as jake’s hands begin to slide down from your waist to find purchase on the swell of your hips.

“well, i’d love it if you call me ‘daddy’, baby girl,” jake replies, his voice tilting into a half-suppressed groan at the middle of his sentence, sending goosebumps to rise across the expanse of your dewy skin.

you gasp, rearing your head back to look at jake’s eyes. his forehead is creased again in worry, his lips pinched, but then you see his eyes. jake has always been so expressive with his eyes, always so honest with whatever he feels. and as you gaze into them, you see the way his suppressed desire is coiled around his worry. because while he is worried that you would reject his plea, you can see that something about being called daddy scratches the primal itch in him.

“ma’sempu?” you ask, hesitant, wondering if that is what he meant.

jake’s jaw falls, his cheeks burning bright. “oh god no! well, i guess yeah? but no, sweetheart, not that.”

choked laughter causes his shoulders to shake and you pout, not really following what is going on anymore. jake sees your pout and coos, one of his hands leaving your hip to pinch your cheeks.

“the term is from earth. only a sky people thing, i’m sure – well, i’m really not too interested in finding out if there is daddy kink amongst the na’vi.”

your nose scrunches at hearing another unusual word, but you do not ask him what it means, choosing to remain quiet so jake can keep talking.

“‘daddy’ does not always refer to your birth father. it sometimes refers to a man who’s older than you, but not really? either way, it’s meant to be an acknowledgement of their capabilities as a protector and a provider.” he rolls his shoulders, then, “a good lover.”

you blink at him, your cheeks tingling, wondering if he even knew what he’s saying. what he’s presenting.

“sweetheart?” jake calls, his fingers tapping your sides, feeling anxious when you continued to remain silent, keeping your thoughts to yourself.

“oh, ma’jake,” you finally whisper, your eyes trailing across his face, memorizing every mark on his face, cataloguing every freckle, every line.

you thank eywa for truly blessing you with toruk makto – the protector. the provider. your good lover.

you smile to yourself, quiet giggles creeping from your throat as you snuggle up to him. you hear him hum as his arms wrap around you, feeling him rest his chin on top of your head.

you sigh at his touch, purring at the warmth surrounding you, and knowing that you can no longer prolong your silence, you whisper, with reverence tinging your voice, “you are my daddy.”

jake stiffens from underneath you, his back tensing at your tantalizing whisper. you peek over his shoulder upon hearing a muted thumping, and warmth explodes in your chest when you see his tail happily swaying behind him.

“i am?” he croaks, his voice wavering with the intensity of his emotions.

you click your tongue gently, embarrassment and pride battling together within you.

he pulls back to gaze at your eyes. “baby, i am?” jake repeats.

you roll your eyes at him, thumping your fist on his chest softly. “yes, ma’jake. you are.”

you barely finished uttering your reply when jake swoops in and kisses you deeply, his head angled to the side to perfectly slot his lips against yours. you hum into the kiss, your chest fluttering as jake’s hands trail across the expanse of your back, his fingers warm in their kneading. you shiver at the intensity of his kisses, of his embrace.

———

you stifle a choked moan on the back of your palms, losing your vision for a quick moment, when you finally feel jake’s tswin connecting with yours.

“fuck!” you hear jake curse on top of you, his hands falling on either side of your face to steady himself when the rush of your pleasure tangles with his.

you peel your eyes open, wanting to see jake, and your heart stutters when his eyes are already on you.

“daddy,” you whisper readily, the name falling from your lips naturally.

jake shivers, his heavy cock pulsing from where it’s been rubbing along your belly, the head of it weeping, smearing his seed across a small expanse of your skin.

“yawne,” jake replies, his face contorted as pleasure raises along the tsaheylu between you two once again. “baby, y’r so beautiful. so precious.”

you whimper when he finally pulls himself up to kneel between your legs. “no!” you cry, not wanting to miss the connection, but jake just shushes you, moving slowly as to reassure you that he isn’t leaving. that he’s got something more for you.

and he’s right. you watch as one of his hands wrap around his cock, his thumb rubbing along his leaking slit, and your skin tingles when he hisses in pleasure. you watch the way he loses himself in his touch, his hands moving along his length to scratch the itch.

“no!” you whine again, slapping at his clenched fist. jake blinks his eyes open and turns to you, a croon already vibrating from the base of his throat.

“sorry yawne,” he murmurs as he bends down and runs his lips along your neck, his nose tickling your heightened glands. “daddy’s gon’ fuck you now, okay?”

you nod, quiet in your anticipation even when your body is trembling hard, your wet core pulsing with need.

jake guides the head of his cock to your cunt, rubbing it along your folds. you keen, your toes curling as muted pleasure explodes in the pit of your stomach – it is both so good, yet never truly enough.

“daddy, please!” you whimper, unable to keep up with his continuous teasing.

“where do you want daddy’s cock, baby girl?” jake murmurs, his na’vi dissipating as he slips into english again.

you want to sob at how unfair he’s being, using your weakness for his demon language to play with you like this. your ears flatten on your head, a hiss building at the base of your throat, but it vanished when jake’s cock dips further into your folds, teasing your opening.

“c’mon, kid, it’s not a hard question,” jake continues, his eyes locked onto your face, watching the way your eyes dilate in frustration and in desire.

you gasp when jake pulls his cock away from your weeping cunt to tap the head of it directly onto your nub. a frustrated cry is ripped out of you when jake does it again, and you want to punch your mate for his playful cruelty.

“in me, daddy!” you finally managed to utter, taking your eyes away from his heavy cock to meet his gaze, begging him to stop with the teasing and to claim you already.

jake proudly smiles at you, showing off his fangs to the point that his eyes crinkle. “good girl,” he murmurs then he is pushing his cock in.

“ma’jake!” you squeal, your back arching off the mat at the explosion of pleasure that came with being filled up.

you didn’t realize that you were scratching his back, your blunt nails making welts along his skin, until jake’s murmurs from somewhere above you broke through the overwhelming pleasure: “easy, baby. watch y’r nails.”

you stare up at him dumbly, not understanding anything past the pleasure, your dazed eyes rolling back into your skull as jake keeps pounding into you.

you hear jake laughing and you weakly punch at his shoulder, your lips parting for a grumbled complaint, when jake’s thumb finds your tiny nub and rubs it gently, purposefully.

“daddy, too mu-!” your voice breaks for a drawled moan when jake rubs at your nub again, matching the pace of his thumb with his hips, the dual pleasure leaving you breathless.

your cunt squeezes his cock, trying to draw him even deeper in you, hoping he would keep you stuffed and full and swollen with his seed. in your heightened ecstasy, you forgot that you’ve made tsaheylu with jake; that jake can feel your desire.

“oh?” jake asks as he stops moving, leaving his cock throbbing inside your walls. “is that what you’d want, baby? to be bred by me?”

you gasp, the frustration of having been edged bleeding out at being caught. you look at him, shy all of a sudden, but jake is smiling, looking at you so sweetly. so eagerly.

“is that what you want, sweetheart?” he asks again, his voice rough and deep, rumbling in a way that shows that he is still holding back. he lifts one of his hands from your hip to press down on your belly, careful but also insistent. “want to feel me here?”

you are aching with so much desire but the reminder of how big jake truly is, how far into you he could really reach, has you panting, your cunt clenching at his cock again. it makes jake chuckle, his laugh coming out as wheezing, as his eyes furrow to savour the feeling of your plush walls warming him.

“fuck, baby, you do, don’t you?” he sounds in awe, like he couldn’t believe just how much you want him.

“i do, ma’jake,” you hum, tracing your fingers along his arm, his wrist, before placing your smaller hand on top of his from where it still rests on your belly. “wanna feel you here.”

“shit,” is all he says before he is taking your hand away from your stomach to tangle his fingers with yours and pinning them beside your head.

then, he is pulling out, the slide of it gentle, and just when you thought that he’d tease you again, jake slams his cock back in you. fast, hard, deep.

you scream, your eyes going blind for a moment at the sudden engulfing pleasure racing along your nerves.

jake is going fast, no more teasing words or drawn out foreplay, as he descends into his primal instincts, evoked by the need to pleasure his mate. to fill you up just like you wished.

good mate, you think, too bleary to voice out your praises for your beloved. daddy, my good lover.

jake chokes, his hips stuttering a little bit, and you feel his emotions through the tsaheylu: desire, need, ecstasy. but also: love, love, love.

“yawne,” he murmurs, his voice a wreck. “i love you, baby.”

you sob, nodding at him, your toes curling when you feel your pleasure building. rising.

“i love you, daddy!” you reply, writhing when jake hits so deep in you again.

stuttered ah-ah-ahs leave your lips constantly, not knowing what else to say. what else to feel.

jake is everywhere: his scent is in your head, his bigger body folding over you, his warmth surrounding you whole. his cock is heavy and thick and long inside you, stretching your walls to reach your sensitive parts like he is claiming you all over again.

“daddy, ‘m close!” you whimper as you grip his hand.

“yeah, baby, me too,” jake whispers, draping his body over you to rest his forehead on yours. “cum with me, okay, baby girl?”

you nod, hitched whines not letting up enough for you to string words to respond to him. you feel jake smile, his lips so close to yours, and you tip your head up to graze a kiss over them. he groans as he sinks into a deeper kiss, his teeth quickly nipping your bottom lip when you gasped at another deep thrust.

he lets go of your hand to rub your nub again, coaxing your orgasm to tip over. you squeal, your back arching off the mat, going dizzy as the pleasure heightens, overwhelming your every sense until you are reduced to being putty in jake’s hold.

“ma’jake, ‘m cumming! ‘m cummi-!” you scream, your cunt clamping down on jake’s cock, your whole body trembling at the intensity of your orgasm.

“yawne!” you hear jake growl, his head burrowing on the juncture of your neck, before he is burying himself all the way in you.

you hiccup, hissing at the warm gush of your mate’s seed, feeling delirious at the feeling of being stuffed; he is filling you up, going through with his promise.

jake kisses your neck, pressing incomprehensible murmurs to your skin, and his chest vibrates with every deep breath. you embrace him, your shorter arms resting on his sweaty back, as you feel yourself sinking into exhaustion. the thrum of pleasure and satiation chases the ache of your sore muscles, and you giggle softly when jake’s kisses turn into teasing nips, his fangs tickling your sensitive skin.

“my perfect girl,” jake mutters almost to himself, pride vibrant in his tone. “mine.”

“yours,” you echo, huffing when jake nips you again.

“s’right, baby. all mine.”

[peachesofteal]

Double Espresso

Simon Riley/female reader 600ish words. Warnings: inferred trauma and PTSD. Here’s a nonsense ramble on how I think, maybe, Simon could meet you (in a future /reader fic).

It’s the way you’re sitting, he thinks. Curled over the little two top table with your nose pointed downwards in a book. It could be your sweater, which matches the wood grain and your boots, the tan of the leather faded and the fabric crinkled where your toes must be. It could be the way the light reflects onto your skin through the window, the sun muted by the fogged glass, its patterns dancing in a kaleidoscope across where your fingers turn pages. A coffee colored dollop of foam swirled on the top of the ceramic cup that you’re sipping from tells him you’re drinking a latte of some kind and he wonders if you’re the type that just drinks milk and espresso, or if you enjoy some sort of flavor, like vanilla, or caramel. 

He’s half pushed into a corner, hood pulled up over his head, black cloth mask over his nose, the very image of him enough to make most of the people in this tiny cafe clutch their purses tighter to their bodies or press their children into their hips. He’s enough to make the men stare down at their phone screens, watching him from the corner of their eyes, pretending to be unbothered.

You don’t seem to notice. 

You don’t even look up. Poor self awareness. The automatic breakdown starts in his mind, pulling your failure to notice your surroundings apart and then putting you back together as he slowly reminds himself you’re a civilian, not a soldier. Civilian. Not a soldier. 

He’s too busy staring at you to hear the name being called by the girl behind the counter, who’s now raising her voice just a little higher, pitching just a little sharper, to try to grab his attention. 

Your head jerks upwards at the shift in her tone, and that’s when he truly sees your face for the first time. 

He’s never seen magic in real life. Used to believe in stories about it, when he was a boy. Before. Before Ghost. Before, when he was still whole. When he still knew what touch felt like that didn’t leave a mark, invisible or seen. Before, when he still longed for the love and caress of another without fearing it. Before, when he could sleep through the night. 

He thinks he’s seeing magic right now though, and it blinds him. Immobilizes him, tranquilizes him. It’s like he’s been hit with a stun grenade, and the cafe spins. He’s watching your face move, watching it get closer, and then even closer, before you’re standing right in front of his body, sweater falling off your left shoulder, book still clutched in your fingers.

It doesn’t even register, that you’re now blinking upwards with a raised eyebrow, lips pursed with skepticism. You open your mouth and say something, but instead of words, he just hears a melody. Something sweet and delicate, a peal of bells strung together in well timed succession. When he doesn’t respond, you try again, and acid ices your tone until he’s shaking his stupor off and taking a hasty step backwards. 

“I think that’s yours.” You gesture to the small white cup on the counter. What’s his? His brain trips over the word ‘yours’, but when he continues to say nothing, you frown. “The uh, double espresso?” You have an accent. He still doesn’t speak. Doesn’t know how to, in this moment that feels more like a dream than reality. You exchange a word with the counter girl, and pull the cup from the countertop, holding it out in your hand, tentatively. “Sir? Are you… everything okay?” Your skepticism, the sour edge of your expression has morphed into full fledged concern. 

You step forward. 

He steps back until he feels the glass of the side door against his body, the lightweight frame swinging open just an inch, enough that the breeze from outside snakes between his clothes. 

It rattles him and he turns on a dime, leaving you standing in the cafe, a double espresso in your outstretched hand. 

[thanotaphobia]

alas

i'm brainrotted over these two and their dumb little relationship

crossposted to ao3

⋆

Missa doesn’t even know Phil has wings until eight days in.

Yesterday, they received a son. Missa is kind of choosing to think of it as “received” rather than “had” or “adopted,” because honestly the circumstances were and are kind of weird. That said, he loves his son, because Chayanne is the cutest little thing on this planet earth and Missa would move mountains for him.

He’d also move mountains for Phil, but Phil would probably get there first and move them first. The man works hard. Missa watches him stay awake for nearly thirty hours before he finally crashes, descending into the house they’re supposedly sharing now with a yawn and a wave. Missa lets him be, for a while– takes care of Chayanne, puts Chayanne to bed. Works on some farm stuff, collects resources, nearly dies by a skeleton once but doesn’t. Dies to a creeper. Oops. At least he can harvest the skeleton’s face for another skull mask, because his was kind of getting dinged up.

Before he knows it, almost a full day has passed since he’d last seen Philza. 

He’s not concerned, he’s just– well, he’s worried. He has no idea when Phil last ate, and food at least is something Missa can provide instead of something like physical protection. He cooks for himself and Chayanne and then makes up a plate of steaming hot potatoes with cheese and sliced pork and goes to find Phil. He thinks he knows where his bed is, so after opening and closing a couple doors, Missa opens one and finds Phil, in bed, asleep–

–shirtless. He nearly drops the plate. Sure, they’re raising a child together and yes, Missa isn’t going to deny the fact that Phil is handsome, in a weird, kind of DILF-y way, so sue him for being surprised. He stands in the doorway for a moment, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he pretends his cheeks aren’t on fire. 

He also takes a closer look, because Phil is… very much still sleeping. One arm thrown wide, the other tucked under the pillow, mouth half-open and eyes shut tight. He might be snoring.

(Missa is smitten.)

He lets himself look, taking a few near-silent steps into the room and glancing down at the plate of food. Maybe he’ll just… leave it. Phil looks so peaceful. And he deserves the rest, after everything he’s done for Missa and for Chayanne so far. He moves to put the plate on the nightstand, eyes dragging from Phil’s face to his chest to his arms to the place where his skin meets the hastily-stitched bed sheets, back to his arms– when he stops.

There, just above his shoulders is a puff of inky darkness. Rising from the awkward slab of his shoulder blade, sitting fluffy and light on his (admirably strong) deltoids and spread out over the covers behind him are wings.

They’re not big. That’s what surprises Missa. It feels like they should be big, somehow. Phil sleeps as though there should be something grand and sprawling behind him, leaving enough room on the rest of the bed that he’s nearly falling off the side of it. But instead of huge wings, they’re small, small enough to easily be tucked under a jacket or a backpack. Where Missa expects feathers, he finds a smooth edge of cut quills, and some bare skin where it’s been plucked raw.

He stands there for a long, long time, looking at Phil. Tracing the edges of his wings with his eyes and wishing he could do it with his hands instead. Would the feathers feel soft? Could he soothe some of the aching that surely comes with the plucking? He imagines it– imagines a Phil who lets him, who wants him to. 

That idea is the one that sends him spiraling. His hands put the plate of food down before his brain catches up, still stuck skipping like a broken record over that thought; that image of Phil smiling at him over a bare shoulder, hair unbraided and loose in his eyes. Telling Missa it’s okay, he wants him to touch. How warm Phil would be in the morning sun, streaming in and making the bedroom golden. Hearing the sound of his breathing up close. 

Missa already has the privilege of seeing this, though. Phil allowing him unguarded access to his bedroom, and not so much as making a peep at his entry. Missa might be a coward, but he’s no fool– he’s not going to risk losing that over something so small as a mouthwatering want to touch Phil’s mysterious, clipped wings.

He puts the plate of food down on the bedside table, and he makes his strategic retreat into the kitchen, where it takes one cup of hastily-brewed coffee and forty minutes of staring at nothing to calm his racing heart. He’s almost calmed down completely when the door leading in the direction of the bedroom opens again and he jumps halfway out of his seat in surprise.

It’s Phil– awake, and dressed, and looking at Missa.

For a second, Missa imagines Phil accusing him of peeking. Of seeing. But instead, Phil just shuffles past with a yawn and a smile. Then Missa realizes he’s holding an empty plate, scraped clean.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Phil says from behind him. Missa does not dare to turn around. There’s the sound of running water and cutlery clinking, then Phil comes around his other side and stops. “You alright, mate?” Phil asks, leaning on the counter. Missa is… impressed by how well he hides it, honestly. There’s not even a bump on the back of his jacket, and for a second Missa thinks maybe he imagined it all. Maybe Phil doesn’t have wings, and it was just a weird hallucination. Wouldn’t be the first time something had gone whacky on this island.

“Good,” Missa says, forcing a smile. He’s probably just going crazy. “Just tired.”

“Why don’t I take this,” Phil says with a grin and a little laugh, reaching out to slide Missa’ half-empty mug away from him and hitch a thumb over his shoulder at the bedroom door, “and you go take a nap, yeah?”

It takes a minute for his words to process, and Missa wonders about the phrase lost in translation. Could there be a way to say I need you without actually saying it? It might be the coward’s way out, but he’s fine with that.

“Okay,” he says, a second too late. Phil is already herding him towards the door he’d just come out of. “Okay, okay, I will go to bed, okay! Tell– tell Chayanne I love him when he wakes up.”

“I will,” Phil says warmly. Missa wants to crumple onto the floor and die, but instead he just smiles at Phil again and then turns away before he does something stupid, like kiss him. Instead he heads back into the bedroom where Phil had gestured, closing the door behind him with a sigh. He’s just tired, and definitely going crazy, he’s decided, shedding his outerwear and tugging off his boots. He sits on the edge of the bed, sheets crisply made and tucked in at the corners, and digs his hand underneath them. Missa’s tired and a little loopy and, when he pulls back the covers to crawl in– frozen in quiet shock.

There, lying so perfectly in the center of the bed it might have well been planted there, is a single dark feather.

[kazelvr]

₊˚ෆˎˊ˗ everyone adores you, at least i do.

synopsis. cell 13 relationship hcs (separately).

content contains. gender neutral reader! building 5 arc mentioned. multiple hajime mentions (jumpscare) not proofread!

mei’s note. wrote this for all the nanbaka enjoyers, i also need nanbaka mutuals 2bhonest :,).

jyugo (ジューゴ)

jyugo is definitely something when it comes to relationships! he’s been behind bars his whole life, how is he supposed to know how to show his affection?

so, he gets advice! almost everyday he can be found next to uno, seeking relationship advice tips on how to show his love for you. although the advice he receives isn’t the most useful, he still makes an effort. however, there was one instance where he turned to hajime for advice, and lets just say it didn’t turn out so well.

jyugo is your #1 protector, always looking out for you just in case anything happens to you. in the building five arc, he keeps a watchful eye on you, never letting you stray too far from his side. his grip on you is firm, seeking solace in your presence.

cell thirteen freaks the FUCK out when they hear about jyugo having a partner. literally, how could someone like him possibly pull someone as cute as you?

like i said earlier, jyugo struggles to express his love for you. his attempts are often clumsy and timid, leaving him embarrassed even at the mere utterance of “i love you” coming from his lips. but, don’t get the wrong idea about his lack of affection. he adores you deeply, please be patient with him!

he loves to show off his jail breaking skills to you, only to be caught by hajime 10 minutes later. and then you have to witness your poor boyfriend get yelled at for trying to escape. at least you’re there to comfort him and praise his skills, which makes this all worth it in the end.

he never. stops. talking. about. you. never. it’s painfully obvious he’s head over heels for you. even before you two started dating, he was talking about you as if he was your biggest fan. which, he is. but he doesn’t want you to know that.

if you’re a criminal and you belong in a different cell/building, trust me, jyugo would be sneaking out of his cell all the time to visit you. it gets so bad that you have to tell him to stop, or else hajime would literally kill him with his fists.

if you are in the same cell as him, jyugo likes to play with your hair while you’re sleeping. the sensation of his fingertips running through the strands relaxes him, especially when it’s late at night when he’s stuck in his cell. he could escape if he wanted to, but now he doesn’t because he wants to spend time with you. it’s also a way of showing his affection for you without getting embarrassed because he knows you’re sleeping. if you wake up and catch him, he’ll pretend that nothing ever happened.

jyugo’s heart nearly stopped when you first told him that you loved him. he knew it, of course, but hearing the words coming out of your mouth was too much for him to bear. tears sprang instantly to his eyes, and he buries his face in your shoulder, sobbing. his mind swirled with words of love he’d never heard before, words so soft and tender he couldn’t believe anything could make him feel this good. please, let him have his moment.

uno (ウノ)

you bully him for being a brit (jay kay. maybe)

loves to play cards with you! even if you don’t know how to play, he’ll teach you anyway. he even lets you win just to see the smile on your face.

uno is always with you, always holding your hand. he likes the feeling of your touch, and he will never let go—no matter what how much you tell him to.

uno let’s you do his hair, and he does yours as well. he’s all about hair care and skin care, so no doubt he’ll remind you to take care of your skin and your hair. and then, you both end up glowing together.

he likes to flirt, and if you’re someone who gets easily embarrassed, uno will be flirting with you all the time just to see your reaction. he plays with your heart strings, he plays with your head; it’s like a game to him. he’s charming in his own cocky way. it’s a part of who he is and what he does best.

but, if you flirt back with him, he’ll melt and whine. he’s the one who’s supposed to do the flirting!

uno is the epitome of a doting cuddlebug. he is constantly attached to you, whether day or night, no matter who sees. he is so head-over-heels for you, that even hajime has to physically tug or otherwise force him away from your side..

when talking to others, uno frequently brags about you in the most adorable way possible. he flexes by casually pointing at you and asserting you’re his partner, often saying things like, “that’s my partner, [name]! so lucky, right?” to everyone else in earshot. in essence, his pride runs deep, and he’s not afraid to show it.

when rejected or ignored by you, unl tends to become highly sulky and dramatic. like a child throwing a tantrum, he’ll sulk and pout, spreading misery to everyone else near him just because he was in a bad mood. he’ll go so far as to ignore you unless you apologize, although his bad mood rarely lasts for too long. no more than an hour later, you’ll find uno clinging to your side once more, as if none of it ever happened.

uno’s self-proclaimed as a ‘pretty boy’ is a fact. nonetheless, he’ll still be a blushing, embarrassed mess whenever you acknowledge it, especially if you tease him about it. he’ll nervously scratch the back of his neck, his cheeks a bright shade of red, trying to come up with a reply that doesn’t make him sound like a giddy schoolgirl — but failing miserably.

nico (ニコ)

nico is always recommending manga to you, based on what you’ll like— and he’s usually spot on due to his vast experience. if you’re an anime lover as well, he would be more than happy to chat with you about it, and will probably end up introducing you to his favorite series.

nico is utterly relentless when it comes to showering you with affection, always sparing no opportunity to tell you how much he cares. everyone else in cell thirteen has seen it all before— the constant showering with kisses and hugs, the endless compliments and praise, the clear unashamed adulation.

but to nico, it doesn’t matter if others see it or not, because he wants you to know how much he loves you, and he wants to make it known to you, right here, right now, however he can. it’s quite sweet, really.

playing video games with him is special to nico, especially since it’s you he’s playing with. he considers you to be his favorite person ever, and wants to do everything with you, which includes playing video games. however, nico can get a bit competitive at times. but, don’t worry. if you end up losing a round, he’ll feel bad and let you win all the other rounds after that, just to lift your spirits and make you feel better.

if you’re not one for talking, nico would be more than happy to fill the silence by yapping your ear off about anything that comes to his mind. and you would sit there, listening patiently each time, never judging him for wanting to share his thoughts and interests with you. having someone who is always willing to hear him out really, really means a lot to nico!

nico seems to have a sixth sense for whenever you’re feeling down, ashes constantly checking up on you. whether you’re feeling sad, stressed, or just plain tired, nico will do whatever it takes to cheer you up. he would take you to nanba’s arcade, put on a comedy anime for both of you to watch, or even simply cuddle with you the whole day if that’s what you want. despite his childish demeanor, nico is understanding and sympathetic, always willing to listen to you vent about your problems, while gently holding you close and doing his utmost to comfort you and make you feel better.

rock (ロック)

food dates food dates food dates! although, nanba prison is probably not the most ideal setting for a food date — but your boyfriend still manages to make it work somehow. he’ll beg shiro for the most delicious meal he can offer, and in a heartbeat, you’ll be presented with a ten-tier cake.

rock loves having you on his back while he does push-ups, that’s it. no specific reason.

if anyone even so much breathes a word of disrespect in your direction, rock would go ballistic. without a moment’s hesitation and without any words exchanged, rock would proceed to throw hands, until the person who dared disrespect his beloved had a broken nose and a busted jaw.

while rock may appear brash and impulsive on the outside, he’s nothing more than a big sweethart who would do anything and everything for you. hell, he’ll even go so far as to share his meal with you. he’s got a very obvious soft slot for you, but he’s rather not say that out loud.

another cuddlebug! sure, his loud snoring may keep you up at night, but he’s your boyfriend, and it doesn’t really bother you, after all. the security that comes from rock’s big, muscular arms wrapping around you tightly is worth it. his cuddles are like a warm blanket, making you feel safe. sometimes, they can be so tight you can barely move— no complaints there from you, though. the warmth and comfort rock brings us more than worth it.

rock always asks you to watch him fight, regardless of whether he wins or loses. he doesn’t even mind if he does lose, as long as you’re there to cheer him on and offer him words of praise afterwards. that’s one thing that makes it worthwhile, seeing that big, dumb-happy grin show up on his face after getting congratulated by you for giving it his all.

rock often finds himself comparing hand sizes with you most of the time, knowing full well that yours would be smaller than his, but he still does it anyway. maybe it’s the intimacy and close contact of putting your hands against each other, and the feeling of your soft, slender fingers running up and down his rough, calloused palm. for rock, it’s an almost comforting sensation and he often asks you if you’re willing to do it again.

many others including cell thirteen have noticed the way how rock is especially more gentle with you. how his voice mellows to a calming, relaxed state as soon as he starts talking to you, and how his gaze becomes more relaxed and gentle. it’s as if a switch has been flipped once he locks eyes with you.

the guy is just sososo in love w/you :,)