#meander forth

[meanderforth]

I reworked my logo for the opening splashes of Meander Forth. I brought back the "letter-art" aesthetic from my old "CrazyRiverOtter" logo, though it was a little harder to fit "WhiskerFjords" into the shape of an otter!

One of the splashes is for the Godot game engine. Usually I like to disable the "Made in [x]" screens but I really like the progress Godot has made towards being a viable, usable FOSS engine.

[mystical-one]

okay you guys are gonna have to take the torch for me because I have to go to bed so I can wake up early tomorrow. Pleaes open your youtubes to "bob dylan april 5th 2024" and refresh the page approximately every 10 seconds until someone posts the entire performance or better yet a recording of I'll Be Your Baby Tonight. i expect to see it on my desk by tomorrow morning. bye

[screampied]

SLOW IT DOWNNN MAKE IT BOUNCY !? ☆

gojo, choso, toji, sukuna, geto. riding the jjk men so good that they whine for you

cw. fem! reader, whiney men, unprotected, cowgirl, reverse, car sēx, praise, shotgunning (geto), dirty talk, spanking, biting, breaking the bed, size kink, overstim, choking (toji), wc. 3.6k

an. ateez reference >.~

𐔌 SATORU GOJO.

“oh, someone’s gettin’ ngh, cocky.” he’d groan, semi-sweaty hands glued to both sides of your waist. gojo can’t even try to hold his whines because it’s not even seconds later and his head throws itself back in rapture. with a cute abashed expression spraying over his sour features, he swallows what’s undoubtedly the last few drops of his pride. “f-fuuuck, teasin’ me with these killer hips. ‘s no fair, baby.”

and as he speaks, watching you jerk and grind against him at a much more lively speed—gojo captures a nice chunk of your ass, gifting it an impolite smack. he’s so embarrassed that a hand of his covers his mouth. giggling, you gradually peel his hands away, kissing near the tip of his nose. “awwwh,” you coo in a seductive purr, barreling his fattened length inside of you. “don’t be shy, ‘toru. i wanna see that pretty face.”

“shut uppp,” he whines again, a pout immediately stretching over his sheeny-slick lips. your soft touch alone sends him electric shivers to meander all through him. his dick twitches from the sweet sweet friction before cereluan-pristine eyes of his roll their way back into the very ends of his skull. “ugh, you do it s-so good though. fuck me, f-fuck me please.”

with your arms flinging around his broad pent up shoulders, you lean in to bestrew a few kisses near the corners of his mouth. gojo’s rosé-colored lips tremor in longing for more of you. for more of your touch, more of your taste. the head of his cock pursues to mash against your folds, thwacking and thwacking away. “slower, baby?” you whisper against the very hem of his ear, giving it a little nibble to earn another wailing whimper from him.

“s-slow, yeah,” he holds your hips in place, having a race with his own breath—a mere competition. you’ve got him right where you wanted him. submissive, pinned down, and needy. with a three second clear of his throat, he groans, meeting your gaze once more. “don’t get cocky.. ‘m still the strongest ‘n i can flip you over ‘n h-have my way if—”

he gets cut off by your lips, his muffled moans pour right into your mouth and he purrs once a finger of yours strokes alongside his undercut.

another whine leaves from gojo’s lips the moment your fingers brush against there. his precious undercut. anytime your finger would drag down that part of his hair, he’s already a melting puddle. his face was flushed as you’re rocking back and forth against him. heavy drawing pants sneak out of his lips before he lets off a tremulous whine. “o-oh my god, ‘m gonna cum,” and he knows from the way his tip starts to repeatedly swipes against the insides of your sopping cunt. you’re clinging onto him tightly from the inside—a grip so tight that it makes him bite his lip, begging for more. after a while, leisurely—your lips comes to a slowing slow.“fuck, f-fuck me. ngh, think this pussy’s gonna kill me.”

“you’re so dramatic baby,” you tease, sneaking a wet kiss near the corner of his mouth. “mwah,” and he shivers from your touch. clammy hands of gojo’s grab onto your waist, pulling you further against him before he grunts against your ear. even his whines, they were so cute. he’s never felt more embarrassed. with his head tossing itself back, his eyes widen before he’s dumping a thick load into your needy cunt. ���mhm, ‘s good,” you hum, panting yourself before you cup both sides of his face. who was once famously known as the strongest, was now easily able to be mistaken as the weakest . . especially whenever it came to pussy. your pussy. you titter, still feeling him trickle such gummed amounts into you. it’s so sloppy that it sloshes all around your beloved insides. “good boy.”

“f- fuck, say it again,” gojo sheepishly grins, laid back with your waist still in his tight grip. he’s all pussy drunk, the epitome of the word, really. a pout stretches against his lips as he waits for your reply, pretty navy blue irises doe at you before he pants.

“good boy, ‘satoru, my good boy,” you repeat, playfully flicking his chest back so you could go again. “let’s try that again, hm?”

“y- yes baby.”

𐔌 SUGURU GETO.

“s-shit,” geto whews, hurling an arm around the back of his reclined car seat. the mood couldn’t have been more perfect. you were riding him in his car, the view was so pretty. you were so pretty, the way you’re moving all against him—taking his breath away. the woodsy scent of geto’s leather jacket roams through the air as you creep a hand up into his biker white tee. “thaaat’s it, slow baby. slow, fuck me good, yeah?”

geto’s groans only makes your pussy throbs multiple by the second. a plump shaped blunt sticks from the side of his mouth, taking a few milliseconds to recover from his most recent puff. with bloodshot eyes, he can’t help but pull you into a deep kiss, blowing a few gusts of air into your mouth. as it travels, his tongue fervently gyrates against yours before you blow it right back into his. once you swallow, it tastes earthy and citrusy. as it aerates between each mouth, you moan, “s-suguru,” you moan, feeling his fingers prowl its way against your waist to the very undersides of your thighs. you made sure to go slow, slow and steady. geto’s for a sleazy grin, feeling the wetness of your cunt take him with all its might. “gonna cum soon.”

“bet you are,” he whispers, his foot tapping against the carpet floor of the parked vehicle. by the second—geto’s raspy moans start to get more vocal within each jiff that passes. as he’s still buried into your cunt, entangled with every inch of you, your speed arises with its own deliberate quickness. “fuck sweetheart, you’re gonna send me to a hospital with those nasty hips.”

“should i go faster—?” you coo against the shell of his ear, the tip of his cock kissing against your g-spot. it’s a tickling sensation that’s almost enough to make you drool.

geto grunts, his voice becoming a bit more trembly. with the way your body jolts against him in harmony, he’s feeling that familiar primal heat snake its way into the pit of his stomach. “slower, i- i like it when you’re slow for me, gorgeous.” and a hand of his caresses near the juncture of your thighs. you moan from his touch, vast pads of his fingertips ghosting against your skin. a hand of geto’s reaches towards his blunt and he takes another long deep puff. “ugh, ‘m hitting you in that spot. gonna milk me again, sweet thing.”

“don’t miss this time,” you whine against his neck, taking a few seconds to lick against his skin. geto hissed at the brief pang that entraps m his cock from the base down with such bliss. your cunt’s greedy, swallowing it whole with its entire being—never wanting to part. grabbing onto his large pointed shoulders, he’s just making you throb time and time again. a moistened tongue of his licks against his parted lips before he feels a clench. he’s so fucking thick, as you’re barreling his staggering length, repeatedly slamming down against his lap—you feel him starting to judder from underneath you. it comes in waves and he’s about to lose all kinds of composure with your movements. “come on, sugu. cum with me.”

“keep talkin’ to me like that ‘n ‘m gonna propose.” he jibes, though part of you knew your boyfriend was serious. “mhmnn, f-fuck, ‘s good. right there, right fucking there.”

by now, geto’s entire voice wasn’t the same as it was a few minutes ago. he’s whining, sweet cacophonies of “f-fuck me,” and “baby, ‘s good,” continue to spew out of his lips. in the background, obscene pressure continues to arise and alleviate inside of your own tummy—you’re swaying your hips against him at such force that not even gravity could keep up with the pull. the foam of the driver’s seat nearly wears itself thin before you toss your arms around his neck. “i know baby, give it to me. cum with me, sugu.”

“anything for you, sweet girl,” he hiccups, and that’s the last words he remembers murmuring before he shoots satiny ropes of cum into you. your hole flutters and within seconds, you end up finishing right after him. you both moan in unison, yet geto’s louder, he’s whining against your ear. with his head slump back, he’s barely holding onto waist now. geto’s body shakes as he comes undone, filling up your insides with such amounts of viscous seed. he’s panting, heavily. it’s so much that it dribbles from your pussy towards the crevices of your thigh. “s-shiiiiit,” he sibilates in a single breath, flicking his rolled blunt aside. with a low sigh, he leans back against the fleece made seat. “goddamn, baby.”

a smile purses against his lips, a timid one, but still a smile. above his lap, you’re still spasming yourself. you bring your rotating hips to a steady halt before you press a wet kiss against the edge of his wobbly pursed lips. “you okay, sugu—”

“marry me,” he cuts you off, wrapping his beefy arms around you. “i want you.”

𐔌 SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

“tch, you’re such a pain,” he’d murmur at your first request to ride him on his throne. “but fine. get up here, woman. ‘n be quick, got things to do.”

despite his gruff tone and stern exterior, you’d make him chew his words in a way he’d least expect it. as sukuna preps you—getting you nicely soaked and wet, he aligns himself against your slick opening. you glance down at the upward curve of his dick and it was purely appetizing. he was already big regardless, but just fantasizing about taking him in his true form with his two cocks make your mouth start to pool with filthy, syrupy saliva. “f-fuck,” you’d mutter, ogling at the cunning grin of his stretch against his face in your peripherals.

bastard,

there was never a dull moment where sukuna ryōmen was not smug—he loved relishing your cute pornographic expressions. how you’re biting your tongue until it turns into chewing, taking every chance you get to suppress your cute little whines. “mhm, such a good girl. you take it quite well for a brat i must say.”

“shut up.”

“make me..”

two predictable simple words and you in fact do make him shut up — just with your salacious hips alone.

as sukuna’s lazily leaning back against the hardened furniture of his infamous throne—he was cocky, just talking and talking.

as you’re grinding your hips against his lap in a lewdly fashion, you nip a bit near his neck. he scoffs, a hand of his pulling your waist closer towards him. with each vigorous jostle, you’re starting to pick up the pace. he’s stuffed all the way inside, churning your insides up like butter. mixing all around your gripping walls with his fat cock, you moan—feeling the edges of his claws gingerly dig against your skin. your flesh, he’s grabbing a fair piece of your ass before he smacks it. the recoil makes him groan, your hips were a mere enemy, a force to be reckoned with..

“is that a pout?” you brush a thumb against his bottom lip, leaning in to kiss him but he growls. sukuna bares a single dang, and instead of it being intimidating, it’s just cute. ruby flared irises of his stare into you before he’s just lounging back against the chair. “f-fuck, ‘kuna. you don’t have to hide your moans, you know. ‘s just me.”

“shut up, girl.” he snarls, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. as you’re continuing to slowly rut back and forth, he gnaws on his lip like it’s candy. for a second, you watch as his eyes flicker. sukuna’s eyes switch to white and then he whines. it’s so faint that you could barely hear it, but he definitely slips out a whine. in a husky groan, he whines again— this time, it’s more of a sweetened whimper. “f-fuckin’ shit,” and he notices you slow down to openly stare at him. he glares but it doesn’t even last because as you’re keeping the entirety of his pulsing shaft warm within your tender walls, he whines again. “don’t look at me, ugh. i— phew, i need a minute.”

you pause, feeling his dick twitch inside your clenching before you have a teasing smug grin. throwing your arms around his shoulders, you peck a kiss near his cheek before running a finger down his chest, sliding past the fabric of his half-work kimono. “take all the time in the world, old man.”

“w- watch it.”

𐔌 CHOSO KAMO.

“don’t think ‘m gonna last,” choso blurts, starring at your gorgeous reflection through the mirror. you’d mention to him that you wanted to try riding him in reverse. he didn’t mind, he was more excited than anything. anytime you’d recommend a new position to try with choso, his eyes would light up. it was purely adorable—with wheezing breaths, he softly sinks his teeth into the margin of your neck. a lengthy tongue of his runs down your skin before he moans. “ngh, go s-slow like that, baby. ‘m hitting you so deep inside i think.”

and he’s just babbling to you, pathetic candied whimpers going into your neck as he sinks into your pussy raw. the concise stretch that shortly follows has your heart racing—head spinning, mind forevermore in a never ending loop.

“fuck, hold me choso. hold my hips, mhm,” and as your grinding significantly accelerates, you feel the sensation of your chest deflating. choso’s sputtering out cute inaudible whines into your neck as you’re moving your hips quicker. “touch me, good. good boy.”

“your good boy,” he immediately replies, taking a second to slink his quavering, reddened lips against the nape of your neck. each kiss he gives you stacks up before it turns into sweet, desperate sucking. choso moans, savoring the taste of your tender skin as you’re thrashing your hips against his. his throbbing cock consistently curls inside of your walls before he nibbles against your collarbone. “hngh, baby. your hips, you’re slowing down on purpose—aren’t you?”

with an airy giggle, you grab onto his knees for support. “should i slow down for you, ‘cho?”

“n-no, please,” he swallows. instinctively his big, bulky arms wrap around your waist. he’s giving you a gentle firm squeeze like a teddy bear. choso never wants to let you go—not now, not ever. he’s starting to hear the expeditious pumping beats of blood pulse through his ears, metaphorically slurping up your fervor, and he whines again. “f- fuuuck, that spot, gonna drain me. feel it, ‘m gonna cum. can i cum?” and he halts his jittery speech before whimpering against your twitching ears. “please lemme cum. don’t wanna b-be messy without my girl’s permission first.”

a breathy whine of your own leaves from your spit slicked lips before you kiss his cheek. “yes, baby. you can cum. ‘s okay,” and he pouts, a longing expression marinating against his features at your words. oh, if it was anyone who could turn him into a soft sap, it was you. you and your seductive, mouthwatering hips. choso brings his wrist over his face as you’re still maintaining a decent pace. his cock matches your movements in sync, piercing through every orifice to make your thighs tense in desire. nirvana, ecstasy, you feel everything coursing through your veins at once. choso’s cute whimpers were now all muffled from him trying to cover them with the back of his hand.

it was cacophonous—he leans back into a slump as you’re mashing against his body. hot needy bodies press back against each other in harmony, it’s so hypnotic. the insides of your viscous walls were smoldering with heat before he dumps right into you. it’s abrupt, a gasp snakes out from his throat as he’s feeling himself spit out such gobs of cum into you. you’re heavily trembling underneath him. it’s so much that it even costs near your thighs, dribbling down and it feels so sticky. you hum into his neck,

it’s so much—choso’s shaking right with you, strands of blackened hair running down his forehead, nearly occluding his vision as he’d still covering his face. “o-oh shit,” he whimpers, and he swallows, the air suddenly growing mute. he can hear the wet, sopping sounds of your pussy soaking in all of him before our of nowhere—it’s a ear splitting creak. choso’s so out of it that he doesn’t even realize nor acknowledges that the headboard collapses down. your hips were to blame, he doesn’t even flinch—instead, he pulls you into a needy kiss. it’s sloppy, he sucks against your tongue as you’re still keeping his dick warm. it’s twitching, convulsing within your hold. as tongues tango alongside each other, he grabs your hips. pulling away, he huffs. “more,” he pants, and you gasp once you’re suddenly now gently pushed on all fours. your ass gets shoved up by choso and his voice pitches. he’s still whiney, but he moans, prodding his leaky tip against your hole. “love you baby. but i-i’m gonna get you pregnant.”

𐔌 TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“can a little girl like you even handle me?”

famous last words—

it takes you a bit to adjust to toji’s thickset size, but once he’s all the way inside, his jaw tightens. your jaw tightens too. he’s quite the size with a fair amount of girth that it makes you feel a chilling snapping coil within you. you lean into him, smothering a few saturated kisses near his chin, his neck, and most importantly, his scar.

a sly smirk tug its way against his pink lips as he feels you show his slanted scar its deserved uninvited attention all while you’re jerking your hips against him. “you talk too much,” you inhale, the fullness of your lungs merely snatching the wind out of you. he couldn’t deny it though, your rhythm, it was enticing. rough big hands of his grip against your hips and you can see his adam’s apple bob once his head tilts back a bit. while the manly musk of toji’s cologne wafts through your nostrils, your pussy starts to constrict every few thrusts as he’s deep inside. he’s so big, his swollen sack repeatedly jackhammers and pummels against your soddened cunt before he starts to lean back more.

“ya gonna do somethin’ about it or…?” toji sneers at you, lincoln green eyes never taking you seriously. stubby fingers of his dig into your skin, clasping against your hips as you swing back and forth. as you oscillate against him, he’s taken by surprise once you wrap a hand around his throat. “ooh. chokin’ me too? ‘s kinda kinky, baby. got some nerve, heh.”

“shut up, toji.” you moan, and his eyes continue to wander down your body. god, he can’t help but stare a bit. the way your perfect rounded your tits bounce against your chest. just perfect. his hands were all over you. your body even has somewhat of a gleaming glow, simply from the sunlight that ricochets off the window pane right above the two of you. your hips only then started to get increasingly sloppy,

the action itself turns him on. with an eyebrow raise, you lean in to kiss him. he chuckles darkly, allowing you to rummage your tongue against his.

as your warm body continues to collide against his in such a swift way, he groans in your mouth. you decide to be a tease, creeping a hand against his chest to play with his exposed, broad tits nipples. your fingers strum against it as you’re still shoving your tongue down his throat. with his dick still happily tucked inside of your gluey, grippy walls, he suddenly lets off a whine. “m-mhm?” and he pulls away from your mouth, a string of glutinous saliva snatches away from each spit-coated lips before he sighs. “fuckin’ girl. told ya how my n-nipples get me sensitive when you suck on them.”

“cover them up next time, slut,” you tease, bringing your lips to kiss near the bridge of his nose.

toji’s eye twitches—his pecs were all swollen and out on display, you even inch your head down to lick a stripe against his nipples. “mhm,” you’d hum, feeling his entire body shiver from the coldness of your tongue flick around his tenderly sensitive skin. he huskily groans once you position yourself back up, slamming your legs down against his lower crotch area for the nth time.

with how hard your body smacks against his, you’re sticking against toji like glue. adhesive and all, with your arms still flimsy and frail—you start to make your speed quicker. as your hips piston in pleasure, his low pitched moans start to get louder. “ah, f-fuck,” he leans back, spanking the right temples of your ass. over and over and over, his hand swats against your skin repeatedly like a broken record. “fuck me then,” bratty viridiscent pupils meets yours, and his voice was on the verge of being weaker than it already was. with his tone all cutely strained and timid, it was nothing like the usual toji who’s always haughty and cocksure. as his ravened brows curl into a frustrated furrow, he starts to grab your hips to get a more thorough angle inside of your puffy pussy. “wanna put me in my place? fuck me then,” and he whines again once you squeeze his left nipple, kissing the edge of his scar. “hmph. ‘s doesn’t mean anything though. ‘sides, if y’er g-gonna choke me, at least do it harder, h-heh.”

[nidbaesenpai]

I like the idea that maybe at some point during Odile's journey to Vaugarde she crossed paths with Siffrin. She takes well worn paths and making sure her maps are accurate while Sif is just walking, meandering back and forth between the wild and civilization.

Maybe they bought something from the same general store or walked together in a caravan of people. Perhaps Siffrin was people watching while having lunch, watching Odile haggle with a merchant before getting distracted by two kids playing tag. Perhaps Odile and Sif were standing in line and she's behind him wondering who the fuck wears a big ass hat like this.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

other words to use instead of walk?

Advance - to move forward; proceed

Amble - to go at or as if at an easy gait

Canter - to move at or as if at a canter (i.e., a 3-beat gait resembling but smoother and slower than the gallop)

Footslog - to march or tramp through mud

Hike - to take a long walk especially for pleasure or exercise

Journey - travel from one place to another

Lumber - to move ponderously

March - to move in a direct purposeful manner

Meander - to wander aimlessly or casually without urgent destination

Mosey - to move in a leisurely or aimless manner

Pace - to walk with often slow or measured tread

Pad - to traverse on foot

Parade - to march in or as if in a procession

Patrol - keep watch over (an area) by regularly walking or traveling around or through it

Perambulate - to travel over or through especially on foot

Plod - to walk heavily or slowly

Prance - to walk or move in a spirited manner

Promenade - take a leisurely public walk, ride, or drive so as to meet or be seen by others

Prowl - to move about or wander stealthily in or as if in search of prey

Ramble - to move aimlessly from place to place; to explore idly

Roam - to go from place to place without purpose or direction; also to travel purposefully unhindered through a wide area

Saunter - to walk about in an idle or leisurely manner

Shamble - to walk awkwardly with dragging feet

Shuffle - to move or walk in a sliding dragging manner without lifting the feet

Slog - to plod heavily

Stalk - to walk stiffly or haughtily

Step - to move (the foot) in any direction

Stride - to move over or along with or as if with long measured steps

Stroll - to walk in a leisurely or idle manner

Strut - to walk with a proud gait

Stump - to walk over heavily or clumsily

Toddle - to walk with short tottering steps in the manner of a young child

Tour - make a tour of (an area); a short trip to or through a place in order to view or inspect something

Traipse - to walk or travel about without apparent plan but with or without a purpose

Traverse - to move or pass along or through; to move back and forth or from side to side

Tread - to step or walk on or over

Trek - to make one's way arduously

Troop - to go one's way

Trudge - to walk or march steadily and usually laboriously

Wander - to move about without a fixed course, aim, or goal

Hope this helps. If it inspires your writing in any way, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read your work!

More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐭

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader

Summary: Joel jerks off to the knowledge of you taking a bath after waking up with a hard on.

Warnings: Male masturbation, pervy ass Joel, you are unaware that the horny old man is jerking off! Joel calls himself daddy, [ Under water ] Unprotected PIV, No foreplay no nothin just straight up fuckin’. Dirty talk. No beta, ya girl dont got TIME!

A/N: This has been rotting in my drafts so I just thought I’d wrap it up and post it while im sleeping over my grandmas 😒 ALSO IK I JUST POSTED DAMN.

Wc: 2,070

Joel didn’t remember falling asleep like this.

How the thin sheet he had wrapped himself in now formed a tent over his thighs.

Oh, fuck. 

Morning– or, I guess for him it was afternoon wood. Off from work the idea of a nap sounded mouthwatering for once, the way his back sunk into the mattress no matter how firm it actually was. Feathery softness of the pillow behind his head. He hadn’t even bothered to much as wash his hands let alone take a shower.

Now aware, sentient his mind came to that familiar feeling of the need to plunge his cock into his fist. Shaft sticking straight up with his tip pushed against the cotton of his briefs. Leaking.

“Goddamn– fuck.” 

It wasn’t ideal. 

Neither was the dewiness of the sweat that had seeped uncomfortably into his skin. A musk that steamed off of him. 

He threw his legs over the side of his mattress, running worked fingers through his greying curls. Fuckin’ inconvenient. His palm slapped down onto the back of his phone that slept face-down on his end table. Picking it up to check the time. 

2:44 PM 

Before he left for work it was almost as if he could still hear your sweet voice telling him you were going out with your friend ‘til three. Sixteen minutes until you were back home. Sixteen minutes to jump into the shower and fuck himself. Unfortunately in the literal sense.

He popped up from his bed with a long rumbling moan that followed. 

Jesus Christ. He was fucking hard.

It was a heavy footed march towards the bathroom– out his door. Down the hallway. To the door on the right. 

The door was closed while he remembered leaving it open. Not that it mattered. Honestly he was so fuckin’ screwed right now he didn’t know his left from his right let alone when or if he actually closed the bathroom door.

He was just about to turn the knob when he heard something.

The grinding squeak of the faucet.

Water pouring out into the tub. Slapping against the pearly porcelain.

Just his fucking luck.

It would figure you’d be home now outta all times. It was out of the ordinary for you to actually come and leave the time you said you would. Joel got lucky sometimes. The days you actually did so.

Today, unlucky. More than usual. 

All the while you were meandering around the bathroom. Looking through every cupboard and drawer for things a fifty-seven year old man would never EVER store in his bathroom let alone go out of his way to buy.

But then one pull of the cabinet underneath the sink you saw it, the holy grail of this old man’s bathroom. One singular, milky white bath bomb. 

Oh my god. In a home like his it was as if you were a miner who had struck diamond. A rarity, absolute gem. 

You picked up the round chalky bulb within your palm, bringing it over to your bath. Using your pointer as a thermometer to check the water. Hot, steaming. Perfect. Stripping yourself from your clothes as you stepped into the tub one leg at a time. Soon enough it was your full body swimming within. Dropping the bath bomb in, biting your lip down to contain the ecstatic smile on your face as it fizzed.

Blissed.

Joel heard all of this. 

Shocks wracking to his cock just at the simple sound of the clanks of your belt as it dropped to the tiles of the bathroom. 

The water of the tub swishing back and forth as you sunk in. He could only imagine the sight. How much harder he’d be if he got to saw you slippery and wet, your naked body glistening with the hot water of the tub, face flushed from the warmth.

Fuck he’d give anything.

For weeks it was you in his dreams. The girl makin’ his cock stick up every time he woke up. At first the thoughts would make his stomach sink, chest tightening at the thought. He was sick. 

He was still sick. Although, he didn’t have the energy to be ashamed. 

He moved closer to the door as his breath hit the chipping, white painted wood. His hand moved down to squeeze his dick pulsing in his boxers. Gripping it, fuckin’ hating it for the ruthlessness. The cruelty. 

“Oh, baby.”

Whispering to no one as he pulled himself out of his boxers. His tip drippin’ with precum. Eyes screwed shut. Joel Miller was a sore fucker to in his head to tell you how he felt. Although he could easily bounce his fist up and down his stiff cock as you washed your pretty body that he spent his free time watchin’. Craving. Only separated by the door between. 

“Fuck. Makin’ daddy’s cock so damn hard you don’t even know.”

Moving lips pressed against the cold door. 

“You don’t even know, babygirl.”

No, you didn’t. And if this man wasn’t such a pussy those unspoken fuck-feelings that you damn well both felt for each other wouldn’t have to be so unspoken. 

He could tell you. He could tell you how you were gettin’ him harder than any disgustingly vulgar porno could get him. Than any pill he could swallow dry to get his dick workin’ again. The thought of you his own personal Viagra without needing to consume anything. 

The mind was a powerful thing. 

His fist pumped. Sloppy with himself as he had no need to go at a pace that made sense, that had that rhythm. He didn’t need to give himself that. Twitching as his bulbous head sputtered out slick that trickled down the length. 

His throat was tight as his hips jerked. Fuck fuck fuck. Pushing the tip of his cock into the door, already so close as if he had any need to control himself as he was trying to get this done. Get the job finished so he could go back to normal.  

Gaudily clutching, hugging his fat dick with his fist. His hips stuttering til–

“Oh, f–fuck–!” Too goddamn loud.

The hand that he had braced against the thick trim surrounding the door now palm his mouth. Oh this was really stupid. He was making it even stupider, riskier. 

If he continued to hold this sounds deep within his throat it’d explode. Or– at least it’d feel like that. His balls were drawing up, tightening uncomfortably taut. His pace slopping, slowing as ever quick yank and pull turning into a long, drawn stroke down the length. 

Another bubbled up. This time as he reached that peak. Cumming into his palm. Opaque seed spitting out onto the door.  

“Sweetie. Fuckin–!”

“...Joel!?”

The curses were the most obvious, seemingly too ashamed to really drive home those so-very-cute pet names as he moaned. 

You knew the sound of a moan, though. Maybe you were young but you weren’t a fucking dumbass. The sound of a male orgasm was much different than that ‘I stubbed my toe’ type groan. Even yell.

He felt his cheeks heat up instantaneously. He had no more excuses left in him unless he were to sputter meaningless claims. Begging you to believe he had just stubbed his toe on the bathroom door.

Aftershocks still running through his body in waves. Panting like a dog. Sweating like a pig.

You were basking in the warm water. Your heartbeat took quickly to picking up. Joel Miller. The man old enough to be your fucking father standing outside your bathroom jerking off to the little splashes of the water? Imagining your naked body on the other side.

And you. You were just a girl after all. Couldn’t help the curiosity that pumped in your veins.

“Joel, come in!”

He’d hesitate. How could he not? His breathing still ragged. His cock had hardly even gone soft. But goddamn if he didn’t see you he knew he’d absolutely be killing himself. Turning the knob like heaven was on the other side of it. —For him, it was even better than that. More exciting than eternal life.

The door was kicked open as he singled you out. Staring. Your body was slick as the lighting from the window sheened over your body. He was in there quick. Ripping his briefs off his thighs. By five seconds his cock began to stiffen again. Your tits glazed with the bubbly, soapy water that filler the bath. The normally clear bath water milky, fizz bubbled to the top from the bath bomb that had evaporated as Joel worked himself to his orgasm.

You’ve got his body overworked and you haven’t even touched him yet.

So worked up he forgot he even had his flannel on as he got into the tub. Water that just barely reached the top spilling out onto the tiles, he’d have to wipe that after. The thick fabric of his shirt clinging onto his skin like a fuckin’ lifeline. Hugging the soft muscle.

Stiffed. Once again stiffed. Slapping up against his belly as his hands gripped at your thighs.

“Joel—“ You’d mewl, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He had you.

“This pretty pussy. I ain’t never fuckin’ seen her before.

Why you been so cruel, huh?” He was rambling.

He pushed his head into you. Seeing you stretch out, getting used to the feeling of his tip first. Then he’d slowly let himself sink into your cunt. Gripping your thighs, his hips spasmed.

“Joel!” Another moan. Desperately clinging to him, wet hands placed on his fabric-covered shoulders.

“Got me jerkin’ off out there like a fuckin’ teenager.”

He whimpered, his pace already taking no time to quicken, expeditious and brisk. The man wanted to fuck you senseless. Taking your lips to his, pushing his tongue down your throat. Every moan between the two of you vibrating between your lips. Joel’s cock plunging in and out.

In. And. Out.

Rutting into you with every fiber of his fuckin’ being. He never felt a girl like this— so good, so beautiful and so fucking tight.

Joel Miller has never been so fuckin’ pussy-whipped.

The water of the tub was splashing, spluttering, it was messy. It was quick. Yet he knew afterwards, once the aftershocks yet again dissipated maybe he’d fuck you again. And again. And again—

“God— Fuck yes, Joel! Right there. Right there.”

Nibbling his neck every time his head curved up to kissed that soft spot that made you wanna squeal.

“Daddy’s gonna fuckin’ fill this sweet little cunt.”

He’d moan

“Fuck you S’good.”

His brain was mush. The filthy fucking words uttering from his lips weren’t ones he necessarily put thought into— or, better yet. He put none at all. His thrusts were getting tighter, rigid. His stiffy painful with every clenching, the contraction of the muscles in your hole.

You felt your climax right there. Right. There. Every time his fat dick carved a line right on your cervix you’d cry again, your fingers clawing, ripping down the fabric of his now soaked flannel. He was so practiced. Intently watching the contortions of your face. Your pelvis blew with the intensity of your orgasm, panting into the side of his neck, feeling that familiar euphoria you had always found by the touches of your own hand.

His peak followed close. Spilling his semen into your cunt shamelessly filling you to the brim. He didn’t fuckin’ care about the risks. Not now, definitely not now. All he cared about was how good you felt around him, deep within the hot water of this tub. His tub.

“Oh fuckin’ shit. Baby.”

Momentarily you felt as your eyes would roll back into your skull at the feeling of his cum being beat into your cunt, your orgasm forcing ecstasy making you smile against his neck. His hand braced on your belly, feeling the heat and tightness in your gut settle now that it was all done.

All done?

Miller’s been waitin’ months for this, ain’t no way in hell you were all done. He was gonna make you feel it again. Feel all of it again. Once, twice, three times over— all until you’re squirmy, all until you’re beggin’ him to let you take that breather.

“I fuckin’ love this pussy. Can’t get enough.” He’d drawl.

His face buried into the crook of your neck. Tongue flicking in light, lazy kitty-licks against the skin.

This’ll be lasting til’ the water’s cold.

[-harmonytbh]

the wayward kind still love deep 

summary: Smoke returns to the Delta after years of war and silence, he seeks the woman he never stopped loving, but the past, both sweet and bitter, won’t let them move on without a fight. (angst, longing)

pairing: smoke x black plus sized!reader, platonic!stack x reader

warnings: cursing, mentions of war, sexual tension and suggestive content. 

author's note: wow, I was not expecting all the positive feedback lol thank you to everyone who took the time to read, and I hope y’all like this next part <3

Part One

Part Two

“Hey, baby cakes,” Stack shouted as he ran across the yard at her, causing the chickens meandering around her feet to scatter in different directions. 

“Elias Moore, as I live and breathe!” She called back with laughter in her voice and a tear in her eye. When he reached her, he lifted her easily and spun them around a few times, pulling easy giggles from her lips. 

“Missed you gal,” he admitted, placing her back onto the Earth, “Lemme look atcha!” 

He took a dramatic step backward, still clutching her left hand turning her this way and that. Stack let out a low whistle, and she swatted playfully at his shoulder. 

Yup, he’s still Elias. 

She tipped her head quickly over his left shoulder to see if she could catch a glimpse of Smoke. They had left things…well. It was a bright new day in the delta, and she was determined to make the most of it. Elijah Moore be damned. Stack relayed tales from all over God’s big green world, enchanting her and also terrifying her. He told her stories of battles they’d fought, schemes they’d pulled, and to her great annoyance, all the many women he’d loved. Stack was a lot of man, and he definitely didn’t see kindness in sparing the women of the world a chance to have the Elias Moore experience. They chatted easily, swapping a pail of boiled peanuts back and forth as the afternoon stretched lazily into a sticky pink dusk. 

“How’s yo Ma an’ Pa?” He asked when they’d finally run out of new things to say. She smiled lightly and peered over at him. 

“Both good, went down to Natchez to see ‘bout my Aunt Nancy. She’s ole an’ ailin’ now, needs someone there tuh look after her evr’yday,” she said back, still turning her head looking for Smoke. She and Stack had been sitting on her porch for hours and aside from Cornbread and Therese, no one had stirred the gravel. 

“Where is—” 

“You outta know that better’n me baby doll. He left this mornin’ ‘fore sunrise an’ I ain’t seen em since,” Stack interrupted, tipping the mason jar of water she’d brought him to his lips. 

Her eyebrows furrowed as she wondered where in the hell Smoke could’ve been all damn day. They’d returned from their foray into the woods as the last of the golden sunrise peeked over the pines and said a terse and polite good day. She’d watched him march across the yard taking those slow and measured steps he was known for. Never in a hurry, never unsure. Strong, statuesque—Smoke. 

“Well, as much as I just looove yer company, I need tuh put somethin’ on my stomach sweet thang,” Elias said suddenly, rising from her porch steps and leaning down to kiss her cheek. 

“Now Elias Moore, ya know I would never let ya leave my house wit an empty belly. Set back down, I got some fresh catfish already marinating,” She smirked back, knowing he saw them when he went inside to fetch the water basin she was using to soak her feet. 

“I laid it on a little too thick, huh?” 

“As always, but I know you fulla mo’ shit than a Christmas turkey so I love ya all the same, Stack,” she giggled, patting her feet dry. 

“Gon’ home an’ wash up. See if you can find yer brother, and I expect both of ya here in bout an’ hour.” 

Through the webbing of her creaky screen door, she watched as Stack strutted toward their house, back tall and strong. Sinewy muscles moved with grace and whispered of a powerfully built and agile man. Clicking her tongue, she shook her head. One was enough trouble, but God had to go and make two of em just to show off. 

Back in her kitchen, she set to work getting all her fixings together for catfish po boys, something she’d learned to make from Titus. Speaking of Titus, he’d been eerily quiet today himself. Usually by now, he’d come by with a sweet word and something for her. A flower or a stone, sometimes fresh fruit. He was tender with her like that, a gentleman. But now there was Smoke. What they’d shared during the wee hours of the morning on the bank of her Papa’s creek wouldn’t leave her mind, though she willed it to. 

earlier that morning

“If only I was that lucky, baby.” 

Kissing her teeth, she reached down for a pole and began baiting her hook with ease. He’d taught her well all those years ago, had used his large warm hands to guide her movements while enveloping her body with a warmth that set her teenage sensibilities into a tailspin. As he watched her hook the worm and cast her line into the babbling creek, he remembered that day vividly. How she had peeked at him under her lashes as he mumbled instructions against the shell of her ear. This was in the before time. Before he had told her his true feelings, before he had made her a woman. 

“So, ya back for good, Elijah?” 

He loved the way she said his name. EE—LIE—JAH, like it was an incantation, like it was raw Mississippi honey dripping from her tongue. He didn’t really know how to answer her. He could say I’m back for as long as you’ll have me. He could say come with me away from all this and start over. 

“Mmm, can’t call it,” he said instead, casting his line downstream like he always did to avoid catching more fish than her. He loved to see the twinkle in her eye when she took the lead over him, hoisting fish after fish into her pail and grinning at him proudly. Deep down she knew he was letting her win, but she didn’t mind. Just wanted to see that proud way he gazed back at his pupil. 

“That sound like a Smoke answer if I’ve ever heard one,” she said back bitterly, tossing her line back out after tossing the wriggling catfish into her pail. 

“Stack wan’ stay. Said he tired of the north, missin’ home. Figured we come back here an’ see how it fits,” he shrugged, trying to pretend that that was the full truth of why they came back home. She grunted and shook her head, sending a whiff of jasmine, clove, and sweat his way. His body hummed. 

“Umm hmm. Stack,” She said back, not making eye contact with him. 

They stayed this way for a while, basking in the comfortable discomfort that had developed around them. So many questions left unaddressed, so much history charging the air they breathed. Neither chose to broach any of the myriad of subjects they would need to eventually face head-on. They both resigned to continue this familiar ritual of theirs: fishing and longing, yearning and earning. She stole a glance at him as he focused on the dark water flowing in front of them, studying the strong line of his jaw and the stiff way he clutched the fishing pole. 

“Loosen up,” she said quietly, lowering her line and ambling on shaky knees toward him. 

She wanted him, needed him really. When she reached him, she placed a shaky hand on his shoulder. Turning to gaze at her, his eyes clouded over with all that he couldn’t say but was deeply feeling. Naïve she may have been all those years ago before he left, but now, as a grown woman, she could see all of that in his eyes was real. It was raw. It would burn her up from the inside out if she let it. 

“Don’t tell me all those years in the city made ya lose ya touch, Lijah,” she chuckled, attempting to diffuse the tension, “Lemme show ya how it’s done, city boy.” 

She pried the fishing pole from his large hands and pretended not to notice the way they trembled. Stepping in front of him, she leaned back against the hard line of his chiseled body and sighed as he wrapped his arms around her waist instinctively. His heart beat rapidly at her back, and she could feel every one of her nerve endings standing on end. But then again, she also felt a peace and comfort wash over her unlike anything she’d felt for the past seven years. Her body moved around restlessly on its own volition, causing her to come in contact with the rising tent in his pants more than a few times. 

“You gon’ kill me if ya keep fidgeting gal, I’m tryna be polite here,” he spoke into the crook of her neck before taking a deep inhale of her scent. 

“What if I don’t wan’ you to be, hmm?” 

present

“Hey, gal. I’m comin’ in, and I bought the ole man wit me,” she heard Stack call from the front porch, interrupting her reverie. 

“In the kitchen,” she called back sweetly, using the back of her hand to wipe cornmeal from her cheek and adjusting the dusty apron at her waist. Dammit to hell, she thought she’d have more time to get presentable before they came back. As promised, the men filled her tiny kitchen with their overwhelming presence before she could take two shaky breaths. 

“Ya got it smellin’ good in here, gal. I can’t wait to eat. I’m so hungry my stomach thinks my throat’s cut,” Stack exclaimed reaching at the food on the table. 

She popped his hand and pointed him toward the basin to clean his hands. He chuckled sheepishly and went around the corner to do a rushed job of it, no doubt. Smoke leaned sullenly against the door jamb watching as she moved easily around the kitchen preparing everyone’s plate and pretending she didn’t feel the heat of his gaze on her. 

“Ya look beautiful like this,” he finally said, kicking himself away from his spot and easing up behind her, “We can make this here an evr’yday thing if you’d seriously consider what I asked you this mornin’, baby.” 

“Smoke gone somewhere wit that, I haven’t changed my mind,” she grumbled, turning around to face him but not moving away from his embrace. His hands traced lazy circles at the base of her spine and damn her if she didn’t lean into em. The low smolder in her belly ignited into a wildfire of desire for this vexing man in front of her, and her eyes latched on to the perfect sight of his pouting bottom lip. 

“You ain’t give it enough thought!” 

“I don’t have to, the answer is still no,” she replied quickly, finally moving herself from his hold as Stack rounded the corner. He looking quizzically between the two of them easily noticing the shift in both their energies and deciding then and there that it was none of his goddamn business, especially if it would get between him and the steaming plate of food at his favorite seat at her table. 

“Alright mama, my mitts are clean, can I eat now?” Stack asked, pecking her on the cheek and flashing his damp hands at her. 

“Yes Elias, help ya self,” she giggled. 

They all sat down to eat, and they were transported back to the easy way they all used to be with each other before the sweet embrace of childhood fled, leaving them disoriented and disjointed with one another and themselves. Stories passed easily between them as they recounted the good old days spent cutting their teeth in the dusty roads of the delta.  It was comfortable. She’d forgotten how life with the twins around felt. How just being in their presence filled you with warmth and giddiness. For the first time in a long time, the loneliness was at bay, and she wished she could capture this moment forever. Later, she watched amused as they tidied the kitchen and peacocked for her attention, Stack more so just to get a rise out of Smoke. 

“Sweet thang, ion know why ya waste ya time with this ole coot anyway. Evr’ybody know the second model is better than the first,” Stack called out puffing out his chest and flexing his muscles proudly. 

“Yeah, keep on  talkin’ and I’ma knock ya so hard, you’ll see tomorrow today,” Smoke replied sending a dirty look in Stack’s direction. She laughed raucously, and the sound echoed from the walls and pierced Smoke’s heart. 

“Well well well, this must be the SmokeStack twins I’ve been hearing so much about,” a male voice called from the doorway. Smoke and Stack both reached to unholster their weapons, on high alert. Her eyes bucked as she turned toward the sound.

“Titus!” 

“An’ who in the hell is Titus?” Stack asked, watching her rise and walk toward the tall gentleman engulfing her kitchen entrance. She placed a chaste kiss on his cheek and hugged him sweetly. Smoke shot daggers at them both, turning to Stack with pain, envy, and shock in his eyes. 

“Well, her fiancé of course.” 

[jobean12-blog]

Need You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 500

Summary: You and Bucky get all dolled up for an event and he can barely make it through he needs you so badly.

Author's Note: He looks so yum tonight for the Oscars and here we are again thirsting.Just a little drabble I blame Seb for. Haha! Thanks so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰

Warnings: semi public sex, dirty talk, domish Bucky but he's still soft, a needy quickie.

He presses his mouth to your ear with a warm exhale.

“Doll face.”

“Yes Bucky?”

“Let’s get out of here.”

His hand tightens at your waist and his chest begins to heave. “Don’t make me go another minute without you.”

He keeps you pressed close as he meanders through the crowd, his eyes searching the space for a hidden place.

“Fair warning, doll, I don’t even have a minute of foreplay in me.”

You throw him a flirtatious smirk. “I don’t need it.”

His tortured groan is drowned out by the sound of him kicking the door open and as soon as the it locks behind him he reaches for the zipper of your dress.

With a finesse that could only come from practice he pulls it down, loosening the fabric around your body until it pools at your feet in a luxurious pile.

You turn and he growls out your name.

“Fuck, I could come from just looking at you.”

You gasp as your back makes contact with the wall and his lips travel the slope of your neck and shoulder.

Your back arches on a stuttering exhale, his fingers digging into your hips as he moves his mouth down between your breasts.

Desperate to get you closer, he wedges his thigh between your legs and drags you into his chest. His hands move to your ass, taking hold of your soft skin so he can ride you up and down his thigh.

You writhe around on the thick muscle as he focuses on your breasts, kissing and nipping every sensitive spot. He flexes between your legs, his grip bringing you back and forth, back and forth.

“Bucky,” you breathe out.

“Come on my thigh, baby.”

You suck in a breath and grip the collar of his shirt, his bow tie now askew and his face flushed pink.

“As soon as you’re done coming in your panties, I’m going to put my cock so deep inside you,” he whispers, mouth now an inch from your ear.

Your response is lost in the sounds of your orgasm, hands twisting in the front of his shirt, your mouth gasping against his lips.

He slides you off his thigh and falls to his knees, dragging the damp material down your legs.

“Kick them off doll face. I don’t want anything to keep me from spreading these gorgeous legs.”

While you do as he asks, he starts to pull the shirt from his pants, hastily undoing all the prim trimmings to his tux.

He crowds you against the wall, rubbing the head of his cock through the wetness between your legs and groaning hoarsely into your neck.

Your eyes lock as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until there’s not a breadth of space left between your bodies and before he starts to move his hips he catches your lips with his, whispering, “I love you,” over and over again as he fucks your brains out.

[meanderforth]

Snail Beatz

Say what you will about the giant enemy snail, but you can't deny that he's spitting some mad beats.

[rauspberries]

BIRTHDAY BLUES!

summary: it's spencer's birthday and you promise to make it perfect. unfortunately, fate has other plans. pairing: spencer reid x reader. tags: afab reader, established relationship [kinda, reader n reid r not dating officially], very soft angst, a lot of comfort, reader is having a no-good-very-bad-day, spencer doesn't rly like his birthday :( word count: 1.6k notes: based off of a request from the excuse prompts <3 not as angsty as probably intended but i thought it'd be silly.

You were supposed to be there. You had promised.

Spencer didn’t even like his birthday. The most he celebrated was blowing out the birthday cake that the team got him every year, leaving the celebration behind as soon as his shift ended and he was able to go home. Every year of his life had been filled with some type of challenge, like the bullies when he went to high school at the age of twelve or the fight it had been to try and fit in at the FBI when he was still young.

But you had promised that you’d be there, at his home, to make something good of his birthday. To start his year off correctly, you had said. There had been wonder in your voice as you had spoken about bringing him some silly balloons to breathe in the helium, or how you’d bake his birthday cake yourself from scratch, leaving his mouth water in a “way he’d never be able to replicate.” 

It had actually made him excited. You were his closest friend, his confidante. Of course, your relationship had gotten a bit further than that, unofficially, but he’d always describe you as his friend first, even if every night spent as his apartment was in his bed, wrapped in his arms. It was nice to have someone that even tried to understand his mind, or let him ramble rather than cutting him off as soon as he got into the flow of it. He had taken the day off at your request, spending the day meandering around his apartment and organizing his bookshelves, as if you’d notice. As the hours ticked by, he had let himself get more amped up and excited, busying himself around the house so that everything’d be perfect for the perfect two-person party you had planned for him.

Then seven o’clock had crawled by. Followed by eight o’clock, then nine o’clock. You were now two hours and thirty-six minutes late to the time that you had set. Disappointment and irritation went back-and-forth in his head, an ever-present frown on his face as he paced in front of his couch. He had been stood up before, by girls pretending that they wanted to go on a date with him for a laugh or by so-called friends that found better things to do, however he never would have expected it from you. You seemed so excited. So genuine. He was a profiler, for God’s sake.

At ten o’clock, Spencer runs out of excuses for you and changes out of his nice sweater and pants, sliding on comfortable pajamas instead. At five at minutes past ten o’clock, he’s tucked underneath his duvet, hand curled beneath his cheek as he stares at the wall. Inside his head, he churns through what exactly someone could do in this situation. Proving his age, he decides that the silent treatment is probably best.

It’s twelve minutes past ten o’clock when there’s a knock on his door. Immediately, he knows it’s you. He’s always had some sort of sixth sense that told him when you were near. No hair raising on the back of his neck, no heart thumping harder against his rib cage, just a sense, a feeling. 

Against his better judgement, he pulls himself out of bed. Admittedly, he fakes a sleepy rub of his knuckles against his eyelid, feigning that he had been asleep. He’s always been a bit childish, never able to shake it. It’s the one thing he clings onto as someone who grew up too fast. There’s never been an innocence to him, a hope for a better day a few days later. All he had left was the stubborn need to put his foot down. 

Opening the door, the first thing he sees is the singular balloon in your hand. It floats just a few inches or so above your head, dents in it from the loss of helium over time, the HAPPY BIRTHDAY stamped across the front just slightly withered. For a moment, he allows himself to mentally say some snarky remark about how it clearly encapsulated how he felt. 

That is, until he looks at your face. The mascara that you had (no doubt) put on that morning had started to smear beneath your waterline, your lips stained with cherry-red lipstick that had long dissipated throughout the day. Your eyes were half-lidded as you stared up at him, lips pursed as if you were holding back tears. 

You don’t even give him a chance to speak before you’re rambling, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Spencer.” Not waiting for him to invite you in, you push past him into his apartment, leaving him to watch you in slight surprise and shut the door slowly. 

Fingers shaking, you curl the ribbon of the balloon around the bottom bar of one of his barstools, tying a knot as you continue babbling. “I spent all day trying to bake your cake, but everything just kept going wrong. I found so many recipes online that had good reviews and said they were perfect for knocking people’s socks off, and I just couldn’t do it. I used the entire bag of flour I bought and all I had was multiple cakes that tasted like concrete powder.”

You’re crying now, letting out pitiful sniffles as he watches you with concerned eyes, his arms crossed over his chest as he studies – profiles – you. “And then I was going to go get you a cake, because it was already five o’clock, and you deserved a cake, even if it wasn’t handmade like I said. So I went and found the best bakery in the area, but they couldn’t make one today, and you didn’t deserve a pre-bought cake. So I called so many other bakeries until I found one.”

“I went and got the cake and it was perfect. Gorgeous piping along the edges, calligraphy in icing on the top, amazingly decorated. But then I dropped it when I was going into the balloon shop. I couldn’t even make a good cake and then I dropped the perfect one. Straight onto the icing.” 

Raising your hands, your fingers push away the tears on your cheeks before squeezing at the roots of your hair. Finally, Spencer concedes in the mental argument he was having with you, stepping forward and gently clasping his hands around your elbow, thumb brushing consoling circles against your bare skin.

It’s like you don’t even notice, sad eyes staring up at him as you continue your story through your hiccups. “So I thought, okay, I’ll go get Spence some balloons. I promised him balloons and he shall get balloons. But then they were out of helium. What party store runs out of helium?” It’s childish, whining about all of the misery that you had gone through that day, sobbing about balloons through your hiccups.

“I got you one balloon. That's all I could get. I thought, whatever. Birthdays don’t just become enjoyable because of the physical things, it’s about the people. I got in my car at six, which means I’d get here early. And then I got a flat tire. I called road assistance, but they couldn’t give me an estimated time that they’d be there. I tried to find a cab, but they all just ignored me and drove away.”

You look pitiful, hiccups interrupting your soft sniffles, tears painting your cheeks. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, I swear. I wanted to be here, with you, and give you the best birthday you could ever ask for. You deserved that. I ruined it.” The last words come out as a whimper, which perfectly matches the kicked-puppy look you’ve been sporting since he had opened his door.

Spencer lets out a soft sigh, using the grip on your elbow to pull you into his chest. Immediately, your arms are wrapping around his waist, cheek leaning against him as you sniffle and whine. One of his large hands rubs up and down your spine as he hushes you softly, leaning his own cheek atop your head after pressing a comforting kiss to your hairline. 

After you’ve finally calmed, he places his hands on your biceps, pulling away to look at you and raising his eyebrows. “Are you feeling better?”

You respond with a wrinkle of your nose, brow still furrowed. “Are you mad at me?”

“I was,” he answers honestly. “We both have phones, you know.”

A long groan leaves your lips, hands raising to cover your face. “It died, Spence! And my charger did, too! Please don’t make me talk about it anymore, I’ll cry again.” Your fingers splay so you can look up at him, a stray bang falling into your eyes.

He grins as he reaches up to brush the hair away, fingertips brushing against your forehead before he’s grabbing your hands, pulling them away. “You don’t need to worry. I forgave you the moment I saw you at my door.” A slight lie, but it’s okay. Anything to take away even a bit of your current stress.

“I wanted you to have a good birthday.” You murmur, face still contorted into a full-blown pout.

The fingers holding your wrists pull your hands to his lips, pressing soft kisses to your knuckles. “We still have about an hour and a half left.” He reminds you gently, an amused smile still playing on his mouth. “You can even spend the night and we can act like midnight never happened.”

Sighing, you lean into him, exhaustion taking over, the product of your absolutely dreadful day. “Can I borrow some sweatpants and show you some really bad reality TV? I’ll even let you talk about whatever book you’re reading now until I fall asleep. Not like those are correlated.” 

Finally, a smile sprouts on your face. Any objection that Spencer might’ve had evaporates on his tongue as he nods, placing another kiss to your hairline before giving a soft tug to your hand. “C’mon. Let's get you to bed.”

[witch-hazels-musings]

seeing you get hit

Genre: angst/comfort NEUVILLETTE x GN reader  |  Anthology warning: the reader is punched in the face, kicked (2xs), mention of pain and discomfort / Mesulines are treated unkindly and spoken too derogatorily / Neuvillette obliterates a guy (oh also you wake up in his bed -- fufu) Synopsis: *character* becomes progressively worried about you not returning - as the hours tick by, they notice a commotion has started and find you in distress as they check it out. Quickly they head to where you were and, well, their reaction to seeing you being accosted by someone in the middle of the city, let’s just say they took matters into their own hands

"Sir, please calm down," you said, raising your hands to appease the irate man waving about. You moved to position yourself between him and the Melusine and could feel her trembling as she latched onto your clothes.

"How dare you raise your voice to me!" he shouted, swatting at your hands, forcing you to shuffle backward toward the canal. With how tightly the Melusine stood beside you, it became increasingly difficult to not trip over her.

"I can see you're angry -"

"I'm not angry, I'm annoyed. I want an apology from that - that thing, now!" He jutted his hand toward the Melusine and she hid further behind your leg. Rage billowed off him like salty wind on the high seas, every transgression equalling small cuts that made you wince. You knew there were those who dislike the Melusines, but you never had the disgusting privilege of meeting one - until now.

"I did say I was sorry, sir," she mumbled, to terrified to speak louder than a gentle caress of water over shallow rocks.

"There, will that satisfy you?" you asked, hand against his chest to keep him from moving closer. He locked eyes with you, shoulders heaving, face flush and red. His stare darted between you and her, back and forth, increasing in frustration. You moved until he couldn't see her at all. "Leave."

His lips curled into a feral sneer. "You think you're bravely protecting it, huh? If it's so important, let it face me-"

"Her."

"What?"

"I'm protecting her."

Rage swept over him and, without thinking, you shoved the Mesuline to the side and took the full force of his blow.

---

Neuvillette made his way through the crowd, chin lifted as he carefully took in the people. Some smiled at him, others bowed their heads in dutiful respect. He minded neither, but returned their gestures with a kind nod.

He rarely had intentions when he wandered through the city. It was typical for him to meander like a slow moving river carving a lazy path to nowhere in particular but today he felt a strong desire to happen upon someone. You. One who had grown rather close to him over the last several months, one who, at times, would come by to, 'check in on him,' while he worked, one who found a habit of leaving bottles of mineral-rich water on his desk when he was away. He found your company, pleasing.

Though, so far, his unassuming searching had come up empty. Did you make mention of leaving Fontaine today? He couldn't remember.

Near the canal, frustrated voices billowed on the wind. A crowd had formed in a rather unusual way. He stared, unable to see through the bunched people when something tugged on his leg.

Neuvillette pushed through the crowd. They jumped out of the way and tripped over themselves to allow him through while he looked ahead at the sight beyond their breach and felt the blackness of the sea consume him.

"Monsieur Neuvillette!" the Mesuline shouted, her eyes filled with worry.

---

"Are you okay?" The Mesuline asked, her face inches from yours as you coughed and blinked through the white. A high-pitched ring clogged your ears so you opened your mouth to clear the noise only to gasp at the pain it caused.

"You stupid -- so desperate to go down with those fucking things? Fine!" The man shouted. You looked his way just in time to see his leg fly toward your stomach. It sent you careening into the stone pathway and knocked the Mesuline halfway into the water. You tried to grab her, but she slipped from your grip when you landed on your arm, it bent unnaturally in your tumble. You cried out but that didn't stop him from slamming his foot into your chest.

Gasping, you rolled onto your back and stared at the blinding sky. It hurt to breathe, hurt to think. The Mesuline rushed toward you and you lifted a shaking arm to block them from the man's wrath.

People screamed and rushed forward to grab the man as his foot came down toward you but all you saw was radiant blue rising toward the sky, and from its shimmer came the rain.

A massive wave rose from the canal and covered the land in a shallow, unmoving layer of crystal-clear water. You could make out the bodies of onlookers but they seemed frozen, more like mirages, glistening in quiet stasis. The buildings of Fontaine reflected in the mirror-like water, making your stomach flip, but the hovering figure in the eerie blue turned your skin cold.

"What is - what's happening?" the man asked, panic seeping from him as he searched for familiar ground. He looked at his feet only to shout and stumble onto his backside. "Monsters! I told you! Those things are monsters!" He pointed to the Mesuline who was now securely tucked against your chest. She trembled, buried her face against you and held on so tightly it made you wince.

"You are mistaken," a voice said and the water fluttered, every droplet alight with energy it couldn't bear. "I am the monster you seek."

Through bleary, rain-blinded eyes, you watched the figure descend before the man and, when it was close enough, you recognized its face.

Neuvillette.

Beads of water lept from the basin to reach him like hands pawing to touch even a thread of their so-called God. You could sense the energy in the shallow pool, feel it in every drop of rain that cascaded across your face but none of it touched Neuvillette. He remained - unaffected.

"Iudex ..." the man said, his voice barely audible even in the strange quiet. Senses returning to him, he scrambled to a low, deep bow and splayed his hands beneath Neuvillette's hovering feet. "Monsieur, please, this is all just a terrible mistake."

"Have the rules of Order been unclear to you?"

"I - I don't understand."

"Your crime has been witnessed by many and yet, you stand before me, denying all accusations?"

"P-Please, Monsieur. T-they attacked me, I was just defending myself."

"It appears communication with the accused is going poorly. I shall afford you one final chance before I render judgment."

"Judgement? What-you can't!" The man stood and came up to Neuvillette's hips. "You may be the Iudex, but you can't sentence me! I deserve to be tried. You'll see - you'll see then it was all a mistake."

Neuvillette glanced your way, his eyes narrowing. When he looked back at the man, all the color drained from his face. "By order of -"

"No, wait! Please!" The man raised his hands and Neuvillette did the same.

"I render you, guilty." Power boiled below the surface and set the world rumbling. "Bow your head, and be sanctified," Neuvillette said and with his judgment, a pillar of water burst from below and consumed the man until there was nothing left.

When the waters receded, Neuvillette made his way to you. Each step steady, measured, undisturbing of the waters beneath him. He knelt at your side, laid one hand on your forehead and another on the trembling Melusine who hid further against your body.

"Neu --" you said, pain taking your voice.

"I am here," he hummed and you fell away like the tide.

---

When you awoke, you found yourself surrounded by lapping silk. Cool fabric warmed by your body heat. It hurt to lift yourself up, but only slightly. It seemed your mind remembered the pain of the day before while your body didn't. You touched your chin but it felt normal.

"I see you are awake," a voice echoed in the room but you couldn't see them. Giant rods on each corner of the bed held up a royal curtain that obscured your vision.

You were tempted to slip free from the sheets when the pitter-patter of feet held you in place and from the nothing several Melusines rushed to greet you. Each was more excited than the last. They swarmed you with thanks and laughter, sweeping you up in their joyous voices.

Another being appeared near the edge of the bed, except his presence made you go still. He moved gracefully to sit beside you and instinctually you moved so he had more room. He noticed.

Neuvillette frowned. "I have frightened you," he said, sorrowful as dropped his gaze.

"What? No, I'm not -" You reached for him then pulled back at the last minute. He noticed. "I'm not afraid of you. I swear."

He contemplated your reply for what felt like forever before nodding in acceptance. "I hope you do not mind the accommodations. I had little place else to take you."

You tried to not think about it too much. It was almost certain this was - as you now suspected - his room. "It's fine," you replied and hoped the shadows didn't betray the heat rising in your cheeks.

"I am pleased to hear." Neuvillette smiled and let his eyes drift to the Mesulines surrounding you. "I believe thanks are in order."

"You're the one who saved me though."

"That may be true, yet it was you who protected the Mesulines, was it not?"

Your palm went flush against one of their backs. You didn't think much at the time, it was just - "It was the only thing to do."

"Indeed," he said, his eyes soft, kind, and fixed on your own. You dropped them under the pressure only for your heart to stop when his hand cupped your chin so he could look at you again. "I am grateful."

You looked at him, tried to breathe, tried to force words - any words - through your throat but all you could manage were several shallow nods to which he responded by running his finger across your cheek - leaving you drowning.

[carnalcrows]

SWEET TREATS

pairing: thanos x male reader

synopsis: You and Thanos get high and make a bet.

content warnings: 18+, no actual smut, mostly crack, weed usage, semi-nudity (they stack donuts on their dicks).

word count: 0.7k (its pretty short lol)

It started out as a normal night.

You had a routine with Thanos—hang out at his place, mess around, talk shit, and eat whatever snacks one of you happened to bring. Tonight, you showed up at his door with a box of donuts, the good kind with the custard filling and powdered sugar that got everywhere.

Thanos answered the door in sweatpants and a hoodie, looking like he had just rolled off his couch. “What’s up?”

You lifted the box. “Brought bribes.”

He smirked, stepping aside to let you in. “That depends. Are we talking gas station donuts or real donuts?”

“The hell kinda question is that? I have standards.”

That earned you an approving nod as you strolled past him into the apartment. His place wasn’t fancy, but it was comfortable—lived-in, full of random shit that only made sense to him. Some game controllers were scattered across the floor, the TV was still on from whatever he’d been watching earlier, and a faint smell of weed hung in the air.

“Damn, man,” you said, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto the couch. “Didn’t even wait for me to start the party?”

Thanos grabbed a lighter off the table and flopped down next to you. “Figured you’d catch up.”

And so, you did.

After a few lazy hits, the both of you were comfortably buzzed, passing the blunt back and forth between bites of donuts. The conversation meandered from deep philosophical debates (which superhero had the worst life) to aggressively stupid topics (could a horse wear pants, and if so, how).

Everything was good. Relaxed. Just another night hanging out—until Thanos, in his infinite wisdom, leaned forward and changed the course of history.

"Alright," he said, looking at you with a sudden intensity that was both alarming and hilarious. "New bet."

You took another bite of your donut, already skeptical. “Oh, this should be good.”

Thanos smirked. “Whoever can stack the most donuts on their dick… wins.”

A beat of silence.

You blinked. “What.”

“You heard me.”

“No, no, I did. I just—” You gestured vaguely, like the sheer stupidity of the challenge was too big to be contained by words. “You want us to—what? Balance donuts on our junk like some kind of carnival game?”

Thanos shrugged, completely unfazed. “Scared you’ll lose?”

You sat up, narrowing your eyes. “I’d win.”

“Big talk for a guy who hasn’t even tried.”

“Oh, screw you, I’m in.”

And just like that, the dumbest competition of your lives began.

What followed was a series of events that neither of you would ever be able to explain to another human being.

The concentration. The frustration. The pure, unfiltered determination.

"Dude, stop laughing," you gritted out, trying to balance another donut.

"I'm not laughing," Thanos wheezed, very much laughing.

You threw a pillow at his face. "You're shaking the damn couch, you menace!"

"Not my fault you're weak," he shot back, squinting down at his own tower of donuts with the intensity of a man trying to solve a complex physics equation.

For a moment, silence. The air was thick with tension. Your focus was absolute.

Then—victory.

"HA!" you shouted, hands flying up as the last donut successfully stacked on top of your pile, beating Thanos by one.

Thanos blinked, looking from your donut tower to his, then back to you. Slowly, his expression darkened.

"Motherfucker—"

Before he could finish, he lunged. You barely had time to react before you were wrestling like two idiots, rolling off the couch in a tangle of limbs, crushed donut remains, and wheezy, half-giggled insults.

"Take the L, loser!"

"Screw you, rematch!"

"You wanna cry about it?"

The playfight ended when you both collapsed back onto the couch, exhausted, crumbs everywhere, Thanos half on top of you. He was still grumbling under his breath about his defeat, but you could feel the laughter shaking his shoulders.

You yawned, stretching lazily. "Admit it. I'm the donut stacking champion."

Thanos huffed, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

A comfortable silence settled between you, the warmth of the room mixing with the leftover haze in your brain. Thanos didn't move off you, and you didn't make him (even though his dick was uncomfortably lodged between your thighs). You were both too tired to care.

"...Next time," Thanos mumbled, eyes fluttering shut, "I'm bringing bagels. Just wait."

You snorted, already half-asleep. "You're on."

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT - 4 - Diasomnia]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Happy late V-Day :)

Malleus is forever amused at the many holidays humans entertain. They're certainly festive and unique. This one relies on red, pink, white, and sweets! He's absolutely fascinated by the sheer amount of heart-shaped items and clever cards but the idea of so many sweets turns his stomach a bit.

Just a bit.

The almost-cloying smell of sugar hits his nose and it's nearly enough to make him leave the shop. He reminds himself that he's not required to eat the sweets nor get anything massive and that does well enough to settle his stomach. He stoops to enter, green eyes turned skyward lest he tangle himself in the cute, frilly banners strung back and forth across the store. Sparkly pink pens draw his attention, the tops decorated with hearts, and he wonders if his grandmother would be interested in it.

Perhaps the heart-shaped trinket box next to it? She's always looking for things to sort and contain her hoard. He picks the deepest one, a great red heart, and puts it in his basket along with the pen.

He meanders through the aisles, picking up an obnoxiously adorable pillow for Lilia. It's meant to look like an envelope sealed with a heart sticker and would do well for his back on gaming nights (which are most nights). Silver and Sebek are much harder to buy for, as they're quite practical and not really prone to whimsy like Lilia. Malleus recalls Lilia trying to broaden Sebek's...people skills...and sets his basket between his feet as he peruses the books. Some of the titles are simple and honest but he thinks Sebek would be hurt if he opened How to Make Friends so he opts for Success in Every Situation.

For Silver, who has hobbies but is always wondering how to incorporate things into training exercises, he picks up a crocheting kit and an origami practice book. Both of these things rely on manual dexterity and patience, the perfect compliments to swordsmanship! Satisfied, Malleus rejoins the line. He's distracted, untangling a heart-shaped hanger with curly gold ribbon when he hears it.

He can't UNHEAR it! Not with his fae ears.

How much do you cost? Malleus clucks his tongue in disapproval, careful not to move his feet lest the magic push down into the shop floor and start to splinter it. Because it needs to go somewhere, he's not surprised that it radiates off of him and starts shaking the shelves. Glimpses of light peeking through slats in the front of the shop are snuffed out by darkness as thunder roars in the distance. The shop lights flicker and buzz as if to protest the conversation on his behalf.

The shop goes deathly quiet. It's enough for him to reign in his magic, that cretin's voice no longer grating on his ears. Malleus swallows down the smoke tickling his throat and walks calmly to the front. His shoes echo quietly but pointedly on the floor. He can see the cretin shrinking with every step and it has nothing to do with the fact that he towers over him.

"Be careful asking the cost of things, human," Malleus looks down at the man, "you may find yourself in a situation where the cost is too steep and the unwillingness to pay leaves you worse off than what you started. So ask yourself: what are you willing to pay? Is the price worth it?"

"No," he whispers in the absolute terror Malleus is all too familiar with. "No, it's not."

You were the first one to not look at him in such a way, and the realization hits him when he locks eyes with you. Yes, the man is running--tripping--out of the store but you look glowing and so happy to see him! His heart swells immeasurably in his chest. Fatally, he fears on occasion.

The lights flicker back to life in the shop, sun caressing the outside once more. Malleus apologizes to the people he cut in front of, gesturing for them to resume natural order but they refuse. He thanks them and hands you his basket. Before you can scan anything, Sam slides in to finish the transaction. "After I check out these lovely imps I'm going to close down for a bit and do inventory, check some things. You should grab what you were looking at earlier!"

You give him a curious look but take the opportunity. Sam probably didn't want to say he was worried about his freezers and fridges after that little stunt. Malleus' magic tends to cast a small effect field that wears off when he's not around. You're careful to hide the ice cream cake from Malleus, glad Sam has charmed bags for cold goods.

"Might I interest you in coming to Diasomnia for the holiday, Child of Man?" Malleus tips his head as he walks out the door. "We've had great success keeping Lilia out of the kitchen this time. He's not fond of marshmallows, you see."

"Sounds interesting! I'd love to! I have something to share, anyways."

"As do we!" Malleus takes your hand and teleports you to Diasomnia where you walk into a small feast catered by various places in town. Diasomnia students were picking and conversating. Malleus guides you to the tea room where there five places set. Lilia, Sebek, and Silver had made their plates and a pot of tea. Malleus pulls out your chair for you and takes your plate and his, not giving you time to make your own.

By the time he returns you've set out the heart-shaped ice cream cake.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Malleus!"

"Quite." he smiles down at you, careful to keep his hair from the food as he sets the plate down carefully.

----

Lilia is a bit put out that Valentine's Day doesn't really have any funny gag items like the April fool's day Sebek and Silver loathe. Surely there must be something, right? He can't stop his nose from turning up at the airy sweetness of marshmallows, finding them stuffed damn near everywhere in the store. Marshmallows have no place in his basket but crunchy suckers and candy hearts do. He giggles to himself as he tries on a pair of heart glasses and finds they actually cut the light quite well.

Super cute glasses for super cute him, right?

He gets Silver a cute stuffed squirrel holding a little sign saying 'NUTS ABOUT YOU!' and starts rooting around for something dragon related for Malleus. Lilia's forced to settle for a dinosaur card that says 'I love you THIS BIG! (My arms are short, okay?)' on the inside. Normally he'd get Malleus an ice cream treat but he found the secret stash and doesn't think Queen Maleficia would want him to have too much. Sebek is hard to buy for, as unyielding as Baur, but Lilia thinks a book of exercise challenges will keep him occupied.

Someone had stuffed a heart-speckled, tinsel-rimmed noisemaker near the book and he couldn't be more delighted. Lilia finds a Valentine's-themed confetti popper near fake mailboxes a few aisles over. Sadly, it's the only one of its kind. He consoles himself with a bottle of tomato juice and gets in line.

"How much do you cost? Come now, boy!" Lilia wants to bite his own tongue for saying 'boy' in public like he's old. He's not even 700 yet! Not very cute of him. "Why worry about the price when you don't even have your wallet?" he's waiving said wallet in the man's face.

Being an ex-general, it was nothing to pick his pocket. A mix of genuine skill and fae speed, naturally. Maybe a little magic to get him up to the front of the line. "H-Hey! Give that back!" the guy tries to grab it and Lilia casually flicks it back and forth out of reach.

Neither fast nor smart, this one. Sad.

"I'll trade you," Lilia offers with a sweet smile that belies the fact that he's not playing. "You leave this innocent cashier alone and you get your wallet back. Sounds good, yes?"

The man tries to grab it several more times before Lilia flicks it halfway across the store. It lands about six aisles over. Predictably, the whelp goes to get it.

"Next in line, please!" you call out, the two of you grinning at each other.

---

Silver knows he shouldn't enable his father's late-night gaming but when it comes to Lilia, he doesn't have a lot of ideas. The drinks are limited edition, colorful, and somewhat dessert-y. They claim to have vitamins and zero marshmallows so Silver thinks a can or two won't hurt. He picks up a few bags of popcorn and some 'mystery box' style candy snacks. Trying to guess the flavor of the jelly beans and fruit bars was sure to please Lilia's...unique palette.

Sebek's gift was a gamble; the artwork on the Fae and Folklore was absolutely gorgeous--gilded in gold and watercolor--but he didn't know if the contents would turn into a rant about humans and their inaccuracies. He decided he was willing to take the risk. Sebek was an avid reader and it might give Malleus a moment of reprieve (even though he didn't mind).

He'd really only come into Sam's for those two; he couldn't shop for Sebek while out in town with him and there were practically no energy drinks to speak of. Apparently online ordering was popular and someone had bought up quite a few. Malleus' gift was tucked away in Diasomnia because Silver was still on the fence about giving it to him. It was meant for children but you were supposed to be able to dig up your own bones and fossils like you were excavating.

It's the thought that counts, right?

Bags of mixed nuts catch his eye and he stops to grab a few. He meant to get some when he bought birdseed in town but it slipped his mind. Silver waits patiently in line, nearly lulled to sleep when the chatter melted into background noise.

"How much do you cost?"

He startles himself awake. That voice was so loud and begging for attention! Begging to be funny. Dredges of sleepiness disappeared with every blink; Silver's brow furrowed when lines upon lines of price stickers came into view. Who the hell was asking about the price of something when it was posted all over the store?! Sam was quite diligent in that; he would never leave you guessing!

Silver finds himself very awake when he realizes you're being accosted by this nonsense. He doesn't know if you look more mad or upset but the guy is clearly waiting for you to feed into something you don't want. Something in him burns and Silver finds himself clutching the handle of the basket so hard it almost cracks.

He stomps up to the man, his aurora borealis eyes boring holes into him. "Considering how you'll pay for the lack of consideration and insolence?" Silver asks him. He sets the basket down and crosses his arms.

He's prepared to roll up his sleeves and start swinging. Lilia would approve, he's sure.

"Lack of consideration?" the guy guffaws, "What do you mean--"

"Look around you! Who likes this? Who wants this? They don't!" Silver jerks his head to you, "And they don't!" he throws an arm out to the people behind him. The guy starts to look at different faces and Silver knows when his shoulders slump, he's won. Satisfied but still a little pissed, Silver goes to the back of the line and watches the man like a hawk to make sure he leaves.

"My hero!" you tease when he finally makes it up to you. Silver can only blush.

-----

Sebek didn't really see the point in Valentine's Day because you don't need a dedicated day to care for people. You also don't need to tell them, just show them! He's not quite disgusted at the amount of candy and sweets he sees but he doesn't know how to feel about it. It reminds him of all the times his father gave him candy and sweets unprompted. He didn't not appreciate it but he thought it was a little underhanded that his father was a dentist handing out sweets.

Who wants soft things, anyways? They need to make crunchy Valentine's candy! He finds candy bracelets and his mouth waters a little, imagining the sweetness and the crunch. It was about the only tolerable thing in this store. The rest of it was an infestation of pink and red and cute.

Gross.

He weeds through bad puns and tacky cards until he finds one for his mother and father. Not too sappy but not cold, either. Sufficient. The attempt to find Malleus a decent, non-bedazzled pen was almost futile but he thinks his Lord will like it for letters to Queen Maleficia. Grandfather Baur gets snacks these humans might find a little tough but the crocodilian fae will like the chew and challenge.

Silver was last on his list. Sebek tried to control the disgust on his face as he looked at all manner of pillows---fluffy ones, pink ones, fuzzy ones, soft wispy ones, ones with happy faces on them--on the aisle. Against his better judgement, he began stretching and squeezing them. Being half fae, it was drilled into him not to be a poor gift-giver.

And if he had to stand near pink, fluffy, glittery pillows he wasn't going to half-ass this. As he flipped them and patted them, Sebek was sorely wishing he could've found something while he was in town. Lilia and Malleus came so easily!

WHY MUST SILVER BE A PAIN? DUMB HUMAN!

You know you don't mean that, Sebek thought to himself, frowning a bit as he tested what must've been the twentieth pillow. Confident with his choice but disappointed that it was a pink cloud pillow, he tries not to sulk as he gets in line. He snaps to alertness when he hears the idiot human ask how much do you cost.

He can hear you trying to steer the conversation back to checking out and the guy says 'yeah, I'm checking something out' and Sebek is done.

"YOU ARE INTOLERABLE AND THAT IS INAPPROPRIATE!" he shouts at the man, pointing a finger at him.

There is a pause. The man looks down at his basket. "I'm not taking that from a guy with a pink pillow." he snorts.

Something in Sebek snaps. He takes said pink pillow and closes the space before the guy can put his hands up.

"SAM! SAM?" you call out as feathers explode and start raining everywhere. IT'S A PILLOW!

SAM DOESN'T BUY CHEAP STUFF! HOW DID IT BUST?!

You watch as Sebek effortlessly dodges every sloppy punch, pillow bunched angrily in his fist. The guy's already been smacked in the face, the stomach, just about everywhere one could think to aim a pillow. It lands solidly and you're not sure if it's because of the feathers bunched in what's left of the pillow or how hard Sebek is swinging. All of a sudden, the pillow is abandoned and they're grappling.

Sebek has the upper hand in this, too. It's not really a contest when he can wrap around him, slip under him, and fold him up like a lawn chair. He lets the guy flail in his arms, knees pinned to his chest, and drops him unceremoniously. The guy tries to take Sebek down at the knees and he's unfazed. Sebek goes dead weight on the man, falling unapologetically and knocking the air out of him.

The man is stunned and Sebek picks him up in one arm like a limp toddler. He's muttering curses all the way to the door, lobbing the man out like a sack of potatoes. No one moves as he disappears between the shelf and reemerges with a new pink cloud pillow.

Sam walks out to the sight of Sebek AND HIS FLOOR absolutely LITTERED with feathers. Surprisingly, he's not angry. Sebek is allowed to check out on the condition that he helps you sweep. It wasn't your fault, of course, but you're currently on the clock. He waits to the side, cheeks dusted pink, until you hand him a broom.

"Thanks for that," you smile.

"Say nothing, human!" Sebek stares at the floor, sweeping so hard he cracks the broom handle. Sam just sighs and gets another one from the back.

[mcdynamite]

Kissing has never done all that much for Steve, if he’s honest.

It's just not really something he's ever given much thought to before - the way someone kisses - despite the fact that he's locked lips with plenty of people. For him, kissing has always been something nice, but not particularly special. It's never been earth-shattering. Never taken his breath away, the way people talk about in movies and books. It's just a way to be closer to someone, and it's nice, but it's never anything more than that.

Then, Steve kisses Eddie for the first time, and suddenly he gets it.

They're high when it happens, laying side by side in Eddie's unmade bed while the weed sinks into their bones. Steve loves the way it seems to slow down the world around them - makes everything syrupy and sweet, so he feels every brush of Eddie's fingers against his own in every inch of his body as they pass the joint back and forth.

The casual contact makes him long for more, and when he's high, Steve just...gives into the longing. He lets himself drift closer until they're pressed together so closely that Eddie can hide his face in Steve's uncharacteristically messy hair when he's trying to cover up a snort of laughter in response to Steve's deranged weed-induced musings.

Tonight, they meander their way through a directionless conversation - as they so often do when they get high together - until the joint is so small it nearly singes their fingertips. When Eddie finally sits up to stamp it out in the ashtray on the bedside table, Steve tries not to miss the feeling of Eddie's body against his own too much, knowing it'll be back soon enough.

"I'm thinking of handing over the DM throne to Will for the next oneshot, after we finish this campaign," Eddie says, speech slow and thoughtful as he puts out the blunt. "Think he'll be good at it."

Steve just hums, eyes heavy-lidded, gaze fixed on the curls he wants so badly to run his fingers through, just to know what it feels like. He's high enough to not care about the consequences when he decides fuck it, and reaches out to feel the soft ringlets beneath his fingertips.

"You're good at it," he muses - a delayed response to Eddie's comment. If Eddie is bothered by the way Steve is carefully petting his hair, he doesn't show it. Instead, he turns back to look down at Steve with a soft smile that makes Steve's insides feel all gooey.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, a hint of a smirk overtaking the softness. "You ready to admit that you like watching me play my little nerd game, Harrington?"

Steve blames the quiet whine that escapes his throat on the weed, along with the way he honest-to-God pouts in response to Eddie's words. He tugs on a lock of Eddie's hair petulantly. "Don't like it when you call me that."

Eddie's face does something strange then, and Steve can't quite parse out what it means with the weed making his brain all foggy. He looks...surprised? Fond? Maybe both?

"Sorry, Stevie," he replies, teasing but somehow genuine at the same time. Steve smiles dopily, an expression that Eddie returns. "That better?"

Satisfied, Steve nods. Hums in affirmation. "Yeah. I like that one."

And it's true. Steve loves when Eddie calls him Stevie, because Eddie always sounds so fond when he does, and it makes Steve's heart feel too big for his chest.

"Oh, yeah?" Eddie asks, still grinning as he leans down until he's propped up on one elbow, hovering just over Steve on the bed. "What else do you want me to call you, hm? Stevie? Steve? M'lord?"

The last one makes Steve laugh and close his eyes, happy to bask in the sound of Eddie's voice as he floats along with their conversation.

"Sir Steven? Sweetheart?" Eddie continues, and Steve's heart jumps just a bit at the second one. Then, Eddie murmurs, "Baby?" 

And Steve's eyes fly open.

Steve stares at his friend with wide eyes - lips parted as a soft, punched-out oh escapes him - and it's weird, is the thing. Because Steve has been called baby before, lovingly by his grandmother when he was still a little boy causing mischief while his parents weren't watching, meanly by boys on the playground when he cried over something silly like a scraped knee…and when he got older, teasingly by the girls he took on dates.

It's not a new name for him, but it feels groundbreaking nonetheless.

Because the word sounds so much better coming from Eddie's mouth than anyone else's. It's soft, and fond, and knowing, and...

It's longing.

"Yeah,” Steve croaks. "Yeah."

"Which one? Sir Steven?" Eddie asks playfully, cocking his head to the side like a puppy. He grins maniacally when Steve huffs and shakes his head in disappointment. "No? Which one was it, then, that you liked the most?"

"Eddieeee," Steve complains, burying his flushed face into the pillow and avoiding his friend's gaze. "You know which one."

Eddie shakes his head in an almost scolding manner and Steve is convinced he must've moved closer, because Steve can feel Eddie's breath against his skin, and the air in the room feels about a hundred degrees hotter.

"Nuh-uh, Stevie," Eddie says, poking him playfully in the ribs. "You gotta tell me which one."

Steve hesitates, feeling more and more self-conscious by the second. He sort of wants to hide, but he also really wants Eddie to call him that again. It's probably thanks to his intoxicated brain that he allows himself to answer truthfully. "Baby," he murmurs, uncharacteristically shy.

"Yeah?" Eddie says, voice and smile softening in tandem. "You like when I call you baby, Stevie?"

Steve stares up at him with wide eyes, hardly able to believe this is really happening, and nods. "Yeah. That one."

Eddie is so close, now, that Steve can feel the warmth that emanates from his skin; can see the flecks of gold in his eyes amongst the molten chocolate brown. He's got freckles - Steve realizes. Tiny little dots across the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks that form constellations on his skin. Steve thinks, maybe a bit deliriously, that he would be perfectly happy spending hours tracing them, the way astronomers of old once traced the stars.

"Eddie..." he breathes, heart pounding as he begins to feel more and more desperate for...for something. Anything to let him know that he's not the only one succumbing to the gravitational pull between them.

Eddie blinks slowly, and his eyes widen as though he's just realized something important. Steve watches his throat bob nervously before Eddie finally whispers, "Yeah, baby?"

Steve inhales sharply through parted lips - a soft, plaintive gasp that draws Eddie's eyes to his lips, and-

Oh.

That's what Steve wants, isn't it?

"I-" Steve tries, helpless to stop his own gaze from falling on Eddie's lips - pink and parted and just a little bit chapped, and so, so close.

"Baby," Eddie says again, and this time it's different. Unintentional. Like Eddie said it without meaning to. And maybe it's just the weed, but Steve swears he can feel the word burrowing its way into his chest and settling around his heart like a blanket. It makes his whole body feel warm - something only made worse by the hot coal of desire that begins smoldering low in his gut.

He's so lost in it all that he can't even bring himself to feel embarrassed when he whispers, "Please."

Steve waits with bated breath until finally, any remaining nervousness retreats from Eddie's eyes, and Eddie smiles in that way that makes Steve's stomach flutter. It's such a pretty smile. Steve can only watch as it grows closer, going cross-eyed for the briefest moment in his quest to to stare at Eddie's lips until suddenly his eyes are fluttering shut, because...because...

Because Eddie kisses him with lips still curled into a smile, and Steve thinks - utterly nonsensically - that feeling Eddie's lips against his own is so much better than just looking at them. The thought makes him giggle, just a bit, and he finds himself grinning into the kiss, too.

They part for a moment so Steve can let out another quiet giggle, and Eddie seems to pause for a moment, smiling down at Steve with poorly concealed affection. "Baby," he murmurs reverently, and then he's leaning down to capture Steve's lips in another kiss.

This time, Steve is ready for it, but it draws a muffled whimper out of him nonetheless. His nose fills with the scent of weed and cigarettes and cheap cologne - the smell of Eddie - and it's so overwhelmingly good. He lets his lips fall open on a gasp...doesn't close them when Eddie tentatively brushes his tongue against Steve's own. He shuts his eyes, because the press of Eddie's hand to his cheek and Eddie's chest to his own feel like so much more like that.

Eddie breaks the kiss to gasp in a breath, and inexplicably, that's what really sends every last bit of restraint in Steve's brain packing. It's so simple, so ordinary - the soft, quick sip of air Eddie takes in. It's a breathy little sound that Steve has heard from countless others before, but maybe that's why it puts him in this unfamiliar chokehold of wanting.

This isn't just anyone.

This is Eddie.

And Eddie is making those quiet, lovely little sounds because he's kissing Steve, and Steve is very rapidly realizing that he is utterly incapable of being normal about any of this.

He feels his cheeks go hot as he forces his heavy limbs to move so he can tangle his fingers in Eddie's curls, holding him close (because Steve thinks he might die if Eddie stops kissing him, now). And it's bliss. It's addictive. It's ruinously tender, and Steve feels himself unraveling from within. Feels the knots in his heart - left behind by absent parents, cruel friends, and distant girlfriends - turn to dust at the gentlest brush of Eddie's lips.

He whimpers into Eddie's mouth and clings to him even tighter, feeling his throat grow strangely tight as his eyes sting at the corners, and when Eddie pulls away he's got a small furrow in his brow, just under his bangs. 

"Stevie?" Eddie murmurs. His eyes dart to Steve's cheeks, and when he brushes his thumb along the skin just under Steve's eye, it drags a bit of wetness with it. Only then does Steve realize...he's crying.

And Eddie is wiping away his tears.

"I..." Steve croaks, eyes wide and spilling more tears with every blink. He drags his hands down from Eddie's hair to rest on his chest, beginning to curl into himself as the embarrassment sinks in.

Christ, he's crying. And all they've done is kiss.

Eddie's frown deepens, but he doesn't pull away completely. Instead, he lets their noses brush and breathes, "Baby..."

Steve's breath hitches.

"You're shaking, sweetheart," Eddie continues, still brushing Steve's tears away with gentle fingers. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Steve gasps hurriedly, because as far as he understands, it's the truth. "Nothing's wrong, I just..." He closes his eyes. Swallows the lump in his throat and admits with a trembling voice, "I didn't know it could be like this."

He opens his eyes and sees Eddie's expression soften, but the concern remains. "What do you mean?"

"I just..." Steve tries, sniffling and letting out a quiet, distressed laugh. He slams his eyes shut again and rubs them roughly with his palms, trying to force the tears back into his body. "Jesus, this is fucking embarrassing, man."

"Steve..." Eddie murmurs. He sounds sad. Conflicted. Like he's not sure what to do or how to help - if he should stay or go - and that just won't do, because Steve is certain he'll drift away on the breeze without Eddie to ground him. He's got to try to explain, even with his thoughts still feeling syrupy slow from the weed.

He wants to tell Eddie that he's kissed dozens of people before, but kissing them never felt like this. He wants to explain that he's used to taking the lead, and that it's nice having someone else set the pace, for once. He wants to tell Eddie about the way most people he's kissed have done so - frantically...lustfully. Kissing has always been a simple means to an end. And it's never made Steve feel like this.

What he actually manages to say is slightly different, though.

"No one's ever kissed me like they love me, before."

His eyes are still covered by his own hands, so he can't see what is surely a stunned expression on Eddie's face, but he can hear the way Eddie gasps in response to Steve's words.

It’s too much, he thinks. He's said too much, fast-forwarded too far into the movie. It's too early to be talking about love. Steve knows this. It's just...

His stupid, floaty little brain can't envision a world where someone kisses the way Eddie does without being hopelessly, irrevocably in love.

"Shit," Steve breathes after several minutes of silence. Or maybe it's several seconds. He really doesn't know. Time feels funny, when he's high. "I know that's, like, way too much. I'm too much. I don't know why I-"

"Steve," Eddie interrupts, and Steve snaps his mouth shut. He feels Eddie's hands wrap carefully around his wrists to pull them from his eyes. Eddie is being so careful with him...like he can't see that his tenderness is exactly the thing that’s ripping Steve apart at the seams.

Steve wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to drag Eddie back down and kiss him until he can't breathe. Until Eddie's sweetness becomes warm and comforting instead of feeling like the scalding heat of jumping into a hot tub after a dip in the cold waters of the pool.

"Baby, look at me," Eddie says softly.

Steve is helpless but to obey.

Eddie's gaze is sad but kind when Steve finally meets it with his own. He's got the barest hint of a smile on his pretty lips - the same ones Steve so desperately wants to feel against his own, again - and Steve feels his stomach swirl with something he can't quite describe.

"It's not too much," Eddie continues, voice steady. "And neither are you, okay? You, Steve Harrington, are never too much. Not to me."

The words settle over Steve like a blanket, and he can't decide whether it's comforting or suffocating. He just wants to stop talking about things so they can move on. He just wants Eddie.

"Eds..." he rasps desperately. "I don't- I just want-" He cuts himself off with the hitching breath of what may be a sob. He's not really sure, at this point.

"What can I do, honey?" Eddie says, and he really needs to stop with the pet names, or Steve might genuinely fracture into pieces. "What do you want?"

Steve is sunk too deep into the syrupy slow feeling of the weed - too desperate to feel Eddie pressed against him again - to do anything but tell the truth.

"Just want you," he says.

Eddie smiles - eyes crinkling at the corners - and Steve breathes the sight in like oxygen. "You have me, baby," Eddie murmurs. He's rubbing small, comforting circle into the sensitive skin of Steve's wrists now, and it's perfect. It's wonderfully, disgustingly perfect.

"I do?" Steve asks dumbly. His brain feels fifteen seconds behind everything, but he thinks that's probably okay. Eddie seems to be just fine waiting for him to catch up.

"Yeah, Stevie," Eddie chuckles quietly. "Had me for a long time, now. Just wasn't sure if you would want me the way I wanted you."

"You want me," Steve says breathlessly, more to himself than to Eddie. "You wanna kiss me."

Eddie's resulting laugh is a bit louder, a bit brighter, this time. "I do," he says. The sadness is fading from his eyes, giving way to something that looks an awful lot like elation. Steve remains still and watches, entranced, as Eddie carefully hauls himself up until he can swing a leg over Steve's to straddle him.

Still smiling broadly, Eddie leans down until their faces are mere inches apart, studying Steve with those big, brown eyes. "You gonna let me?" he asks Steve, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Steve nods, lips parted in surprise he can't quite seem to shake, and Eddie's expression softens.

"Gonna let me kiss you like I love you, Stevie?" Eddie whispers.

Steve's not sure when, exactly, his tears had begun to dry up, but he knows they must have at some point, because they're returning with a vengeance, now. "Please," he breathes.

Eddie shifts, and Steve expects Eddie to go right back to kissing him, but that's not what he does.

Instead, Eddie releases one of Steve's wrists and cups his cheek tenderly. This time, the feeling of his thumb brushing the tears away is a familiar one, and it makes Steve smile dopily.

"You know the reason I kiss you like I love you?" Eddie asks. Steve shakes his head and tracks Eddie's gaze as it drifts towards the place where his fingers are still wrapped around Steve's wrist. His lips quirk into a smile as he uses his grip to pin Steve's hand to the mattress, right beside Steve's head, and laces their fingers together.

Their noses are brushing, now, and Eddie's hips are resting on Steve's, and Eddie's hair has fallen around them like a curtain to keep the rest of the world out, and it's so much. Eddie is everywhere, and he's everything, and Steve is completely, unquestioningly in love with him - probably has been in love with him for ages, now, and just never let himself think too hard about it.

"I kiss you like I love you, Steve Harrington," Eddie breathes, and their lips brush as he speaks. "Because I love you."

And the thing is…Steve has spent his entire life wondering what it would feel like to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was loved. It's something that's eluded him for twenty years.

So it's all the more miraculous when Eddie kisses him again, and suddenly, Steve knows. He knows that Eddie Munson loves him. He feels it in the way Eddie kisses him slowly and deliberately, like it would never have crossed Eddie's mind not to. He feels it in their linked hands, in the way Eddie squeezes his hand when Steve makes a desperate, wanton sound into his mouth.

He feels it when Eddie brushes the hair out of his eyes and smiles before kissing Steve's forehead, then his nose, and then his lips again.

Feels it when Eddie's lips begin to wander down his neck.

When Eddie sucks a mark into the thin skin above his collar bone, just because Steve begs him too.

When Eddie pulls Steve's shirt over his head with careful hands, then lets Steve do the same, because Steve needs the intimacy of skin on skin.

He feels it when Eddie stops Steve's wandering hands from venturing too far south with a firm grip and apologetic eyes, because Eddie wants him - of course he does - but not when they've been smoking. Not when there's even the slightest chance that Steve might wake up and regret it in the morning.

And he hears it, too, later that night when they're laying in Eddie's bed exchanging soft, sleepy kisses, unwilling to drift off and let the night end, just yet.

Their legs are woven together - bare, aside from their boxers - and Steve has lost track of how long they've been tangled up in each other like this. He doesn't particularly care, though. He's pretty sure he could happily spend the rest of his life exactly like this.

"Love you, Stevie," Eddie whispers against his lips. They both smile into the next kiss, and Steve's heart is full to bursting, because he believes it. He knows, now, what it feels like to be loved...to be adored.

"I love you," he murmurs in reply, relishing in Eddie's sharp intake of breath. He giggles a bit, for no reason other than the pure joy that's been coursing through his body all night. "God," he laughs. "I fucking love you, Eddie Munson.

Eddie is quiet for a moment before his face splits into a grin that could rival Steve's own, and he's so goddamn beautiful that Steve almost feels like crying again.

He doesn't cry, though. He just watches adoringly as Eddie smiles and nudges Steve's nose with his own. "Yeah, baby?" Eddie teases.

"Yeah, Eds," he answers simply.

And he's pretty sure Eddie knows - is pretty sure Eddie can feel it - because Steve kisses him for the umpteenth time that night, and he pours every ounce of his heart into it. 

Steve kisses Eddie like he loves him, because he does. God, help him, he does.

And Eddie?

Eddie kisses Steve like he loves him back, and Steve gets it now, because it’s more than just a kiss.

It’s perfect.

It’s earth-shattering.

It’s everything.

--

Shout-out to @lyphyshard for the beta!

For more of my Steddie blurbs and one-shots, check out my masterlist!

[alchemistc]

I decided to write it. Thank you all for enabling encouraging me. MCD implied even though I'm still team Not Gonna Happen

read on ao3

grief in two parts

Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life. - Anne Roiphe

Eddie's snores drift in from the hallway.

Tommy's used to the noise of a firehouse full of exhausted men, the noise of a full barracks, he's lived an entire life in close proximity to a minimum of six to ten other people. It's just -

He's not used to it in this context: Evan wrapped carefully around him, still sniffling like he can pretend Tommy hasn't seen him a sobbing, sloppy mess multiple times in the past week alone. Tommy doesn't know why he bothers, except -

Except he's been hiding his delicate underbelly for decades. He's just not used to seeing Evan do it.

He hasn't paid attention to Evan doing it.

God. They'd been so certain they knew each other. And then so sure they didn't.

And now they're in this limbo where they're trying: to learn, to understand, to know, to not fall into those bad habits and the patterns that become a glaringly obvious tell.

Eddie might have a deviated septum, Tommy thinks to himself - wonders if anyone has ever pointed out to him that his snores are kind of concerning - and Evan snorts against Tommy's chest, his lips curving up right under Tommy's nipple, and it's been a week and a half, and there's been so much going on, and Tommy hasn't brought it up because they're mourning, they're figuring things out, they're sleeping in Eddie's old bedroom while Eddie snores on the couch even though Tommy has a perfectly serviceable bed of his own thirty minutes away.

Evan shifts against his leg, and Tommy raises a brow when he repeats the motion, hips circling, pelvis rucking back and forth, the quiet moment of grief switching gears as Evan ruts against Tommy's thigh.

"Evan," Tommy hisses, blinking rapidly when, a moment later, Evan tilts his head to latch on to a nipple. "Jesus Ch-."

"Shh," Evan hums, and tilts his face up to meet Tommy's gaze. Mischievous, devilish, radiant as the sun.

Eddie's snore stutters, volume increasing until the sound stops altogether, and in the dead silence Evan hitches his leg up, rolls his hips, curls his fingers into the bare skin beneath the hem of Tommy's sleep shirt.

"He's still asleep," Evan assures him, and Tommy can't help the tingly feeling along his spine when Evan smirks back at him.

There are a thousand reasons not to. Starting with "sex is always a great distraction for us when we have bigger issues", meandering into "the man you consider a father just sacrificed his life to save mine and we haven't talked about it", landing somewhere around "your relationship with the man snoring down the hall makes the green monster residing in the pit of my stomach loud and angry".

"Evan," he hums again, and watches the furrow between Evan's brow deepen. This, he's learned, is a sign. A sign that Evan Buckley is working his way towards anger, annoyance, outright desperation.

Evan pulls himself loose. Shifts his weight. Turns over to his back, knocks his head against the pillow a few times. "Fine. Whatever."

Tommy feels cold without the weight of Evan against him. Feels cold when confronted with the chill in Evan's gaze before he closes his eyes.

Eddie's snore breaks the silence, and Evan twists to face Tommy again. "Do you just not want to have sex with me?"

It's a stage whisper, at best, and they hadn't bothered to close the bedroom door so there's every chance Eddie could wake up and hear a whole conversation, instead of murmurs behind a door.

They're in Eddie's bedroom. Former bedroom. Whatever.

He wants to believe Evan when he says there isn't anything there, but the problem is even if it's completely platonic from both ends of the equation Tommy still feels like second fiddle. Still feels like he'll never stack up to almost eight years of a friendship forged in blood and sweat. Still feels like the man down the hall could snap his fingers and steal away this tiny sliver of happiness Tommy is trying to allow himself to have.

It doesn't matter if Eddie would. Just that he could.

Tommy opens his mouth. Closes it. Rolls his jaw and fights the urge to bolt.

"Tommy."

Snappish isn't a word Tommy would have used to describe Evan, before. Bratty, maybe, and fully aware of it, but Tommy has always enjoyed that, indulged it, fed into it because oftentimes it ended with one or both of them panting and sated. The tone has changed. He's not playing games, this time around, not dancing around the issue the way both of them had before.

Tommy shifts to face Evan. Thinks about the way his stomach had twisted, earlier tonight, watching Evan and Eddie slide around each other in the kitchen, working as a unit while they recalled fond, bittersweet memories. The annoyance in Evan's eyes snaps, at whatever he sees in Tommy's gaze, the brows furrowing a different way now as he slips a hand across the sheets to slide over Tommy's neck.

"I'm...overwhelmed," Tommy admits, as the space between their faces gets smaller, Evan sliding closer to gap the distance. "You just spent an hour crying, Evan, my mind wasn't really -." He pauses. Forces his hands to unclench, tries not to let the tremor in them be too noticeable as he grabs for a fistful of Evan's basketball shorts to tug him close. "Of course I want to have sex with you," he murmurs, and ignores the way Evans breath hitches, the way his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. "I'm almost never not interested in having sex with you."

Evan's tired, he can tell. Crying about your dead dad for an hour really takes it out of you. He's tired enough that he has to mull the sentence over for a minute, and Tommy considers rewording without any double negatives in the mix. They're not great at communicating.

Sex was always easier.

He doesn't know how to bring that up without pissing Evan off.

"So this is... one of those rare times you don't." It's not quite a question, and there's a bit of a huff to the end of it, like Evan is also badly attempting to keep the peace.

He's in his own head, is what it is. Eddie'd gotten the fun, fond reminiscences, the tearful laughter, and Tommy had been there too, had even told them some stories they'd never heard before.

But Tommy had gotten fried, sad, heartbroken Evan, clutching at Tommy like he was afraid he'd disappear. He'd gotten the full scope of Evan's hurt, anger, loss, and he doesn't quite know what to make of the difference. If there is one. If it even matters who gets which parts of Evan. Not when Tommy wants it all.

(You got both, he reminds himself, and tries to convince himself that was always the case.)

"Feels like I'm taking advantage of the circumstances," Tommy whispers, now that the space between them has dwindled enough to know he'll still be heard that way.

Eddie's snores pick up volume. Maybe it's the couch? That thing isn't exactly the most comfortable to sleep on.

Tommy remembers the Boils debacle, and takes a moment to remind himself how fucking grateful he'd been to see Eddie in the aftermath, when Evan was so stone-cold with grief Tommy hadn't known where to even find a fissure to break him loose.

That's the worst of it. How grateful he feels, knowing Evan's people are here for him. How he can't sort the gratitude from the envy.

Evan sits up, jostling Tommy's arm free, his own hands retreating from Tommy's skin, and Tommy's ninety-three percent certain he's about to leave, but instead he takes two strides to the door. It swings silently on its hinges, snicks closed.

Evan settles back onto the bed in a sitting position, criss cross applesauce with a hand held over his ankle, and Tommy feels exposed, lying in repose.

Which is how he's supposed to feel, he reminds himself. If they want this to work - if Tommy wants this to work - they're both going to have to say and do things that make them feel cracked open and vulnerable.

Closing the door on Eddie was Evan's concession. Tommy should return the favor.

"Everything is - is so messed up," Evan starts. "I don't know how long Eddie is staying, and I don't know what I'm gonna do the first time I walk through the bay doors and Bobby isn't -." His words catch in his throat. More tears well at the corners of his eyes and Tommy wants to reach out, wipe them away, comfort him. "And I don't know where we stand because you're - you're here, and you said some words, and you hold me when I'm sad but you won't - you're not -." He trails off, frustrated. "I can't just drown in grief, Tommy. I need to - I have to -" The noise he makes is so self deprecating Tommy wants to soothe it away. Smash it with a hammer once it's back is turned. "I want to have a life, Tommy. And, yeah, maybe not the most appropriate time to be feeling so freaking horny, but I'm not exactly the picture of mental health on a good day."

The laugh escapes his throat before he can help it. A snort follows, and then a peel of something closer to a giggle, and before Tommy knows it he's in fucking stitches, leaning his weight on his knees in a desperate attempt to calm down, except now Evan is laughing, too, infectious, boisterous, the laugh that had pulled Tommy in, hook line and sinker, over a year ago now.

"It's not -." Evan presses fingers to his eyes, tries to look serious, fails miserably. "It's not like Bobby would expect me to grieve any other way."

That sobers Tommy up in a hurry, because he hasn't found the right time to tell Evan exactly what happened there at the end. And Evan hasn't asked.

Also. He has no fucking clue what Evan means.

"What?"

Evan blinks. Purses his lips. Raises a hand, waits for Tommy to do the same so they can press their palms together. It's new, and Tommy isn't feeling particularly great about its origin, but it's worked to settle them on even ground for a few of the rougher conversations they've had since... Since.

"In the interest of full disclosure, I'm a reformed slut."

Tommy hates the word, hates the joking way the words tip from Evans lips. But. They'd said they wanted to get to know each other, and then spent six months not doing that. He can work on the language later.

"Bobby fired me once," he says, and it's soft, quiet, tinged with a kind of bittersweet amusement that Tommy would spend years trying to understand. "For stealing the ladder to hook up with a girl from a call on a roof."

Tommy blinks. Tommy swallows. Tommy's brow furrows in when he bites his lip.

"I'm - I use sex. I know I do. As a distraction, as a crappy way of trying to communicate my feelings, as a desperate attempt to feel, like... important. It's - I'm better, now, but I know it's still..." He sighs, fingers drifting, sliding to wrap around Tommy's wrist. "I want to be close to you right now, and I'm also sad, and I also really, really want you to put your dick in me."

"You have such a way with words," Tommy jokes, and then pauses when the expression on Evan's face plummets. Honesty. Openness. Vulnerability.

Shit.

"Full disclosure? I'm gonna try everything I can to make you loud. And I have a funny feeling that's gonna piss you off."

It takes him half as long as the last time to figure out what Tommy isn't saying. The head tilt is unexpected. So is the smirk tucked behind his wagging tongue. "Seriously?" he asks, and one hand twists into the fabric at Tommy's knee before it slides up, up.

"I never claimed to be a rational man."

He hasn't claimed to be an insane one, either, but the evidence sure is stacking up.

"But you're still here," Evan points out, and Tommy doesn't have many rational thoughts left - not with Evan's hand still travelling, or the thought of waking Eddie up percolating in Tommy's hindbrain.

Tommy realizes for maybe the first time in a week that he has his own house. That Eddie could have stayed here, and he and Evan could have made it work for a few days somewhere else. Had he ever even thought to suggest it?

"I'm still here," Tommy murmurs, and presses in to catch Evan's bottom lip between his teeth.

---

"Ow."

The banana bounces off the side of his head, wobbles in the air, hits the corner of the counter at an angle and makes an unappealing squished noise as it finds the floor.

Eddie gives him the bitchiest look Tommy's seen a straight man make in years.

(Has to remind himself he's feeding into stereotypes he's been trying to shed his entire fucking life.)

"Seriously?" Eddie asks, and Tommy has the decency to scrounge up a blush at the tips of his ears. Once they'd really gotten into it, Tommy'd sort of forgotten his threat, but clearly he'd made it happen anyway, if the stink eye he's receiving is anything to go by. Tommy shouldn't feel so smug. Maybe one day he'll get over it.

He's trying to decide between contrition he doesn't feel, and a snide comment that will definitely go over Eddie's head, when Evan stomps his way into the kitchen holding the stray sock he's been complaining about no one picking up from behind the bathroom door for four days now. He's got it pinched between forefinger and thumb, held out and away like they're fifteen and he knows exactly what that sock has been used for, when in reality one of them definitely gathered up dirty clothes and just missed it in the dash to get out and allow someone else the lone shower in the place.

Tommy makes a mental note to remind Evan that if they wanted free reign of a bathroom, his is more than serviceable.

"Three days," Evan says, and waves the sock in Eddie's face. If his expression is anything to go by, it doesn't smell like roses. "Three days I've been asking -."

Tommy interrupts, "Four, actually, but babe, that's definitely your sock."

Eddie manages to mouth a teasing 'Babe' back at Tommy while Evan turns a thunderous look on him. "It is not."

He says "not" like there are three syllables in the word, and Tommy has to choke down the urge to smack the hand holding the sock away and press him against the kitchen table for a kiss.

This he knows. This he's familiar with - the argumentative banter that usually led to them being late somewhere. He's glad they haven't lost it entirely. He's glad Evan isn't drowning, like he's been worried he might.

"How would you know, anyway? You been peeking in Eddie's sock drawer?" It's - oh, it's a challenge, a tease, just a slight nudge of a reminder that Evan had been jealous, too. Maybe not for the same reasons, but they've both been there.

"Technically it's a sock section of a duffle bag," Eddie points out, and Tommy would love to throw all caution to the wind and lift Evan up on that fucking counter right now, maybe resolve the jealousy issues with an audience. Eddie seems to realize he's lost both of their focuses. "Yeah, I'm gonna just. Go be somewhere not here."

"Without rinsing your dirty dishes?" Evan asks, and just like that, they're off again.

Christ.

The two of them living together would be a goddamn nightmare.

Tommy settles in to watch them squabble, and wonders if Bobby would consider his promise to take care of Evan satisfied.

[catsoupki]

A WARM SHOWER (1.5K) AO3

pairing - katsuki bakugou x reader

synopsis - bakugou has hated rainy days for as long as he can remember. but now, when droplets of water trace his skin, when the clouds cast a shadow over him, he remembers you and your warmth.

cw - prohero!bakugou, referenced side character death, reader has a quirk (inspired by weathering with you), female pronouns, hurt/comfort, reuniting !!!!!!!!! HAPPY ENDING !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

a/n - sorry for disappearing for so long ... :( school has just been an ass but enjoy this ! i'll try to do sth for 420 too !

taglist - @staraxiaa @hatsukeii @cashmoneyyysstuff i miss u guys sm i hope you're doing well

Bakugou’s feet are firmly planted on the moss-covered concrete, he stares at the tiles, worn down by the weather. When he returns to his upright position, there was a brief window of time when the umbrella on his shoulder couldn’t shield him from the rain. His hair whips like sand in the wind, back and forth with force. He looks at the bouquet of flowers he’s laid down, drenched down to the stem, leaves somehow still attached despite everything. Petals of white, pink and yellow stand out like a sore thumb on the muted grave. Sighing, he doesn’t hear his own voice. He lets his mind meander, and, he briefly wonders how sad you are. It’s been raining non-stop for the past three days, grey clouds never letting the sunshine through, not even for a moment. 

He looks back at the tombstone, your last name etched onto gravelly stone, an unexplained sense of heaviness seeps into his eyes. He entertains a guilty, fleeting thought— he’s glad your sister is dead. A child shouldn’t die, he knows that more than anyone else, but the selfish part of him, the unheroic side, is glad that you’re alive. It doesn’t matter, not as much, that you aren’t alive with him. But the fact that you’re existing, out there, outside of a coffin, above the ground, doing something mundane, like going to work and washing the dishes, it instils comfort into him like no other. 

Sure, he would have rathered that you went to work with him, or that you did the dishes with him, but the fact that you can keeps his feet planted on the mossy earth. 

He’s bowed thrice by now, and he should be lighting the candles in front of your sister’s tomb next, but the rain prevents him from doing so, let alone the howling wind, sending trees swaying, threatening to tumble down. 

He looks at the picture of your smiling sister, a person he’s met twice, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing here. It’s Wednesday, and it’s his off-day. Why is he spending the time he gets off the clock here servicing you and your sister? 

She was a really quiet child, she never screamed or cried, her voice was always soft. Social anxiety had its grip on her from a young age, almost rendering her unfit for public school, but she insisted on going to the same one that you went to. You’d always tell him about the story of her first day in middle school. He had heard that story many times, but he’d listen to you intently as if it were unheard of. 

“She gripped onto my dress until she tore a hole through the fabric, it was my favourite one! But she was so scared. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t leave her behind but I was gonna be late to work. I didn’t want her to get bullied for needing her sister to walk her everywhere, so I settled with a deal. I told her that I’d be there first thing when school finished. And I was! I was the first person in line that day, packed like a damn sardine by the parents, I even had to take a half-day off ‘cause school ends so early apparently. But her toothy grin makes it worth it.” 

She never made it to her first day of high school, and you stopped talking about that story after she died. Bakugou wishes that he could’ve had more time to spend with your sister, he wishes that he could’ve been around her more, he wishes that he would’ve been known as her uncle. 

This longing for something that never was strangles his heart like Tomura had, regret, rue, wishful thinking. He knows that his next day isn’t guaranteed, not when he’s a hero. The people need Him, the nation needs Him, and they outweighed you. A stupid mistake on his part, and if he could rewind time so he’s standing in your studio apartment again, he would have caught your hand and never let go. His quirk isn’t about time, though, instead it’s about leaving destruction in his wake, reducing the things around him to ruins beyond recognition. 

He left because he feared for you whenever his name is scorched onto alleyways by villains out for blood, whenever his moniker is used in conjunction with a threat, an ultimatum that if he doesn’t surrender, they’ll find out where his secret lover is and dismember her limb by limb. 

He never lets these scum get close to you, your name, or your family. But it was enough for something in him to awaken. Dynamight isn’t known for His trepidatious nature, He was known for always winning; He is victory reincarnated. But Katsuki was too late, the feelings had long been seeded (so the villain did win, after all), it sprouted, took form until the roots ran long and deep into his beliefs. Ugly, green vines wrapped around his spine until he suffocated, until he had to cede his love to you; unwillingly; involuntarily; 

In his head, he had begged you to shout at him angrily, to scratch at him with ferocity, and maybe then his own persuasion to leave you behind would have hurt less. It was morning in that studio apartment, a late one, you lounged in sleepwear as he prepared breakfast. You probably noticed his unease but decided he’d come to you eventually. You sat on the couch, crossed legged. Sunlight danced on your face, eyes bright, vehement, under the golden streaks of warmth. He, back then, had stood in the kitchenette, a space obviously not built for him, too large of a torso, too tall a frame. He didn’t care, before, he would’ve bent down until his back ached and soured if it meant cooking for you. He had stood in the shadows, shy of your light. 

This conversation never comes easy, but it’s one that is well rehearsed in the confines of your homes, his agency, and over the phone. He always loses, no matter what you say, objective points, arguments, frustration-fuelled statements, he never gets past you when it starts showing on your face. He tried to look away from you, but your stubbornness keeps him losing. He forfeits when your eyebrows begin to scrunch and your lips pout. He loses, every single time. 

You thought that this would be no different. Levity evident in your voice as you danced around the topic, but you hadn’t seen what he‘s seen, you hadn’t heard what he’s heard. Echoes of that nobody’s warning haunt his everyday life, when he showers, when he eats, and when he sleeps. 

He won, but for the first time, he was upset. You fought back with all that you had, threw arguments at him that were impossible to dismantle, insistence bleeding through your hoarse voice, he was on the brink of defeat. But He wins, Dynamight wins. 

He leaves destruction in his wake. 

It’s been raining non-stop for the past three days, grey clouds never letting the sunshine through, not even for a moment. He’s dedicated enough of his time here, servicing a debt that’s unending, so he calls it a day. Sighing, he doesn’t hear his own apology in the rain. With an umbrella on his shoulder and regret at his throat, he’s going to walk away. 

“Katsu?” 

The black umbrella in his grip turns obsolete as sunlight filters through a cleared, blue sky. Warmth inundates him. 

He looks at the discarded bouquet of flowers on the moss-covered tiles, petals of white, pink and yellow standing out like a sore thumb in a sea of muted colours. 

He sees you, the edges of your body smudging in the sunlight, blurred floral patterns on your dress, is he crying? 

He doesn’t speak, suppressed by the fear that wraps around him like a noose, maybe his voice would scare the ghost of you away. 

Your shoes click against the slippery, moist floor. He wants to tell you be careful, don’t get hurt. Thuds ring in the cemetery, trees still dancing as a slight wind blows. You look bright, vehement, in the streaks of golden light. It took you ten seconds, longer than a century, to reach Bakugou. He closes his eyes. It hurts. It hurts. The world is cruel for playing this joke on him. Regret, rue, wishful thinking. With trembling hands, you reach for his skin, tickling the scars that tell a story bigger than you and him. The wrinkle between his brow settles, “you’re here.” 

He says, more so to convince himself, “you’re here.” to will itself into reality. The rain that had poured down on him like salvation is replaced by the intangible sunlight that washes over him like penance. He chases after atonement blindly, wildly, perhaps as a form of Sisyphean punishment for the hurt he had dared slain on you. It doesn’t matter, you’d say, because you’re here, now. You exist, beyond tree roots and above grass, in his arms. With your lips on his and your fingers on him, you're here now, bathing in sunlight, shy of rain. You’re vehement in his grasp.

thank you for reading ! i hope you enjoyed it, all interactions appreciated, have a wonderful day <3