#then a good long while of him staying as close as possible (read: still deep inside you)

[almostfoxglove]

THE PRETTIEST

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes' #MONSTERSMASH2024 challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Max Phillips x f!Reader CREATURE: GHOST + MAX PHILLIPS WORD COUNT: 4.3k CW: Smut (piv), voyeurism/non-consensual voyeurism (he's invisible and reader doesn't know he's watching), Max is a bit of a creep okay he's doing his best here, protective!max, jealous!max, enough manager speak that I got tech startup flashbacks.

SUMMARY: After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

Of all the hell holes where one might waste eternity, Max is pretty sure his vacant duplex is the worst of them. Six rooms, two floors spined by a spiral staircase—all boring and hollow and dusty. Disgusting. How difficult would it have been to let him haunt the office? He could’ve leered over all those pathetic little office drones, driven them crazy forever. Fucked with their desk chairs, their hard drives, mixed up all their coffee mugs. Not that Max has mastered the art of affecting the material world yet, but he will.

Petty? Sure. But you can’t blame a guy for feeling a little owed after all management’s little reorganization. His relocation to the goddamn fucking afterlife—and to this prison of an apartment where there’s no one to subjugate or fuck, no less. 

What a waste of his potential. His talents.

Who knows how long he spends stuck alone in this place until someone shows up, but eventually people do. The real estate agent—Doreen and her little beehive hairdo, her eyebrows always penciled on too thin—and, over what Max estimates to be about three weeks, a parade of nobodies she tours around, preaching godless, truthless sermons of the duplex’s good bones and the good life they could have in these dreary fucking rooms. He’d be proud of her sales pitch if he weren’t so goddamn pissed.

He tries, he really does. Yells often, I’m right here, Dor-een, honey, right fucking here! And waves his arms in front of her face, but he can scream as loud as he likes; nobody hears a thing. 

For the first time in his many lives, people walk straight through him. 

There might be, possibly, some karma in that. 

Max doesn’t care for it.

It’s misery until the day Doreen brings him you.

Come on, Max whines, slouching lazily on your couch. Curled up with your bedsheets cloaked over your head, you rot on the cushions beside him, four hours deep in a Desperate Housewives marathon, oblivious to his company: your usual Sunday routine.

As usual you don’t hear him, don’t see him either. Sitting right beside you, making no dents in the pillows, his glossy dress shoes kicked up on the coffee table. Still he finds himself complaining, one hand gesticulating wildly at the screen, You’re killing me, baby. It’s obviously the fucking neighbor! Guy’s got a box of death under his pool!

Meanwhile you just sit there, enthralled as Eva Longoria struts about in her tiny skirts and tiny shoes. Max tells himself the only reason he stays in the room when you watch this garbage is for her and all the other pretty housewives or to leer at what bits of you peek out from your duvet each time you reach for your tea on the coffee table—a wrist, your elbow, and when you knock over the popcorn bowl and slip the sheets from your head, the lovely hollow of your perfect neck. Truth is, if you were to quiz him, he’d be able to cite the plot of the whole season beat for beat.

Not that he’s enjoying this, this—this garbage. Never.

No fucking way. He’s just perceptive. Has an excellent memory.

Plus this is the one way he gets to be close to you. Such a pretty little thing, taunting him without ever knowing it. That sweet mouth, those clever eyes. Showering with the bathroom door sometimes cracked like you know he’s here and dying to peek through the veil of your jasmine-laced steam. Chewing the ends of your pencils while you sketch out some masterpiece on looseleaf that you never get around to painting.

Sitting on your couch, at your dining table, at the foot of your bed while you brush out your hair after a long day—it’s the closest Max gets to feeling like being stuck here might not be hell, just purgatory: always a breath away from the thing he’d like to touch, but at least he’s not simmering in battery acid or being flogged. He’s had his share of blood-bag roommates—brief fascinations that drained so quickly—but you? You’ve lived in Max’s apartment for three months and he’s no less drunk on you than he was the day Doreen toured you around. Can’t quite put his finger on why. Maybe it’s the longing, the forest fire that sears through his ice-box chest every time your eyes skim his face by accident, never lingering. 

What can he say? Max is a man, after all. Under all the blood and monster.

And you’re the prettiest creature he’s ever seen.

When the show cuts to commercial you mute the TV, immune to the serpent-tongued promises of liars like him. Lured by nothing, by nobody. Already slinking from your bedsheet cave, all bare legs and cute little ankles striding out of the room, leaving him with the ghost of you, the smell of your perfume kissed into the duvet.

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sell himself to you. He’d charm you all the way to your perfect knees.

In a way, you and Max are the perfect couple. You’re free to do as you wish, and he’s free to watch you every second that you spend at home, miserable the moment you leave for work in those tight fucking pencil skirts. No better than a dog, he spends his vagrant hours of isolation alternating between puppy-eyed pouting and anxious pacing, tortured until your evening return. 

How did he ever live here alone? Alive or otherwise. He can’t remember now. There are too many rooms, too few sounds, too few breaths, too few footsteps. He misses you. Your bedhead and pajamas, your blanket nest in front of the TV, the cute way you answer the phone. 

Today, you don’t come home till eight fifteen—and Max has spent thirteen hours losing what’s left of his mind.

Baby, he sighs, rushing for the front room at the first turn of the lock, a grin stretched to dimples in his cheeks. Seems even if you can’t hear him, Max can’t help talking to you, perhaps childlike in his belief that someday you will. Where the hell have you—

His sentence hacks itself in half, drops to silence, because you’re blushing when you come in, eyes shyly downcast, one hand shaking the rain loose from your hair, tendrils clinging to your cheeks. “Here,” you say, and for a beat Max thinks you’re speaking to him. His mouth drops, stunned. 

Is this it? Can you finally see him?

“Come in, come in,” you say.

Then a man steps in behind you, shuts the door behind his hulking form, and if there were any blood to speak of in his veins, Max is certain it’d boil at the sight of him. Tall and empty-headed, dopey as a dog, stomping his blocky, muddy shoes all over your hallway. Yours and Max’s. Getting goddamn filth on your hall carpet. Given just a few material cells, Max’d have this guy dead before he makes it to the living room, wouldn’t even bother drinking him. This breed of dumbass isn’t worth the mess.

But he’s useless. Less than a gnat. Sentenced to watch you trail this motherfucker who wouldn’t know Tom Ford from his Brioni into your kitchen, jackets shedding and small talk traded—boring, boring, boring, but you laugh when the guy makes a shitty joke about the weather. 

This guy, this nobody, gets to make you laugh while Max never even gets a chance to try.

On second thought, maybe this is hell after all.

“S’a nice place,” the dumbass says, laying his knockoff blazer over the back of a barstool. Cheap stitching. Terrible, too-thin lapels.

You look about the room as if standing in it for the first time and for a moment your eyes pass right over Max, whose long-dead heart winces. Yelps. If you could see him, there’s no way you’d entertain this guy. This nameless little worker bee. Max would make you laugh properly, how you laugh when something funny happens on TV or when you get a letter in the mail from your brother. Sudden and twinkling, often ending in a snort. Adorable.

Shrugging, you turn into your fridge and say, “Yeah, I like it,” and exhume two slim cans of vodka seltzer to set on the kitchen island.

Thank you, Max says, his arms crossed over his chest.

The dumbass’ brows flicker up as he regards your offering. Idiot. What was he expecting from a girl like you, a PBR? These are delicious. Elegant. Calorie wise. Max understands. Max would drink that with a smile and a thank you. 

Or maybe he’d skip right to drinking you.

Sensing his hesitation, you crack your can and take a sip. “They’re not as bad as they look,” you say, a nervous chuckle bittering your lips as you watch your date open his can and bring it to his nose to sniff. “Sorry. I don’t have anything else.”

You can do so much better, baby, Max sighs. You’ve got better right here.

Against his will, the hours pass. The evening goes on. You and the dumbass only drink half a can each—him with a half-snarled lip and you with a self-conscious twinge—but somehow by nightfall he’s got you scooching your barstool closer to him, allowing his slimy hand to rest on your thigh. 

Max bristles. Seethes. Don’t do it, he pleads to you, unheard. He’s not gonna fuck you right, just look at him. Send this idiot home and watch TV with me. Do anything but this guy, baby, anything but him.

You bend in slow motion and it’s agonizing, the tilt of your head as you press your lips to his. The wet slurp of his mouth taking the second you meet. A terrible kiss, though you’re polite enough not to flinch. Breaking from the prod of his pink-slug tongue to offer your neck, his mouth immediately moving, and fuck baby, it’s like you’re trying to kill him all over again. Drive a stake straight through Max’s blackened heart by giving up what he longs to claim.

In an instant, anger births itself from the hollow of his chest. His hand shoots out in useless violence, swinging as if to strike a seltzer can from the countertop and knowing it won’t do a lick of good as ire devours him, igneous and fervid, searing hot as life in his icy hands.

The can jumps from the counter and clunks to the floor, its contents gluggluglug-ing across the tiles.

“The fuck?” Max hears the dumbass gasp as he leaps from his barstool, eyes bugged wide and child-like and weak. You freeze, lips pink and swollen, staring down at the emptying can. 

It’s a shame neither of you can see the way Max smiles. 

Now that’s what I’m talking about, he crows. Finally a little substance around here! 

This is good. No, it’s better than good. This is the rush after a promotion, after the deal that closes out the quarter over target. The look on every sad sack’s face knowing they lost and he won.

This is the bite that finally breaks skin.

Maddening, burgeoning, addictive.

He’s real again. A goddamn Beetlejuice for you, baby. He’s gonna scare this fucknut out of here and have you to himself. First was the can, next is you, and he’s gonna kiss you so much better than that. In celebration, Max kicks one foot to send the can soaring across the kitchen floor and watches his shoe pass right through it, aluminum undisturbed on the floor. No, he mutters, kicking again. No, fucking—come on, you worthless piece of shit—

Your nervous laugh is too far away to comfort him. Distant too is your voice saying, “My room’s this way,” and the shuffling of your footsteps as Max loses his shit on the seltzer can that now refuses to budge no matter the swell of his outrage. By the time he snaps from his incensed trance, your barstools are empty. He blinks, breathless with muscle memory—his lungs wheezing because they remember wheezing, not out of need.

Baby? he calls out.

But you reply. A murmur too lusty to be a giggle—Max’s body coils up at the sound, taut and needy, and carries him toward the sound. He forgets, briefly, who you’re with. Believes he’ll find you in your bedroom alone beneath the covers, hands fluttering as you bring yourself to the edge of release. How beautiful you’d be, gasping in pleasure. He might close his eyes and pretend it’s him drawing out your every breathy, needy sound.

You’ve left the bedroom door cracked, and though in death he’s no longer bound by silly things like permission, Max has since you moved in found himself in the habit of respecting closed doors. Walls are chalk outlines over which he’s free to step, but he doesn’t, not if you’ve closed the gate. He’s not a monster. Or not a total monster—whatever, semantics. Point is that he only spies on your showers if you’ve cracked the door. Indulges in the soft moments of you sleeping only when you’ve left him that sliver of room.

Like the room you’ve left him now: slender and tempting, this stripe of your bedroom wall. A Degas print in a copper frame, the wooden post at the foot of your bed. 

Your sweet voice cooing here, like this, and the creak of your mattress.

Something black and silty sinks in Max’s stomach when he steps inside. Not the rage from moments ago. Something darker, heavier. Jealousy. Half-sheeted by your duvet, the dumbass you’ve brought home rocks above you, his shirt gone, his beefcake arm blocking the view of your chest, and though you’re making all the right sounds it’s obvious this isn’t any good.

He’s not fucking you right.

Your hands clawing at his back are too stiff. Your yeses a beat too slow. As the idiot pants—thrusts choppy and graceless—Max watches your hand tap his shoulder blade as you breathe, “Flip over.”

“What?” bumbles the guy, his hips stalling. “Oh shit—fuck yeah. Okay.”

Another grunt, then he rolls off and Max gets a glimpse of you—your red bra lacy and see through, your nipples so pretty underneath. It just isn’t right, the awkwardness of this colossal douchebag as he settles on his back and you ruck back the covers to straddle him, not at all breathless, hardly even flushed, your hair all messy at the back from disappointing friction.

“Shit,” the guy gasps as you sink down on him, clamping those boorish hands onto your waist.

You don’t even whine, not even as you start to rock, though his breathing gallops beneath you. Guy looks two seconds from nutting while you look years away from anything even loosely resembling an orgasm—your rhythm changing often as you try and fail to find a pace that suits you. “Christ—oh my god, ” the guy groans.

Max sucks his front teeth, tongue soiled with venom.

“Touch me,” you sigh, bouncing now. The curtain of your hair shivering down your back. 

This guy fucks like he’s never touched a woman before. At your request his knuckles only pale, fingers pinching you tighter. That’s not what she means, Max growls. Touch her fucking clit, you pin-dicked imbecile. Can’t fucking please a woman, should be fucking ashamed—

His pointless ranting is cut short by a sudden moan as the guy lifts you off him in time to come all over his stomach, chest rapid in its heaving, upper lip snarled in pleasure he doesn’t have the goddamn decency to return to you. For a long moment you hover above him, waiting, but his head just slumps back against the pillow, satisfied. 

Done.

He’s actually done. Motherfucker.

When you crawl off him to sit back against your headboard—arms crossing over your stomach self-consciously—Max sees red. Sees fire. Sees the roiling magma at the center of the earth where someone oughta make this fucker take a nice hot bath. 

He’d do this right. He’d fuck you properly, have you coming apart at the seams, go down on you until you beg for his cock and edge himself for as long as it takes to have you screaming his name. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel him here, right now? Can’t you feel how bad he wants you? Can’t you imagine how much better he’d be? How good he’d make you feel?

Letting out an airy chuckle, the brute wipes the back of his hand across his sweaty brow and pushes himself to his feet. Redresses with a goddamn smirk on his face—not one of cruelty, but it might as well be. He thinks this is a job well done. Time to go home. 

A peck to your lips, then he’s rattling on about calling you, seeing you again, maybe Thursday? Friday? While you just sit there, blinking up at him in disbelief. “Sure,” you say, dazed and not quite thinking. “I’ll call you.”

Yeah, she’s not calling you, Max snarls, following the guy out of the room. Watching as the jackass plucks his jacket from the back of your barstool, steps over the mess of seltzer without a thought to clean it up for you, and waltzes right out the door. Not a care in the goddamn world. 

Though he hears you get up shortly after to use the bathroom, you don’t emerge from your bedroom and Max doesn’t disturb you. He spends that time in the kitchen, grabbing and grabbing and grabbing at the dish towel hung over the handle on the oven door, trying to pull it off. 

For at least an hour, his hand glides through the towel as if it’s water, not a flutter or sway in the fabric. Not even a brush, a compromise. It just hangs there, indignant. Mocking him. Deaddeaddeaddeaddead. Maybe it’s the Senior Sales Manager in him, the apex predator at the top of the food chain—but Max can do this all night. He’s not backing down, not letting a stupid fucking towel get the better of him. That lazy curtain of terrycloth will disintegrate before he waves the white flag. 

Beyond the picture frame windows that stare out into the barren, colorless street, the sun has shied to navy blue, letting out the round-mouthed moon, and you have not emerged from your bedroom for hours. He wants to check on you, ask if you’re okay. Frankly, baby, he’s getting a little worried. On the next sweep of his hand, the towel gives up the ghost; Max pulls it from the oven handle, marveling at the toothy fabric. He’s holding it, really holding it, all on his own. 

Thank fuck he’s not haunting the office. If any of those bull-brained fucks saw him now, as he kneels on your kitchen floor, he’d have to die all over again. Somehow. The technicals aren’t important—what’s important is that no one’s here to see him on his fucking knees, mopping up the spilled drink. Something like joy burbles in his chest when he reaches for the can and seizes it, placing it safely on your counter. The floor dry and shining again, clean. 

Max folds the towel carefully and returns it to the rack. 

As if on cue, the bedroom door croaks down the hall and you emerge. A huge t-shirt slumps from your frame; you’ve tied your hair up, put your glasses back on. Dressed down for the last dregs of night, rubbing the back of your hand in one eye, tired. 

You look so, so tired.

I’d rub your shoulders, baby, Max sighs quietly and though you won’t hear him, it still—after three whole months—doesn’t feel any less right to hope.

He steps out of your way as you round the corner into the kitchen with a yawn, hands clasped behind his back, cheek dimpled and eyes alight. Just like he wanted, just like he hoped, your eyes fall immediately to the floor where the can is missing, the spill wiped. Lashes flickering—the towel dark at the hem on its handle, the empty can on the counter. Your brows pinch low over your nose, curious. 

Pretty good for a dead guy, Max grins.

How sweet, that lifting flinch at your mouth’s sharp, pink corner. The soft hm you make in reply. It’s not much, but this strange, fluttery feeling in the dark cavity one might wrongly call his heart? It doesn’t feel half bad. 

Not bad at all.

He’s getting better at it. Not great, but the projections look good. Give him a little time, he’ll have this whole place dancing. Put on a big show, announce himself properly. 

In the meantime he practices when you’re not looking. Small stuff—he opens cupboards. Shuts them. Hits start on the dryer when you forget to press it yourself. Some days he wastes reaching for things and coming up empty, but now again his luck sparkles. Things move. Bend to his will. Isn’t long until he can hold it for a while—gathering the matter to run the vacuum around, or reorganize your pantry. A tidy house makes a tidy mind, baby. No good living in a dump. You’re so busy, always cracking around like a ping pong ball, and hell, it’s not like Max can leave this place, get a little air in his idle lungs.

He likes being useful to you. Likes that tiny smirk on your lips when you find something fixed or organized for you, even though you likely chalk it up to having forgotten that you did it yourself. Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need the credit. Isn’t that strange? How often he smiles at you? How perfect he finds the taste of your name.

Winter has arrived like a secret—whispered about for weeks and then suddenly let loose on the world. You come home from work in the evenings with icing sugar hair. Usually unbothered, far as Max can tell, but today you stagger in flushed from the cold and dark in the eyes.

Shit, baby, Max says when he sees you. Bad day?

Sniffling, you drop your coat right there in the hall, let it puddle over your shoes, and stalk off on a mission, barreling into the kitchen. The fridge door rips open, casting blue-white light over your face, and you must feel a hell of a lot worse than you feel because you don’t even blink at the contents inside. All the shelves wiped clean, the bottles arranged with the labels facing out, those wilted, bad greens deposited in the compost. You just reach in for the half-drunk bottle of Riesling that to Max smelled mostly like juice and swipe off the lid.

You chug on your way to the couch, leaving the fridge door open behind you.

Max closes it when you’ve gone, the TV already switched on in the living room, the lilting strings of the Desperate Housewives theme song swimming through the air. When he turns the corner he finds you wrapped in the throw blanket he now knows the texture of—supple and velvet, weighted and warm—with the wine bottle nestled in your lap. 

A silver tear hangs on your cheek. 

Really bad day, whatever it was. 

He wants to ask. Wants to pull you into his arms and pet back your hair. Wants to lick that sadness from your skin. 

Maybe this isn’t the show he’s imagined. Not much of a reveal—but you look so small right now, alone on your couch. Wine splashing in its bottle as you bring it to your lips, not bothering to wipe that tear away. If Max had a heart that beat, it’d stutter as he watches you. Helpless isn’t something he cares to feel.

No time like the present. Max sighs, scrubs a hand down his face as he ticks his jaw to one side, and nods. Alright, baby, he relents. Hang on.

On his way to the bathroom he cracks all the knuckles on his left hand, rolls his neck, swings his shoulders. Stretches himself long and limber like he’s about to run—but this is it. Curtain’s coming up. Time to find out if one glimpse of him sends you sprinting for the hills. Though he casts no reflection, Max stands before the mirror hanging over the sink and straightens his tie, corrects his lapels. Old habits, but it never hurts to look good.

Hand waggling, then, over the tissue box on the counter. He slaps himself hard, sending a delicious ripple of pain across his cheek. Come on, he begs. Don’t play hard to get.

The box lifts.

Here he comes: tissue box in hand, stalking tall and proud down your hallway with his chin up, shoulders back. Gets the momentum rolling, doesn’t hesitate, just waltzes in.

Your head snaps in his direction, eyes round and brows rising. To you it must look like the tissues float through the air to your side. Max steps back with butterflies jittering in his bones. 

Don’t be scared, he pleads. It’s just me.

With your head cocked to one side you consider this, though you’ve not heard his voice. Probably for the best. Came out a little softer than he meant it to, a little needy, and that’s just not becoming of a man like him. He has a reputation to uphold, even now. 

After a long, bludgeoning pause you click your tongue, swiping one white tissue from the box to turn over in your hand. Deliberating. Then your face cracks, possessed by a slithering smirk. Your gaze flickering so close to him it’s almost as if you’ve looked him in the eye. 

Deep in his chest, Max feels a strange throb—his stirring heart—as you say out loud, 

“I knew someone was there.”

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals!

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[glossysoap]

ring ; john price

summary: here’s my thoughts on price fingering you with his ring on. this is also my birthday present for @loveyhoneydovey !! i love ya! i hope this cheers you up and that you enjoy your birthday! <333

warnings/tags: 18+, afab, fem reader, written with plus size reader in mind but it can be read as size neutral if need be, pure smut, no plot, fingering, emphasis on his size (big hands/thick fingers), clit play, pussy slapping, cum eating, married price and reader.

word count: 1-1.5k at least

The hard wood was cold against your bare thighs as he had you sat on his desk in front of him. Your panties were pulled down to your ankles, revealing your already dripping cunt to your husband who is sat right in front of you.

Your husband’s forehead was pressed against yours and his lips were so close, you could feel his breath fanning against your face.

He had started out by trailing one finger up and down your wet slit to gather your juices. Moving agonizingly slow, taking his sweet time in pleasuring you. Using his other hand to hold your thigh, keeping your legs pried apart for him.

His hairy arm brushed up against your plush thigh as he started grazing your folds.

“Look at how wet you are. All for me, isn’t that right?”

He used one finger to spread your juices along your slit, before letting a second finger join in. That second finger was his ring finger, where his wedding band rested, all gold and engraved with your name along the inside. Then he used those two fingers to play with your slippery folds, but never dipping inside.

Those two fingers move to trace little figure eights in your slit, enjoying how slippery and slick your lips were because of how wet you had gotten.

“Uh-huh,” You nodded quickly, restraining the urge to buck your hips into his hand. You knew you had to be good, acting up would only get you so far. “Just for you.” You were in such a daze that you didn’t even notice how his lips quirked up into a grin at your words.

Stay still, stay still. You knew you had to be patient. You just had to wait.

Thankfully, he didn’t make you wait for long this time. Because before you knew it, he was dipping those two fingers inside of you.

He slips them inside inch by inch, giving a quiet chuckle at how easily they slide in. His eyes burn into you as he eases his fingers in, looking at how your brows were furrowed and your mouth was slightly open in a pant.

“Oh, god,” Your breathy moans fill the privacy of his office, mixing with the lewd wet noises produced by his thick fingers plunging inside your soaked cunt.

You couldn’t stop your hips from bucking and gasping when he’s pushing those two fingers in knuckle deep. The slight burn that came from the intrusion mixed with the feeling of being filled made that warmth in your stomach grow hotter.

What made that feeling even more intense was the cold metal of his wedding band that was flush against the walls of your cunt. The harsh temperature was such a contrast to the warmth of your entrance, it was driving you crazy in the best way possible.

To make the knot in your stomach tighten even more, the ring just added that extra ridge to his already thick finger. With every pump of his fingers inside your pussy, his cold ring rubbed against your soft walls so fucking good.

While the metal of his wedding ring was sending shivers through your core, your own wedding ring was sitting comfortably on your ring finger. A silver band with a perfect arrangement of diamonds that were all the perfect size, and his name engraved along the inside of the band. Just like your name was engraved along the inside of his.

Your own moans grew stronger, just like the wet noises, when his fingers started moving at a furious pace.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, searching for something, anything to keep yourself grounded in reality. One hand flew to clutch at his dark hair, fingers threading through his soft strands. Your other hand moved to grasp at his muscular arm that was positioned between your legs. The muscles flexed with every plunge of his fingers inside your cunt.

“That feel good?” He murmurs, watching as you nod for him, eyes half lidded and pupils blown wide with lust.

“God, yes!”

His gaze dropped and zeroed into your lips, all bitten and shiny from spit. It took every ounce of willpower to not just crash his lips onto yours and devour you. He wanted to hear every whine and gasp and moan, and unfortunately he needed your mouth unoccupied to be able to do so.

So he settled for the next best thing, worshipping your neck.

He moved down to your jaw and started showing much needed love and attention to your skin. You could feel his beard scratch against your skin as he left open mouthed kisses along your jaw, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin.

“Yeah?” He teases, beard scratching your skin as he continues mouthing your jaw. “Feels good having my fingers buried in that sweet cunt?”

Right at that moment, he curled his fingers in search of that spongey spot that made your toes curls. He never stopped pumping his fingers in and out, he just started curling his fingers in tandem with every plunge inside. He heard your breath hitch and knew he was close to finding it. He figured this was the perfect time to slip in a third thick finger.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You babble mindlessly as his fingers keep stretching you out, with him growing dangerously close to finding your g-spot.

“Just a little bit more and..” He pushed his fingers further inside and curled them over and over until he feels you jerk and buck against his hand.

“Oh, fuck—,” You cut yourself off with a choked sob as his fingers tapped that sensitive spot that had you throwing your head back in pleasure.

“There it is.” You could feel him smirk against your neck.

Now that he found the spot that made you writhe, he started abusing it.

Pumping his fingers in your tight hole at a furious pace, hitting that soft spot every single time. He felt you clench around him so fucking perfect, reminding him of how you would always squeeze around his cock and milk him dry.

While his fingers were busy fucking you, his mouth went back to work on your neck. His full beard scratching your skin as he licked and sucked at your sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of saliva in his wake.

“So fuckin’ tight, love. You just needed me to take you apart, huh?” He all but growls into your neck, teeth scraping at your pulse point. You can feel the vibrations from his words rumble against you. “Needed to soak my fingers? Hmm?”

You can’t even bring yourself to answer his questions, and he knows it, as the only thing that can escape your lips are moans and cries.

John has taken to sucking on your pulse point, then biting and tugging with a rumble from deep in his chest.

Every single bit and lick and suck from his torturous mouth went straight to your weeping pussy, which was quickly inching towards its release.

You knew full well that you wouldn’t last much longer, and he knew that just as much as you did. Maybe even more so, because you were hugging his fingers so damn tight.

He fucking loved it. He loved how slippery your cunt was and how much you were clenching down on his fingers, and he especially loved how your juices were dripping down onto his hand.

He wanted to feel you gush all over his fingers, and he wanted to feel that now.

So he used the pad of his thumb to rub rough circles on your swollen clit, all while he used three fingers to hit that sensitive spot over and over and over.

“C’mon, c’mon. Come f’ me.” He groans into the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin. His tongue licking a stripe along the span of your neck before sucking your soft skin.

If your sharp gasp and desperate bucking of your hips against his hand were any indication, you were about to come.

“Yeah,” he eggs you on, “that’s right. Give it to me.”

So he circled his fingers inside of you, not only hitting that sensitive spot perfectly but also rubbing the area around it. The rough pad of his thumb just kept furiously rubbing at your swollen clit.

At that exact moment, he licked at the crook of your neck before biting down, hard.

“Oh, fuck!” You wail, your eyes squeezing shut and your mouth hanging open. Your pussy throbs and flutters as you squeeze around his fingers, your legs twitching and writhing from all of the stimulation.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wild wave as you squirt all over his fingers and drench his palm in the process.

He couldn’t help himself as he pulled his soaked hand out from your cunt, before using it to lightly slap your swollen clit. He smiled as he watched your hips jolt and your cunt squeeze around nothing.

“There you go, good girl.” Was all your husband said, husky voice dripping with praise, before he did something that had your pussy throbbing once more.

He lifted his soaked hand up to his mouth and licked your juices clean off. His gaze burned into yours as he licked a broad stripe along his palm before sucking each finger clean with a pop. Then finally, licking his wedding band clean as it rested on his ring finger.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

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[moonstruckme]

bonfire! spencer reid + only one bed trope pls 💕💕

Thanks for requesting!

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 535 words

You wouldn’t have pegged Spencer for a heavy sleeper. 

You suppose it makes sense. With a brain like his and a schedule like your team’s, good rest when he can get it is probably essential. You’d all worked late into the night tonight, so late that Hotch had decided you should just sleep here and get on the jet home in the morning. Rooms at the hotel had been purchased for your team for the last two nights, but none of you had used the first one, so when you and Spencer had gotten here a few hours ago it had come as a surprise that you’d been double-booked. Or single-booked, maybe. 

Two cards, one room. One singular bed, plus a pull-out couch that you’d both offered halfheartedly to take before collapsing into the plush mattress and 300 thread-count sheets. You’d both changed into your pajamas and fallen asleep almost instantly, at least two chaste feet of space between you on the bed. You’d woken hardly an hour later with an embarrassing pool of drool on your pillow and a long-fingered hand curled in the material of your shirt. 

You can’t decide whether to be grateful for the fact that Spencer doesn’t so much as stir when he hooks an ankle over yours, urging you closer to him almost entreatingly while your fatigued heart starts kicking in your chest. You stay facing away from him, looking into the pitch darkness. You can’t move any farther away without edging off the bed, but you try anyway, inching until one of your legs is dangling off the mattress, and when you slip the other from beneath Spencer’s ankle there’s a soft, plaintive sound from behind you. His fingers wind tighter into your shirt. 

You freeze. 

Spencer’s breaths are deep and even, and you marvel at it as he crosses his ankle over yours again, bare calf sliding against yours and interlocking your legs more securely. And frankly, you’re too tired to fight it. 

You scoot backwards on the bed. It’s twice as easy as it had been going the other direction, probably because of the way the mattress dips in the middle or Spencer’s slight tug or maybe even some sort of magnetic pull like in those books Penelope’s always reading. You suppose anything is possible. Whatever the case, it seems to be a relief for you both. Spencer’s other hand wraps around your middle as soon as you’re close enough, gentle and contented, and he’s warm enough to make the freezing air blasting through the A/C feel comfortable. 

His quiet sigh hits the back of your neck as you both settle, a few careful inches still between you. Even unconscious, you think politeness must be ingrained in Spencer, because his touch stays over the material of your shirt, courteous and unmoving. You let your fingers stroke over his once, and they twitch in his sleep. 

You don’t remember closing your eyes, but heavy as they are it can’t take long. When the blue light of early morning cuts through the drawn curtains and Spencer’s limbs stiffen where they’re twined around you, his breath catching in surprise and embarrassment, you’ll pretend you’re a heavy sleeper, too.

[drabblesandsnippets]

Breathe

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: “Really? Here?!” | [Someone Else’s House | Public Bathroom | Mile High Club] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (4k) During a wedding reception, Bucky and his fiancée sneak off to have some fun.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Established relationship. Fluff. Wedding talk? Vague alluding to Bucky’s trauma/past. Bucky’s a switch? Pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart). Oral (both receiving)/swallowing. Fingering.

---------------------------

Bucky always looks good to her - whether he’s in jeans and a henley or nothing at all - but there’s something about seeing him dressed to the nines. The fitted tux, the styled hair, the neatly trimmed beard. She rarely gets to see him dressed up like this and she can’t keep her eyes off him, watching him from the across the room while he talks to their friends.

She’s still not entirely sure why they got roped into making an appearance at this wedding reception - none of them know the couple - but she’s not exactly questioning it at this specific moment, no matter how uncomfortable she feels in such a formal setting.

And while Bucky might feel just as out of place here as she does, it’s making her think about their own upcoming wedding. Their plans don’t include anything nearly as fancy as this black-tie event, but as she watches him readjust his cuffs, she’s starting to reconsider. 

She can’t help imagining all the things she’s going to let this man to do her on their wedding night and her inappropriate thoughts only intensify as her eyes drift from Bucky’s fingers to his mouth, watching him take a sip of his drink. Then the tip of his tongue licks the remaining drop of liquid off his lips and she’s flooded by images of their morning shower, heat immediately pooling between her thighs, making her wish it was time to go.

It’s been like this the past few weeks since Bucky proposed - even before that really, but they’ve been insatiable lately. Unable to keep their hands off each other, finding every excuse to cancel plans and stay home. It’s where they should be tonight, but they couldn’t get out of this. 

Just as a flush creeps up her chest, Bucky meets her gaze, the grin on his face making her feel like she can read her mind. With a quick glance at their friends, he takes his leave, his eyes not leaving hers again as makes his way back to their table, the look on his face not making it easy for her to think pure thoughts. 

They’ve only been apart for a couple minutes, but Bucky never needs an excuse to return to her, the magnetic pull to be as close to her as possible constantly driving him. And, as much as he wants to take her home right now, he can’t deny how much he’s enjoyed getting to show her off tonight. 

She may not feel like it, but she belongs here, the numerous eyes on her throughout the evening proving she fits right in. Her satin gown showing off her endless curves, the fabric dipping low enough to show just a hint of cleavage. 

The angle at which Bucky approaches the table gives him more than just a hint though, her seated position causing her breasts to almost spill out of her dress, immediately drawing his attention. And then she smiles that smile at him. The one that reminds him how lucky he is. 

Since the moment he met her, she’s brought nothing but sunshine and beauty to his life. Even during times like this - when he’s so out of his element, having to pretend to celebrate the nuptials of two people he doesn’t care about - she makes it all bearable.

His tux might feel too restricting, the bow tie secured around his neck making him feel like he can’t draw a deep breath, but it’s okay as long as he’s with her. As long as he can continue to look at her, feel her, breathe her in, he’s sure he can make it through the evening.

Bucky ignores the urge to reach up to pull at what essentially feels like a leash around his neck, and keeps his focus on his beautiful fiancee, once again overcome with the familiar need to be as close to her as possible. With his flirtatious smile growing, he sets his glass down on the table and offers out his hand to ask her, “May I have this dance?”

She’s never been much for dancing, but she can never resist Bucky, especially when he’s like this. Tonight’s been hard for him, but he still goes out of his way to be romantic, to try to make the evening about them, wanting her to feel like she belongs here. 

They’ve barely stepped foot on the dance floor before they’re in each others arms, both of them visibly relaxing the moment their bodies are touching. They allow themselves to get lost in the intimate moment, ignoring any responsibility they feel to socialize with the guests. They’d much rather socialize with each other anyway. 

After a tender kiss to her forehead, Bucky murmurs, “Thank you for coming with me tonight,” She didn’t have to come and he’s planning to show her how grateful he is when they get home tonight.

Her eyelashes flutter as she soaks in his affection and she gives him a warm smile, blaming the romantic atmosphere for her sappy reply of, “I’m always happy to be your plus one.”

The sound of his soft laughter makes her heart skip a beat, and her own laughter joins his when he tells her, “Your signing up for forever sweetheart, I’m going to hold you to that.”

“You should,” she grins, giving him a soft kiss, pulling away before he can deepen it. With a deliberate wiggle of her left ring finger, she continues, “There’s no getting rid of me now.”

The playfulness of Bucky’s smile fades slightly and his eyes darken, the look on his face causing her breath to quicken. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He closes the distance this time, his hand moving to the back of her neck to keep her against him as he kisses her, his tongue seeking entrance to taste her.

Despite being surrounded by hundreds of guests, most of which they don’t know, she has no desire to pull away and she grants him access, her lips parting at the first touch of his tongue He has a way of making her feel like they’re the only two people that exist, and soon she doesn’t care about anything except the feel of him against her, her skin growing warmer as Bucky’s hand slides lower, ghosting over the curve of her ass.

He’s too aware of their surroundings though, and as much as he’s enjoying showing his gorgeous fiancée off, he wants nothing more than to take her home and do unspeakable things to her. The thought has him kissing a trail along her jaw to whisper in her ear, “Surely it’s almost time to go.”

With her hands holding onto his shoulders, she gives him a reluctant shake of her head and lets out a slow breath, “We still have an hour.” They can’t leave until the newlyweds do - Bucky and a few of the other Avengers having agreed to be here to send the couple off in flourish with the other guests.

It’s like a bucket of water is thrown on him, his happy thoughts of their future fading into the frustrating memory that they’re here on business. That somehow the new couple’s donation to the city gained them a right to him.

He didn’t have to do this, but he had no reason to say no, and everyone else had already agreed, given how generous the couple will continue to be to numerous charities. All it’s costing Bucky is his time. And a little bit of his sanity.

The suffocating feeling starts to return and his right hand moves off her hip to fidget with his bow tie, a soft grimace appearing on his face as if it’s physically hurting him. There’s a reason he avoids wearing ties, and the fact that it wasn’t optional tonight makes it even worse.

“Baby,” she says softly, interrupting his thoughts with a gentle touch of her hand to stop him from making the tie any more crooked than it already is. He meets her eyes and just a simple look communicates so much, a reminder of her how hard tonight has been for him. She whispers her own reminder to him, gently telling him, “breathe,” as she adjusts the bow.

Bucky knows she means well, and admittedly, just her presence makes it easier for him to simply exist, but he’s not sure he’s going to make it another hour. “Kinda hard to do that with this damn thing around my neck,” he tells her with a slight shake of his head, but his tone remains gentle, a hint of vulnerability seeping out.

There’s no point in suggesting they cut out early - Bucky’s a man of his word and will stay until the end - so instead, with a slight tilt of her head, she offers, “Why don’t we take a walk?” They can kill some time before he needs to join everyone else for their last interaction of the night.  “I’m sure you already know the layout of this place.” 

Bucky laughs softly, appreciating her attempt to keep things light, and nods his head. “Course I do. You think I’m gonna take my woman somewhere without knowing all the exits and places to hide?” There’s not a single part of this manor that’s not etched into his mind. 

With just a bit of encouragement from her to use that to his advantage, he takes her hand in his and leads her away from the dancefloor, ignoring the curious looks from their friends. Bucky could be leading her anywhere, and she’d blindly follow, her trust in him unyielding. He’s not sure he’ll ever feel deserving of it, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to prove that he does. 

It doesn’t take him long to find their destination, Bucky leading her down a deserted hallway, passing just a couple of doors before he locates the one he’s looking for. As expected, the room is unlocked and the moment they’re in the unused dressing suite, his hand immediately reaches for his bow tie, not even giving her a chance to offer to help him.

After closing and locking the door behind them, she turns around to find him pulling at the offending silk around his collar, his growl of frustration meeting her ears as he inevitably makes the knot tighter. With a gentle touch of her hand, she stills his movements, and softly tells him, “Let me.”

He gives her an appreciative smile and uses the opportunity to touch her again, his hands seeking out her warmth through her dress. He feels compelled to minimize this, or offer up an explanation, but words aren’t needed here. She understands his aversion to ties - his aversion to anything that feels like a restraint. 

Well, other than the occasional moments Bucky allows her to be in control of his body. He never thought it’d be something he’d enjoy, but he’s been seeking out more of those moments with her lately. Damn, he needs to get her home.

With just a gentle pull of the ends of his bow tie, the first knot is released and Bucky gives her a smile that never fails to make her weak in the knees. The corner of her mouth ticks up into a grin of her own, her gaze drifting from his eyes, to his mouth, then back down to the bow-tie to finish helping him.

After hooking her finger underneath the remaining knot a quick tug leaves Bucky feeling like he can finally draw a deep breath again. He still can’t help but reach up to undo the top two buttons of his shirt, not missing how the quick work of his fingers makes her thoughts obviously stray to the same place his keeps drifting to.

He can’t help but lean close, a knowing grin on his face, as he asks, “Whatcha thinkin’ about, doll?” 

Even with her skin flushing, she has no problem admitting exactly what’s going through her mind right now. Her body presses closer to his, her fingers holding onto the lapels of his tux, and she tells him, “How good your fingers felt inside me this morning.”

Her admission is expected, but it still makes him groan and he pulls her into a kiss, his hand moving to her throat, his possessive touch never failing to make her heart flutter. The feel of her pulse against his fingers has him deepening the kiss, the taste of her not helping to lessen Bucky’s desire for her, nor is it helping him catch his breath.

His need for her outweighs any silly need for air in his lungs though, and for a moment, he refuses to pull away, even as he has to resist the urge to take this further. To undress her and touch her everywhere, to listen to her moan for him. Despite the thought of wanting her naked here, in this ridiculously expensive, lavish room, he tells himself they shouldn’t.

She’s having similar thoughts, but she definitely thinks they should. In fact, she thinks it’s a great way to spend the next few minutes. She wants nothing more than to help Bucky get his mind off of everything that’s been bothering him tonight.

The breathless moan she makes when she pulls away has him immediately reconsidering, but his old-fashioned sensibilities are telling him he can’t let her do this. That he should wait until they’re in the safety of their own home. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice giving away how much it pains him to remind her, “the party.” 

“We have time,” she whispers back, her lashes fluttering at the tender caress of his thumb across her throat. “I just want to make you feel good.” 

Her warm breath against his lips, the promise of more, makes him dizzy with need, but he’s still struggling to shed this last bit of hesitation. He’s not worried about anyone interrupting them, he just needs to be sure she’s truly okay with this. Because as adventurous as their sex life is, this is still a first for them.

She can sense his hesitation, and she doesn’t want to push him if this isn’t something he wants, but she can practically hear the thoughts running through his mind, and she knows how to quiet them. With a quick flick of her tongue to wet her lips, she asks him, “It’s hot to imagine, isn’t it? Me on my knees for you right here, with hundreds of people just down the hall.”

Bucky’s breath catches at her words, his body ablaze with desire, but he quickly lets out a laugh as she reminds him again to breathe. He loves these moments with her, how intense and passionate they can get while never losing their ability to have fun with each other. It has all his reservations quickly leaving him, his body welcoming her hand moving between them to seek out his erection.

Since doing his best to shed his past of the Winter Soldier, Bucky’s become more comfortable with letting her take charge, and right now the need for her to take charge is overwhelming. All he can think about as she quickly unbuttons his pants is how she’s never steered him wrong, and with just a few steps backwards, she’s guiding him to sit on one of the oversized armchairs.

A slight lift of his hips has her working his pants down far enough to pull his cock free and she eagerly wraps her hand around him, settling between his spread thighs ready to worship him. As much she wants to take her time, this moment doesn’t allow for it, and she doesn’t want to give him a second to rethink his decision to allow her to take care of him. 

There’s no going back now. Bucky can’t imagine being anywhere else, and he can’t take his eyes off of her. She’s so breathtaking. Even when she brings her fingers to her mouth to gather saliva, all he can think about is how much she belongs here, surrounded by luxury and elegance. The sudden promising image of her on their wedding day has his cock twitching in her hand and it takes everything in him to keep his hands where they are, gripping the arms of the chair.

He wants to touch her, run his fingers through her hair, but she spent so long getting ready, just to keep him company tonight, and he refuses to risk messing up her hair or makeup. He continues watching her, letting her set the pace as she finally takes him into her mouth, the sudden wet heat surrounding him causing him to let out a breathless grunt of pleasure. “Fuck. I love you.”

She hums happily, glancing up to meet his gaze, the look on his face encouraging her to already take him deeper. She loves sucking his cock, the way he moans for her, the taste of him, the feel of him sliding into her throat. She’ll never get enough of it, and it’s not long before she speeds up her pace, desperate to feel him lose control.

Bucky’s lost in the pleasure, his hips occasionally lifting to meet her mouth, the knowledge of how much this is turning her on making it that much harder to focus. “God,” he breathes, his hands gripping the armchair harder, fingers digging into the upholstery. “Doll… Feel so good… Please…”

He can feel the vibrations of her moans each time his cock slides along her tongue and down her throat, and now he can smell her. It makes him want to taste her, to fuck her, to make her come with him. Just as he opens his mouth to tell her, the entire length of him is engulfed, her nose brushing against the soft curls at the base of his cock.

“Shit,” he gasps, his thighs tensing and his hand shoots out to grip her shoulder, the obscene noises of her throat gagging around his cock causing his balls to tighten. It’s more than enough to make him come, but he’s not ready yet. He wants more from her, and with a needy moan, he begs her to touch herself.

Without hesitation, her hand slides under the satin bunched around her knees, and she spreads her thighs wider as she slips the damp fabric of her panties aside, desperate to please him. The first pass of her fingers over her slick pussy makes her moan against him and both their hips start to move at the same time, Bucky fucking her mouth as she thrusts against her own hand.

He nearly loses it when she meets his gaze again, her lashes wet with tears, her mouth slick with saliva. He manages to hold back though, needing to watch her as she plays with herself, seeing the exact moment she fills herself with her fingers.

Her back arches and she nearly gags around his cock again, but she grips his cock with her left hand, stroking him in time with her mouth as she fucks herself, the heel of her hand pressed against her clit. She’s not even trying to make herself come, more focused on his pleasure, but she can feel the pressure building, her wetness coating her fingers.

Bucky’s senses are consumed by her, but it’s not enough, he wants to drown in her, to know nothing but the feel and smell and taste of her. “Please,” he says, his hand sliding along her shoulder, fingers caressing her skin. “Need… fuck… give me your fingers. Need to taste you.” 

She almost comes just from that alone, the walls of her pussy gripping her fingers, her wetness soaking her palm, but she’s eager to give him what he wants. The instant her hand moves from her underneath her dress, he’s grabbing her wrist, guiding her fingers to his hungry mouth.

With a loud groan, Bucky closes his lips close around her slick digits, the taste of her exploding on his tongue, causing his balls to tighten and pleasure to shoot down his spine. The slight tightening of his grip on her shoulder is the only warning he can give her as the tension builds to a breaking point.

He gasps and moans around her fingers, his tongue licking up every drop of her, the first wave hitting him with such intensity that his hips lift involuntarily. He watches her take all of him, her hand wrapped around his shaft, stroking him as he comes down her throat, the force of his orgasm nearly causing him to collapse.

She swallows every drop, her body buzzing with pleasure as she sucks him dry, not a care in the world that she didn’t get to come with him. She refuses to let him go, prolonging his pleasure, until he can’t take anymore and his body finally starts to relax,  her fingers slipping from his mouth.

Bucky doesn’t even give her a chance to catch her breath before he’s pulling her up, careful not to mess up her dress as he meets her in a kiss, the combined taste of them on their tongues making them both moan. There’s not a chance he’s letting her leave this with room without getting to taste more of her.

He casually pulls his pants back over his hips, happily listening to her explain that this was all about him. And, the moment she’s finished insisting she only wanted to help him relax, he’s just as happy to reject her premise, telling her, “Making you come on my mouth will definitely relax me.”

The laugh she gives him tells him everything he needs to know and it’s his turn to take the lead, guiding her to the armchair he was just occupying. Before he has her sit, he reaches under the slit in her dress to take hold of her panties, not wasting any time to slide them down her legs, kneeling in front of her in the process.

She’s not sure how much time they have left, but she can’t imagine it’s going to take her very long. Not with the taste of him still in her mouth, and the way he’s looking up at her right now. With minimal encouragement, she settles back in the chair, careful not to mess up her hair, grinning as Bucky takes the same amount of care with her dress.

After lifting the soft material to her waist, and guiding her legs back, he takes a moment to appreciate the view of her on display, ready for the taking. Later tonight, when he’s fucking her in their bed, he plans to tell her again and again how pretty she looked tonight, but the words won’t come right now. His mouth only wants to be doing one thing, and it’s not talking.

With one last glance up at her, her hands already gripping the arms of the chair in preparation, he closes the distance, the smell of her immediately overwhelming his senses. She barely hears his soft groan of pleasure, but it’s hard to miss the way he deeply inhales her scent, his hands immediately coming up to keep her spread open for him.

At Bucky’s instructions, she forces herself to stay still, his playful reminder for her to breathe the only reason she’s taking any air into her lungs at all. She watches as he takes his time, the flat of his tongue licking her from her dripping entrance to her swollen clit, the contact making her legs shake and her eyes roll back.

She’s so sensitive, just a few swipes of his tongue building her towards the edge, but he refuses to rush this, taking his time to the savor the taste of her, fucking her slowly with his tongue. And whenever she starts to move or forgets to stop breathing, he’s right there reminding her what he needs her to do. “Relax. Breathe.” 

He’s not going to let her get flushed and sweaty, not when he knows how much harder it’ll make the rest of the evening for her. That’s why he keeps her in place, the cool metal of his vibranium thumb pressed against her clit making her slick walls pulsate around his tongue, the delicious taste of her making him hard yet again.

She keeps her head lifted, even when her eyes flutter close, her body on fire as she takes slow, deep breaths. It’s becoming not enough and too much all at once, the familiar tingle signaling how close she is, but without being able to chase her pleasure, she can’t help but beg for more.

Bucky’s more than happy to oblige and licks back up to her clit, greedily closing his lips over it as he slips two fingers inside of her, his vibranium arm quick to hold her place. She reaches out, almost grabbing his head, but thinks better of it at the last second, not wanting to mess up his hair, her hands instead gipping his arm, her fingers soon interlocking with his as she takes in lungfuls of air.

It only takes a few strokes of his fingers for her to fall, the deep breathing making the orgasm even more intense, and with his lips suctioned around her clit, his tongue swirling around the swollen bud, her hand flies up to cover her own mouth, barely muffling her loud cries of pleasure as she comes for him.

Bucky’s fingers and mouth follow her body as each wave of pleasure washes over her, her thighs threatening to close around his head, but he welcomes the feeling, relishing the way she comes apart for him, her arousal soaking his hand and beard. 

He doesn’t stop until she grows too sensitive, easing his fingers out of her before giving her one last lick, able to feel the pulse of her aftershocks on his tongue. Careful not to touch her dress with his arousal-slicked fingers, he helps her sit up and kisses her softly, her body still trembling as she slowly comes back down.

Once it’s clear she can finally breathe again, and her heart’s not about to burst out of her chest, Bucky gives her a cheeky grin, telling her, “Now I’m ready to get back to the party.” 

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Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[bg3galore]

Sleeping headcanons

Wyll

-Will hum you a soft tune and rub shapes into your back, while you're settling down for the night.

-Would definitely tell you stories of his life growing up and about his dreams for the future, while you listen closely to his breathing; until you fall asleep.

-Always kisses your forehead before falling asleep.

-Chuckles softly to himself every time you fall asleep before him and will take it as an opportunity to watch your sweet face sleeping; wondering if you're dreaming and what about.

Karlach

-Is a loud snorer and a very deep sleeper

-The perfect cuddler, especially for a harsh winter night; that infernal engine will actually be put to a good cause- comforting the two of you from the prickle of ice, snow and cold alike.

-During the summer, she tends to smother you a bit so you have to squirm your way out of her hold a few times if you're to get any rest at all

-Gets particularly soft and vulnerable when you tuck her hair behind her ears and tell her every little thing you love about her; it makes her feel like her engine is going to combust on site- but in the best way possible.

Shadowheart

-Plays with your hair and enjoys it when you do too

-She always prays right before and right after sleeping and always mentions you in her prayers; she wants you to be safe and healthy forever and always.

-On rare nights that she does have a nightmare (not doubt featuring wolves) she'll reluctantly wake you up and want you to spoon her and comfort her tenderly with words or reassurance; she knows it's silly that they are just wild dogs with no table manners but they terrify her to her core.

-She takes a couple of hours to fall asleep, so in the meantime she likes to read, meditate and admire every inch of you while you sleep or chill in your shared bedroll; it reminds her how lucky and blessed she is everyday.

Gale

-Snores mildly on nights his orb is particularly vexing but will still insist on you cuddling up together; he will apologise for all the trouble he knows he causes although he knows he can't control his situation or habits.

-You have a nightly ritual where you'll lay adjacent to each other and get lost in each others eyes, which tends to lead Gale to slowly getting flustered and eventually crumbling and being very keen for some sleep- he can't control his love or actions in relation to you very well so having you looking at him like that really switches something in him.

-If you ever have trouble falling or staying asleep he'll cast a sleep spell on you to make sure you will get your well deserved rest, and watch over you for a little while just in case something should happen or change.

-On nights where he struggles to sleep and you have long been taken ahold by sleep, he'll wonder off to a quiet place on the other side of camp and quietly play with his magic.

Lae'zel

-She's the type to kick and move around a lot in her sleep, maybe even growl- although she has no memory or idea about it; she would be too proud to admit it willingly anyways.

-Very light sleeper, from as early as she can remember she never wants to give any potential enemies the upper hand so she applies this too to her sleep- she will be the one with a blade to their throat.

-Initially she's not a huge fan of the cuddling idea but once you've been together for a while she starts warming up to the idea of it, and will try it once everyone is asleep; she's full of a soft joy and ever so slightly god forbid drops her guard.

-Falls asleep very easily despite her guard being up so much, she has a lot of pent up rage, anxiety and just general exhaustion so this wears a toll on her body taking her completely out before you even realize it.

Astarion

-Is prone to frequent nightmares/reliving his past with the Szarr household, which causes him to jolt awake and sometimes cry or scream.

-Otherwise he's a quiet sleeper and a wonderful cuddler, he always wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in.

-His favorite sleeping position is to have his head directly on your chest so he can listen to your heartbeat, he finds it incredibly comforting and reassures him that he's not alone and won't ever have to be again- not at night, not in the day and certainly not against his demons.

-Takes a minimum of 4 hours to fall asleep especially if he's left alone with his thoughts; they eat at him with anxiety and doubt- so he tends to get to bed much earlier than everyone else in camp.

Halsin

-Only tends to snore if he's been in wild shape for too long

-Wonderful big spoon, also loves to hold you against his chest while you lay by the camp fire and watch the stars and reminisce on stories long past.

-Like Astarion he relives/has nightmares about some of his traumatic experiences from his youth but he's much more discreet about it and will do his best not to wake you up; and instead will go for a brief walk to clear his head and take in the scent of nature and all its bounties.

-Adores it when you nuzzle your face into his neck and will absolutely make you lay completely all over him so he can be closer to you; unless it embarrasses you of course.

[keyotos]

can i request any hsr characters sleepover hcs w/ gn reader?

nights like this

summary ⎯ sleepover hcs w/ the hsr men! you basically stay over.

includes ⎯ dan heng, gepard, blade, sampo, & jing yuan.

tana's words ⎯ yk i was never much of a sleepover kid as a kid; i missed my mother too much. this is kinda short. maybe bad bc i had writers block during this. anyway i hope u enjoy anon!!!

dan heng

⎯ terrible sleeper. sleep schedule is messed up. sometimes he goes to sleep at 12 (early), sometimes 6 am (late).

⎯ when you're with him, he sleeps a little better (sleeping at 2 instead of 6). your rhythmic breathing always manages to set him at ease, which causes him to relax and sleep better.

⎯ you guys like to read together before bed. he reads at a faster pace than you do, but that's okay bc he's always waiting for you to finish a page before he moves on. doesn't matter how long you take; he'll wait forever as long as it's you.

⎯ before y'all became official, you'd sneak into dan heng's room just to hang out. but that always ended up in you two sleeping on his floor mattress together. was it comfortable? no. was it enjoyable? yes. bc ur with dan heng.

⎯ he sleeps with his entire body literally draped over yours. you guys take the phrase, "tangled limbs," to the max. sometimes when you wake up, it's practically like a puzzle trying to get yourself out of his grip.

⎯ dan heng is always cold at night, so naturally he pulls you closer for warmth. only, he pulls you so close that it still isn't close enough.

⎯ he's not the deepest sleeper, but he sleeps pretty well (when he's not having nightmares). you are mostly a part of the reason why he is able to sleep better.

⎯ dan heng tries to sleep in your room as much as possible; mostly because your bed is usually more comfortable and because he wants to feel you in between his arms

⎯ likes to kiss you on your eyebrow before bed

⎯ you two ARE NOT getting out of bed until like noon. you guys would wake up early but you'd both just stay in bed foreverrrrr. dan heng loves being near you in general: dan heng wants you to stay in bed with him for life sometimes. and you're not arguing.

gepard

⎯ he is the man you'd have a night routine with. i'm talking like skincare routines, brushing teeth together, facemasks, watching the news before bed. you guys are like a little old couple.

⎯ when you'd do skincare with him, gepard would let you sit in between his legs on the counter. it's just hot.

⎯ swings an arm around you as you two brush your teeth. like his arm is around your shoulders and he is unknowingly pulling you deep into his chest. and he's just leaning on you. it's bc he's comfortable with you and he is secretly really touchy.

⎯ he has a relatively good sleep schedule. he's probably not getting the right amount of sleep due to his duties, but he gets more sleep than dan heng!

⎯ cuddles you when you two go to sleep. you guys would sleep face to face and he'd rest his head on top of yours while you guys are sleeping. he pulls you so close.

⎯ on nights he can't sleep, you two just lie awake and talk. talk about each other's days, pet peeves, future dreams: gepard finds solace with you no matter what. he's the type of person to have deep conversations about the future with because he has probably planned it out.

⎯ you two would be in bed and gepard would accidentally blurt out that he wants to marry you. and then he's a mess.

⎯ sleeps so peacefully. no nightmares no nothing. nothing disturbs his sleep (except for his alarm). he's just so peaceful and content just being in bed with you.

⎯ wants to stay in bed with you forever but he actually has to wake up super early. before he leaves, he always kisses your forehead and places a kiss to your knuckles. you're always asleep when it happens so it's just his secret routine.

⎯ he likes to admire you before he leaves. he wants to study every crevice on your face like you're a famous artwork in a museum. thinks about you for the entire day. then he gets home and all of his past problems have diminished.

blade

⎯ he's probably too busy plotting VENGEANCE to think about sleep.

⎯ im jp. he loves sleeping, especially if you're there next to him. he thinks being able to sleep with you is one of the best things that have been granted to him by the aeons.

⎯ you're just too adorable. you like to come up and wrap your arms around his torso, while he's sleeping on his back with an arm around your entire body. he wraps an arm around you to make sure you wouldn't fall off/he wants to keep you close to him. it's a reminder that you're here and you're so peaceful against him.

⎯ he sleeps so late. you would always fall asleep first. you always fall asleep on him so his arm is always numb. but blade doesn't mind, especially when it's you.

⎯ likes to be a fucking TEASE before bed. omg he's like a like roblox troll. his hands are usually cold, so he'd reach under your shirt and like put his hands around your ribcage. it surprises you and makes you jump up into him, which is why he does it.

⎯ blade does not move when he sleeps. he sleeps perfectly still. he isn't a deep sleeper, just a still sleeper. he's hypervigilant, but he manages to stay in the same spot throughout the entire night. that being said, the way his arm/shoulder/whatever body part you're sleeping on becomes numb in the morning...

⎯ blade may seem like a simple guy, but he is not. every time he pulls you closer, he intends to keep you with him for the rest of his life. he likes to bury his head in your hair to remind himself of you; he wants to remember the smell of your shampoo for ages.

⎯ when he wakes up and he sees that you've moved away from him, blade likes to pull you back in.

sampo

⎯ another horrible sleeper. it's bc of his "business hours" that he arrives home at terrible hours.

⎯ sneaks into bed with you... always wakes you up. you give him a oblictatory smack on the shoulder every time he does this, but to your (mock) dismay, he always pulls you on top of him.

⎯ sleeps and does not wake back up. you have to like violently shake him to even get him to stir out of sleep. he arrives home so late and, to make up for lost hours, he sleeps for so long.

⎯ grabs you and does not let you go. you're pressed against him and awake while bro is dead asleep. it's like a whole mission trying to get out of his grip.

⎯ he is so MOUTHY when he wakes up; somehow he regains all energy that he missed out on the previous night and wakes up all happy and clingy. tries to GO BACK TO SLEEP after he realizes the both of you are awake.

⎯ the type to be like, "five more minutes," mf you have slept for FIVE DAYS. he'll use every trick in the book too; he'll do the pout, puppy dog eyes, even going so far as to beg and plead on his knees in the bed.

⎯ and of course, you stay in for five more minutes. i lied, you guys stay in for more than five minutes. you agreed because of his incessant pestering, but also bc you love him i guess.

⎯ he gets home really late and you barely get to see him at night, so for now, you suppose you'll settle for late mornings with sampo.

jing yuan

⎯ GREAT SLEEPER. PERFECT FOR NIGHT ROUTINES. PERFECT FOR MORNING ROUTINES.

⎯ as general, he doesn't have the hectic sleep schedule like dan heng, and he also does not have to wake up as early as gepard. he gets to sleep early with you and he gets to wake up and spend the morning with you as well.

⎯ sometimes yanqing likes to spend time with you in the morning. he goes in to remind jing yuan of something but he ends up staying for one hour bc you two strike up a conversation filled with widely various topics.

⎯ on mornings yanqing doesn't come in, you two just spend the whole morning talking about your plans for the day. your schedules are around the same length as each other, so you two barely have time to spend together during the day. but at least you two have your mornings and nights.

⎯ nights are great. you two like to talk about your days while you lay side to side, head resting on jing yuan's chest. your breathing is synchronized, not uneven. you feel safe, at peace, and calm.

⎯ yk that couples that fall asleep quickly together are chemically bonded? yeah that's you and jing yuan. you two are KNOCKED OUT after like 11:30 (old folk) because you two are chemically bonded.

⎯ whenever the other is not around, you guys have trouble sleeping. you guys sleep so early together, but when you guys are apart? you will be getting no sleep.

⎯ loves sleeping early with you. loves to have you in his arms as fast as possible. loves mornings with you. loves how you look similar to being iridescent in the morning. loves everything about you tbh.

NOT one of my best hcs but thats ok

[megameatymatt]

Die For Me - Matt Sturniolo

Toxic Fwb Stoner!Matt X Reader

Summary: Matt and Y/N are fwb ( friends with benefits), But what if Y/N wants more?

slightly proof read

WARNINGS: smut, toxic, soft!dom matt, mentions of alcohol, drugs, and weed, overthinking??? angst??

requested?: nope

word count: 801

A/N: I apologize in advance, Feedback, interaction, and requests are appreciated! stay slutty ok bye💋

Y/n - Pink

Matt- blue

"Pull up, baby, I need you to slide for me You know how I love it when you ride on me"

9:15

You shuffle through your makeup drawer preparing for a date with a guy you met a few weeks ago. The air was filled with the scent of your perfume and the soft hum of your favourite playlist. As you apply your mascara your phone buzzes with a new message from Matt.

It read: 

"Hey Y/N can u come over I miss you"

"Chris and Nick aren't home.."

"pretty please"

You pause, your fingers hovering over the screen. You know the routine with Matt—hang out, get high,  then fuck. It’s always been straightforward, but lately, your feelings have grown more complicated. You love him in a way that goes beyond just fun and games, and it’s starting to hurt.

You text back:

"I’m actually getting ready for a date rn. I’m not sure..."

Matt’s response was fast, almost too fast:

"Please baby, we can make it quick"

"please I fucking need you"

You’ve been here before, caught between wanting to protect yourself and the irresistible urge to be near Matt. You can’t ignore the fact that you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak if you go through with this. You want more from him, but he’s always been clear about not wanting anything serious.

A sigh escapes your lips as you consider your choices. The date tonight could turn into something special, But the lure of Matt and the hope that he might feel the same way you do is hard to ignore.

With a heavy heart, you decide to respond:

"be there in 10"

"i love you"

Your stomach fills with butterflies.

You decided to take the long way to his house. The drive was like a distraction, a temporary escape from the gnawing sadness of your situation. You even tried blasting music as loud as you possibly could, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Matt. You knew you'd end up in his bed, and you weren't mad. But you felt stuck

9:45

He greets you with his usual easy smile and a warm hug, and you both slip into his bedroom. "Want a puff?" He says holding the blunt in front of you. "I'm good. I've actually been trying to quit"

He nods and turns his music down. before laying down on his bed beside you. "I missed you so much Y/N". You hated how your stomach flipped and spun every time he was near you. You turn your head and smile "I've missed you more matt." He's already buzzed, He's more giddy than usual. He still has a smile on his face while his eyes shoot from your eyes and your lips over and over again. 

"You're the prettiest girl i've ever met" He says staring into your eyes. "I love you." It's now you realize he's been drinking as well, you smell it in his breath, and there's a bottle of tequila on his nightstand. 

You hated how you loved him but before you knew it, your body flew on top of him as your lips connected. 

He quickly undresses you and pulls down your shorts. Your hands travel every inch of his body as he places hickeys down from your neck to your tits. 

"Y/N" He moans, "I need you, Fuck, you make me crazy".  "Ride me baby" And without a second thought you align his dick with your pussy and start moving.

"Fuck matt!" You squeal as Matt starts thrusting into you. Tears fall from the outer corners of your eyes as you dig your nails deep into his shoulders

"Matt" You whine "i know baby, i know. just take it f'me okay?" He moans as his fingers dig into your hips. It feels like pure ecstasy, But just like ecstasy, it's addictive. It'll be the death of you two one day, But right now it's bliss.

10:40

"I'm close Matt, so close'' You choke out. "Cum f'me baby " That's all he needed to say as you release all over his cock. He came shortly after And you collapse on his chest. 

a familiar mix of pleasure and sadness wash over you. You love these moments, the closeness and the connection, but the underlying feelings you had for him felt like a knife to the heart.

You rest your head on his shoulder as his fingers comb through your hair."You were so good for me baby" He says. His voice is deep and raspy. "i love you"

You knew you shouldn't take it seriously, it only translates to: "I love when you give in and we fuck" But it still made you smile. But instead of saying it back you try and ignore it knowing he probably didn't mean it, and he probably never will

Taglist: @sturnobsessedwh0re

[glittervame]

Lets go make a slpash

Pool party/ water balloon

This post is going to be part of the Jinxed July by @thatdammchickennugget and @finalgirllx check it out if you want to know more!

Sorry its short, I didn't really have a plan for this because I found out about the challenge out late. I don't think I have a tag list for Mattheo but tell me if you want one.

Mattheo Riddle x FEM! Reader 18+ Basically just smut, Unprotected P in V (Wrap it before you tap it), degradation, hinted overstimulation

Mattheo's eyes widened as Y/n emerged from the bathroom in their shared room in Malfoy manor. He'd seen her in swimsuits before, of course, but there was something about this particular one that seemed to highlight every curve and angle of her body in the most flattering way possible. It was a two-piece number with a plunging neckline and high-cut bottoms that had been a gift from her friend Pansy, and it was clear that Pansy had excellent taste.

Y/n noticed his stare and smirked, twirling around to show off the full effect of the ensemble. "Like what you see?" she asked, her voice teasing.

Mattheo coughed, trying to clear his throat and regain his composure. "I-I mean, yeah, you look... you look good."

"Just good?" she teased, raising an eyebrow.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to look away, focusing on the book he'd been reading. "You look great, Y/n. Really."

Y/n grinned and winked at him before sauntering over to the mirror to check her hair and makeup. She knew she had him flustered, and she enjoyed it a little too much. It had been a while since she'd seen him like this, and it was a nice change of pace from their usual bickering and banter.

They had just been so buys hanging out with their friends that they hadn't got time to be by themselves in a while. It was summer break, and they were all staying at the Malfoy manor for a month-long vacation. It was the perfect time to strengthen their friendship and maybe explore something more, or so Y/n hoped.

Y/n had had a crush on Mattheo for what felt like forever, but she was never sure if he felt the same way. They had always been close, almost like siblings, but lately she had been noticing that their friendship had been taking a different turn. 

There was a spark between them, something that made her heart race every time their eyes met or their fingers brushed against each other's. But she knew that Malfoy manor was not the place to be making any big romantic moves. There were too many people around, too many eyes watching. Plus, she didn't want to ruin their friendship if he didn't feel the same way.

"Alright, I'm ready," she announced, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her waist. "Let's go make a splash."

Mattheo nodded, still trying to get his thoughts in order. He had noticed the change in their dynamic too, but he wasn't sure if it was just his imagination or if there was something more there. He didn't want to jump to conclusions and risk losing her friendship.

They headed outside to the pool area, where their friends were already gathered. Pansy, Blaise, and Draco lounged by the pool, sipping on butterbeers and chuckling at some inside joke. Ginny and Hermione were splashing around in the water, while Ron and Harry were engaged in a heated debate about Quidditch strategies.

The group greeted them with cheerful hellos, and Y/n couldn't help but feel a little nervous as she approached the pool. She had never felt this self-conscious before, but she was determined to enjoy herself. She took a deep breath and dove into the water, the cool liquid enveloping her and washing away her nerves.

The day passed by in a blur of laughter, games, and good-natured rivalry. The sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the manor grounds. The group decided to end the day with a game of hide and seek adding their own twist to the game, the loser got pelted by water balloons by the rest of them. As they counted down, Y/n took the opportunity to sneak away to a secluded spot she had discovered earlier in the week.

It was a small grove of trees, hidden from view of the pool area, and she hoped it would be the perfect place to catch her breath and gather her thoughts. She had just found a comfortable spot when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she realized it was Mattheo. He looked around, spotting her tucked away in the shadows. "Found you," he murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"find your own hiding spot," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

He stepped closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. "I think I like this one just fine."

The air between them grew thick with tension, and Y/n's heart raced as she took in his wet hair and the droplets of water that clung to his skin. "What do you want, Mattheo?"

He took another step closer, so that they were only a breath apart. "I want to know if this is just me," he whispered, his hand reaching out to lightly brush her cheek. "Or if there's something here."

Y/n's eyes searched his, looking for any sign that he was joking or teasing. But all she saw was earnestness and vulnerability. 

"There's something here," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I've felt it for a while."

Mattheo's hand moved to cradle her face, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in the softest of kisses. It was a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, filled with promise and potential.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/n felt like she was floating. "Is this...are we..." she stumbled over her words.

Mattheo grinned, his eyes shining with excitement. "Let's not overthink it, Y/n. Let's just enjoy this summer, and see where it takes us."

Well where the summer took them was you getting pounded into. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer still. You feel the heat between your legs, the ache that only he can soothe. You moan into the kiss, arching your back as you press yourself against him, needing him to touch you.

His hands slide down your back, gripping your hips before moving up to cup your bottom, squeezing gently. You feel his fingers dig into your skin, leaving a trail of desire down your spine. You whimper into his mouth, wanting more. You need more.

He picks you up, carrying you over to the bed. You watch as he kicks the door shut before lowering you down onto the mattress. His lips trail a line down your neck, sucking and nipping at your skin. You tilt your head back, arching into the sensation. You can feel his erection pressing against your core, begging to be let in.

He slides his hand between your legs, parting your folds. His fingers are rough against your skin, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. You gasp as he circles your clit, teasing it expertly. You buck your hips against his hand, needing more. You need him inside you.

"Please, Mattheo," you whisper, your voice hoarse with desire. "I need you."

He groans, his fingers leaving your aching folds to unbuckle his belt. You watch in anticipation as he pulls his pants down, revealing his hardness. He straddles you, positioning himself at your entrance. With a deep breath, he pushes inside you, filling you completely. You cry out at the feeling of being so completely claimed, your body clenching around him in welcome.

He begins to move, his hips rocking against yours. The friction between you is exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body. You arch your back, meeting his rhythm as he thrusts deeper and deeper. You can feel him getting closer, can feel the tension building inside him.

"I'm close, cara mia," he breathes, his voice rough with need. "Come for me."

You moan, your nails digging into his shoulders. The sensation of being so close, of feeling him inside you as he reaches his climax, is almost too much to bear. You feel the wave of pleasure building within you, threatening to overwhelm you.

"Mattheo," you whimper, your body tensing as the sensation crashes over you. You cry out his name, your body pulsing around him in a release of pure ecstasy. You feel him follow you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he comes deep inside you.

He collapses on top of you, their sweat-slick bodies sticking together. You breathe in the scent of him, the heady mix of sweat and arousal. Mattheo kisses your neck before brushing off the tears on your cheek, "You can go again yeah?"

You nod, a sly smile playing on your lips. "As many times as you want."

"Good" He thrusts back in harshly, his hand finding its way to your neck. He squeezes gently, a hint of dominance in his eyes as he sets a punishing pace. "Because I'm not done with you yet."

You moan, your body responding to his touch, his claim on you. This is what you've been waiting for, what you've been dreaming of. You wrap your legs around his waist, urging him on, eager for more of him.

Your hands claw at his back as he pounds into you, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep within you. You feel yourself building towards another climax, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

But he never lets her cum after that first one, he keeps her on the edge, her eyes glazed with lust and desperation. His grip on her neck tightens, and his teeth graze her earlobe. "You're mine," he whispers, his voice a dark growl. "Say it."

"Yours," you gasp, your voice barely audible. "I'm yours."

He smiles a cruel twist of his lips, and slams into you one final time before pulling out, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You look up at him, confusion and need written all over your face.

"Not yet," he says, his eyes gleaming. "We're just getting started."

And so as the night goes on, he continues to tease you until you become a sobbing mess of pleasure, begging for release that he never fully gives.

[prettynice8]

Kinkmas Day 7: Cockwarming

Paring: SATORU GOJO X MALE READER BECAUSE IT'S HIS BIRTHDAY

This lovely man

Warnings: kissing, fluffy, already boyfriends, non-sorcerer reader, no actual sexy times, cockwarming DUH, angst?

Summary: Gojo finally breaks out of the prison realm and you're the first person he goes to see, awwwwww.

Word count: 692

You were just reading a book when the love of your life walked through the door. To say you were in shock would be an understatement, your face was totally frozen in surprise, your jaw almost hitting the floor. You thought you were dreaming, there is no way he broke out so soon, though he is the strongest.

"Hi." He greeted simply, tears welling up in his eyes after finally being able to lay his eyes on you. You jump out of the couch and dash towards him, trapping him in the tightest hug you can manage. He hugs you back even tighter, holding you in his grasp as if you will fade away if he lets go. Tears well up in your eyes as well as you finally get to touch the man you love.

"Easy now, I wasn't even gone for that long." He said, smirking and giving out a light chuckle. You are utterly speechless, not knowing what you could say, so you settle with just hugging him. The moment is really sweet until this fucking asshole has to ruin everything.

"Awe you missed me didn't you. Come on, I wanna hear you say how much you miss your awesome boyfriend." He said, breaking your tight embrace, changing to holding your face in his hands. "'Oh Gojo, hold me, make sweet, sweet love to me with your big dick'' He mocked, making his voice higher to poorly mimic yours.

You're still too stunned to care, just happy to be in his presence. He stops messing around when he notices that you are actually crying. now.

"I really did miss you. You do know that right?" He asked, holding your shoulders while looking deep into your eyes, his blindfold already off so he can see you and all of your beauty.

"Yeah, I know." You replied. You think you're in a dream, this almost is just too good to be true. "I just, I mean, like how, and when-" he cuts you off by kissing you, hands wrapped around your waist, in which you return instantly.

"Shush now, don't think about it, just be happy that we're together again." He assured, picking you up bridal style and leading you to your shared bedroom.

He lays you down and joins suit, sitting up right. Finally, the two of you can be on the same bed after nearly two weeks of being apart. He starts to kiss you once again, which you graciously accept. His hands roam your body, longing to be as close to you as possible. Yours do the same, breaking the only to take off his shirt, then going back to his sweet lips. He does the same to you, finally being able to feel your supple skin.

You get on top of his lap, still lovingly kissing while feeling his hardened abs up and down. He caresses your back, chest, face, and your everything. The kiss becomes more passionate, your tongues colliding and sliding perfectly with each other, talking would just be a waste for them.

The room becomes increasingly warm with the sexual tension in the air. You can't take it anymore; you need to feel him in you. You take off his pants, happily surprising Gojo as he does the same for you. You offer him one final kiss before he plunges into you.

Then he stops, holding once again in a tight embrace while his hard dick is balls deep in you. You were shocked, surprised, and confused, just all the emotions.

"Can we just, stay like this?" He questioned, wanting only to be in your presence after being apart for so long. You were frustrated at first, but all that was necessary to change your mind was looking into his sparkly blue eyes and absolutely understanding what he was talking about. You snuggled up into his chest, both your mind and body being enclosed by only him, Satoru Gojo.

"I'd love nothing more." You replied, loving every moment of this tender embrace, this show of love and affection. You go to sleep in his arms, finally being able to be with him once again.

THE END

Notes: fuck jjk for killing off this amazing man, this is in honor of the hottest guy out there.

[the-moth-archives]

☾My Personal Moon Knight System HCs☾

Type: fluff - small hurt comfort with Marcs'

Word Count: 1187

Notes: hello !! I didn't really proof read this so there might be some errors. im also not 100% familiar with Jake's character so he might be a little ooc and I apologize for that. I tried to keep this as gender neutral and body neutral as possible. I'm also going to try a new aesthetic for my Moon Knight stuff :)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Steven

he walks around with dinosaur arms and only puts them down when someone points it out. but there was one time when you pointed it out and he tried to put his hands down but you stopped him, saying it was cute. that sealed the deal with him feeling 100% comfortable with you

sometimes he wakes you up in the middle of the night to ramble about a book he’s been reading 

“hey love, got a minute?” you jumped awake and hummed as he plopped down next to you, book in hand. as he began to ramble, you stayed awake for a little bit, silently listening until he felt your head slump on his shoulder. he still continued to whisper about what he learned as you softly snored, body weight almost complete dead-weighted onto his side. he’d just have to fill you in when you wake up.

if you get off work before him, you’d stop by the museum gift shop just to say hi to him. you can physically see his face brighten when you walk in. he trods over to you to say hello and you two walk around the gift shop, pretending that Steven is helping you find something. but in reality, you’re just chatting about your day and planning for dinner.

if he gets off before you, he also visits you,, or tries to. depending on where you work, it can become hard for him to go in and see you so he’ll sometimes text you that he’s outside for you to look out the window and see him OR go outside to be with him. sometimes he likes to come to your work right before you’re about to leave just so you can both walk together and take the bus back to your shared apartment.

he likes to sleep on top of you in some way. sometimes he likes to lay on top of you when you’re on your stomach and sometimes he likes to lay on your chest. he can either to half of his body laying on your or full body (he prefers full body but he doesn’t mind if you can’t handle it ! he wants his partner to be very comfortable) think of it as you being his personal teddy bear.

pls play with his hair. or just touch him in general. he would literally bend over backwards for you if you promise to comb your fingers through his hair or rub his face/back/literally anywhere on him. when you play with his hair, his grip on you gets tighter as he looks up at you with a love drunk expression. please just touch him, he’ll love you forever.

his love language is acts of service. when you’re not feeling good, mentally or physically, he’s always up and ready to help you. he makes soup for you, gets you flowers and puts them next to the bed, always watches over you and snuggles with you when asked. 

Marc

in the beginning, he’s very standoff-ish. he’s mostly just scared of getting hurt again or messing up and making you angry. but there’s one night where he catches himself feeling very vulnerable around you and ends up breaking down to you. you say nothing and just hold him for however long he needs you. that was his own “sealed the deal” with you

sometimes he has very bad nightmares or vivid flashbacks where he would jolt up and gasp really loudly. sometimes you’ll wake up and hold him close, shushing him back to sleep. you also gave him the ok to wake you up if he ever needs you during the night. he still feels guilty but you always wake up with a sympathetic smile and a warm embrace 

he falls asleep during movies, even if he picks them out. you’d be knees deep into a thriller movie and you’ll get spookie a by his head connecting with your shoulder. you laugh and wake him up if the movie is important to you or if it’s a movie you’ve both wanted to see for a while now. but most of the time, you let him sleep through the rest of the movie and fill him in on what he missed

in the beginning, he was firm on being the big spoon but as time when on, he’d start asking you to spoon him until it became your default position. he only ever becomes the big spoon when you ask him to or you had a bad day.

another touch starved alter, please touch him. he will cry. the first time you actually hugged him, he felt like he was going to sob violently. sometimes he does cry when you hug him or just hold onto him in some way. you’re so gentle to him, he’s never experienced this and wants to bathe in that feeling. please let him be selfish with your touch.

his love language is quality time. he’s attached at the hip with you. wherever you are, he’s also there. Steven and Marc switch off times when sitting in the shower with you. you’d be in the water while they sit outside and talk about either of their days. once you’re done, he gets in the shower and you go on about your day while you dry off and do your nightly routine. if you don’t have a nightly routine, you’ll just sit on the floor where he was previously.

Jake

VERY protective. once he gets to know you and gets used to your existence, as you do with his, he becomes very protective and watches over you like a hawk. if he sees any small bruise or cut on you, he’s gonna play 20 questions with you so be ready.

he likes when you rest your head on his chest or just lay on him period. it makes he feel strong and like he’s succeeding in keeping you safe and loved. he always, ALWAYS, wants you to feel safe with him and to be comfortable around him. he’s a guy with a rough shell and seeing how much Steven and Marc adore you, he wants to keep you there not just for himself but for the other two.

for any special event or holiday, he loves to get you flowers with a small little card, telling you how much he loves you. the cards are usually in Spanish! 

he’s love language is gift giving. anytime he’s out and about, he likes to buy small trinkets that remind him of you and gift them to you when he gets back. you have a whole collection of random keychains hanging on the wall and a small box filled with silly things he’s picked up for you.

yes he does the Gomez thing where he kisses up your arm.

he’s always gotta be touching you. hand around your waist, in your butt pocket, hand in hand, hand on your shoulder, hand resting on your thigh as he drives, etc etc. he will die if he can’t touch you. (pls just touch all of the alters, they’ll never leave you)

[sheisjoeschateau]

“Oh, so do WE love Steve…” | Part VIII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, more angst, mentions of death, injuries, Max in a coma, fearful tears, shared sadness, end-of-the-world terror talk, tough conversations and brutal honesty, jealousy and regrets. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not a super action packed chapter, but we unpack a lot in this one. Sh*t gets addressed that needs to be addressed. Dr. Owens delivers some hard news. Robin to the rescue, big time, for her platonic soulmate with a capital P. Platonic Stobin in full swing. Eddie still has no chill, but is the zany friend that everyone needed. Eddie & Robin bonding. Argyle becomes a therapist. Nancy faces some hard truth. Jonathan faces harder truth. Jopper being the ever-observant grandparents. Murray being Murray. Steve and Bauman Squared are more in love than ever. And the kids? Little legends.

ANOTHER LONG ONE. AGAIN: PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Dislocated the shoulder, but no break.  Popping it back into place isn’t going to be a picnic, but it’s way better than a break.  So we’re off to a great start.  Let’s take a look at your ribs now…”

Dr. Owens had you seated on the edge of the bed in Joyce and Hopper’s room downstairs.  Murray, Steve and Robin all stood nearby, alongside them.  They all watched anxiously.

Argyle and Eddie were on kid/teen duty.  They made sure to keep them out of the room, which they managed to convince them of by going upstairs to sit with Max and read to her out loud. 

You hissed as Dr. Owens made contact with your ribcage, and he frowned.  “Possible fracture there.  Good news is, if they were broken, you’d be on the ground in pure misery.  They might even just be really badly bruised.”

You sighed.  “I’m good with that.

Murray felt both relieved and frustrated at the same time.  God, he hated doctors.  Especially ones who served as double agents for the government.  But Dr. Owen’s had more than proven himself to be trustworthy, so your uncle was putting up with him.  For your sake, especially.  You were basically the only kid he was ever gonna have.

“Best bet is to rest, ice them regularly and let them heal for about six weeks.”

You frowned.  “Not so good with that.”

“Welp, you’re gonna have to be,” your uncle told you.  Steve and Hopper nodded.  You huffed, and Steve was selfishly grateful to know that you would have no choice but to stay home and out of danger. 

“Alright, let’s check that heartbeat, shall we?” Dr. Owens asked with a smile.  He took out his stethoscope, placing the instrument inside of his ears and blowing hot air onto the cold circle that would be placed over your heart.  You brought the collar of your shirt down so that he could place it on your chest, and he listened closely while you waited. 

Dr. Owens' smile slowly faded, and a prominent crease began to form between his brows.  Robin clocked it, along with Steve.  Hopper tried not to react, but Joyce’s fidgeting definitely gave it away.

“W-what’s wrong?” Joyce asked, unable to help herself.

Dr. Owens just held up a finger, politely gesturing for them to wait.  You furrowed your brow, suddenly aware of the fact that something seemed to be the matter.

Steve swallowed, unblinking.  What now…

Murray was not happy at the tension in the air, looking over at Joyce anxiously. 

Dr. Owens eventually cleared his throat, pulling the stethoscope out of his ears with a deep inhale.  He looks at you kindly, eyes solemn.  You stare back, questioning. 

“Well, umm…it’s normal.  Not surprising, given the electric shock, but uh…your heartbeat’s not at its normal steady rhythm.”

Robin heard Steve suck in a breath, placing a hand on his forearm as they all looked at Dr. Owens. 

“Cardiac arrhythmias is normal in these cases,” he tells you. “A heart arrhythmia occurs when the electrical signals that tell the heart to beat don't work properly. The heart may beat too fast or too slow. Or the pattern of the heartbeat may be inconsistent.  A heart arrhythmia may feel like a fluttering, pounding or racing heartbeat. Some heart arrhythmias cases are harmless.  Most, in fact.”

“Well, what about this one?” your uncle asked, voice grave. 

Dr. Owens sighed.  “Too soon to tell,” he said apologetically.  “But it’s important that it remains monitored.”

“What do we do.” …Steve’s question sounded more like a statement, laced with worry and dangerously voice low. 

Dr. Owens looked at him sympathetically.  “I can get a prescription that will help.  An antiarrhythmic medication.  No surgery is needed unless it’s severe.  It might not be.”

“How can you tell?” Joyce asked, worriedly.  “I mean – what are the signs that we need to look for?”

“Fainting, chest pain, dizziness.”  Then, to you, “If you feel like the heart is fluttering, or leaping inside of your chest, definitely make note of it.  Scale it, 1-10, how bad it is.  Be honest with yourself.  Don’t tell yourself you’re more fine than not, and vice-versa.  Don’t let it panic you, but just…stay alert.”

Steve wanted to pull every single one of his perfect hairs out.  How the hell was that supposed to help?  What happens if you wound up passed out on the floor, dead before they would get you proper help?

“Yeah, but what if — w-what if —”

That's all that Steve could mutter.  Robin squeezed his forearm tighter, masking her own fear as she gnawed at her bottom lip relentlessly.  Murray stared at Dr. Owens, visibly upset.  Hopper looked pale, along with Joyce.

“How fast can you get us that medication?” Hopper asked, like a protective papa.

“I’ll get it to you tonight.  Maybe tomorrow morning,” Dr. Owens promised.  “I can bring as much as you may need.  Meantime, I’ll leave the stethoscope so that you can monitor the heartbeat.  Here, let me show you what to look for.”

Dr. Owens instructed Steve and Murray on how to monitor your heartbeat, and you ached as you watched Steve look consumed with dread as he did his best to keep it together and not freak out.  Hopper and Joyce took notes, too.  Everyone listened to your heartbeat, Steve most of all.

You took his hand.  “Remember, it’s still there,” you murmured to him softly.  He nodded, knowing you were right but still not content with the reality of things.  Robin gave you a sympathetic smile, grateful for you and your courage.

Then, you looked at Dr. Owens with gratitude.  “Thank you.  For being here, and…helping out.  I know you’re putting yourself on the line.”

Dr. Owens gave you a deeply appreciative look, along with Hopper.  He wrung his hands.  “Appreciate that, kiddo.  Truly.” 

Everyone went over the plans that would go into effect, given the mandate taking place in just a few short days.  Hopper mentioned that it might be best for Dr. Owens to seek shelter with them, if things went south for him — given his compromised identity as an accomplice to them vs. the government.  The doctor couldn’t argue that, saying he would think about it.  Steve and Robin mentioned to him that Eddie needed looking over as well, which he said he’d do before he left.

While the adults talked, Steve and Robin walked with you out the bedroom door.  You looked outside the living room windows, hating the thick cloud of infected air that had only gotten worse — seemingly overnight.  It was dense, congested with alternate dimension disease. 

“Seriously, hate that I can’t even get some damn fresh air,” you sighed.

“Last thing you need is bad air in your lungs,” Steve told you, his fingers reaching to massage the crown of your head.  You sighed, knowing that he was right. 

The kids heard you all walking out of the room, Mike and Lucas peeking their heads around the doorway leading into Max’s room upstairs.  They made for the stairs, followed by Dustin, Will and El, rushing towards you all.  Eddie and Argyle shouted after them, but they quickly rushed over to you. 

They swarmed you all with questions.  Is your shoulder broken?  What about your ribs?  Are you hungry?

“One at a time, kiddos,” Robin warned. 

“No broken bones,” Steve told them, “But possible fracture.  Ribcage.  So no bear hugs, no tackling, no…rough-housing.”

Mike cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Speak for yourself.”

Lucas smacked him.

“Thank you, Wheeler,” Steve said wryly.  Mike smirked.

“Also, we gotta keep watch over Bauman’s heartbeat,” Robin pointed out. 

El looked worried.  “How come?”

You gave her an assuring head rub before carefully pulling her in for a hug.  “Just a bit of an irregular heartbeat.  You know.  Given the shock and astral-planing and all.”

El held you tight, cautious of your ribs.  

“…guess this means no coffee then, huh?” you asked, depressed at the mere thought. Caffeine was no longer your friend.

“That is correct,” Steve told you with a light kiss pressed to your head, then El’s.  “Alright, kitchen everyone.  Breakfast.  Let’s go.”

“Bauman, we need to pop your shoulder back in place,” Dr. Owens hollered after you, and you dreaded the pain that awaited you.

Eddie made it downstairs with Argyle.  “I’ll fix up a feast, big boy,” he told Harrington, giving him a quick couple pats on the shoulder.  Then he squeezed your cheek.  “Keep that heartbeat in rhythm, sweetheart.  I’ll make you a sweet mixtape for inspiration.”

You chuckled deeply, appreciating his sense of humor deeply.  Even Steve did, shaking his head and grateful for the cooking assistance.  “Don’t kill my toaster, Munson.”

Steve walked back into the bedroom with you, holding your hand while you had your shoulder popped back into place.  It was gnarly.  Plenty of pain medication followed that, one that took your heartbeat into account.  It was bound to knock you out at some point, so Steve and Robin made sure to get you back into the kitchen for some food before you’d need to head back upstairs and knock out asleep.

Hopper and Joyce helped out by adding some pancakes, sausage and eggs to Eddie’s cereal bar.  Murray was already day-drinking.  Dr. Owens stayed behind to join you all, at the invitation of the adults.  Currently, he was going over notes that Hopper had given him in a seat next to Murray.

Argyle saw Jonathan round the corner – looking glum.  “Yooo, bro-cha-cho.  Purple palm tree delight?”

Jonathan blinked, slowly brought out of his trance.  He looked tired, head hung low.  Honestly, he looked like shit.  “Oh, uhh…maybe later.  Yeah.”  He gave Argyle a sad smile before sulking off towards the front door while pulling a bandana over his mouth and nose — leaving the house.

“YO, GIMME SOME.”  Eddie spoke with a mouthful of fruit loops.  “Air’s shit anyway.  Why not fry my lungs s’more?”

“Fry it with what?” El asked innocently.

Eddie swallowed the sweet cereal awkwardly.  “...candy.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he poured everyone a glass of juice, and Robin held back a snort with all the strength that she could muster while divvying out plates.

“Really lame, gross candy,” Hopper threw back over his shoulder while flipping pancakes.  He eyed Munson with a protective dad look on his eyes.

“The weird peanut butter smelling kind,” Murray added, reading a newspaper and gritting at the taste of his straight vodka.

“Thank you, Murray,” Joyce reprimanded him.

You were seated next to El and Mike, not allowed to help given your sharp shoulder pain and the medication beginning to sink in.  Steve placed your food in front of you, along with the kids’. 

“Fresh pot of coffee going on,” Hopper announced while cooking.

You sighed, turning to Steve.  “Baby, do you —”

You stopped, catching yourself.  But so did everyone else.  Too late now.

“...have…decaf…?”

Steve’s heart swelled, his cheeks flushing. 

Lucas and Dustin made eye contact, trying not to laugh or get giddy.  Mike and El did, too, along with Will.  All the kids were in on it now — thanks to last night’s impromptu sleepover in Max’s room, unbeknownst to the rest of the household.  The OG party knew the secret, but they also agreed (thanks to Dustin’s firm warning about Murray’s rampage last night) not to press either you or Steve about it yet.  Big emphasis on yet.

Robin poured syrup in slow motion, and Eddie bit back a shit-eating grin.  Argyle looked unfazed, though, dishing up a plate of food. 

Hopper was grinning down at the pancakes he was serving up, back turned to everyone still.  Joyce unabashedly looked like a very happy mama, as Murray’s eyes peeked over the newspaper gleefully.

“Yeah, baby, I do,” Steve said, shooting you a wink and moving to go get some.  You blushed at Steve’s returning the pet name.  Steve walked towards the large pantry, passing Nancy — who you saw was now standing in the doorway, having heard it too.  She looked tired, similarly to Jonathan.  You gave her a soft smile, which she reluctantly returned. 

Walking towards you, she asked in the smallest of voices —

“How're you feeling?...”

You could tell that something was wrong, wanting to ask but also not.  “Shoulder’s screaming, but not broken thankfully.  Just out of the socket, Dr. Owens’ popped it back into place.  I’ll be alright.  Thanks, Nance.”

She gave you a relieved, tight-lipped smile.  You gave her as soft a look as you could, and Mike chimed in to break the tension.

“Nancy, I swear, Jonathan’s gonna turn into a palm tree if he keeps blazing it up,” he snorts, the joke very ill-timed.  But Dustin’s chuckling, along with Lucas’s, keeps him in a state of oblivion.  Something flickers in Nancy's eyes, and to your surprise she chuckles too — humorlessly.  Darkly.

“Yeah.  You can say that again.”

…so she agrees with her brother’s joke?  Nancy moved to dish herself up a plate, expression bitter and her movements aggressive.   You felt bad and you didn’t even know why.

Mike definitely looked confused, along with his friends.  Will looked concerned, along with Joyce.  Mother and son made eye contact.

Steve returned, ready to make a pot of fresh decaf.  He brought an extra coffee pot with him.  Rich kid perks.

“Morning, Nance,” he acknowledged her, moving to make the coffee. 

Her heart seized, voice tight.  “Hey.”

Hopper made uncomfortable eye contact with Murray, who buried himself deeper into his chair with the newspaper.  He did not account for this sort of awkwardness when going on a rant last night… Hopper shot him a high-raised eyebrow while flipping another pancake.

Steve heated up the pot of decaf, taking a plate that Joyce dished up for him and moving to sit next to you.  Mike made room for him, not even questioning it.  That made Nancy scoop more than enough eggs onto her plate than necessary. 

Hopper clocked it.  “You, uhh…need some cheese, or…?” 

Joyce gave Hopper a disapproving look, old married couple behavior in full swing.  Nancy looked down at her plate, embarrassed.  “Oh…n-no, I’m —”

Nancy awkwardly moved to sit down at the table next to Dustin.  Robin gulped, knowing what this was all about.  Finally, everyone was seated at the table – aside from Steve, who stood to pour you a cup of hot decaf coffee before bringing it over to you.  You sipped it, eyes becoming hooded with exhaustion as the pain medication set in.  Steve scooted his chair closer so that you could lean on him if needed.  Nancy had to peel her eyes away, staring down at her food — playing with it, unable to stomach eating it now.

She couldn’t even be mad.  How could she?  What right did she have to be mad?  And who would she even be mad at?  You?  Steve?  Jonathan?

Herself.  She was mad at herself.

That’s what she realized last night, when she and Jonathan didn’t get a wink of sleep in their room.  They’d stayed up, hashing it out once and for all.  It was a hurricane of sadness, harsh truth and reality – all at once.  Words that had been left unsaid.  Feelings that had never been expressed.  Regrets, empty promises and words of disappointment.  All aired out like dirty laundry.  He had asked how long she’d been falling for Steve again, which she had countered by asking him how long he had been planning to dump her while he was in California.  Jonathan had been stunned into silence, asking how the hell she knew that and if she had spoken to Argyle.  Nancy’s eyes, filled with tears, had stared at him with the look of utmost betrayal.  “It was a hunch.  Until right now.”

Neither of them got closure that night.  Nearly 5 hours of back and forth, and it got them nowhere.  They went to bed angry.  Sad, heartbroken and lost.  But sleep didn’t find either of them.  Instead, they both stared in opposite directions — backs turned to one another in a shared bed.  The morning had re-ignited the argument whenever they heard Dr. Owens arriving, because when Jonathan had moved to get up, Nancy asked him bitterly: “need to go hide your stash?”  That started back up all sorts of hissed, whispered arguing.

“Nancy, where’d Jonathan go?” Joyce’s question, soft and a bit worried, rattled Nancy’s thoughts.

“He just…wanted to get some fresh air.”

Everyone was silent.  Dr. Owen’s looked up from his files.  “It’s really bad out there.  He really shouldn’t be breathing any of that in.”

Nancy grit her teeth, fork scraping across her plate and making Robin cringe at the jarring sound.  

Mike snorted as he ate more pancakes.  “His lungs are already in rough condition as it is.  Probably doesn’t even matter.”

Nancy narrowed her eyes down at her plate of toyed breakfast food, nauseas.  She nodded her head bitterly, speaking through gritted teeth: “Agreed.  What’s it matter?  Likely irreparable anyway.”

No one missed the double meaning behind that as she rose to stand and dump her plate into the trash.  She quickly made her way out of the room, knowing the damage was already done but not having it in her to care.  Nancy couldn’t get away fast enough.

Eddie looked so uncomfortable but also sympathetic.  He knew this was a result of last night, along with Robin.  They shared a quiet, concerned glance.  Mike and the kids were just confused.  What was her deal?

Steve’s brow was furrowed, along with yours — however, you were already feeling the medicine kick in so everything was starting to feel fuzzy.  Your fingers were wrapped around the hot cup of decaf, warming them.  You were wearing a few rings that Eddie had gifted you while in the upside down, and as Steve focused on them now he realized just how hot you looked wearing them.  He took in your slightly hooded eyes, moving to stand.  “Wanna go lie down?”

You nodded, excusing yourself and thanking Dr. Owens again.  He told you that he’d make sure to get the medication later today, then to Eddie — “Hey Munson, let’s go check on how those stitches are holding up, yeah?”

Eddie gulped.  He hated needles and doctor tools.

Robin smirked.  “Let’s go show him my handywork.”  They all moved off to the living room, followed by Hopper.

Joyce looked perplexed still, unsettled by Nancy’s exit.  She turned to Will, speaking softly, “Did Jonathan tell you anything?  Is something wrong?”

But Will shook his head, shrugging, just as confused and concerned.  “Nothing,” he whispered back. “I was gonna ask you that.”

The eldest and youngest Byers looked pensive, thinking.  Wondering.  Worrying.

Mike’s face was quizzical. “What do you mean?  Why would anything be wrong with them?”

An incredulous scoff from behind the newspaper made everyone turn in Murray’s direction.   The grouchy man just sipped on his morning cup of poison, minding his business — even though he stuck his nose in everybody else’s.  

Joyce’s eyes narrowed at the front page of the Hawkins Press.  Of course…

“Hey, Mur?”

Murray cringed at Joyce’s sugary sweet, all-knowing tone… Hesitantly, he lowered the paper by just barely an inch.  He internally winced at the motherly eyes that bore into his soul from the table.

“Wanna go help me start clearing out the basement?”

Oh my god, Joyce Byers is going to murder me in Steve Harrington’s basement.  

That’s all Murray thought while he set down his newspaper, swigged the last of his drink and followed her downstairs.  He began to mentally write his eulogy.

Hopper grunted, setting his fork down.  “Ahhh, geez,” he huffed, standing up to follow them.

The kids all eyed each other, left alone at the table — no adults or older teens in sight.  What the hell just happened?

***

Steve got you upstairs safely, tucking you into bed and making sure you had water at your bedside table along with a walkie so that you could signal for him if you needed anything.  It made you chuckle. 

“What?” he asked you, quizzically. 

You shook your head.  “Still wondering why you’re considered the mom?”

Steve shot you a wry look, no heat in his eyes.  You were already beginning to doze off, the better pain meds doing their thing – thanks to Dr. Owens. 

With a little shake of his head and fighting a smirk, Steve crouched to kiss your forehead, then your neck.

“Careful, Harrington,” you murmured sleepily.  “Don’t wan’g’my heart rate up.”

“Shush, I’m keeping it steady,” his lips murmured into your jaw.  You hummed in approval, feeling yourself beginning to drift off as his breathing tickled your neck.  Steve whispered that he loved you, and you faintly whispered it back as you fell asleep. 

Unable to contain himself, Steve placed his ear to your chest for a moment — listening to your heartbeat.  He frowned to himself, hearing the sporadic beat.  Thump.  Th-thump, thump.  Thump thump.  His throat started to burn, along with his eyes.  But your fingers gently scratching his head, ceasing as you finally fell asleep, kept his emotions at bay.

Steve reluctantly pulled himself a way, pressing a lingering kiss to your hand before making his way out of your bedroom door.

He jogged downstairs to meet with the adults again, checking on Eddie as he was finishing up with Dr. Owens.  The older man smiled at Steve.

“I gotta say, Harrington.  Your friend’s a natural caretaker.  Could be a nurse one day.”

Robin gave a smug grin.  “See?  I’m not just a band nerd.  Turns out, I’m a real geek.  A medical one, at that.”

Steve smirked back at her.  “Yeah well, hope you like blood and needles and guts.”

“Psh.  After the shit we’ve seen?” Robin scoffed.  “Think I can handle it.” 

“Touché,” Steve nodded.

“Speak for yourself,” Eddie grumbled.  “I never wanna see my own blood ever again.  I feel like a voodoo doll.  Vecna can suck my whole hairy ass.”

“Thaaaank you, Munson,” Robin cringed.  “Love that visual.”

“He can honestly suck mine, too.”

Dr. Owens muttering that was ten times more disturbing than Eddie.  The three teens were awkwardly quiet, aside from Eddie finally chuckling out of pity.  The older man didn’t even notice as he packed up his belongings.

“Alrighty then,” Dr. Owens said politely.  “Best be off.   I’ll be back tonight with the prescription for your lady.”

Steve blushed slightly at that, giving the doc a thankful nod.  

“Keep an eye on her,” Dr. Owen’s said kindly.  “She’ll be alright.  She’s a tough one.  Murray’s got one helluva soldier for a niece.”

“She’s bad to the bone,” Eddie reveled.

“Made of steel,” Steve agreed, fondly and voice soft.  But he nibbled at his lip, mind elsewhere.  He was still worried, and the doctor could tell.

“Just make sure she stays horizontal and lets those ribs heal.  That’ll do her heart some good.  And don’t fret.  I’ve seen way worse.”

Dr. Owens’ gave a firm pat and squeeze to Steve’s shoulder, hoping it would give him plenty of assurance. Steve gave him a quick, tight-lipped grin, pretending it helped.  Robin looked at her best friend worriedly. 

With that, Dr. Owen’s made his way out.  Hopper met him at the doorway, walking out with him.

“STEVE, WHERE’S THE PUDDING?”

Dustin’s sudden shouts from the kitchen made everyone jump.

“Jesus H. Christ —” Eddie hissed, clutching his heart.

“Henderson,” Steve exhaled, raking a hand through his hair as he turned to march towards the kitchen.  “I swear to god.”

“Lemme handle it,” Eddie huffs.  “Yo, BUTT MUNCH.  WE JUST HAD BREAKFAST.”

Stepdad of the year.

Steve would normally wave off the offered help, being the assigned mother of the group.  But even as the kids all made noise with Eddie, he found himself just…letting him take care of it.  He needed a break.  Needed to think.

“Steve, Joyce is asking where the keys to the basement breaker are,” Erica was asking him as she rounded the corner.

Steve blinked, nodding and wrapping his head around the request.  But Robin stepped in, sensing his internal overwhelm.

“I’ll get them,” she told Erica, shooting a quick look at Steve.  “Kitchen drawer, yeah?”

He nodded, sighing with relief.  Robin made her way there with Erica, and Steve took that as a chance at escape.  He could feel his chest tightening, breathing constricting a bit.  Yikes, he needed some air.  But that wasn’t an option either.  Best bet was the nearest empty room.  Max’s room was closer than his.  Steve quickly bound the stairs, pinching his nose and slipping into the room quietly — needing a moment, just a moment.

El walked out of the hallway restroom, right after Steve had closed the door.  She made for the stairs, heading down to find Hopper.  When he walked back inside from his chat with Dr. Owens, the two of them made for the basement — telling the kids to follow, while Robin told Lucas she would handle replenishing Max’s feeding tube upstairs.  She knew how to, since Dr. Owens had given strict intrusions to not only the adults but also to her.  She, along with you and Steve, knew how to handle it thoroughly.  Robin found herself oddly keen on helping people with the medical stuff.  It gave her a newfound sense of purpose.  She headed upstairs, pep in her step — who knows?  Maybe she’d found her calling, she wondered to herself.

She opened Max’s door, freezing when she found Steve on the other side of it.  Her heart sank.

Her best friend stood leaning against the wall to the right of the door frame — facing Max’s bed.  His face was scrunched, pained.  

“Steve…” Robin murmured, heartbroken.  She quickly shut the door, locking it and placing a hand on his shoulder.  The sight of a tear-track on his face, glistening in the gloomy natural light of the room, made her frown.

Steve looked at her for all of a millisecond, feeling caught but unable to stop now.  His emotions were definitely catching up with him, and Robin wasn’t surprised — given just how long he’d been keeping shit in.  She’d known for a while now: Steve Harrington needed a good, long fucking cry.  She watched him pinch the bridge of his nose, his pretty face crumpling even more and shoulders shaking as he bit down on his lip hard. 

“Steve, hey, it’s just me,” she whispered kindly, hugging and rubbing his shoulders while resting her chin there.  He kept as much noise trapped inside of his throat as possible, mainly just letting it all come out through a quiet flow of steady tears as he stood tensely.  He gratefully clasped onto one of Robin’s hands — with the one hand he wasn’t holding to the bridge of his nose with, willing the tears to stop.

“You’re really overdue for this,” Robin nudged him gently, squishing her cheek deeper into the curve of his shoulder.  “Seriously, I’ve been wondering when the hell you were gonna let it all out…”

Steve coughed on what seemed to be half a laugh, half a sob.  He was frustrated with himself.  With everything.  Your heart is failing you now and maybe forever.  Max is still in a coma.  His loved ones are all in danger.  His kids can’t catch a break.  His parents left.  Hawkins is basically dead.  And the upside down just gets closer, no matter how many gates they’ve closed over the last 3 years.

SO YEAH.  Robin was right.  Steve needed to fucking cry.

She stood there with him for a little while, letting her presence comfort him and not pushing.  Steve really did hit the jackpot with her in the best friend department.

“Sometimes, I wonder if she’s still there.”

Steve’s voice was thick, low and vibrating the room.  Robin knew who he meant, following his gaze.  Max.

Robin hummed.  “Trust me.  That little firecracker is very much alive and can’t wait to tear into all of us with her redheaded temper and sarcastic wit.”

If Robin had been looking at him, she would have seen the corner of Steve’s lips quirk up briefly in amusement.  She was right, of course.

“Think she knows?” Robin asks softly, still leaning onto Steve.  “About…anything?”

She felt Steve take a deep breath, exhaling deeply as he rubbed his face.  “M’not sure,” he murmurs, thoughts grim.  “Honestly, I hope not.  That’d mean she’s still trapped in there.  Somewhere dark.  Vile, and awful.”

Robin shuddered at that, hating the thought.  She decided to ask something different.  Lighter.

“Think she knew you were head over heels for a girl you swore you couldn’t stand?”  She turned her head on Harrington’s shoulder so that she was looking up at him with teasing eyes and a wiggling brow.  “Vowed to hate, forever and always, cross your heart and hope to die?”

Steve shook his head, beginning to grin.  He looked at Max the whole time while doing so, imagining his little sister/daughter figure giving him hell for falling for you but completely loving it.  Because while he knew that Max loved him — that little shit loved the hell out of you.

Steve’s frown suddenly returned, face crumpling all over again.  It broke Robin’s heart as she watched fresh tears fill his eyes, which he trapped from falling by quickly scrunching his eyes shut again and digging the heels of his palms into them.  It made Robin want to bawl.  But she held it together for Steve’s sake, lifting her head to turn and hug him tight.  She shushed him softly, desperate to calm him.  Comfort him, assure him.

Steve sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, forbidding his cries to make noise.  He couldn’t.  Not right now.  He could scream into a pillow later.  Right now, he just let Robin hold him until he got it together again.

Eventually, Steve pulled back — swiping at his eyes and nose, sniffing hard.  Robin looked at him sadly, rubbing his arms and letting him steady his breathing.

“Jesus, Robin, a heart arrhythmia…”

Robin had a feeling that was what was weighing heavily on Steve’s mind.  You, and your newly failing heart.  It made her upset, too.  Deeply upset.  It worried her sick.  But she couldn’t let Steve sense that.  Not right now.  She needed to be there for him — and by extension, you.

“We’re gonna steady it, Steve,” Robin promised, voice low but fierce.

Steve shuddered a sigh, eyes downcast and mind racing as he carded his fingers through his hair.  “It’s the end of the fucking world and all our heart rates are already on edge as it is —”

“So we keep her here,” Robin interrupted, gently.  “Out of harm’s way, as best we can.  We don’t let her put herself in a position to freak out.”  She paused, thinking.  “Yknow, come to think of it, Bauman’s probably the coolest outta all of us big kids.  Pretty sure that chick has freaked out the least.”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly.  Oh, you.  “Yeah, because she’s a fucking sociopath like her uncle.”

Robin genuinely laughed at that, unable to help it.  Steve smiled, too.  But a few tears met the smile and the breathy laugh he let out.  Robin thumbed them away sweetly.

“She’s great,” Robin told him.  “Really great.  Stupid great.  Maybe my favorite lady I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.  Aside from Vicki.”

Steve sniffed.  “You tryna steal my girl?”

Robin cocked an eyebrow, happy to hear him teasing.  Good, it’s working.  “Oh, so she is your girl now, huh?  Exclusive, off-limits?”

Steve bit back a big, bashful smile — looking at her almost shyly and nudging her foot with his shoe.  He turned to look at Max, nodding in her direction.

“Think she’d approve?”

Robin looked at the sleeping girl, too.  She smiled sadly.  “Depends.  Of you two as a pair?  Yeah.  You’re mom and dad.  As far as she’s concerned, neither one of you has anyone else out there deserving of you both.  So I’d assume she feels you guys deserve each other more than anyone else deserves either of ya.”

Steve actually smiled at that, eyes sparkling as he looked at Max.  He took a minute to take in her still form, thinking back to when he first met her with the kids.  She was a badass.  You’d have thought she’d been fighting monsters all her life.  She actually took better to the whole upside down shit than he had, whenever he went over to Jonathan Byers’ house to apologize then got roped into all the madness.  He had to give it to her: Max was hardcore.

“I really need this shithead to wake up,” Steve chuckled humorlessly.

Robin did, too, squeezing his arm as she shook her head at Max’s sleeping face hooked up to a breathing tube.  “When she does…it’ll be a helluva reunion.”

Steve liked that.  When.

“And whennn your girl gets her strength back,” Robin continued, “along with her ribs back in tact, you know…given you, Byers and Munson took her to pound town…”

Steve made a face.  “Gross.  Don’t say that, no.”

“Damn, Harrington, get your head outta the gutter,” Robin popped her hip into Steve’s side.  “Even when I’m being serious, talking about resuscitation — not sex…you’re still jealous…at a hypothetical.”

Steve gave her a wry look, but then placed his cheek on top of her head as he looked at Max.

“As I was saying…” Robin murmured, a smile in her voice.  “When your girl is back up to speed, she will give you all the heart attacks to make up for it.  You won’t be able to stand her guts but you’ll be so in love with her it won’t matter.  And then Max will wake up…give you two shit for it…then be a mess of joy because the two babysitters turned enemies have suddenly become lovers.”  Robin paused, smiling to herself.  “And I’ll be the happiest, proudest, most sappy-go-lucky best friend in the world.”

Steve breathed a sigh at that, content.  It brought him peace in this moment — the idea of you, perfectly fine and all in one piece.  The idea of his kid waking up, her memory still intact along with her sarcasm and quick wit.  The idea of his best friend being so happy to see him so happy.

He threw an arm around her, and the two best friends just stood there for another several moments to revel in the quiet of it all — allowing themselves to dream.  Allowing themselves to believe.

***

Meanwhile, Eddie definitely did not feel guilty for having eaten the last 3 puddings that Henderson had selfishly stashed for himself.  Little bro’s just gonna have to cope, he thought to himself as he jogged up the stairs.  

He almost broke into song, Master of Puppets rambling on inside his head -- but stopped himself when he heard voices.  Tense voices. 

Eddie’s pace came to a slow, and he became not only more aware of his steps — but the voices, too.  Where they were coming from…to whom they belonged…

"So he was then. He was going to break up with me."

"Listen, I...I realllllllly don't wanna...speak outta term here..."

Only one guy under this roof talked that slowly, and only one lady under this roof spoke with that crisply.

Argyle and Nancy.

"Look, just -- tell me exactly what he said."

"That is what he said, man, I swear..."

Eddie could hear Nancy huffing exasperatedly. For a rich family, Steve's parents' house had some really cheap, thin doors...

He crept closer, still standing a few paces down. Just in case he needed to bolt, should someone catch him listening in -- or in case one of the two speaking on the other side of the door barged out of the room. Eddie listened, his senses on high alert and his curiosity burning.

"Then he was going to break up with me -- God, I knew it. I just knew it!"

Wait, Eddie thought. Jonathan was going to break up with her...? And Argyle knew...? But then...wait, then how did Nancy...?

"Look, Nancy," Argyle was sighing, sounding pretty worried despite his usual lackadaisical tone. "He didn't want to, alright? I'm a bro. I know when a brother's down bad, he was just freaking himself out, you know -- because of where you wanna go to college...where he wants to go to college..."

"Oh, that is so NOT an excuse."

"Which is whyyy I told him to talk to you --"

"Then why didn't he. Huh? Why didn't he??"

Eddie gulped. He could hear the genuine hurt and betrayal in Nancy's voice. Sheez, Byers was in for one helluva fight...

"Honestly, I'm asking myself that too, Nancy," Argyle was huffing this out, matching her energy. Even he sounded exasperated with his best bro. "But I'm also remembering that...like...that creepy Vecna dude kinda threw off everybody's groove. I mean -- I came to pick them up from the house and it was all getting shot up and stuff, liiiike...shit kinda hit the fan...you know...?"

"That's...still, that's not..."

"Annnnd you guys were all caught up in the shit going down back in Hawkins, man...you know? Chrissy, and...that coworker of yours, annnnd...that other random dude who hung out with... shiiiit, what was his name...? Jake...?"

"Jason," Nancy muttered lowly.

"That guy."

"Look -- Argyle." Nancy huffed again, flustered at life but regaining her edge. "Upside down stuff aside, Jonathan still took the time to talk this out with you. Not me, you. For weeks."

There was an awkward pause before Argyle spoke.

"...yeah, that's pretty bad..."

"He could have called. He could have written me. He could've, he could've, he could've. But he didn't."

"Why didn't you tell him that?"

"...what?"

Oh shit, Eddie gulped.

"Whenever we all got back here," Argyle explained. "Back in Hawkins. Why didn't you confront him about it?"

Another awkward silence.

"...I..." Nancy stumbled.

"Why didn't you go up to him, call his ass out, and call him out for not talking to you?" Argyle was suddenly sounding pretty sure of himself. It was out now character for him. Oddly? It suited him.

"I...I..."

Meanwhile, Nancy was uncharacteristically not sounding sure of herself.

Argyle gained speed.

"Think about it! You say you knew something was off...you say he was giving you mixed signals...you say he got back and suddenly acted like everything was fine, but that you sensed things still were not fine...so then why let it go? Why not tell him yourself? You're a loud woman."

"Whoa, what?" Nancy stuttered.

"You are!!! That's a compliment! You're loud and proud. You wear the damn pants. You have a gun collection. You don't hold back, even if you don't say fully what it is that you mean. Your poker face is shit."

"Argyle...!"

"You've been avoiding it too, Nancy," Argyle cut her off.

At this point, Eddie was frozen as he listened. Damn. When did Argyle become a therapist?

Clearly, Nancy was asking herself the same thing. Because it was quiet. Severely quiet.

Eddie started tracing shapes into the carpet with his mind while he stared at the ground, waiting to hear more dialogue. But it was crickets.

Finally, he heard Argyle sighing deeply. "Maybe if you both just...I dunno, man...listened to each other. Like...heard one another. You both just keep using whatever it is that you ask each other to like...one up each other...and it doesn't get either of you anywhere, man... Just hear each other out."

A tap on Eddie's shoulder made him flinch back, nearly jumping out of his skin. He whipped around to see Robin, staring at him with wide eyes. She held a finger to her lips.

Eddie couldn't believe that he managed to keep the scream trapped inside of him. He sagged with relief, heart pounding and silently pantomiming strangling her. Don't scare me like that. Her head bobbed back and forth as he shook her by the shoulders, and together they realized that they were both in on the secret:

Nancy and Jonathan are not alright.

Together, they softly crept down the hallway into Steve's bedroom. As Robin closed the door, Eddie whirled around to speak in a hissed whisper.

"Holy shit, what the fuck, this is like a soap opera --"

"Shhhhh," Robin hissed back, swatting at him to keep quiet.

"I'm literally whispering."

"And spitting."

"Sorry."

They continued whispering through gritted teeth, relieved to have each other to confide in. Eddie and Robin were beginning to feel like the zany aunt and uncle of the group who knew too much about everything going on around the house. It bonded them for sure. They knew about you and Steve, which also became a topic of whispered conversation right now as they sat cross-legged on the floor of Steve's bedroom.

"Sorry, but can we talk about how off we were trying to push Wheeler back on Harrington?" Eddie's eyebrows were raised practically to the top of his hairline.

Robin scoffed at themselves, shaking her head. "I'll say..."

"It was right there under our noses and we just..." Eddie moved his hand in a straight line, "...breeeeezed onnnnn past it."

"Yeah, but honestly?" Robin whispered eagerly. "I thought Bauman hit a sore spot that could never be repaired. Steve seriously was in love with Nancy. Like, really in love."

Eddie chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "Trust me. I said the same thing. To his face directly, while we were in the upside down. Told him that what Wheeler did -- diving into the lake after him -- was the most unambiguous sign of true love I'd ever seen in my life." He paused, thinking. "But what I failed to realize was that...it was Bauman who freaking lunged for him first on the boat. And the way he clung to her hand, despite also looking mad at her for doing that --"

Eddie was reliving the memory, realizing something. Robin was, too.

"He was mad that she put her life on the line," Robin nodded along, slowly stitching together his thoughts.

"But it was just so fast," Eddie pointed out as he agreed. "Literally, one moment Harrington's back to the surface, getting ready to hop back on the boat. Next, he's being tugged down by that -- that thing... And Bauman just -- lunged for him. And he grabbed her hand, but the look he shot her?... It was so...conflicted..."

Robbin nodded, swallowing hard. "Like he grabbed her hand back gratefully, but also hated what she'd just done to herself by putting her life on the line."

"Which is whyyyy," Eddie continued, figuring it all out. "Whenever she got dragged underneath with him, and the two of them went at it -- bickering like crazy when we all got down there with 'em and fought off the bats...he was so mad at her. And she was mad that he was mad."

Robin scoffed a laugh, pace palming. "And all we saw was Nancy diving in after him --"

"After Bauman already beat her to it," Eddie muffled into his palms. “Duuuuude, they’re so in love. Been love. Unambiguously in love.”

"We are idiots," Robin giggled, face palming.

"Not as big as they are, though," Eddie corrected, snorting. They both snickered like big kids into their hands, trying to keep quiet.

Eddie finally sighed, thinking fondly. "Those two are actually stupid fucking adorable."

Robin smiled wistfully. "Yeah. Yeah, they are." She bit her lip, thinking. "Honestly, I've...I've never seen Steve this torn up."

She told Eddie how worried she was for her best friend. How worried she was for you. How desperately she wished that all of this would go away. How she prayed that Max would wake up, and that Vecna would choke on his own guts and that the upside down would cease to exist.

Eddie nodded, eyes solemn as he gnawed on his cheek. "I wish I could've known Chrissy better."

Robin's brows pinched together. She could see the genuine remorse -- maybe even regret -- in Eddie's eyes. Had there been...feelings there...?

"Wish that I'd..." Eddie mumbled, eyes on the ground searching for the words. "That I'd just...I don't know. Tried to notice, or care about something other than living in my own world all the time."

Robin gave his hand a squeeze, shooting him a synaptic tight-lipped smile. Eddie squeezed her hand back, gratefully.

"You're doing that now," Robin reminded him softly. "Chrissy sees that."

Eddie looked at her, his eyes going glassy. He looked like a sweet puppy when he got emotional. Robin noted just how wholesome that was as she placed her other hand on top of theirs.

"We seriously need to kill this son of a bitch," Eddie whispered, angered anguish briefly flashing in his dark eyes.

Robin nodded fiercely. "We will."

They took a few moments to just be in silence, letting it all land.

A light knock at the door broke through the tranquility of the silence, concluding the tender moment. Eddie and Robin looked at Steve's bedroom door, taking a second before Robin rose to answer it. Eddie figured that was best, given she is the platonic soulmate of the room's owner.

Neither of them were sure what to expect exactly, as far as who was on the other side of the door. Robin half expected it to be Steve himself. Eddie's expectations looked a lot like one of the kids.

So when they saw Jonathan standing on the other side, that made them all go stiff.

He still looked awful. Eyes rimmed red from exhaustion, a little bloodshot. His hair was messy, not sure how to sit on his head. These days, Jonathan looked haggard. While he was never the pretty-boy type, Jonathan was always good looking in a moody, brooding sort of way. The unconventionally attractive type. Lately? He just looked worn down, tired and a little bit like a bum. Definitely not the type of guy you would expect Nancy Wheeler to be going steady with, given how polished and precise she is. Opposites attract, but at this rate the two of them were becoming contrasts of one another.

"Hey," Jonathan said softly, timidly. He looked caught, but so did Robin and Eddie as he looked at both of them.

"Hey," they awkwardly repeated.

After a long, awkward, pregnant pause, Jonathan finally cleared his throat and gave his legs a little pat -- as if that might help break the tension.

"Is uhh, is Steve here?"

Robin shook her head. "No, he's with Bauman. I told him to go take a nap, since Dr. Owens got her so early and I know he's not sleeping."

Jonathan's eyes softened, looking sympathetic and giving her a light nod. He scratched his neck. Eddie clocked some weird sort of guilty glint in his eye. Like something was really on his mind and he needed to get it off his chest. There was almost an anxious twitch to him.

Eddie began to realize that he knew what this was about. About why Jonathan was looking for Steve, and why he looked so glum. So anxious.

Because Eddie was there that day. When you fell. When you died. When Jonathan tried to step in and bring you back, before Steve was finally able to step in. Eddie was there, watching it all happen. He watched Steve fall apart, fraying at the seams. He watched Jonathan exhaust himself with the attempted CPR. He watched how it completely exerted him, no doubt thanks to the lack of decent nutrition and lung damage that was due to the purple palm tree delight. That had to have to have set Jonathan's lungs on fire, as he desperately tried pumping air back into your lungs. Eddie had watched Jonathan lean back, only for Steve to verbally tear into him.

DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.

IT'S NOT WORKING, IT'S TOO LATE.

NONE OF US GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER. FUCK YOU, BYERS. FUCK YOU.

The storm of words between Harrington and Byers was no doubt long overdue. That was evident with every single word that Steve spat at Jonathan, and every word that Jonathan bitterly wept. Both men had shrieked at each other, shrill and angry and hurt.

Eddie had watched as they both went at it, Steve lashing out and Jonathan feebly fighting back. He might not have been close with them in high school. He might have run in completely different circles than them. He might not have known anything about the two of them, or what sort of crucial role they played in each other's lives, or how the upside down not only existed but also forced them to merge worlds. But fast forward to yesterday, when you were dead at everyone's feet and no one knew if they would save you -- Eddie saw 3 years of unspoken words go flying between Steve and Jonathan. He watched it all unfold, ugly and loud and anguished.

Because while Steve might have found some sort of silent (albeit avoidant) peace that he inwardly had made with Jonathan Byers, his bitterness was still there. Festering, festering, festering...never truly unloading itself whenever he projected onto you.

Because you hadn't taken Nancy away. Jonathan had.

Maybe that's partly why Steve got so livid with Jonathan. Because he could now. Now that you were gone, or so they'd thought, he had no choice but to scream at Jonathan. To finally let him have it.

FUCK YOU BYERS. FUCK YOU.

Steve had screamed that in Jonathan's face, voice wrecked from angry tears and shrieks of pure fear. It was fucking personal.

And Jonathan had taken it. Like he deserved it. Because maybe a part of him did. Maybe, just maybe, a big part of him did. Not because he wasn't a decent guy. Hell no, Byers was a great dude. He had just...lost his way. And that was fine. But really, he wasn't as present as usual -- given his more frequently ~high~ state, and his newfound friendship with Argyle. That wasn't a bad thing. It just...changed things.

Eddie had watched Byers go from the super observant, introverted wallflower to a nonchalant, low-key absent-minded, slightly lazy guy. Not nearly as driven as before. Not that he was ever this super academic, wildly driven type to begin with. Still, there had been something more to Byers prior to now. Something alive. Lately? Byers looked like he was simply surviving. Doing just a bit more than the bare minimum to get by.

Meanwhile, Steve had grown exponentially. He'd gone from being an entitled, snobbish rich kid who made C's and D's to a street-smart hero who knew how to protect and care for both kids and his friends, along with being trusted by the adults involved in all of these terrifying circumstances. He wasn't the teacher's pet growing up, but he certainly was the favorite now. He was Steve Harrington: bad boy turned supermom/superboy. He wasn't quite superman. He'd lost the girl, because Lois Lane had chosen Bruce Wayne over him. But along the way, he'd unexpectedly fallen for Gotham City's badass princess who floated under the radar until she found her way into the circle of Hawkins Heroes -- the upside down underdogs. Steve was strong, he was loyal and he was true.

So that afternoon next to the electric fence, those two men were having a 3-year standoff without even truly acknowledging it. It was bound to blow up in their faces at some point. And you had been the catalyst.

Eddie took all of that in by looking at Jonathan Byers as he stood in Steve Harrington's doorway, looking into the eyes of the former jock's best friend and his new unexpected friend of a metalhead.

"When he's up...I need to speak with him."

Jonathan's voice shook a bit, nervously. But he made eye contact with both Robin and Eddie. His eyes were sincere, remorseful and eager. "Please."

***

:) thank u all for reading. thoughts on this chapter? guesses as to what might go down? TAGLIST: @xprloki @erastourvip  @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00  @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers  Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst notlilyyyy

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — two. one more time.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. content warnings: very canon divergent because criminal minds timelines fuck me up. emotional cheating (not on reader). no happy ending (for now). angst. right person wrong time. no use of y/n. word count: 700+. a/n: me taking my least engaged fic and making a series out of it? more likely than you think. summary based on himym's victoria and her theory.

previously

    Your palms are undeniably sweaty following the anxious feeling you had in the pit of your stomach. After transferring you made a successful career as a profiler for the Crisis Negotiation Unit, so it wouldn’t be the first time seeing Hotchner after all, you saw him at seminars, you read his book, his face and his voice were still a strong presence in your mind.

    But being close to him, talking to him, working with him again… That was making your mind swirl. The BAU needed a senior profiler, again. You had rejected the transfer at least two times before and the upper ups found someone else for the job. Not this time, this time you had no choice. 

    You try to feel comfortable on his office’s couch, looking around to notice the little things before him and the rest of the team arrive, profiling each other wasn’t very well seen in the BAU, you remember that much from your years there, but you knew Hotch, you were just basking at the familiarity his office brought you. 

    Pictures of him with his son, his late ex wife, awards, piles of cases organized. It all pointed to him being more serious than when you worked together first. It made sense not only considering what he had been through, but his nearly obsessive nature. 

    Throat cleaning is the sound that brings you back, his face lighting up when he notices it’s you, but letting the smile disappear seconds later. “It’s been a while. how can I help you?” 

    Oh. Politeness. The tone. Not asking how you are. He’s mad. Possibly because you never called. Never answered his calls. Never talked to him when he was around your unit. Always sent other agents when the BAU needed negotiators. You made impossible efforts to avoid him. And yet here you were, in his office. 

    “I get that you haven’t looked into your new profiler’s paperwork.” You were always snarky and that made him huff trying to hide a laugh. He didn’t have to look at the paperwork to know you wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t mandatory. “You look good, big office, the suit. It fits you.” 

    He stays silent, and you wish you could read his mind like you did before, but it was different now, all you could read from him was how… Sore he was in your presence. Like you were there just to cut open old wounds. You couldn’t blame him, you prided yourself of being his best friend for so long and sure it was a weird gray area you both danced in, but he got divorced, was stabbed countless times, Haley was murdered, you never even called. You couldn’t even pretend you didn’t know, you kept in touch with Rossi.

    He moves to his desk, sitting and looking through your paperwork without much care, enough that he caught you staring at the picture he had of Haley, Jack and him by the bookshelf behind him. “You didn’t come to the funeral.” 

    “Dave told me to go, but… It felt disrespectful to Haley.” Hotchner takes a deep breath, it finally hitting him that at least there and then it wasn’t about avoiding him, it was about Haley, as it was when you left Quantico. He didn’t want to hurt her, you didn’t want to disrespect her, that was always the central point of why you two couldn’t be. That relaxes his demeanor, his features soften. Your heart beats faster. 

    “Think you can handle BAU rhythm after a decade away?” He smirks, that one you know so well, that one that meant trouble. And he finally looks up from the file, locking eyes with you. 

    “You should be worried about keeping up with me.” And just like that it feels like you’re ten years younger, flirting with your partner, hoping he will flirt back. And by the look he gives you, it almost seems like he would if his phone didn’t ring, getting his attention away from you in a flash of a second. 

    Got caught up, will be there soon, yeah, love you too.

    “Sorry, that was my–my girlfriend, Beth. I have to get going, see you tomorrow?” You nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek for some relief. 

    10 years. 10 years of running from it. Just to get back exactly where you started: At the BAU, heart out for Hotchner when he couldn’t take it. 

    So much for keeping your FBI career and not going against orders.

[revehae]

(It’s a long one but I hope you read it ah)

i don’t know If you’re not taking requests atm then ignore this but it’s more so a little reminder ? I don’t really know 😭 but awhile ago you wrote a drabble someone requested and it was a jaemin, haechan, jeno, mark, and jisung x reader ? It was a noncon gangbang fic and they were all holding reader down and I think it was Jaemin who was going first and was going to go anal and all the other guys were egging him on waiting for their turns.

I always wanted a continuation / longer version but now I just want it back it was one of my favs 😭 I don’t think you have it saved cuz it wasn’t like a oneshot or anything but if you are able to find it please post it or even if you can rewrite it please when you find the time do I love your writing so so much sorry for the long ramble ah

tw // noncon, gangbanging, anal it was jeno not jaemin lol but yes i still have it. the “five guys doing some serious damage to my guts rn” “6 when i get there” drabble

you tried your best, you really did, but you were unfathomably outnumbered. unfairly. it was enough attempting to rival jeno’s infinite strength, but you didn’t stand a chance against five guys.

especially not when they were all holding you onto the mattress, restricting you with a might you’d never be able to mirror even if you trained for literal war. mark and jisung had a grip on your legs and jaemin kept your hands pinned to your chest, while haechan had a palm pressed squarely to your mouth.

and jeno, unsurprisingly, stood between your forcibly parted legs, palming his rigid cock to the erotic sight unfolding before him. your panties were torn (mark’s doing, if you recalled correctly), exposing your cunt, and jaemin had harshly tugged your bra to pinch your stiff nipples.

a downpour of fresh, damp tears were hot against your flushed cheeks, gathering thickly at your lashes. jeno liked how you, unbroken, still flailed and thrashed in their arms, in spite of the glaringly obvious fact that you were no match for the five of them together.

you squealed into haechan’s gloved palm, your probably unkind words of protest muffled into an empty oblivion as jeno’s cock teased your holes, deciding which one he’d use.

“take her ass,” haechan told him, snickering when you glimpsed up at him in a mixture of shock and unadulterated anger for the suggestion.

“her ass, huh?” jeno hummed, slowly dragging his cock below your exposed pussy.

“do it,” jisung encouraged from his left like a little devil on his shoulder.

jeno snickered. glancing up at you, he grinned slyly and said, “guess i’m fucking your ass, baby.”

you shook your head vigorously, aggressively expressing your lack of consent, but your indistinct sounds meant nothing to them and your thrashing was pointless if there was nowhere for you to run.

jeno sinked into your hole, a satisfied howl being yanked out of him as he did, impaling you deeper and deeper on his girthy cock. it’s too thick for your unprepped hole, but jeno didn’t seem to care, and neither did any of his buddies.

“fuck,” jeno hissed in delight, wasting no time to start rutting into you at a steady rhythm.

jaemin laughs at the expression on his friend’s face, patiently anticipating his own turn to use you as he pleased. it was going to be a long night for you. “it’s good?”

“fuck yeah,” jeno grunted, pushing deep, forcing himself as far inside as he could possibly fit. the pain was too unbearable for you to stay still, writhing and sobbing, but jeno was too blissed out to pay any mind to your tears.

your asshole tensed around his dick, gripping and tugging him in, and the longer jeno was exposed to the tightening sensation, the more animalistic his thrusts became. and the louder your screams grew against haechan’s covered hand, coated in your hot tears. 

haechan smacked your cheek. “shut up,” he said lowly, growling. “shut up before i put that mouth of yours to better use.”

you closed your eyes, trying to isolate yourself from the brutal reality, hopeful that maybe you’ll forget the feeling of their fingers bruising your limbs from how tightly they held them and jeno relentlessly abusing your hole.

[skrrts]

hey, you asleep yet? (drabble)

✧ gn!reader x mingi ✧ genre: non idol, slice of life, fluff, dating ✧ word count: 853

you hate sleeping away from home, and mingi is no longer used to sleeping without his favorite pillow.

note: i can't sleep either so i ended up finally writing something short and cute for him.

You always hated sleeping anywhere but at home. Ever since you were little, your own bed and pillows provided security and comfort after long days full of strangers and loud noises. This is why you dreaded school trips; nothing could compare to home. That didn't change when you became an adult. Once you closed your door, you’d fall into soft sheets with the scent of your favorite fabric softener. Sleep always came quickly that way. You were a creature of habit, and there was nothing wrong with that.

When you started dating Mingi, he fit into your routine perfectly. You got used to his smell and the warmth he offered when you curled up together at night. He was taller than you and always joked that you made a much better body pillow than any he had in the past. Mingi could sleep anywhere but never alone.

He once quietly admitted that he was more than just an overthinker and nights were restless without someone to stop his thoughts, the comfort of company silencing them. With you there, his sleep had never been better.

Neither of you felt any joy when your boss announced you had to join him for an upcoming business trip: away from your city, requiring an overnight stay. While your colleagues enjoyed the fully paid stay, you dreaded returning to your room, knowing you'd need energy in the morning despite the unlikely prospect of sleep.

You excused yourself early, took a long hot shower, and snuggled into a hoodie Mingi insisted for you to bring along. Reading a book didn’t help, nor did mindless browsing on TikTok. By the time your room turned dark, you had almost given up, staring at the white ceiling when your screen lit up.

You weren’t surprised when your boyfriend’s picture showed up. It was a cute one, Mingi pouting when you teased him about his hair color just a few days before leaving. The memory made you smile before you rolled onto your back and accepted the video call.

He was lying in your shared bed, all lights on as he tried to get comfortable on your pillow. He blinked, adjusting to the darkness around you, the phone screen offering only a dim light.

"Hey, you asleep yet?" His voice indicated he hadn’t rested yet. You chuckled, "Sure, I’m deep asleep and sleep-talking with you right now." Mingi pouted as you teased him, "Hey! I mean, it's possible you figured out the secret to falling asleep against your bad habit."

You sighed softly, "I wish! The others stayed late at the bar, but I’m sure they’re all asleep now. What about you? I thought you were meeting Yunho in the morning to go to the gym together."

Mingi made a face, "You know I can’t sleep without you. I blame you entirely. Ever since I know how amazing it is to have you in my arms, how could any blanket compare? It’s too soft and gives in to my hugs."

You couldn’t hide a laugh, "I guess it’s good I don’t have to be jealous." He smiled and chuckled, "Well, yeah, but you better not decide to stay away another night, or I can’t guarantee it." You really didn’t want to be away from home or him either.

"I should be back by dinner tomorrow. My boss said he’d drive me home, so you can prepare the bed, make it warm and comfortable so we can snuggle in and have the best sleep."

Mingi rolled over, stretching and turning off the lights, but you could still see the orange hair, a hint of the street lamps reflecting on the wall. "Sounds good..." He hesitated.

"Is something on your mind?" you asked softly. Mingi considered it before admitting, "Maybe we could... sleep like this? I can look at you, and you can hear the road outside."

It was something you did with friends as a teenager: talking for hours, then falling asleep mid-call. His face was so close now that you could only see his eyes, trying to convince you.

"Okay, let me get my charger so we can fall asleep together. It’s a nice idea," you said, plugging in your phone so it wouldn’t die later. You used a smaller pillow to prop it up and snuggled into the other, looking at your boyfriend on the screen doing the same.

"Tell your boss I’m coming with you next time! Then you’ll have home by your side, and I can cuddle my personal pillow," he yawned. "I like the sound of that," you agreed.

For a while, you talked about your days. It had been less than twelve hours since you last saw each other, but it felt much longer. Slowly, you watched Mingi drift off to sleep. His handsome face relaxed, and before he was gone, he mumbled, "Mh... miss you..."

He was too cute, wasn’t he? No matter how cool he acted in front of everyone, you loved him for it.

"I miss you too," you whispered, yawning. You watched him for a little while longer before finally falling asleep as well.

[mastercucco]

Hateno Boy - Part 1 - Link x Reader

The Calamity is gone, but so is Link’s purpose. He feels completely lost in post-Calamity Hyrule where everyone but him seem to have found their new place.

It certainly doesn’t help his restless nights that you, a young Hylian whom Zelda has hired as the new teacher at Hateno School, are slowly taking up more and more of his headspace with each conversation you two have.

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild / Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link x fem!Reader Raiting: Mature (might go up, might go down, let's see) Contains: feel-good, slow burn romance; platonic Link/Zelda; Link being an angsty retired hero Chapter Index | Read on Ao3 A/N: Very excited to write something possibly disgustingly cute. The story takes place after the events in BotW but before the beginning of TotK. All characters are adults! I hope you enjoy the story! xx

Chapter 1 - Purpose

Contains: Link being an angsty retired hero; Zelda being embarrassed by Link's inability to talk to girls (or other human beings in general) Word count: ~1,3k A/N: Please look past any weird sentences, English isn't my first language :p

A breath of warm air blows from the sea, gentle on skin and smelling of sea salt. The wind hurries over the hills of Necluda, tall grass bowing before it like waves on an emerald green ocean. Once it reaches Link sitting on top of the hills, it gently tugs on his hair and pushes his hood down.

He has been sitting there for quite some time now – so long that the tips of his ears are starting to redden from the wind, as gentle as it is. The sun that was high up when he arrived at the hills, is now hanging low over the horizon. It is soon time for him to go; Zelda asked him in the morning to stop by the school before sundown.

He is alone, as he is on most days nowadays. There isn’t much for him to do: Zelda is busy rebuilding Hateno, the recently finished village school her new pride and joy. And when she isn’t mingling with the villagers, she’s kept busy with her research at the Tech Lab. She doesn’t require an escort anymore, not after Purah hired a young researcher to assist them decipher ancient Zonai texts anyway. The man rarely leaves Zelda’s side when the two of them are together – which is often. Very often.

Link was jealous at first. After all, he is the Princess’ appointed knight, and he is the one who wields the Master Sword, and he is the one who saved Zelda’s life – not some overly excited, self-proclaimed explorer with a stupidly tall frame and an apparent distaste for wearing upper garments that hide his muscles.

Eventually, his jealousy morphed into loneliness – something he did a terrible job of hiding from Zelda. She asked him if he wanted to return to Hyrule Castle to help the Royal Guard in training new soldiers. Link said no, that he likes it here in Hateno.

“I wouldn’t mind if you go,” Zelda said, gently placing her hand on top of his, “I can see how lost you are here.”

Somehow, Zelda seeing straight through his lies and offering him kindness hurt more than her asking Link to leave in the first place. After that, Link couldn’t help but feel even more uncertain and disconnected. Everyone had seemingly moved on, everyone but him. While he still remains close with Zelda, honoring his duty, accompanying her whenever she travels outside of Hateno, even living with her, he knows deep down that she doesn’t need him anymore. The Calamity is gone, and so is his purpose.

The sun hangs low when Link arrives at Hateno School. The sky is flaring in shades of red, reminding Link of a cozy fire under a cooking pot – somewhere he would much prefer to be. The school’s front doors are open, but the playground is silent and the windows are dark, all except one. It has been a while since Link last visited the school. The children adore him, which is exactly why he prefers to stay away. Their looks of admiration and curious questions make him uneasy. Ever since moving to Hateno, all he has wanted is to lay low, going as far as to hide his head-turning Champion’s tunic in the bottom of his drawer. He wanted to throw the tunic away, but Zelda wouldn’t let him.

He can already hear Zelda’s excited chattering when he reaches the open doors and quietly steps inside. Zelda is having an eager conversation with a young Hylian woman – you – whom Link doesn’t remember seeing before. He does remember Zelda telling him about a new teacher she hired a few months back, and he figures it must be you.

You notice Link arriving before Zelda does and give him a polite smile in greeting. Only when he lightly taps on Zelda’s shoulder does she stop talking and turn around.

“Oh, Link,” she smiles. “You have impeccable timing. We were just talking about you!”

Link furrows his brow. Great, just great, he thinks, already feeling the tips of his ears growing warmer.

“Only good things,” you assure with an awkward laugh. “The Princess told me you made the apple pie she brought the other day.”

Link hopes that the dim light of the oil lamps is enough to hide his red ears. He clears his throat, though not even intending to say anything.

“I don’t think you two have met before, have you?” Zelda says, giving Link an encouraging nudge.

Even after all the years spent in royal banquets practicing formal pleasantries with Hyrule’s nobility, Link still feels awkward having to introduce himself. Nonetheless, he extends his hand for a greeting. When you offer him yours, he brings it to his lips and gives your knuckles a polite kiss. Your skin feels soft and pleasant, he thinks, now horribly self-aware of just how sweaty his own palm is.

When he looks back at you, even he can pick up the awkward tension in your smile and words as you introduce yourself. He feels his whole face heat up, not really understanding what he did wrong but knowing he must have, because even Zelda has the same tension in her smile as you do.

“He is very accustomed to his formal greetings from his days at the Castle,” Zelda says with a forced smile and gives Link a look. Only then does he realize that a hand kiss, though adequate in greeting a noble woman, is not something you, a village school teacher, was expecting from a Royal Knight. He would apologize, but his mouth is dry and no words come out.

“And, well, you probably already know of Link,” Zelda breaks the uncomfortable silence after it becomes clear Link isn’t going to introduce himself.

“The Hero of Hyrule,” you say, knowingly. “We have actually met before.”

We have? Link thinks, the heat of embarrassment getting unbearable. All he wants to do is run home and hide under his bed covers for the rest of eternity. This is why he rarely leaves their home or willingly socializes with the villagers. He would cringe if he wasn’t too embarrassed to move his face muscles.

“You have?” asks Zelda out loud, her disapproving eyes boring into Link’s.

“It was years ago,” you are quick to add. “He took refuge in our family home once. I wouldn’t blame him for not remembering.”

Zelda doesn’t appear quite as understanding when she shoots another scolding look at Link, the pink in her own cheeks deepening as well. “Please,” she says as she turns back to you, “accept my apology. Link can be awfully forgetful sometimes.” She gives him a final glare that, at last, makes him drop his head. He’s not sure if dying of embarrassment is a real occurrence, but if it is, then he must be very close to leaving Hyrule for good.

“It’s quite alright, Your Highness,” you say with a slightly uneasy laugh that fails to fully mask your discomfort. “I don’t mind it, really. Like I said, it was years ago.”

There is an uncomfortable silence between the three of you. Then Zelda claps her hands, and the tension breaks like a taut rubber band. Link sighs, relieved.

“Well,” Zelda says, “now that we are done with introductions, perhaps we can show Link the curriculum we’ve been working on? I’m sure he can give us his opinion on the section about monster parts and their usage in elixirs.”

When you turn to look for something from your writing table’s drawers, Link grabs Zelda’s sleeve and gives her a pleading look. Zelda narrows her eyes and shakes her head.

“Do not even think of fleeing” she hisses in his ear before she hurries over to you to help you with a pile of scrolls close to toppling over. Link lets out a silent grunt and looks longingly at the open doors. The sun has gone down, the sky now the same shade as embers cooling down under a cooking pot – somewhere he would much prefer to be.

Chapter 2 - Heromania »

[satrs]

Hiiiii so this is like my first time asking on here and I REALLY REALLY like the stuff you write like it's definition of art at its finest 🤌(idk if that made sense) anywayyyy could I maybe get a lil beach episode scenario of blue lock characters x reader if possible or it could be one dude oh also I don't rlly care abt it being angst or fluff or whatever lol go crazy if you want

K that's all thx for taking the time to read this have a good day or night and random reminder from a random stranger to rest if needed

Have a good one girlllll🤜💥

HEYY I‘m really glad you like my stuff tysm<33!!

I decided too make it with 4 of the „main“ ones‼️ It's overall fluff! I hope that’s alright 🫶🏾

Alright so I tried I hope you enjoy!^^ Hope you have an amazing day/night/morning😘😘‼️

ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ʙᴀʙʏ!

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ; ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴅᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋ ɢᴜʏꜱ!

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ; 1.2k

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ; Bachira Meguru. Kunigami Rensuke. Chigiri Hyoma. Nagi Seishiro.

ᴛᴀɢꜱ; fluff, swearing. established relationship. a littleeee bit suggestive. nicknames. a bit aquaphobia(?). (exhibitionism?).

ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀɢᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ! // ɴᴏᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰʀᴇᴀᴅ!

BACHIRA MEGURU.

He is so goofy.

Playing around with the sunscreen while applying it on your back, dragging you into the cold water right after you got out to dry yourself and building big sand castles, as if he was a little child. 

But that was what you loved about him, his carefree and happy persona, shining brighter than the sun itself. 

"Baby~, I'm sorry! Come back, please!", Bachira called out to you. "No, you're not Meguru! I told you I don't like getting my head dunked into the water and you still did it!", you turned around, pissed off by his antics.

But as you saw his little pout, you couldn't possibly be mad at him anymore. Just to keep your pride, you turned back, making your way onto the soft sand of the beach to hide the smile that slowly made its way onto your lips. 

"I was just playing", he whined, quick to catch up with you. He placed both of his hands on your hips in an attempt to stop your movements, placing soft kisses onto the length of your neck.

You turned your head towards him, meeting with his bright orbs, causing you to giggle, hushing him away.

He smiled right back at you, hot on your trail as you ran away from him in a playful manner, the both of you giggling while grinning from ear to ear. 

It didn't take him long to catch you, lifting your body and spinning you around, earning a giggle from your soft lips. “Ha! Caught you~", he played, now holding you in bridal style, sprinting back into the water with you.

Before you could wiggle yourself out of his hold, you felt the cold water surrounding your body, causing you to yelp.

Bachira giggled at your action, holding you close to him with one hand on your hip while peppering kisses all over your face, infecting you with his goofy and lovestruck giggles.

Both of you are so goofily in love with each other.

KUNIGAMI RENSUKE.

"Not so far from the shore, Ren!", you yelped, noticing how the beach seemed to dissapear further and further away into the distance.

"What if there is a shark or something!? This is dangerous!", you panicked, careful too completely be on the floating mat.

Kunigami chuckled at your panicking state, "Don't worry princess. Your hero is here to protect you from all the nasty sea monsters", he stated, causing you to cringe at his statement.

"Yeah, yeah. You wouldn't be able to stand a chance against a big ass shark!", you yelped when he quickly moved the mat, drawing you near him, "I'm hurt. You don't trust me pretty?", he played a soft pout onto his face.

"Not right now when you're almost dragging me into this deep ass water! Let go!", you fantically tried your best to stay on the mat.

"Alright."He let go of you, causing you to fall into the water head first. You quickly swam to the surface, clinging your arms onto the floating mat, desperately trying to get back on it. "You asshole! Get me back on there now!", you screamed, watching in terror as the orange-haired male laughed.

"But you told me too let go?", he inquired while holding onto the mat, mere inches behind you, only irritating you further.

"Kunigami Rensuke!", you threatened him, "Alright, alright. I got you, princess."

With one quick movement your leg swung over the mat, causing you to calm down. But you soon let out a loud yelp as Kunigami's hand came in comtact with your ass, feeling a light sting.

His face drew near yours, earning a flustered look in return.

"You're so hot when you're angry, pretty."

CHIGIRI HYOMA.

"That's enough, Y/N", he joked. "No. I don't want you to catch sunburn. I know how you catch them so easily." Your voice was laced with worry, rubbing the sunscreen on the same spot on his back for the past five minutes. 

He let out a loud sigh, standing up and walking onto one of the sun benches where his belongings were placed.

"W-wait! I'm not done yet Hyoma!" he ignored you, tying his hair into a high bun, making his way into the water. "Hyo!", you called to him in frustration, throwing the sunscreen into the sand, following him quickly. 

He sighed as his skin made contact with the water, dipping his head into it quickly to feel refreshed, swiping some of the hair that fell into his face out of the way. 

You watched him, arms crossed while frowning. He noticed your intense stare, turning in the water to look at you, "and where is your sunscreen, little miss perfect?", he noted, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. You forgot.

He chuckled at your reaction, motioning you to join him, "C'mon, it doesn't matter anymore. Plus, the water is pleasantly warm right now."

You complied, tapping your way towards him, standing in the water, being covered by bits up to the bottom of your breasts.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, placing a quick kiss on his lips, "You're such a bad boy", you joked, a smirk playing itself onto his lips. 

"Am I now?", he teased, hand moving onto your rear, softly squeezing it. You wrapped one of your legs around him, motioning him near you, humming in response.

"Mommy look! they're all touchy-touchy with each other!", a young boy pointed his finger at the two of you, multiple heads turning in your direction, causing you to retreat away from him, face flushed red.

Chigiri chuckled at your action, following you out of the water. He noticed his shoulders slightly burning, also turning a bit red.

Shit, he should've let you put on that damn sunscreen.

NAGI SEISHIRO.

How did you get that boy to the beach? Well, you didn't really know yourself. 

He didn't want to, even after endless begging and pleading with him. But then a thought struck him like lightning:

You. At the beach. Bikini. 

This thought made his sleepy eyes shoot wide open, jump off the bed, quick to walk right behind your trail.

As the two of you arrived, his happy mood threatened to disappear as he noticed that your bikini was nowhere in sight. 

"Where is your bikini?", he bluntly asked, his voice laced with disappointment. You giggled at his words, taking the end of your sundress in hand, lightly lifting it up to flash him your undergarments.

His breath hitched, flashing you an expecting look, wondering when the fuck you would finally-

"You first, then me. I know you, Sei'." What a hassle. You're right. You knew if you would bare your swimwear before him now, he would pull you on top of him, feeling up your body and not letting you go until the sun disappeared behind the moon.

So, to be able to make your day at the beach, you had to get him into the water first. 

Nagi was quick to understand, stripping down into the swim boxers he wore underneath, taking the swimming noodle in hand, waiting for you like a puppy for its owner. 

Finally, you took off that annoying sundress of yours. He was quick to shamelessly gawk at your beautiful figure, only snapping out of his thoughts when you took his hand in yours, dragging him into the direction of the water.

"C'mon! Let's take a quick swim, then I'm all yours~", you purred, causing him to stumble in the sand from your quick steps.

What a hassle.

ᵃˡˡ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵇᵉˡᵒⁿᵍˢ ᵗᵒ k-azus.°