#touch guitar circle

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel and Hobie Fighting for Your Love

Summary: Both men knew they were wildly in love with you. But, as you remain oblivious to their feelings, their conflict strengthens. A war is brewing.

“I won’t let you have her.” Miguel’s eyes gleamed between the velvet sheets of artificial night, the dim glow of the control panel at his back, casting a shroud over his front. Hobie stood before him, gripping his guitar by the neck, resting it over the back of his shoulders. His other hand sat in his pocket, creating the illusion of comfort. Yet, beneath his lax exterior, Miguel could hear his heart pounding. Racing. Hobie drew a breath, looked off to the side.

“I don’t think that’s your decision to make, Big Man.” Eyes half-lidded, he returned to Miguel, dragging his stare. Lethargy. Gave a thin smile. “Though, I suppose that if you knew that – really believed it – you’d know that you don’t stand a chance–”

Miguel’s fists clenched, the sound of his suit squealing beneath his grip causing Hobie’s gaze to flicker. He swallowed, shallow. He knew what Miguel was capable of – had seen how many lives he’d gladly put at risk for you. And he’d do it again if it weren’t for the fact that your friendship to both him and Hobie was what kept them locked in a stalemate; a spectral triangle; Bermuda. An anomaly in itself.

Of course, you had no clue that you’d captured the hearts of the two superheroes. The problem was that they did. Their softened attitude towards you, their care for the most banal of features of your life, their seemingly bottomless investment in your close circle of friends and beyond could have been construed as platonic concern. Friendship of the highest degree.

Once they realised that, individually, they were not alone in the pursuit of your heart, a competition was born. Miguel, ever the organised, careful individual he was, orchestrated your time together, manufactured it, monitored it – poured over it with a fine-toothed comb. Many a night had he spent awake wondering what your accidental brushing of hands had meant, whether the warmth that had flushed your cheeks was the result of his presence or the joke he’d just cracked, your laughter Calliopic. Persephonic.

He savoured every hug you shared, no matter how brief, sewing the patchwork memories into the fabric of his heart, the fragrance soaking into his bones. Your phantom warmth wrapped around him tightly, a second suit, whenever he needed it – needed you. He’d find ways of encouraging physical contact whenever he could, his heart throbbing at the feeling of your face pressed into his chest, your arms around his back as he embraced you.

He wondered what your kisses tasted like. Whether you thought of him when you used that chapstick he bought you, ice cream cake – the aroma of celebration. Because, to him, any moment with you was a celebration.

Miguel would offer to take you home after work. Though, not via ordinary means of travel.

He’d permit you to hop onto his back and slide your arms around his neck, taking you on a spin through the city, bringing you to the highest peaks, the pinnacles of human beauty through neon illuminations making the city sparkle like a sea of jewels. He’d feel his heart stutter as you shifted to get a closer look, your chin almost resting on his shoulder, cheeks just touching as you gasped, took in the scenery. In times like these, he was glad of the mask, of his ability to hide the effect you had on him, how you played his emotions like a string instrument.

“I’ve never seen the city like this before,” you told him, voice gentle at his ear, almost carried away by the wind. Miguel heard you. He strained his every spider sense to do so, no matter the conditions.

“Hobie hasn’t done this with you?” He tried not to let the hope in his tone show. You shrugged. 

“He’s more of a stargazing kind of guy. Though, I’ll let you in on a secret,” your voice tailed off. Miguel leaned in. You whispered. “I think he just doesn’t want to go pivoting off buildings after a long day of already having done so.”

Miguel felt an idea spark in his brain. The start of a new ritual, routine, for just you and him. This would be for him what stargazing was to hobie – he’d bring you closer to the stars than Hobie ever could!

Whenever he’d return you home, whisking you through the midnight air, he’d place you at your door, imply what a good time he’d had. And, as always, you thanked him, eyes crinkling before parting with a hug.

Miguel would wait until you’d enter your apartment and locked the door behind you before leaving, and even then, he’d find himself perched atop a nearby building, waiting for something, anything to happen – for any opportunity wherein he could prove to you he was a hero. In times like these, he wished with a selfish heart that you lived in a more decrepit part of the city.

He realised how much he loved you – adored you – when you fell asleep in his arms after work one evening. He’d been carrying you to your room when you just nodded off. In his grasp, you were tiny, fragile. Weak. The responsibility of protection, the fierce need to watch over you, to possess you entirely, overcame him, overwhelmed every sensibility he’d cultivated throughout his life.

And so, he watched you. Eneamoured himself with your sleeping features, the trust you displayed to have fallen asleep on him. In his mind, this becomes a core memory. One which he turns into a joke between the two of you, his own fragment of sanctity – the beginnings of close friendship – one he’d use to build a statue like Hobie’s. A statue of you. 

Hobie’s eyes narrowed. His nose wrinkled as his lips turned up in a half-sneer.

“You think the odd hug and a second of eye contact constitute as…what? A chance?” He scoffed. “A signifier that she feels for you more than she feels for the common man?” Incredulity danced in hobie’s eyes. Seethed from between his lips. The corner of his lips pulled back, revealed a smirk.

“Get over yourself, Mate. If she were interested, you’d know it by now.”

Of course, Hobie had his own collection of memories regarding you, his own wardrobe of moments sewn together with the thread of mirth to wear and fashion whenever and however he so pleased. He would wear it out to parties, on the town, to the Spidey-Station (as he referred to it with you). Show Miguel that his bare-threaded ribbon was nothing compared to his tapestry.

You and Hobie would wander the city when it was late and dark and quiet, talking about anything and everything that crossed your minds, more often than not leading the two of you to howl with laughter, leaning against each other as tears flooded from your eyes. The story, regardless of how funny it had been, held no weight compared to the joy that sparked in Hobie’s chest whenever you touched, whenever you simply existed with him. Fireworks.

You got him in ways nobody else truly could.

Many times had he come to visit you, only to lay his head in your lap and tell you what was bothering him. Sometimes it was trivial, others it was not. And every time, you’d sit and listen, playing with his hair and the badges on his jacket. And, of course, Hobie did the same for you.

One evening, you’d come banging on Hobie’s door, voice distraught as you called for him. He practically tore the door off its hinges when he heard how distressed you were, and, when he saw you, his heart tore. Your face was tear-streaked and your posture gave the impression of anguish, immortal and unrelenting.

“Hobie,” you cried. “Am–” your sniffing diced your words like meat in a kitchen. “Am I pretty?!”

Hobie blinked, unsure if he’d heard the question. And when he didn’t respond, you wailed.

Hobie knew what this was, for you’d spoken about it at length many times before. Insecurity was a powerful tool, especially when fuelled with sleep-deprivation and alcohol, one which Hobie wished he could destroy. But, while he couldn’t do that yet, he reached for you and took you in his arms. And as you cried into his shoulder, he told you how beautiful you were, how surprised he was that he was able to get a look in with you at all with how many men were chasing after you. And when you tried to say that no such thing had ever happened, he pulled back, gave you a smile, the visage of mischief.

“That’s ‘cause I scared ‘em all away!”

Your veneer cracked, and a laugh sprung from the concrete, the beginnings of life in an apocalypse. What Hobie wanted to say, though, what he nearly said, was everything he felt for you – how no word in the human vernacular could ever even begin to comprehend or compare how ethereal you were to him, how widely his love for you encompassed his very being, everything he said, did and wanted dictated entirely by the thought of you.

He opened his mouth, holding you close again. He could say it all now, while you were drunk – pretend it never happened if the exchange turned sour. But he knew he couldn’t live with your rejection, even if you’d have no memory of it.

He closed his mouth, swallowed the confession that teetered on his tongue like a pill. Consumed his contemplation, obscuring his feelings from you for just a little longer. While he couldn’t say it – not yet – he pulled you closer still, chest-to-chest, one hand at the back of your head and the other wrapped around your waist. A lover’s lock. And he held you. Tightly.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in every universe, (Y/N). I should know.” he murmured. He felt you nestle into him. You’d heard him. He sighed. “I just wished you could see it, too.”

Both men viewed the other as possessing some unattainable advantage, the beginnings of a  fabled proverb blatant in their desire to attain what they thought the other had. What they were both striving for.

You.

For Hobie, the very thing he had prided himself on was his self-believed downfall. Friendship. The two of you had been friends for years, basked in a platonic limelight. Initially, Hobie hadn't needed to worry about how you viewed him, but as he fell deeper and deeper in love with you the longer he knew you, the fact that you’d maintained such a close friendship with him without once giving the indication of romanticism frightened him.

Miguel had only waltzed into your life a few months ago. You didn’t have to see him in a platonic light, didn’t have to bear witness to his deepest faults or his subtlest of quirks. Quite simply, you didn’t know enough about him for his mystique to be shattered.

On the contrary, Miguel saw how close you and Hobie were, how, without saying a word, the two of you knew what the other was thinking. He found your incessant asking of “Do you think Hobie would like this?” when visiting a store to be intimidating. He wondered if you asked the same when you went out with Hobie. If he was the subject of your concern as your best friend often was.

Whereas Hobie knew your every thought and desire, Miguel knew he clutched at straws by comparison, drinking in every detail you afforded him, taking nothing for granted. He’d bring you gifts, stories, regalements from his time out in the field, and his chest would swell whenever you watched him with wide eyes. He hoped, with every fibre of his being, that your astonishment was confined to him and him alone. He prayed that your years of friendship to Hobie was enough to dull any excitement you may feel when he told you similar tales.

This war was simply beginning, no two ways about it. And as they surveyed each other, Hobie and Miguel, weighing up the other’s pull on you, their minds conjoined to speak once and for the last time.

“May the best man win.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[rizsu]

the aftermath of being turned into an ex jujutsu kaisen — gojo satoru.

gojo's a man of commitment. if rounding up a ‘band’ to serenade you into taking him back is what'll do the trick, then he'll organize it.

+ extra. this is meant to be unserious dont attack me for mischaracterization n shi 😞

“we're done.”

“we are not!”

in the end, he got kicked out. due to the shame he felt by being kicked out of a house he once lived in, satoru actually leaves. don't party too soon though, he's going to come back within five hours.

the plan he had in mind was simple: go to the department store, buy some roses, a poster, led lights, a table, some chocolates, and hire a band. for this the budget will be endless.

you thought you got rid of satoru but little did you know that he still has his share of keys. with that trick up his sleeve, he unlocks the gate, sneaking in everyone and the props.

satoru wasn't able to hire a band, but he was able to get a substitute. you see, todo, inumaki, and yuuji have hidden talents. they can all play instruments and one can sing! he always knew there was a reason why he's proud of his students.

quietly, the four men set the stage that's actually your front yard. in the center holds the white table with a black satin cloth delicately placed on it. the three bouquets of roses sit beautifully on the table. some petals were picked out and carefully spotted as well. on the table's center held the chocolate and wine — your favourite wine, to be exact. the finishing touch is the led lights. they're circling the ground, illuminating it with a soft yellow glow.

at the right and left sides of the table are inumaki and yuuji. inumaki's holding a wooden guitar while yuuji holds the hand drum. todo's position is in front of the table but a little off-center. he's holding the microphone, ready to pour his heart out on the song.

the star, satoru, is the one in the center. one hand hides behind his back. it's holding another rose bouquet with hundred-dollar bills wrapped with the roses. his free hand holds his phone. as soon as the clock strikes 7:00PM, he's going to call you. everything should play out perfectly.

anxiously watching his wristwatch switch from 6:59 to 7:00, he immediately calls you. one, two, three, six rings later you answered.

“you. i forgot to block you.”

“excuse me?” satoru scoffs, “whatever, i'm not calling for that.”

“chop chop then. i don't have all night.”

“can you come outside?”

“no. i will be calling the police.”

“OH C'MON,” he whines, getting desperate. “please? after this i'll leave you alone. promise.”

“...”

yuuji painfully watches. he feels incredibly sorry for his teacher. he doesn't deserve this!

“i don't think this is going good,” yuuji whispers to the boys, moving his head side-to-side.

todo raises his fist, gesturing to the boys to have some faith. “let's put our hopes high.”

they watch satoru closely. his hand that held the phone dramatically dropped to his side. slowly, he turns his head to face the boys behind him. his face breaks their hearts. he's pouting with eyes nearing tears — a pain only males like them can understand!

before satoru can say something, the front door clicks open. as it swings open aggressively, you made yourself tonight's main star unwillingly. you were not dressed for whatever this occasion is. your front yard has been ruined, your ex is there, three of his students you've met a few times, and while they're in suits, you're in a fancy robe with fluffy indoor slippers.

your eyebrows crease together, just when did they do all of this?! maybe it's time to install cameras.

“satoru, what the fuck did you do to my—”

“shh, tonight it's just you and him,” todo cuts you off, switching the mic on and beginning his performance. inumaki tunes the guitar and starts stringing random strings in hopes that they sound good. yuuji follows by tapping a simple “dun-da-da-dun-dun” beat on the drums.

your mouth's now opened. baffled by the sight, you stood there motionless.

“i have died every day waiting for you~”

as todo sings, satoru walks up to you, cheekily smiling at your shocked expression.

you back away from him, eyebrows still furrowed at whatever's going on.

“darling, don't be afraid~”

at this lyric, satoru takes the opportunity to shove his phone back into his pocket and grab your wrist. although you attempted to wriggle free, you are no match for his strength. gently, he pulls you into the yard.

both your eyes lock on each other. you search his eyes for emotions, he searches yours for any signs of longing. it's not there, he thinks. he feels a pinch in his heart, but it won't stop him. sending you a wink, he pulls you closer to the table.

“i have loved you for a thousand years (ooh)~”

“seriously, what's all this bullshit?!” you whisper-yelled at him, using your other hand to point at the table.

satoru simply shrugs.

“i'll love you for a thou-sand more (ooh, yeah)~”

todo ends his singing, clapping along with the other two to end the performance. it was the most touching thing he's ever done besides gifting yuuji and his idol a trio matching keychains set.

satoru coughs three times in attempts to hide his laugh. this has probably been the most unserious yet serious he's ever been, but his perfomance doesn't end there. he still has something else to whip out.

“baby—”

“that's not my name,” you cut him off.

“anyway. as i was saying,” he stops, revealing the rose bouquet with multiple hundred-dollar bills. “all of these are yours.”

your eyes bulge, but you quickly regain yourself.

“i'm not going to be won over with some roses and money.”

“there's wine and chocolates too,” yuuji says, immediately shutting up after you shot him a look.

inumaki stands awkwardly. he feels immense second-hand embarrassment. to counter such feelings, he starts playing the guitar again.

satoru cups the side of your face with his hand. his thumb caresses your cheek as he locks his eyes on yours again.

“i was serious about not breaking up, y'know,” he softly speaks, “i know i'm pushing it and all that stuff but i don't think i can leave you.”

it's once again your turn to be speechless. at this point, you're sure that there's no way all of this is happening in one night.

since you won't take hold of the bouquet, satoru places it in your hand. to solidify it even more, he lifts your other hand to place a kiss on it.

“what level of romance is this?” again, yuuji speaks. this time, it's satoru who gestures him to quiet down.

inumaki's still playing the out-of-tune guitar, enjoying the way the wind gently blows. it's truly a beautiful night. under the full moon's light, you and satoru glow together.

todo gears up for another round of singing. he immediately does a dragged-out “ooh~” adlib. this, however, wasn't going to last as long as his previous one did.

“NO — no more, please. you have a wonderful voice but i've heard enough. please.” you turned around to todo, begging him to mute the mic and possibly himself.

“and you,” you turn back to face satoru, “clean this up, get the boys home safely, and then come back.”

after that, you walked back to inside your house with the bouquet, making it satoru's turn to be left speechless. he still didn't win you over with some roses and money (wine and chocolates too) but his stupid commitment to keeping the relationship is what did.

[loveshotzz]

Requesting an Eddie story that is hand fetish heavy? Teasing with a slow, single finger caress down the arm, intentional intricate guitar playing while you roll a joint.

Hands slowly caressing face, fingers tracing the lips, fierce hand holding during physical, light choking?

hey baby, sorry this took me so long. i hope you like it 💗

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: 18+ hand kink, fingering (fem! receiving) slight dom!eddie if you squint, light choking, finger sucking, learning new kinks with your bf 💗

-———————————————————————

Eddie’s hands were the first thing you noticed about him. The gaudy silver rings that adorn almost every one of his thick fingers make them hard to miss. They demand your attention every time they catch the light, metal wrapping around them gleaming bright. They pull you into whatever story he gets carried away telling, gesturing wildly with excitement. You find them always squeezing at the plush softness of your thigh before searching for your fingers to tangle with on long drives, always bringing your wrist up to the silk of his lips that pepper kisses across your delicate skin, relishing in the way the gesture still makes you go shy.

You were always free to stare when he’d get you on his bed, practically vibrating to show you the music he’d spent the whole week working on. His calloused fingers moving expertly across the strings of his guitar, gliding over the neck with ease as he adds more rough softness to the touch your skin burns for, desperate to be the one he puts all his focus into like that. A small smirk plays hidden at the corners of his lips when he looks up at you from under the hood of his lashes catching the way you have your legs closed tight every time.

Little things he does makes you wonder if he knows about your little fixation. Fingers trailing the shell of your ear when he tucks your hair back, the rough pad of his thumb tracing your bottom lip when he pulls your attention up to his big auburn eyes by your chin. The warmth of his hand always swallowing you whole. Could he see the need blowing your pupils wide when your tongue pokes out to trace the tip? The shallow intake of breath that cracks through his confident demeanor tells you he can.

It’s not until you’re straddling his lap in his living room, a half smoked joint hanging loosely from lips with your skirt rucked up to your hips that you know he’s figured it out. Eddie smirks at the sweet gasp that escapes past your parted lips when he pushes two thick fingers inside your begging walls. Brows knitted together with fluttering lashes, the pad of his thumb starts working slow lazy circles around your clit when you feel the heat of his rings against your entrance. The stretch of them is almost enough to fill you to the brim.

Eddie loved getting you like this, legs spread with you dripping onto the dark wash of his jeans rocking against the palm of his hand chasing the kind of high only he knew how to get you too. Taking the joint out of his mouth, he holds it to your lips one last time, darkness flooding his eyes when they brush against the pads of his fingers as you take a hit. A small moan escaping with your exhale when he curves the ones inside of you hitting the spot that makes you say his name just how he likes.

Your palms find his shoulders, fingers digging into the rough cotton of his shirt pulling yourself closer while he snuffs the joint out. The sound of your slick fills the quiet of his trailer, and the lewd squelching from how turned on you are is enough to make you flush.

“Fuck, look at you. Makin’ such a mess all over me.” Slowly, he stretches you with a third finger and it makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. “You like my hands don’t you baby?”

Your walls flutter and squeeze him harder at his words, your body giving away your secrets to him like it always does while your pussy tries to pull him deeper. You don’t answer him, too fucked out to form a coherent thought but he doesn’t like that.

The hand that grips your hip holding you close leaves it home to try something new. His chocolate eyes telling you it’s okay to tell him no when his fingers wrap around your throat. He feels the way you clamp around him at the new sensation, a devilish smirk spreading across his face as he leans back against the couch to get a better view. He squeezes just hard enough to watch the way your eyes roll in the back of your head.

“I said you like my hands, don’t you sweetheart?” He adds just a little more pressure, and it earns him the high pitch whine he was looking for.

“Yes, god, fuck, yes Eddie.” You’re babbling now, the first orgasm of the many you knew he was going to pull out of you quickly approaching.

He starts moving his fingers in the ‘come here’ motion, the tips of them brushing against the spot that makes you forget your own name. His thumb pushes harder against your bundle of nerves while his hips start rolling up to meet each of your bounces on his lap. His eyes growing darker when your velvet walls start gripping him the way they do when you’re about to cum.

“You like when they make you feel good like this huh?” The lewd squelching gets louder as the movements of his wrist start getting more aggressive, his chain slapping against your thigh. “Come on, don’t be shy. Tell me how good it feels, baby.”

The metal of his rings dig into the mouth shaped bruises all over your neck, and it’s enough for his words to make the coil that was being wound so tight inside you snap. A “So good! — fuuuuck!” coming out as a pathetic whine when you fall apart around him. His brows knit together as he watches you tremble around his thick digits, his jaw going slack when you start fluttering from overstimulation. He’s never had you cum all over his fingers this hard.

You can’t help but feel empty when he pulls them out. Shuddering, your own body betrays you when it tries to get them to stay. The hand around your neck loosens its grip before dropping down to your thigh, he palms at the soft fat still shaking from the intensity of it all. The air is electric when the realization of what’s been revealed settles between you.

His fingers shine with your slick in the low light from the lamp while his half lidded eyes read you like a book. He’s tentative when he brings them up to your lips, gauging your reaction. Your mouth opens just like he thought it would and he groans loud when your tongue slides between his knuckles collecting the sweetness left from your orgasm like a treat. They stretch your cheeks out while you suck them clean, and he looks at you mesmerized by what he sees.

“I fuckin’ knew it.”

[fayes-fics]

Breathe (In The Air)

Pariring: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, 1970s AU

Summary: A night camping out under the stars

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, recreational drug use (cannabis), body hair used in foreplay, vaginal fingering, blow job, woman on top, unprotected vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.6k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon (HERE) asking for a sequel to 1970s hippie Benedict, travelling around in his VW bus selling his artwork at music festivals. Sorry for the gif; there was nothing else that remotely fit. The original story is HERE. The title is a Pink Floyd song. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for the beta. I hope you enjoy Nonny. I do enjoy this AU ngl. <3

“What do you want from life?” 

You loll your head to the side to observe his handsome profile as he stares towards the dome of vibrant stars above.

“I have no idea,” you confess, turning to look skywards again, moonlight glowing through the swirl of smoke you exhale, your fingers toying with the tassels of the soft cotton blanket you both lay upon.

“I want adventure…” he declares, rubbing a hand over his bare midriff absentmindedly.

“Hmmm, that sounds wonderful,” you admit, handing him back the joint, that languid feeling enrobing your mind as the THC kicks in.

It's a temperate summer night, and you are lying together naked, tinny strains of music from a portable radio as you camp in a wildflower meadow en route to the next festival. After a series of magical nights with Ben in his VW bus at the last one, you couldn't resist when he offered for you to continue the journey onwards together. 

He takes a deep drag, the tip glowing like the campfire you are lying in front of, before placing it aside into a metal ashtray and rolling over so he hovers above you, warm skin upon yours.

“I am glad you are on this adventure with me,” he remarks with a lopsided grin, the captivating beauty of his face dancing in the firelight.

“Same.” you concur, reaching to touch the daisy chain buried in his halo of riotous curls, somehow the blooms looking more vibrant in the serene state you are slipping into.

His hand slides languorously down your body from your throat to your lower belly, mapping your fire-warmed skin before lacing his fingers into the downy hair at the apex of your thighs, stirring that nascent buzz between your legs.

“I think this beautiful garden needs some flowers,” he opines silkily, his fingers circling in the strands there, petting gently as his brow twitches into a tempting arch.

He leans over you and plucks a few forget-me-nots from the tall grass, carefully separating each bloom on your stomach. Then, delicately, he weaves each tiny flower into your small thatch of hair, a mild tickle as the stems brush over your skin, making you giggle quietly. He smiles softly, your eyes meeting, then both tracking down the plane of your body as he continues to work quietly, humming gently along to the music.

“There… perfect,” he pronounces proudly; a few moments later, 

It does indeed look pretty: bright blue tiny flowers that contrast strikingly with your hair and skin. 

“Even in this, you are an artist,” you quip blithely.

He smiles demurely through his lashes, shuffling lower and resting his head upon your diaphragm, his fingers tracing soothing patterns around your belly button, his breath puffing warm over your flesh. Allowing the jangle of electric guitar from the radio to fill your bones, your fingers run idly through his luscious locks as your mind floats like cotton in a breeze. The moment seems fleeting but everlasting all at once, profound but insignificant, being so small under the twinkling constellations above. It all coalesces into a sharp need to feel rooted in your body. So you draw your knees up and allow your legs to fall open—a blatant invitation. The apple of his cheek presses into your belly as he smirks knowingly without looking up at you, sensing your need without you needing to voice it, so in tune with your body and desires since the night you met.

“Every beautiful garden should have a sacred fountain…” he rumbles, fingertips spidering down again over the floral weave to tease your splayed inner thigh before sliding casually lower, parting your folds, exhaling roughly at the wet warmth he finds there.

You moan; the mellow cloud you float upon heightens the sensation rippling through your being as his fingers circle your clit, his warm lips suckling gently on your stomach as you writhe under his touch. His name is a sigh upon your lips, his movements unhurried but the perfect amount of pressure. He huffs sonorous praises into your belly as he forms a tighter circle over your swollen bud, moving faster now, your hands flying to the blanket, scrunching in your fists as your head rolls to one side, wanting to bite down upon something, the pleasure coursing through you amplified by your high. 

Whimpering as he slides his fingers lower, two breaching your body, desire thick and viscous dripping upon him as he pushes further in your pussy. The sensation of his knuckles dragging over your walls makes you gasp and call out, your body arching up off the blanket, a heavy throb in your abandoned clit. 

“Please, Ben…” you implore, greedy for more.

He shushes you and unfurls slightly, his fingers flexing inside you as he rearranges to press his whole body into your flank, his cock teasingly hard against your hip, using his free hand to haul one of your legs over his, pulled open to his attention now.

“Don't be impatient; we have all the time in the world,” he tuts sinfully, his lips hot on your throat, grazing the tip of his teeth lightly over your jugular. 

Your protesting mewl is cut short by his fingers twisting inside you, a dragging sensation that makes your eyes roll and your whole abdomen clench.

“I could do this for hours,” he confesses silkily, his breath hot on your temple. “I love the look on your face when I do this…”

He curls his fingers, a probing sensation that makes you groan and your face contort, your mouth now hanging open. He chuckles triumphantly before twisting his wrist again and beginning a rocking motion, wringing a sound from your body that, before you met him, you may have been ashamed of, but he lauds every time. Him murmuring how proud he is that he can do this to you.

But it is not quite enough to push you to the edge as fast as you are craving, more of a slow swirling ascent that has you lighthearted and with laboured breathing, your abdomen rippling as all your muscles tense and release in waves, as if willing your orgasm closer, an itch in your brain you need to scratch. It has you pleading with him to take pity, go a little faster, rougher, anything…

“Syncopate, sweet girl…” he purrs, “listen to the music, breathe in the air, float away with the universe…”

Each word is a lyrical wave tumbling from his lips in a rhythm that matches the movement of his fingers inside you. So you relax back, savouring the multisensory journey, allowing the flow to take you rather than chasing immediate pleasure. Something morphing in your body as you do so, a serenity that is bone-deep, riding the gentle waves of pleasure that lap at your edges while his fingers dance lightly upon your g-spot.

“That’s it….” he rumbles approvingly, intuiting your surrender.

He slips down to enclose your areola in his hot, wet mouth, once again causing a spike of pleasure that has you clenching upon his fingers and canting up. A firm hand on your solar plexus pushes you back down with a chuckle that vibrates your nipple, now firm under his tongue. And so he continues the slow, wondrous torture, swapping to your other breast.

You swear you can feel every blade of grass under your shoulders through the soft cotton weave, the energy of every star above you in the sky coursing through his touch deep inside, every note of the song playing reverberating under your skin. A high, so delicate but earthy, as if everything is turned up to eleven on a dial, tangy and bright, like popping candy throughout your entire being.

It's then he swipes his thumb over your engorged clit; you could swear a supernova fires in your synapses, the sensation all at once too much, and with a few flicks, you are clawing at the blanket and his skin, biting your lip, circling that phenomenal bliss.

This time, he doesn't relent, his lips sucking your neck as with a cry that you are sure startles every animal burrowed in the surrounding fields; you are breaking. Almost febrile, your entire being flushing hot, every muscle tensing, your pussy grasping his fingers to the point he growls, driving his stiff cock into your hip, precum smearing over your skin. Still, it’s something you barely sense, your entire focus pinpointed on the sensations coursing through your body.

At last, you fall back, exhausted and panting, feeling his fingers slip slowly from your body with a gush of moisture that leaks across your bottom. You turn your head to look at him, mind awash, unable to form words. His responding smile is smug, crooked and sheer debauchery, his fingers still wet with your arousal, tracing soothing patterns over your ribs as you come down.

“May I return the favour…?” you croak finally.

Before you know it, he is rolling onto his back next to you, an expectant, joyous look upon his face, eyes tracking pointedly to his navel as do yours. His cock standing proud and leaking slightly—a mouthwateringly inviting sight.

He howls, and his whole body flexes as instead of taking him in hand, you dive low and bring his cock into your mouth, so rigid and searing. That tart taste is strong on your tongue as you suckle upon his head, allowing your tongue to press against his frenulum in a cresting wave. He groans staccato, his pelvis tilts, unable to resist the urge to push a little deeper, one hand landing heavy in your hair, twining some strands between his fingers, an anchor he needs as you begin to bob up and down sucking hard, your cheeks hollowing.

The wash of your high enhancing every second, as if in tune with his body—the micro spasms rippling across the plane of his washboard stomach, the flutter of his long eyelashes, the blunt scrape of his rounded fingernails over your scalp, the pulse of his vein on your lips as you slowly allow him to pass through the tight ring of your mouth, teasing him as much as he did you.

You chuckle as he huffs as you pull away and instead lick the length of his shaft with a questing tongue, your hands encircling his base and squeezing softly, enjoying the handful he provides, watching a bead of precum form that you lavishly lick up. He groans again, his head thrashing upon the blanket, the delicate fronds of daisy petals scattering like confetti into his chestnut waves as he does so, his lip flushing magenta where his incisor worries it.

It makes you sit up and stare down upon him wantonly, so utterly beautiful in his untamed arousal. His eyes fly open, glassy and pleading in the campfire glow, pouting fractionally at the lack of your mouth upon his cock, your hand still pumping him gently. Instead, you swing a leg over his and, without a moment of hesitation, sink onto him, inhaling shudderingly at the invasion, your pussy still inflamed from your recent orgasm.

The look of absolute pleasure and reverence that claims his handsome features feels burned into your retinas as his hands fly to your hips, pushing you down flush to his body, his pubic hair tickling your distended slippery clit, his tip rocking into your hilt in a way that makes your eyes roll.

“Don't move, not yet, just feel…” he counsels, his eyes closing, licking his lips and encouraging you, with the flex of his fingers, to rotate your pelvis, to feel him drag against all your walls. 

And so you do, scratch your nails delicately down his abdominals as you stare out to the inky horizon where the navy sky meets the blackened outline of the hedgerows in the distance—again, letting the melodic song seep into your bones, feeling the heat from the dancing flames.

You lean back and arch your spine, placing your hands upon his kneecaps, his legs bending slightly to meet your grip. His hands roam upwards, over your belly and ribs, enclosing each of your breasts in his large grip, a beeline right to your core, already a live wire again, desire coursing in every fibre of your being. 

Then in a deliberate slow drag, you rise slowly before dropping swiftly, revelling in the way his cock pushes you open. A groan from deep inside your being a match to his—throaty, low, wrecked. You begin to set a languid pace, riding him, gripping his knees behind you and staring at the stars above, feeling as if they surround you, tiny lanterns floating just beyond your reach.

“Look at me,” his call is soft, unfocused, imploring, and you tilt down, your breasts squashed into his palms as your eyes meet, something profound in the glimmer you find in the dilated blackness.

Sex has never been this unrestrained before now. Being with him is liberating, wild and luxuriant every time, be it under the influence or not. But tonight, somehow greater than the previous, an inherently verdant setting, alone in the wilds on a balmy night, away from the crowds always in your periphery at the music festival. A large part of you wanting this to be your new forever—naked and feral, entwined together for a blur of future days and nights. A want to live a primitive life of base urges, to feast and to fuck, to be at one with the land, the seasons and the bounteous simplicity of nature.

Time feels elastic as your thighs start to burn from the exertion. Still, you do not stop, not for a moment, too caught up in the tide slowly rising once more and sensing the same in him. A growing desperation in the way his fingers dig into your flesh, in the wild beating of the prominent vein in his neck, in the rise of his hips to meet yours, spearing up as you bear down so it feels like there will always be the imprint of him inside you.

He calls your name, the callus where he holds his paintbrush catching perfectly over your clit as his fingers quest between your legs, hooking you with unerring precision. Catapulting you fast towards a dizzying high again, his movements growing urgent, his jaw tight, so close to breaking. It is barely a moment before you snap again, stilling upon him as you scream with abandon, fluttering around his rigid cock. He groans loudly and, with a few final jerky spasms, comes hard, his toes curling over, his ropey thighs turning rock solid under your bottom as he fills you, a symphony of praise falling from his lips, some not even in English.

And then you are slumping on top of him, his smooth chest tacky under your cheek as you gulp for air, the rustle of the breeze through the nearby trees and the hiss and pop of the logs upon the campfire the only sounds now, the radio falling silent, likely needing new batteries. He slips from your body as you curl your hands around his biceps and snuggle upon him. His long, lean arms wrap around your torso, enveloping you within the large blanket you were lying upon and dropping a kiss upon your dewy brow.

“We can bathe tomorrow in the river,” he hums gently into your hairline.

You nod drowsily, the pull of sleep too beguiling to resist. And that is how you drift off, resting atop him, his heartbeat strong and steady under your ear, the burbling sounds of nature encircling you.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[sky-is-the-limit]

Artist's Touch.

P: Javier Escuella x F!Reader

CW: NSFW Content, Vaginal fingering, Grinding

WC:1,823 words

You were sitting by the tranquil water, the gentle caress of sunlight warming your skin as you cradled Javier's cherished guitar in your lap.

"Am I doing this right, Javi?" You whispered, the words barely audible above the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant movement of the water.

With tender care, you ran your fingers across the strings, coaxing out soft, melodious notes that mingled harmoniously with your surroundings.

Javier behind you was a comforting presence, his hands resting atop yours as he guided your movements, his touch warm and reassuring.

Javier's response was immediate, his voice soothing to ease your worries. "You're doing great, mi amor." He murmured, his warm breath tickling your ear.

You could feel the firmness of his arousal nestled between the rounded curves of your ass and despite your best efforts to maintain focus on the task at hand, the undeniable presence of his hardened length pressing against you was impossible to ignore.

Perhaps it was the way you were shifting slightly on his lap, the subtle movements torturing him despite his innocent efforts to teach you how to play the guitar.

Maybe it was the comfortable silence that hugged you both, a peaceful rare moment from the hustle and bustle of the camp life as you both used fishing as an excuse to get away.

And he was aware of it too. You could sense it in the way his gaze lingered on you, dark with desire as he whispered with sultry tone in your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it each time to betray his intentions.

His hand gently guided yours to a different position on the fretboard, the familiar formation of E minor taking shape beneath your touch. As he adjusted your grip, you could feel the calluses on his fingertips brushing against yours, a reminder of the countless hours he had spent perfecting his skill.

"Practice that one, love." With a soft murmur, he encouraged you to play the chord. "Let me hear it."

And so, you obliged, hesitantly strumming your fingers across the strings of the guitar. You focused intently, ensuring that you applied just the right amount of pressure on the strings to produce the correct sound.

Yet, despite your concentration, you couldn't help but feel the subtle shift in Javier's touch. His hand, which had been guiding yours moments before, now trailed down to rest on your hip, his fingers tracing circles against your skin and causing your breath to catch in your throat.

"Good, good. Now show me A major." Javier instructed with a velvety whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

As his lips moved dangerously close to the pulsing of your neck, you could feel the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin and a smirk forming on his lips.

"Javi, what are you-" You began to question, but before you could finish your sentence, you felt his fingers daringly graze your upper thigh. The hem of your dress barely covered your most intimate parts, leaving you feeling exposed to his touch.

With a firm grip, his fingers found interest on the material of your clothing and slowly, almost teasingly, he began to raise the fabric upwards, revealing inches of nakedness underneath.

The sensation of exposed skin against the cool air raised goosebumps all over you, your senses heightened by the not so surprising turn of events.

Caught off guard by his sudden boldness, you hesitated, uncertain of how to react, if you should keep playing. But then, with an unfamiliar sternness in his tone, he interrupted you.

"Ah, ah, cariño." He chided softly, his tone carrying a hint of authority that excited every corner of your body. "You focus on your playing and I'll focus on mine. Go on."

Javier watched you intently, his gaze unwavering as he searched for any sign of a reaction. He was eager to see if he could break through your focus, to witness the moment when you would fall apart to what he was doing.

With a slow motion, he positioned the index and middle finger of his right hand, forming a V shape over your outer lips before pressing firmly against them.

Despite the overwhelming pleasure, you remained determined to maintain your composure, to continue playing the guitar as though nothing else mattered.

As his fingers pressed against you, you could feel your inner lips spilling outside around his digits, the heat of your arousal radiating from your core. Your lower muscles hardened under his touch, responding instinctively to the stimulation.

With each movement of his hand, more of your juices seeped from you, coating his fingers in a slick sheen of your lust.

You pushed down against him, your silent plea for more evident in the way your body moved and trembled.

Javier was more than happy to comply, eager to satisfy your every need. With a swift touch, he removed his middle finger, allowing his index to glide smoothly along your soaked slit, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips.

His touch was electrifying, setting your skin ablaze as he trailed his finger from the bottom to the top of your slick folds, stopping just short of your clit. The anticipation was almost unbearable and your whimpers choked in your throat before they could reach your lips.

Exasperated by it all, you stopped playing altogether, your focus entirely consumed by the pleasure coursing through your veins.

"Javi, please-" You whined, pleading as you begged for more. "I need more, please-"

"Keep playing, amor or I'll stop." Javier warned huskily with a hint of playful threat. His words hung in the air, a reminder of the power he held over you in that moment.

A with a renewed sense of determination, you focused all your attention on the guitar in your hands, your fingers moving deftly across the strings as you continued to play the melody.

Then he moved faster, pressing even deeper. The thumb on your clit added pressure and swirled with such skilled accuracy that it burst a sudden moan out of you. It left your thighs trembling, growing weaker with each passing second.

It was velvety and slick, the way his fingers glided in and out with ease, as if you were sucking him in despite the slight stretch.

Despite your best efforts to maintain composure, whimpers and cries spilled from your lips and every word you tried to articulate was swallowed by a panting mewl, each syllable lost in the haze.

"You're doing such a good job for me." Your lover praised and with each word, you felt yourself growing more and more responsive to his touch, your body instinctively reacting to his every movement.

With each passing moment, the intensity of his touch grew, his thumb working your clit in small, tight circles that left you gasping for air, your cries mingling with the wet sounds of your own arousal.

The heat building in your stomach intensified, leaving you trembling and the guitar in your grasp alongside you. It was a wonder that you managed to maintain your grip on it amidst it all.

Every nerve in your body seemed to be on fire, ignited by the rhythmic pressure of Javier's palm now grinding against your clit as his digits thrusted in and out of you at a maddening pace. With each movement, the pressure pushed you further and further toward the edge as tears welled up in your eyes.

Amidst the haze of sensation, you felt Javier's lips against your ear, "That's it-" He rasped, his voice sounding almost more wrecked than your own. "Keep clenching around my fingers, fuck-"

In desperate need of more friction, you instinctively began to grind the globes of your ass against his clothed length and though there was the barrier of fabric between you, you could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against you with each motion.

At first, it was a subconscious movement, an innocent attempt to find a rhythm that would bring you closer to your climax. But as you continued to press yourself against him, something snapped within you.

Then, as if breaking through the barrier of your own desire, you heard it, a low, needy moan that escaped Javier's lips.

''Just like that, keep grinding on me- fuck-'' Heavenly little noises fell from his lips as he finally started pressing his crotch against you with pressure, the tone of his voice betraying his ability to last long.

The guitar was long forgotten as he, too, seemed lost in the heat of the moment. The wooden instrument served as nothing more than an object for you to hold onto. Your fingers clung desperately to the smooth surface as your hips instinctively started grinding against his hand in search of release.

His climax coming early didn't catch you off guard after only a few moments of using your lower body strength to both milk his fingers with your warm walls and grind against him. It was no surprise, really, considering the torturous arousal that had been building inside him since the moment you sat on his lap.

The fact that he had even lasted as long as he did was admirable, all things considered.

''Fuck-'' With a shudder that seemed to ripple through his entire body, Javier stilled, his cock pulsing as it spilled rope after rope of hot thick semen into his pants.

His abs flexed beneath the fabric of his shirt, the muscles rippling beneath his skin as he rode out the waves of pleasure that washed over him. His hips twitched involuntarily, his movements punctuated by sharp gasps and whimpers of pleasure as he struggled to catch his breath.

Though Javier was trying to come down from his own high, his fingers never ceased their relentless thrusting inside you. Even as his body trembled with the aftershocks of his orgasm, he picked up the pace, his fingers driving deeper and faster inside you.

''Javi- God!'' The sound that escaped your lips was primal, raw, the cry of a wounded and your head swam with the force of your orgasm, every sensation heightened to a fever pitch as you surrendered to the sparks going through you rapidly.

"We might need to wash up before we get back to camp, eh?" Javier smiled wolfishly, bringing his hand up to his lips, his tongue trailing along his fingers as he savored the taste of your release and licked his fingers clean.

As your back rested against his chest, the rise and fall of your breath gradually returning to its normal rhythm, you felt Javier's hands begin to move and you felt the weight of the guitar being lifted from your body.

With a tender touch, Javier placed the guitar gently on the grass beside you and then wrapped his arms around your body, holding you close to ret his head on your shoulder.

[nina-ya]

A/N: I was at a concert and couldn't stop thinking about law as the bassist so I quite literally wrote these headcanons during the concert dfkjsjk so here have them I'm going to my cave and hiding now! Pairing: Bassist!Law x reader CW: NSFW MINORS DNI

Bassist!Law who always glances at you standing backstage, watching as he plays, knowing just what he has in store for you later. Eye contact lingering longer than necessary, a smirk on his lips as he imagines the things he’ll do to you once the show is over. He thrives on the way that your mere presence amps up his performance.

Bassist!Law who notices the way your eyes seem to flicker between his biceps and his hands constantly watching them move and flex as he plays, watching as the crowd erupts in cheers when he purposefully uses two of his fingers to grind circles into the neck of the bass guitar just to tease you further, bringing you closer and closer to pouncing right then and there. 

Bassist!Law who is the first to make it off stage as soon as the final note is played, making a beeline to you, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His lips crash against yours, consuming your entire being with the pent-up emotions building up throughout the performance. 

Bassist!Law who enjoys the feeling of your ineffectual fists pushing his sweaty body away, whining about how wet he is. Your resistance only adds fuel to the burning desire, and the struggle between you is a prelude to the unabashed passion that will soon engulf the two of you. 

Bassist!Law who whisks you away, dragging you back to the tour bus before the rest of the bandmates can follow. Urgency manifested in his drive to claim you in the privacy of the dimly lit bus.

Bassist!Law who has you pinned against the bunk beds of the cramped tour bus, his body caging you in radiating with a ravenous hunger. His breath is a scorching whisper against your ear, weaving dirty promises, each a venomous caress that lays bare his intentions with a clarity that makes your knees quiver and your resolve melt like wax in a flame. 

Bassist!Law who grins at the marks he leaves on your skin, each bruise and bite a proclamation that you are his. 

Bassist!Law whose calloused fingers drag deep inside of you, each flick of his wrist leaving you gasping for breath. His touch is a paradox that emits tenderness and relentlessness, leaving you crying out in sheer wanton abandon. 

Bassist!Law who tears your clothes off, his hands mapping your body as if you were a prized possession. Each inch of you committed to memory, his fingers tracing a trail of fire along your curves and dips. 

Bassist!Law who maneuvers you into the narrow bunk bed, the limited space only heightening the intensity. He flips you over in the tight quarters, positioning you on your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips with ferocity. 

Bassist!Law who teases you mercilessly, running the tip of his cock along your slick folds, each nudge of his bulbous tip pulling begs from your lips, the pleas bouncing off the walls of the tiny space. 

Bassist!Law who finally pushes into you, burying himself to the hilt. The sensation of him stretching you, the way he bucks into you, bullying your insides with each thrust, has you seeing stars, each and every nerve alight with pleasure, leaving your jaw agape whining panting, and whining with each kiss of your cervix. 

Bassist!Law who loses himself in the rhythm of your bodies, the tour bus seemingly swaying alongside your movements. His grunts meld with your cries of pleasure, the air thick with the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex, a melody much sweeter than the ones he plays on stage every night. 

Bassist!Law who is addicted to the way your hole clenches around him, your body responding to each rock of his hips, every angle change. He adjusts his pace and depth until your senses are flooded with nothing else but him, the only word you know how to say is his name, chanting it as if it were a prayer. 

Bassist!Law who drinks up the sight of you coming undone beneath him, the sight of your gasping, shuddering form driving him over his peak, burying himself deep inside of you, face in your neck, groaning your name as he pains your walls a creamy white. 

Bassist!Law who only waits a moment before pulling out of you, using your own shirt to clean you up as he tosses his own shirt at you right as his other bandmates laughter and chatter approach the bus. He loves the sight of you wearing the graphic tee he wore on stage only moments ago, the fabric hanging loosely on your frame. 

Bassist!Law whose bandmates walk in and immediately catch the sight of the aftermath- the touseled sheets, your embarrassed face accompanying the marks that litter your neck, you wearing Law’s shirt, now leaving his tattoos exposed to the elements. The knowing smirks, and stifled laughter from his friends only fuel his pride. He wraps an arm around you, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he revels in the evidence of your shared passion, completely and utterly unashamed. 

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem! reader 18+ requested by @loveshotzz and @palmtreesx3

You thought you were doing an A plus job, all things considered. 

The corner of the restaurant was quiet, dark. Dimly lit with tabletop sconces that glowed amber, bouncing off the white linen. It was much fancier than your usual haunts, but Eddie was only back in town for a few days and your boyfriend had insisted on paying. His treat, he’d said. 

And Steve was really living up to the word, his fingers doing more for you than the chocolate lava cake you’d been ignoring in favour of white knuckling the edge of the booth. Steve was tucked into the suede bench next to you, talking across the table to Eddie about his new single, guitar solos, tickets prices - you didn’t even know anymore. The boy had one arm around your shoulders, an affectionate and casual touch but it only seemed to be a distraction for what his other hand was doing underneath the tablecloth. 

You hadn’t thought too much about it when he’d picked out a dress from your wardrobe for you, pressing a kiss to your cheek and telling you he liked that one, that you looked so pretty in it. Now, you realised his plan, flushing hot when the waitress came to take away your empty dinner plates, Steve thanking her with a polite smile as his fingertips skimmed up the inside of your bare thigh. 

You weren’t sure how he was doing it, talking so casually to Eddie while two of his fingers were pressed to your clit, rubbing in slow, lazy circles. To anyone else - hopefully Eddie included, it looked like your boyfriend was resting his hand on your leg, all affection. 

Innocent. 

But if Eddie’s laugh wasn’t as loud and the music coming from the speakers above your table wasn’t as close, you were sure everyone would have heard the slick, wet noises Steve’s fingers were making against your cunt. You were too wet, too keyed up, sitting on the edge of an orgasm and it kept getting teased closer when Steve moved his big hand and stretched the lace of your underwear against your folds, all friction and pressure. 

You tried to nod when the boy’s did, laughed a second after Eddie, smiled and hummed when Steve asked you a question, his eyes dark, knowing. Teasing. He bumped his nose against your cheek, pressed a kiss there, all sweetness and light as he pinched your clit between his finger and thumb. And when you jumped a little, brows scrunching, you tried to pass it off as cough, clearing your throat with a burn in your chest and Eddie was looking at you, smiling in a way that made you think he wasn’t as oblivious as you thought. 

And when the boy’s finally finished their desserts and you knew Steve would taste like chocolate and strawberries when he finally kissed you, Eddie leaned onto the table, his arms folded and his eyes hooded, lashes fanning over his cheeks as he watched the way Steve’s wrist moved almost minutely under the table. 

You held your breath, panic in your throat, ringing in your ears and you were just about to wrench Steve’s hand away when your boyfriend sped up his efforts. 

And then:

“You gonna let her come, Harrington?” 

You were on fire, embarrassed and turned on and everything in between. Eddie was watching your face now and you wondered if he could see the glow in your cheeks from the sconce, from the low lighting all around. You whined, unable to help it, turning to bury your face in the crook of Steve’s neck and you felt the boy laugh, the vibration of it in his throat and he kissed at your forehead, your hairline, all while rubbing two, thick fingers on your clit, over and over and over—

You heard Eddie take a sip of his wine, red, a Merlot. The same colour as your lipstick. “She’s been so good, this whole time,” he cooed and he leant back on his chair. “Make her come, Steve, s’only fair.”

And as if the boy hadn’t been toying with you this entire time, as if Steve wasn’t entirely in control, he leaned down, chin ducking to nose at your cheek, whispering in your ear while his eyes were on the other boy. “You gonna let Eddie watch you come, honey?”

You weren’t sure if you had a choice after that, not with the way both boy’s attention had you dizzy. 

[cherrychilli]

18+

Eddie Munson x AFAB reader, established relationship, lingerie, allusions to oral sex(F), PIV sex

a/n: I'm no seamstress by any means but I can do a decent enough job with a needle and thread and I love making my own lingerie from time to time so it got me thinking about dear sweet horny Eddie and what it might be like when you let him in on your little hobby.

You'd first told him about it a few months into your relationship, on a day when a press of his lips to the corner of your mouth had turned into open mouthed kisses, his tongue wrapped around yours. Eddie had pulled you closer to feel more of you then, settling you in his lap, pushing your skirt up to find the black, hand sewn lacy garters circling the thickness of your thighs, made dainty and pretty with ruching and bows.

He doesn't even know what they're called – all he knows is that he likes them, a lot and he tells you so between kisses, tracing the soft fabric with his fingers, pinching the delicate lace with a low whistle. He slips in a corny but sweet line about how it makes your thighs look like they've been giftwrapped just for him and that gets a giggle out of you, telling him you made them yourself.

"You serious?", he looks up at you, amazement shining bright in his deep mahogany eyes even when you try to downplay it, telling him it's not that hard. But your modesty does nothing to stop him from thinking you're the most talented person he's ever met and he reminds you of that mixed in with more praise when you change positions and he's down on his knees, slipping his fingers under each garter while he fits his head between your legs.

"Turning up in a pretty little outfit like this? that's begging to have my tongue on you, baby. You shoulda known that", he tuts against your clothed mound, licking a broad stripe up your panties, tasting the wetness that had gathered there on the black cotton.

He only pulled out the stitching on one garter that day – unintentional of course but unavoidable too given how tightly he had to hold you down in place as you writhed. It didn't trouble you though because it was nothing you couldn't mend with your needle and some thread back at home.

From then on, whenever you feel inspired to tackle a new design he's all sorts of encouraging, driving you and accompanying you to get all the things you need – all of the sewing supplies; fabric, thread, lace, ribbon, elastic and more. He helps you decide on which colors to get and he makes the gesture of paying for it all too, wanting to spoil you. Not to mention it's kind of like he's buying himself a present too, knowing you'll model the undergarments for him when you're done.

The most you let him help with after that is taking your measurements, letting him wrap the measuring tape around your hips and bust while you guide him on how to do it correctly but what that leads to is a lot of wandering touches and a few sneaky pinches on your ass, having to playfully swat his hands away if you hope to get anything done.

Eddie backs down with a little whine but all the faux pouting's just for show. He finds space on your bed while you look up DIY tutorials online at your desk before you get down to sewing, all of your supplies laid out neatly by your side, ready to be used.

While you're busy he spends his time strumming away on his guitar, pencil tucked behind his ear as he brainstorms lyrics for a new song. Both of you liked working on your own projects this way, in the same room because you appreciate having each other's company and presence to surround yourself with while you create.

Though Eddie had promised not to look too much he struggles to uphold that promise as he sneaks peaks at you cutting out patterns for a matching lace bra and panty set. He adores the cute way your brows scrunch together in concentration when you thread your needle and how you sometimes mirror him with your tongue pinched between your lips while you meticulously stitch all the individual cut outs together.

Somewhere between the time it takes you to get the panties finished and the bra started he approaches you, one hand clamped over his eyes so he can't see your progress – he knows how much you want to surprise him with the final result. Held out in the other is a mug of that tea you like, having made a quick trip to your kitchen and back, a bag of potato chips cradled in the crook of his elbow for you too.

You thank him and gladly take the offerings, cheeks growing warm when he plants a quick kiss on the top of your head. "Don't overwork yourself", he coos into your hair, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze before he heads back to your bed and picks up his guitar again.

The tune Eddie's playing carries you through the rest of your stitching and close to an hour later you swivel your desk chair around in his direction. "I'm done", you announce with a sunny smile and he grins back at you, fingers abandoning his guitar. "You gonna get changed right now?" he asks hopefully, eyes twinkling.

"Yup", you answer him, popping the 'P' with a little wink. You gather the set in your arms, stepping into the bathroom. "Wait here, I wanna do a reveal", you tell him before closing the door, all giddy with girlish excitement, proud of how the it all came out.

The wait isn't long but every second that passes has Eddie feeling like his head's full of fireworks, finding it impossible to remain still, fingers drumming on his knees, legs hung over the side of your bed, socked feet tapping away on your carpeted floor.

You don't announce yourself once you've changed, unlocking the bathroom door and letting it swing open as you lean against the doorframe, letting your boyfriend take in your newest creation.

You know you've succeeded when his lips part, jaw going slack and his eyes going wide to rake over every inch of you, stunned.

He makes grabby hands at you and its somehow made cuter given his age so you step forward to let him get a closer look, occupying the space between his spread legs, letting him place his warm hands on the bare skin of your waist.

It's always a rare moment when Eddie goes silent, words escaping him as he quietly admires the way the material wraps around your proportions perfectly and the the cheeky cut of your panties as you do a little spin for him, the front a soft lilac satin, the back a matching shade of lace to reveal your ass through the floral embroidery.

The bra is simple – nothing too elaborate like some of the designs you'd scrolled through but it compliments the underwear well. The straps are thin and rest comfortably on your shoulders, the rest sewn in a longline style. It's sheer with the same floral lace as your panties so your nipples show through, your breasts supported well even without padding or underwire for extra softness, all with a tiny, pretty ribbon bow stitched right in the middle to match the one on the front of your panties too.

"You're so fucking beautiful", me utters, pulling you closer to kiss you right above your belly button, making your chest flutter with a thousand beating wings, a hurricane of butterflies taking flight just beneath your skin.

You let him lay you down on the bed and he's far more gentle than he needs to be when he slips your panties to the side, not wanting to stretch or snag the lace and ruin all your hard work. Your belly feels warm like sunlight spilling through your window in the morning because he's so careful with the pretty underwear while he runs a finger through your wet folds, making you feel like something as delicate as porcelain, something to touched with care and worshiped. It makes you hunger for more, pulling him closer by his shoulders.

"Wanna feel you inside", you place your lips on his, hands helping him to unbuckle his belt as he leans over you. You pull not so gently at his clothing, a big contrast to how he's handling you, tossing each article to the side impatiently while you remain in your cute little ensemble. You wouldn't be ridding yourself of your underwear tonight and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Can't believe I've got the prettiest doll in town all to myself", Eddie huffs a breath against the column of your neck at the same moment you suck one in, pressing his cock inside you, so thick and hard it makes the stretch that much better.

"And she's all dressed up just for me"

[cas-writes-stuff-ig]

Part 2 of Cheering Her Up (A Party)

f!/nb! reader x regina george

CONTENT:

Word Count: 3094

Reader is working on performing for the Winter Talent Show

singing for Regina

secret relationship

Jealous Regina

Jealous Reader

smut (shower sex) (drunk sex) (jealousy)

kinda will get angsty after this

(those band geeks/people who play music in the background in the new Mean Girls movie? yeah that's who the reader is friends with)

Part 1 of Cheering Her Up

Part 3 of Cheering Her Up

a/n:

this was supposed to be a one-shot but idk I had an idea because i get inspired by songs and then make up scenarios in my head. its gonna get a little sadder soon so sorry DW they'll end up together <3

Soona is a person who was apologized to, who plays music in the background for the songs (plays guitar and drums)

("Soona, I'm sorry I said you were dragging during 'Revenge Party' There was just like, so much pressure on us to move the story forward through the montage. Like you know how it is" (1:22:24 in the movie))

I made Soona date the girl in the beanie (plays bass and drums)

I heavily based this off the 2024 version, but I switched around some of the events back to 2004

(2004: October Party/Aaron and Regina get back together -> Talent Show -> Aaron and Regina break up -> "You can't sit with us" -> Burn Book scene)

(2024: October Party/Aaron and Regina get back together -> Aaron and Regina break up -> Talent Show -> "You can't sit with us" -> Burn Book scene)

Regina finished her brownie and you scarfed yours down unceremoniously. You covered your mouth and spoke while you chewed “Shit sorry, I’ve been smelling brownies for an hour and I was starving” she just rolled her eyes at you. “Want another?”

Regina paused a pained expression painted her face for a moment, then she put her wall back up “I’m fine thanks”

You decided to let it go and then the front door opened, “Regina?” her mom walked in “You having a party in here?” you grabbed your phone and turned down the music.

Regina's little sister Kylie ran inside after her mom and waved at you excitedly. Kylie liked it when you were around because you'd scold Regina if she was being mean to her. Kylie just ran up to her room to change.

“Hey mom” Regina greeted but she was dismissive as most kids are with their parents

“Hi Mrs. George,” her mom liked you, but she was naive to the true nature of your relationship with her daughter. You grinned “I made brownies, sorry it’s a mess. I’ll clean it up”

“Oh! That’s so nice of you. Thank you, hun, don’t worry about the dishes, darling” She put her bag down walked toward the sink, and started washing them. “I’ve got it, I know you guys have homework. Regina be nice yeah?”

Her mom said that every time you were over because the first time you were at her house, you worked with Regina at the kitchen table, and she heard her daughter call you “…a fucking nerd”

“Yeah, whatever Mom,” she stood up and started walking toward the stairs. You thanked her mom, rushed to take off the apron, hung it up, and dashed up the stairs. She walked into her room, and you soon followed inside and shut the door.

She just slipped back into her bed and went on her phone. You sat on the bed and kicked off your shoes, and were worried “Hey ‘Gina?”

“Mm?” She looked up at you briefly, and then back down at her phone.

You paused and didn’t say anything for a moment “…Gina, do you wanna talk about what happened earlier?” That same pained expression panned over her face. You just touched her knee and rubbed soothing circles into it. "It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it."

She sighed, "It's just me, don't worry about it, kay?" you gave her a look.

She then pulled you to lay next to her and lifted your arm to lay on your shoulder, head resting at the crook of your neck. "I won't push it" you added after she got comfortable.

She pulled out her phone and rested it on your stomach scrolling through her apps. You took your own phone out and checked your grades on there. Regina opened her camera roll, the most recent item was a short video of you, you immediately recognized your own voice and she had this shit-eating grin on her face.

It was you just fifteen minutes ago, you watched yourself wearing the rather girly apron, singing, and pulling brownies out of the oven. "Regina! Oh my God, delete that, please. That's actually so embarrassing" you face palmed.

She laughed and said "Absolutely not," and sat up "Don't worry, it's for my eyes only" She told the truth because she couldn't show the video to anyone else or else they'd ask what you're doing in her house baking brownies for.

"You're so mean to me," you said with no real bite in your voice. "Your mom said to be nice to me Regina" You didn't ask her again to delete it, because once she made a decision she usually stuck by it, she always got her way with you.

She scoffed and said "I am being nice" and leaned back toward you, kissing your collarbone. It made you stop breathing for a moment, your body got stiff as she kept kissing your neck.

"God Regina, I have homework" you mustered out, she left a dark red hickey that peaked out just a little bit from your shirt, then she licked your neck "Shit" she was getting you worked up.

"It's fucking Friday tomorrow loser, chill out, it can wait an hour" She whispered seductively in your ear. Regina was right though so you submitted to her whims

——————————————————————————————

"Duck, stay the night" She leaned against the bed sheets.

"Okay princess," you rolled your eyes "Anything for you," you said sarcastically, but you meant it. Regina pointed towards her closet and you found some of her more comfortable loose shirts to wear to bed. "Can I grab my guitar to practice for maybe thirty minutes though? Me and my group are practicing some songs for the Winter Talent show"

"Are you singing?" Regina asked smiling.

"If you make fun of me, I'll sleep in my fucking car, Regina" You made an empty threat. "I'm playing guitar, and doing background vocals. I'm the main singer for the last song only. I just wanna practice with the music in the back"

Your band for the Talent Show consisted of people from the Band Geeks (though you weren't part of the school band yourself). The four of you were versatile in your music skills, also being able to sing lead and backup interchangeably.

You only practiced one of your songs and opted to play ones you knew well for Regina. "I thought it was only one song?" Regina asked you.

"Thought I'd show off a little bit" you looked down at the fret board, she watched your fingers move.

"You serenading me Duck?"

——————————————————————————————

You cozied into her arms too easily, over the summer, spending nights with her had conditioned you to never get up before 10AM. So you couldn't rely on your body clock to wake you up.

You set an alarm for 7AM so she could do her makeup and choose an outfit. You had left a small amount of clothes in her wardrobe that was neatly hidden away, for the nights you slept over.

In the morning you brushed her hair back and pressed a kiss to her forehead "Gina babe, you gotta get up" I brought you the brownies I made.

She sat up and smiled at you "Thanks Ducky" Shit, that smile could send you to the stars.

"Of course Gina"

——————————————————————————————

That day, at the cafeteria. You slipped off your backpack and sat down across the table from Janis, and Damian. It was the third week of your Junior year.

You never stayed for the entire duration of lunch, just to eat and run to a study room where you could get some actual silence or hang out with the Soona and band you were friends with. And you never knew that Janis and Damian were using Cady to take Regina down.

Damian gasped dramatically, it surprised you. "What's that on your neck!?" Shit, your backpack moved your shirt down revealing part of the hickey Regina gave you. Some heads turned toward your table.

Janis looked "Who you hook up with?" They both leaned in.

You were bright red "No one" You and Regina actually hid your secret pretty well, which you both greatly appreciated. But you hung out with a few people, which is why they pushed harder for an answer.

Damian leaned forward "Who?"

"No one, leave it," You said, it came out a little mean since you were stressed. "Sorry" you decided to tell part of the truth and you softened up "They're not out yet, I can't say" they yielded and switched gears.

"Is that why you've been all glow-y this semester? Your face has gay painted all fucking over it." Damian gestured with his hands pointing at you.

"Please stop talking" You pressed your temples

"Fine" They changed the topic.

"Oh Cady told us of a party happening tonight," Janis said, but you didn't really pay attention

You said "Okay" and then just looked down at your phone and texted Regina. Her contact on your phone was discreet enough, it was just her initials backward. The only thing that hinted that it could be Regina was the picture of a Jeep from the internet.

You knew your contact name, but of course, you had a rubber ducky as a profile picture on her phone.

Duck: "G, they saw the mark you left yesterday"

GR: "so what? you didn't say anything right?"

Duck: "no of course not"

GR: "then we're fine"

You could see Regina looking down at her phone too where she sat with the Plastics and Cady.

You kept observing Regina, Gretchen was next to her and leaned over. "Who's 'Duck'? New guy?"

"Jesus Gretchen, haven't you heard of privacy?" Regina scolded her.

——————————————————————————————

After school, you drove home and Facetimed Regina "Party tonight right?" you asked.

"Mmhm, you gonna go?" Regina was also rummaging through her clothes

"Yeah," you said and put on just a black T-shirt, jeans, and a brown jacket. "How do I look?" You propped your phone up to show her.

"Lame, but fine" Regina responded

"That was mean Gina" It stung a little but you were fine. "Oh remind me to send you the set list we're practicing," You asked her.

"Shit, gotta go Duck. Karen, Gretchen, and Cady are coming to my house to get ready" She looked at the messages on her phone "I'll see you later" she quickly hung up. You changed your shirt to a loose tank top, which revealed your toned arms and the hickey, you wanted to exact a little revenge on Regina and make her a little jealous.

——————————————————————————————

Soona and the gang brought you to the party. You've been at this guy's house party three times over the summer. You grabbed a red solo cup and took it to the dance floor, and your friends joined you.

You normally didn't get this drunk unless you were with only a few people, because you lost your inhibitions a little too much. The only thing on your mind was Regina. Regina. Regina. Regina.

Your head buzzed and you looked for the familiar blonde, she was in the middle of the dance floor grinding up against some jock, which happened to be Shane Oman.

You got jealous, and when you were drunk you didn't think thoroughly. Regina didn't fuck anyone else besides you for a while, you understood 'friends with benefits' implied you were not obligated to monogamy.

You had decided to mess with Regina a little more, you joined a girl who was known for queer baiting, you didn't kiss her, but you definitely got touchy, she was lifting your shirt a little. You felt Regina staring daggers at you.

After a while, you excused yourself to the upstairs bathroom where there were far fewer people here. You wondered if that was enough to get a rise out of Regina. Then a knock at the door. "Occupied" you yelled out.

"Let me in, bitch" It was Regina's voice.

'Oh shit' You thought. You wanted to anger her enough that she texted you to come over to her house, but she broke your unspoken rule to not approach each other at parties or school. You opened the door "Shit Regina. No one saw you come in here ri-"

She slammed the door shut and shoved you against the wall, her left hand snaked around your neck, not enough to restrict air, but enough to show you how mad she was. "You're stupid," she said angrily. You looked up at her, your head still buzzed.

"Gina I-" You tried speak, but her hand squeezed a little tighter for a moment, before loosening her grip to grab your jaw.

"I'm gonna leave this party, and you're gonna meet me down this fucking block. We're going home" Regina's voice was full of venom. "Do you understand?" you could smell the alcohol on her breath, and the smell of her perfume.

You let out a faint "Yes"

——————————————————————————————

She called an Uber and you stood behind her like a kicked puppy. You were in deep shit. It was already 2AM when you left the party so everyone in Regina's house was asleep.

When you got to her house she practically dragged you up the stairs and pushed you onto the bed roughly "The fuck you think you were doing at that party?" She's never been so angry at you before.

"Regina, I'm sorry I-" you stuttered, she was mad at you and it scared you. But the alcohol in your blood and the way she towered over you, making you feel helpless, made your core ache with need.

She stripped off her shirt and straddled your hips, Regina took your arms and held them above your head. "You're a fucking tease" You were both still incredibly drunk.

"Regina, I'm sorry let me make it up to you" You pleaded with her.

She wore a mean smile "And how do you plan on doing that baby" You tried to wriggle yourself out of her grip, but she used her entire body to keep you down.

The more you tried to escape, the more pathetic you looked. Face flushed, pinned under the prettiest girl you've ever seen. "Shit, I'll do whatever you ask Gina, just say the word"

"Yeah baby?" she smiled "Whatever I ask?"

"Yes," you said breathily, though it was hot, you were scared of losing her favor. You wanted to be in her life as much as possible, you were obsessed. Anything to please her.

"Strip, get in the shower" She let go of your arms, climbed off you, and rid herself of the rest of her clothes. She turned her back towards you and walked toward the bathroom, then without turning, she crooked her finger, telling you to come follow her.

She didn't need to turn around to know you were watching her every movement. She turned the shower on and walked inside "Kneel" You did, she looked at your mouth and then down between her legs. Water beat down your back. "You know what to do baby" You nodded and started to gently kiss her clit, "Don't tease, just get on with it" Your slow kisses to her pussy turned into you sucking on it hard.

You looked up at her, and you made eye contact. She moaned then said "Keep that up baby, and I might forgive you" she gripped the back of your hair and it made you whine into her pussy. "Fuck- use your fingers too babe" Coating your fingers in her slick before slipping two fingers inside of her.

"God you feel so good," she said as you started rhythmically curling your fingers inside her cunt, you took your free hand and held her up. "Oh fuck" she arched her back and pushed her hips hard into your face. You kept your pace while she rode out her orgasm. She pulled your head away, and when she let go you just kissed her thighs.

"You satisfied, Gina?" you still were on your knees she brought you up and kissed you

"No, nerd. I wanna break you" Regina knelt now and saw her there you ached for her to just get on with it. Eating her out pulled obscene sounds out of her and made you wet, and she swiped a finger through your slit. "You're so wet," Then she slid two fingers inside. "If I let you finish, you gonna promise to be good for me, baby?"

Her thumb started to circle your clit "Sh-shit, yes Gina"

"Look at me" you looked down and she pressed your clit hard.

"Fuck Regina, I'll be good" you swore.

"Promise me?"

"Promise" You gasped out as she increased her pace.

Heat gathered in your stomach and your skin felt hot. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back, moaning Regina's name like a prayer. "Gina- fuck, I-"

"Words baby" Regina cooed.

You panted trying to speak, you finally gasped out "Gina, can I finish, please? please?"

She smirked "Only because you're so cute when you beg" She sped up "Come for me, come for your owner baby"

You covered your mouth in fear of waking up everyone in the house. Your body felt like a firework, and Regina knew how to play you like a violin.

She stood and kissed you, and her anger had dissolved. Just as you regained your breath, there she was to steal it away from you again.

You knew Regina was a bitch, but you couldn't help but melt into her touch when she washed your hair or kissed your shoulder. Her attention was intoxicating.

——————————————————————————————

You lay in bed with Regina and brushed her hair behind her ear. "Gina, about you kissing Shane tonight." you paused to really think about your words. "I know we aren't together like that, but you know me, if you start dating someone else, whatever we have has to stop"

She hesitated for a second "Of course Duck" she paused again "I only did it to keep up my reputation" Regina said. It was partially true if you wanted to keep up the secret. Regina had to play her part, she had to conform, it was comphet but you didn't bring up your thoughts to her.

"Gina, I'm sorry I was acting like that at the party" You apologized for making her jealous. You knew why you were jealous, but not why she was. Did she like you? Did she just want to fuck you? You never would expect anything beyond sex and friendship from her even if it broke you inside.

But she read you easily "Hey babe, did you get jealous?" she was smug about it, and you crossed your arms. "You did huh?" She provoked you but she held your face so gently and rubbed your cheek with her thumb, that you felt your attraction to her fall far deeper than you could control.

She gave you butterflies whenever she was around. You just responded with "I'm sorry"

"It's cute, Duck, you're fine. But don't do that again yeah?" She kept holding your face "At least not with that bitch you were dancing with, she’s such a loser babe"

"Yeah, fine fine. But anyone who isn’t you or your gang is a loser to you” you teased.

"Whatever. Now come here and hold me, baby" She had you wrapped around her little finger, more so than anyone else. You felt your feelings for Regina grow, but you didn't dare to confess. You didn't want to lose what you had.

You lay on your back and Regina laid her head on your chest, then you were stroking her back and held her close to you. You kissed her forehead sweetly and lovingly, earning an adorable 'Mm', and you were getting slowly coaxed into sleep by her gentle steady breathing.

Part 3 of Cheering Her Up

[moonstruckme]

hii

congrats to your 7k!

I wanted to ask if you could do blueberry muffin of your drabble with Sirius helping you through a panic attack? If not that’s fine

Thank you !!

part 1

cw: panic attack aftermath

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 578 words

Sirius goes to get you more water as soon as you’re settled in on his couch. There’s a tension to his features that hasn’t gone since he dragged you out of the concert, your hand clasped in his and his fingers squeezing hard as though you might be ripped away from him. You feel awful for having ruined his night. 

You like Sirius a lot. You want to like the same things he does, and going to see this band had been a step towards that, you thought. But maybe you’re simply not meant to share in everything. All the things he likes—thrumming crowds, loud voices, bass you can feel in your teeth and the deafening squeal of a guitar amp—make you feel like you’re actually dying. Because Sirius brought you along, he had to abandon what probably would have been a great night for him. Instead, he spent the first part of the concert crouched in the dirt, rubbing your back, and now he’s spending the rest of it at home. Not exactly an upgrade. 

You can’t quite look at him when he brings back a cup of water, sitting down next to you on the couch. The water is cold enough to make your teeth ache. A chill passes through you. 

“Are you cold?” Sirius asks. 

You shake your head. “I’m okay.” 

He looks dubious. He waits until you finish your water and set it down before taking your hands into his. They flitter like trapped butterflies between his palms. 

“How do you feel?” he asks. This earnestness is new on him, almost as endearing as it is unsettling. You halfway wish he’d go back to quips and flirting. 

“Mostly tired. It’s like I ran a race,” you try to joke, “except without any of the effort or actually going anywhere. I’m just sore and tired.” 

Sirius gives you a smile. You suspect it’s mostly for your sake, but you appreciate it nonetheless. “I don’t know, it seemed like a workout to me. What’s sore?” 

You shrug. It makes the aches in your muscles flare up. “My chest, but it, like—” you gesture halfheartedly around your rib cage “—wraps around.” 

“Yeah?” Sirius’ brows pinch. He lifts a hand to your shoulder, winding it around to the back of your neck and pressing down gently. “Like there?” 

You sigh, you can’t help it. 

His grin seems to widen and soften at the same time. He shifts a little, moving his hand lower and kneading between your shoulder blades. “Does that help any?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Perfect. Come here, doll.”

“Sirius, you don’t have to…” 

“I want to,” he says, at once firm and kind. “If it helps I want to, okay?”

You end up leaning forward onto a pillow with Sirius bent over your back, slender fingers prodding at your overworked muscles. He’s patient and gentle, checking in that he’s not hurting you any time he moves to a new spot. Slowly, the tension in your back comes unspooled. 

“I’m sorry you’re here instead of at the concert,” you murmur after a while. 

Sirius’ touch falters only for a second. “You shouldn’t be,” he replies. “The point of that was only to hang out with you. Seems like I got that, didn’t I?” 

“Don’t you wish you were having fun, though?” 

“Who says I’m not?” he asks. His thumb pushes small circles into your shoulder. “I’d rather be where you are, lovely. I don’t really care where that is.” 

[oatmilk-vampire]

Birthday Blues

Read part 2 here.

Steve hates his birthday.

He knows he may not be the only one who gets "birthday blues" but he feels like it's a lot deeper than just the blues.

When he got closer with Eddie and learned of his own shitty upbringing, he thought it'd be a bonding moment for them. Eddie has to hate his birthday too, right?

Wrong.

Despite Eddie’s mom dying when he was only six, and Eddie’s dad being a deadbeat, leaving Eddie on his own before Uncle Wayne took him in, Eddie loved his birthday.

The Munsons may not have been rich but Wayne always did his best to provide Eddie with new(er) clothes, or dice, or guitar picks. A new album or poster for his bedroom walls. Maybe even his favorite food at the diner--something they didn't do often as they usually survived on box cereal and spaghetti-Os.

And when Al Munson finally rolled into town conveniently around his only child's birthday, well he'd give the sort of shitty, low-commitment gift only a father could give.

And Eddie looked forward to it all the same. One or two shitty presents in six years is better than none when it comes to his father. He'd take what he could get.

So, when Eddie's birthday comes and goes and Steve gets invited to his and Wayne's get together with the kids, and then a later party with the members of Corroded Coffin--well of course Steve goes. And he showers Eddie with love and meaningful but still kinda pricey presents, because he can. And he wants to. Despite the merciless teasing he endures. The look on Eddie's face makes Steve feel like he's the one that got the greatest gift of all.

This, of course, all falls apart when Eddie points out Steve's own birthday must be coming up, and he's right. And because he has no tact he announces in front of everyone who realizes in horror that they've gone years of knowing Steve and celebrating his birthday exactly zero times.

Steve's equally horrified now because now everyone is tripping over their feet desperately trying to make it up to him with cakes and ice cream and movies and handmade cards and weird action figures Eddie probably would have liked better.

It's only after Steve gracelessly accepts all of their gift-giving, and fends off at least three panic attacks and two migraines that he has to put on his bitch voice and scream that the only thing he wants for his birthday is to be left alone.

And like usual, the kids do not listen.

Until Eddie steps in. He makes them go, Robin too, even if she is pissed about it. But they go when Eddie assures them that Steve probably just feels a little overwhelmed right now and needs some space.

He's close to leaving too, knowing he may have made a mistake and should probably get out of his hair... But then Steve starts crying and Eddie has to stay.

It's not loud or ugly, just these little, tiny pitiful things like Steve is trying his damnest to not cry. Like the act of tears falling would kill him.

Eddie cautiously slides next to his shaking form on the couch, careful not to jostle him too much.

He bites his lip as he experiments with placing a hand on Steve's shoulder.

Steve tenses under his touch until Eddie speaks,

"Stevie, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. None of us did."

His parents were hardly around. Never gave him practical toys he wanted, just whatever they thought a boy should have to shape him into a "proper young man", if they thought he needed toys at all. No parties. Ever. He briefly wanted to throw ragers when he realized he was old enough and his parents wouldn't be home, they never were, but those made him feel even worse so he got used to spending the day like any other. All alone in a big, empty house. Not a home.

Eddie continues to rub soothing circles into Steve's back as he lets it all out, explaining his woes as best he can through a sore throat and runny nose. Eventually he pulls Steve into a proper hug-turned-cuddle until his breathing steadies and he isn't shaking anymore.

"I'm sorry." Eddie holds his breath, hoping it doesn’t trigger another panic attack.

"No--don’t be. Thank you."

"For what? Making you cry?"

"For caring enough to bring it up, even if it was a lot. But mostly for being here, after. Just..."

Steve didn't have to finish his sentence. Eddie knew what he was trying to say.

Thank you for staying. Thank you for holding me. Thank you for loving me.

"Always, Stevie. I'll always be here for you."

Steve squeezes him, and Eddie squeezes back once, twice.

He doesn't say it, but Steve understands.

Happy Birthday... I love you.

[iomoru]

"He's The Type To..."

A/n: I couldn't decide between kazuha and albedo so I did both

Genre: Hcs, Modern! Au, Fluff, Suggestive Smut, Teasing, G!n Reader, Kazuha x Reader, Albedo x Reader, Proofread

Kazuha:

• He's the type to send you spontaneous texts throughout the day, sharing random thoughts, pictures of the sky, or the poems he's working on. It's basically his way of keeping you close, even when your apart.

• He's the type to sneak you away to quiet, scenic spots. He'll find the perfect hill or rooftop to lie back and stargaze, playing soft melodies on his guitar as he whispers poetry under his breath.

• He's the type to silently admire you while you're talking, a small, content smile on his lips. You'll ask what's he's thinking, and he'll just shake his head, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, replying, "You're captivating."

• He's the type to pull you into his lap when you're both just lounging around, absentmindedly playing with your hair while his other hand traces patterns on your thigh. There's a soft intimacy to the way he holds you, but it lingers with a hint of something more.

• He’s the type to get lost in deep conversations with you late at night. He'll talk about his dreams, his philosophy on life, and how much he appreciates your presence, all while his hands slowly drift over your skin, his touch becoming more intentional as the night goes on.

• He’s the type to be subtle but intentional when it comes to showing affection. A light brush of his fingers down your arm, a kiss to the back of your neck when you least expect it, or the way he’ll draw you in closer if you start teasing him a little too much.

• He's the type to tease you about how easily you get flustered. Whenever you stumble over your words or blush at something he says, he'll tilt his head and smirk slightly, leaning in closer just to murmur, "You're really cute when you're shy, you know that?"

• He's the type to playfully challenge your boundaries, letting his hands rest at the curve of your waist when you're both alone, his fingers tracing dangerously close to more sensitive areas. He'll flash a teasing smile and ask, "What's wrong love? You seem a little distracted."

• He's the type to whisper lustful comments in your ear in public, completely unfazed, leaving you the one struggling to keep composure. When you ask him to stop, he'll chuckle softly, "I'm just talking, what's on your mind?

• He's the type to lean in for a kiss but pull back at the last second, enjoying the way you lean forward to chase his lips. "Impatient, are we?" He'll tease, only to give in moments later, kissing you deeply while his hands slide down your back, pulling you flush against him.

Albedo:

• He’s the type to get so absorbed in his work that you have to remind him to eat. He’s always grateful when you bring him snacks or drinks, and the soft smile he gives you makes the effort worth it every time.

• He’s the type to silently observe you when you’re doing something mundane, like reading or working. He finds your everyday actions fascinating and is always curious about how your mind works.

• He’s the type to be incredibly thoughtful with his gifts. He’ll design something especially for you, whether it’s a sketch, a small invention, or even a carefully chosen flower that he says reminded him of you. His gifts always come with an explanation of the deeper meaning behind them.

• He’s the type to hold you close when you’re both in bed, his hand resting gently on your waist. He’ll trace circles on your skin, his voice low as he murmurs scientific facts or musings about the universe until you fall asleep against his chest.

• He’s the type to get flustered when things start getting a bit more intimate. His usual calm and collected demeanor falters slightly, his breath catching as your lips trace along his jawline. He may not be as forward, but the way his grip tightens on your hips speaks volumes.

• He’s the type to engage in long, heated debates with you about random subjects. Even when you challenge his knowledge, there’s a glint of excitement in his eyes. The playful back-and-forth often ends with him pulling you into his arms, murmuring how much he enjoys your mind as much as your presence.

• He's the type to subtly tease you about how much you crave his attention. When you pout or tug at his sleeve for affection, he'll raise an eyebrow and smirk slightly, "Needy today, aren't we?" His tone is soft, but there's a glint in his eyes that shows he's fully aware of the effect he has on you.

• He's the type to make sly, teasing comments during your study or work sessions together. If you make a mistake, he'll hum thoughtfully, leaning close as if to help, but instead whisper something suggestive in your ear, "You seem distracted...I wonder why." He loves watching the way you tense up or blush.

• He's the type to gently push your buttons, especially when you're in a quiet moment together. He'll brush his fingers lightly along your thigh under the table, or trace his hand down your back, just to see how you react. When you shoot him a look, he'll smile innocently, "Darling I'm just testing a hypothesis."

• He's the type to get a little more bold behind closed doors, especially when you've been teasing him all day. He'll pin you lightly against a surface, his lips just barely touching yours as he whispers, "You've been asking for it, haven't you?" His hands will roam around your body calculated precision, each touch deliberate and torturously slow.

A/n: I might not make a part 2 because I'm so tired and kinda lazy to do it but if I did then it'll be about Heizou and Xiao, ONLY if I did I'll still think about it

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ

[cjayius]

pairing. bf!wonbin x f!reader wc. 0.32k tw. kissing, wonbin’s a simp genre. fluff ( CATALOGUE )

you stand at your vanity, carefully applying lipstick for wonbin’s concert later tonight. the soft glow of the mirror’s lights casts a warm hue over the room, highlighting the slight shimmer of your eyeshadow. your focus is interrupted by the faint struming of a guitar from the next room, a familiar thne that brings a smile to your face.

wonbin’s reflection suddenly appears behind you in the mirror, startling you. his tall frame moves closer until you feel his arms wrap around your waist, his chin resting gently on your shoulder. you meet his eyes in the mirror, and he smiles, gaze filled with warmth and mischief.

“ you look so pretty, “ he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper in your ear. his arms around your waist tighten.

a blush creeps up your cheeks as you lean back into his embrace. “ thanks, bin. you should finish getting ready, too. you don’t want to be late to your own concert.

he chuckles, nuzzling your neck before pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “ i have a few minutes. besides, watching you is much more interesting. “

you laugh softly, enjoying the warmth of his presence. “ sweet talker. “

wonbin’s fingers trace small circles on your waist, his touch sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “ it’s true. you’re stealing all my focus. how am i supposed to play when i can’t stop thinking about you ? “

you turn around in his arms, facing him fully. “ then i guess ill have to sit in the front row to keep an eye on you, “ you tease, placing a hand on his firm chest. “ deal, “ he says, leaning in to steal a quick kiss.

“ hm, now go finish getting ready. i’ll be cheering for you from the audience. “

he nods, stealing one last kiss before reluctantly pulling away. “ i’ll see you out there, “ he says with s grin, heading back to his guitar.

as you turn back to the mirror to finish your makeup, you can’t help but smile, feeling a surge of love for the boy who holds your heart.

[aplaceforyourhearttorest]

A to Z ⭒ James Hetfield (18+)

Ask He'll give you anything you ask for, although he enjoys teasing you until you're nearly begging for it. Lying in bed underneath him, looking up at him with tears forming on your lower lash lines, your eyes blown wide, your lips bruised and bright red. The sight of you would drive him crazy, and the sound of your broken and desperate pleas would be enough to make him end his playful denial and give you exactly what you want, and even more.

Bondage He isn't into bondage and restraining very much, unless it's a hand pinning you down, or him using his own to capture and hold your wrists above your head. He's more into you using your own body to accommodate with his and add onto both of your guys' pleasure, with your nails digging into his bare shoulders and your legs encircling themselves around his waist to match his thrusts.

Cunnilingus He absolutely loves going down on you, the taste of your slick and release nearly making him feel drunk every single time. He'd moan against you and grin against your sex with every mewl you'd let out from his vibrations, and continue until you're pushing at his head and attempting to scoot yourself further up the mussed and disarrayed bed to get away. Even then, he'd follow after you and encapsulate his body over yours, eagerly licking into your mouth to share the taste of you on his tongue with its original source.

Dirty Talk He would call you the usual endearing terms, from sweetheart to darling, to doll. But if he was in the mood for something more rough and you consented, he'd call you a slut and a brat, gripping onto your hair and forcing you to maintain eye contact with him until you both came. He'd calm you down afterwards and shower you with compliments and aftercare, gently rubbing circles into your sore scalp and praising you for being everything he's ever wanted and needed, craved.

Edging One of his absolute favorites, especially after a long and tiring day, or after a meaningless argument. He'd kiss every inch of your skin and purposefully miss where he knew you were the most sensitive, his amused laughter causing goosebumps to lie in the wake of his warm breath splaying itself against your trembling and bare skin. He'd promise he'll give you exactly what you want, only to turn around and back away as soon as he sensed you were going to orgasm. He'd only let up once you began to feel overstimulated and anxious. Then, he'd take care of you so well, and make you feel like you got everything you wanted since the very beginning.

Foreplay James' foreplay with you would be a gentle thing, even though it sometimes bordered on being playful and teasing. He'd start off with undressing you, his wide palms cascading themselves down your curves and longevity with awe and wonder each time, like it was his first time ever seeing you. He'd nearly kneel while he unbuttoned your jeans, shivers and chills wracking themselves through your upper half as he looked up at you and brushed his lips against your groin while he slowly pushed them down. By the time you were both in bed and nearly naked, you were flushed down to your breasts, and nearly coating your thighs with your own essence. He'd still nip at the skin surrounding your hips, creating hickeys and mouth sized bruises, only conceding and sliding down to your rapid pulse point once you began to tug on his hair and guide his face and awaiting mouth toward your sex.

Groping If he isn't singing, playing the guitar, in a meeting or in the shower, his hands are on you. Whether it's a simple hand half wrapped around your thigh, or a comforting cup of his calloused palm resting on the nape of your neck while you two lax on the sofa, he's always touching you. He feels discontent and half full when you aren't in his nearest vicinity, and it's the exact same when it comes to you two having sex. His rings dig into the flesh of your thighs as he hikes you up and fucks you back down on his shaft, his nails digging into your skin and creating temporary indentations in your forearms and waist, while you ride him and hold onto him like an anchor, needing him close to you as well. When he touches you, he feels complete.

Hickeys There isn't a single week that has gone by since you met James, where you haven't had a lovebite or a hickey bitten and sucked into your skin, unless he was on tour and you couldn't come with. Sometimes they'll be subliminal and well hidden, on the beginning of your groin and trailing down to where he knows you like them best. Other times they'll be glaringly obvious, displayed on your neck in red and purple hues, a light surge of pleasure flooding its way through you as people blush and glance away at the possessive and intended marks, and the slight pleasurable pain you felt when you graze your thumbs against the bruised flesh.

Intercrural If you're ever too sore or tired for a round, or another round, his second favorite place to grind and fuck against you is in between your thighs. He'd have you suck on his fingers until they're nearly dripping wet and fully soaked down to his third knuckle, before sliding them in between your awaiting legs and applying your spit to the soft skin of your thighs. He'd purposefully nudge his swollen cockhead against your clit if you were just tired, fingering you until you'd be close to cumming, before sliding home into you. But if you were too sore, he'd be mindful of his thrusts and thank you for allowing him to use you, satisfaction and satiation thrumming through him if you let him finish in your mouth.

Jealousy James rarely ever got jealous. But when he did, he got angry. The ugly feeling brewing inside of him made him want to lash out, but he'd calm down once he was able to acknowledge you politely declining other men's offers, and you instinctively making your way back over to him. If he was still upset afterwards, he'd take you back home or into another room wherever you two were at, and he'd hold your chin in a partially tight grip and make you meet his eyes in the mirror as he took you from behind. He'd have you repeat that he was yours and you were his, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he effortlessly brought you over the edge, the same eyes once again meeting his own later on while he apologized for his erratic and rough behavior.

Kissing It depended on the mood he was in, but for the most part, James' kisses are sweet and playful, always bordering on the line of inappropriate, even in public. He couldn't help it, his natural incline of always wanting to be near you bled into the way he wanted to kiss you as well. If it was a normal day and you two were greeting each other or parting ways, he'd swoop you in and caress his pair with yours, the rough graze of his facial hair always causing you to giggle. He'd take the slight part of your lips as an advantage, and sneak the tip of his tongue in to delicately and playfully run itself along the warm peak of your own. If he was adrenaline ridden and freshly off stage, he'd be erratic, his mouth incessant against yours and frenzied in a way that made you forget anyone else was around. If you two were alone, he'd take his time with you. Swallowing every single sigh of pleasure you exhaled out, and groaning into your inhale as you bit into his bottom lip to tug him impossibly closer, before switching positions and temporarily taking over.

Licking He's obsessed with the taste of you. Rather it be from your lips or thighs, or your pussy, he'd dive right in. Sometimes even playfully licking the side of your neck after tugging and tucking your hair back, your guys' matching laughter residing in the enclosed space of the room as you two register the groans coming from the other guys in the studio while they practice. Going back to him eating you out and him getting drunk off of it, he'd lap up your slick and let it roll around his tongue to savor the taste, before spitting it back onto you and attempting to eat you whole. He wouldn't be done with you until he either tired out, or you could no longer control your breathing and began to feel lightheaded.

Masturbation With James there with you, masturbation was the last possible thing on your mind. He fulfilled and satisfied you in every single way. But when he was on the road, you two enjoyed phone sex and mutual masturbation. You enjoyed hearing his cursed exhales and the shakiness in his tone as he whispered out your name, and he enjoyed hearing you slowly fall apart, the audible pop of your lips as they gaped around a silent scream, and the obscene sounds of the palm of your hand making contact with your sex as you rubbed and fingered yourself to completion. The hushed promises of seeing each other soon and you reassuring him of you already having bought a ticket and nearly being on the second to closest flight, and him knowing that even though he wasn't there with you physically you were still content and gratified, was enough to help ease his guilt of being away, and to help him fall asleep to the soft sound of your voice.

Non-negotiable There aren't many things James would say no to, but extreme rough punishment would have to be the biggest one. He found pleasure in spanking you and holding you down, edging you and overstimulating you, but the thought of harshly smacking you across the face and full on degrading you will always a pass for him. It wasn't that he didn't do or enjoy those things before or didn't do them to groupies and other minor flings in the earlier years of him being in the band, but the thought of him hurting you and you taking it personal and getting offended, made him physically recoil.

Orgasm James always enjoyed one upping himself, and making you cum and orgasm until you physically couldn't anymore, was something he considered that applied to. In a sense, your pleasure was, and is, his own. Every time he felt you convulse on top or underneath him, felt the warm and silky walls of your pussy tighten around his long and thick fingers, he felt himself nearly orgasm, his cockhead pearling with precum and pulsating every time like clockwork. The way your eyes would gloss over, and you'd nearly scream his name, the way you'd curl yourself against him from the force of your own climax, the way you'd milk him dry and manipulate your walls to contract and hold in his seed. He's always been an extremist, in life in general, and in the way he pushed himself musically, so of course he'd push himself to pleasure you too.

Positions Although you two enjoyed pushing each other to the limit at times and teasing each other, James' favorite position with you was missionary. With his hand curled around your throat, just present, and your legs draped over his broad shoulders. In missionary, he loved that he could see every single flicker of emotion on your face, and it was the easiest position for you to be able to grab ahold of him and keep him close, which is something you always love to do. He'd rest his forehead against yours as he fucked into you with reckless abandon, the irises of his eyes darkening as he stared into your own, and his free hand reaching down to rub it's middle and ring fingers harshly and adamantly against your swollen and hickied clit. He'd often grind his seed deep into you, before slowly pulling out to only lean back and slide his digits back inside, his kiss bruised lips raising into a lazed smirk as you would immediately tighten your legs and bracket him in as his fingers curled and massaged themselves against your spongelike and abused spot.

Quickie The adrenaline shooting through him after performing and being on stage for hours on end is unlike something most people would never be able to imagine or try to explain, so it's no surprise that after almost every single show you're present for, you two end up in a backstage room, or most likely than not, an abandoned bathroom or closet. The first time, you were terrified that you two would get caught and the band would get penalized, but after the few dozen, excitement fills you instead. You're nearly lifted each time and carried into one of the rooms, the roadies and managers and other band members looking away each time with hidden amusement and smiles, already knowing what was to come. You'd be placed in front of a mirror or on top of the sink, James standing in between your legs for easier access, before descending down onto you and taking you into his arms. Chilled glass would keep you in place as he ground himself against you, and if there was little to no barrier due to you wearing a dress or a skirt, he'd shove your underwear to the side and relish in the sounds you'd make as your clit rubbed and soaked through the denim covered zipper of his skin tight jeans. By the time you two were finished and nearly laughing at the absurdity of it, you'd both be panting, and the venue and backstage hallway would be nearly deserted.

Roleplay He loves when you pretend like you're a roadie, or a fan in the middle of the crowd. The knowing glint in your eye when you pretend to be lost or like it's the first time you two are meeting gets him every time. From the slow and hesitant touches, to the first touch of your guys' lips of the evening, to the confidence you two acquire once you both use your knowledge of each other's body to silently prove you both know exactly who each other are.

Sensitivity James loves the fact that you're overly sensitive in particular areas, specifically your inner thighs and the back of your neck. If there was a night where he felt like you teased him too much, or edged him, he would do the same to you, only in public. He'd innocently place his large and warm palm over the expanse of your bare thigh, and you'd think nothing of it at first. Only a small shock registering at the cool touch of his rings on your once and earlier covered skin. Your breath would begin to stutter, and you'd halt mid conversation, your eyes narrowing as you take in his wide smile hidden behind a casual hand tossed in front of his mouth, mirth and wild amusement dancing in the eyes you love to stare into. By the time you were finished with a few more sentences and your mutual friends were eating and partially distracted, your leg nearest to James would be over his closest to you, and his fingers would be grazing the outline of the tan fading near your bikini line, with his now unhidden and wide grin being pressed into the nape of your neck. "It isn't so fun to be teased, especially when you aren't expecting it, is it, baby?" He'd ask you, the only telltale sign of him being as affected as you are being the erection pressing itself against the back of your knee, and the slight strain in his usually steady and confident tone.

Threesome The idea of sharing you doesn't come easy to him, but if he were to think of the idea, he figures it would have to be someone you both knew well and were both comfortable with. It'd have to be one of the band members. The first one that comes to mind is Jason, since he's been known to be gentle and caring to his groupies and his past girlfriends. Kirk is next, since he's one of his best friends, and he knows that some of the things he's into, you'd be down to try as well. James also wouldn't be opposed to watching you get pleasured by somebody else, just so long as he was able to join in, and was the first man to make you cum. He eventually brings it up to you casually one day and laughs at the redness that evolves on your cheeks, his eyebrows raising as he takes in the expression he knows all too well on your face. He turns his head to the side and grins to himself, making a quiet reminder to ask them whether or not they'd like to join in on something special for your upcoming birthday.

Universal Everyone enjoys head. Whether or not they're giving or receiving changes that entirely, but luckily, especially for James, you loved to please him. He loved the way you'd grip him by the waist and hold him down, only to take him down to the hilt and brush your nose against his trimmed happy trail anyway. He loved the way you'd swallow around him and gasp at the feeling of him pulsating down your throat, as if you hadn't done this to him hundreds of times already. The way you'd twist both of your fisted hands around his shaft and paid extra attention to the long vein that traveled up from the base of his dick, all the way up to his tip. He'd force himself to keep his eyes open as you swirled your tongue around it to collect the translucent pre-ejaculate, only to use it as lubricant to swallow him down once again. You'd release your hands from around him to reach down and lightly massage at his ballsack, warmth filling your gut at the sounds he'd let out, some wispy and light, and some heavy and nearly baritone. By the time his seed and release made their way down your throat, tears were streaming down your face, spit collected around your lips, and your jaw was sore, yet you still managed to have a smile on your face regardless and in spite of it all.

Vibrator Toys weren't necessarily something that were brought into your guys' shared bedroom very often, but you ended up buying one anyway, as a surprise for James for when he gets back home from tour. By the time that you opened the front door to welcome him back home and inside, he had already bent down to kiss you. And by the time that you both neared the entrance of the bedroom, you two were laughing into each other's mouths and attempting to not trip on the tight bottoms of his pants. Tangled limbs make contact with the soon to be unmade bed, and you fix your expression to look innocent as James' back makes contact with the box you lied haphazardly on top of the blanket. You barely had time to explain how to use the toy and what it's use was before he had it unpackaged and ready to go. The sun was setting by the time you two were finished, the sitting vibrator nearly dead from the hour or two use, with your thighs and lower back on fire. Sweat clung to your neckline, and James carefully collects you in bed, before depositing you down next to him and wrapping an arm around your waist. You turn your head from the smaller spooning position and can't help but beam at the blissed out and worry free look on your boyfriend's face, his eyes already closed, yet the hand he has splayed out on your bare stomach still caressing your midsection. "Whatever idea you have next," he murmurs, his voice almost incoherent as he rests his head in the warm cavern of your shoulder and clavicle. "I don't care what it is. If it's as good as that was, let's do it. Twice."

Where Your guys' favorite place to have sex was in the kitchen, surprisingly. It was where you both broke in your home together, with you originally laid out on the brand new tiled island, with your hands sliding against the cool exterior, as James used your ponytail for leverage to hold you in place as he took you from the side. This time, you were both standing, you earlier being preoccupied by attempting to surprise him with a late breakfast in bed. James had made his way as quietly as he could behind you, breathing out a silent laugh in the extra space of his large shirt swimming on you, the warmth of his smile welcomed as a chill made its way through the opened window near the stove. You both had enough common sense to turn off the burner and move the half finished meal out of the way, before you spread your legs and arched yourself over the wide expanse of the counter in front of you. Before the cool air could shock you, James fisted his shirt and lifted it to rest near your shaking forearms, before beckoning forward and sliding into you. You let out a sigh of relief, thankful that you two had gone a few rounds the night prior, and he had worked you open earlier that morning. Sun rays bled their way into the opened window as you gripped onto whatever you could reach, your hips narrowly missing the hard impact of solidity as James drove himself into with finesse and ease. The only sounds making their way outside was his harsh pants and praises, and your enthusiastic, yet exhausted moans.

X Factor James' favorite thing about you is that you give him as much as he gives you. If he were to eat you out the night prior, you'd wake him up with a blowjob. If he was tired, you'd take the lead. If you were riled up and frustrated, he'd help you decompress. No matter the distance and circumstances, you both made time for each other, to keep the spark and interest alive, and to make sure that each other both felt loved and fulfilled.

Yes and No James was known to be the dominant one in bed. He was used to being on top, to guiding his partners into a sloppy session of head, to being rough. But he realized that while being with you, it still felt just as rewarding with you to take care of him and for you to sometimes take the lead. At first when it was first brought up, he wasn't so sure. Not because he wasn't interested, but because of the lingering thought and fear that you would think differently of him afterwards. But every time you rode him, you allowed him to control your hip movements. Every time you went down on him, you pleasured him as well as he pleasured you. Being with you helped him realize that although being dominant was in his nature, it didn't mean that it meant he always had to be rough and overly domineering. It took meeting the right woman to figure that out. To allow him to lead, even while relaxing and taking in pleasure at the same time.

Zip At times when you both needed to have a quickie and it was even less than convenient than all of the other times, you were forced to be quiet, both to your own and James' dismay. He loved the sound of your mewls and moans, the way your voice and tone would tremble as he took you apart and then brought you back together. But you both had quiet quickies so often as the studio and at the other guy's houses, that you two found a way to make it more exciting. Instead of just biting into one of yours' discarded t-shirts, James would instead place his fingers into your mouth, and the dual sensation of heat, both around his fingers and around his dick, was enough to make the quiet seem much louder. Spit would trickle down his wrist and make its way down to your breasts, and the glisten it would shine in the dimmed lights of the bathroom or nearest room somehow made it seem like less of a low maintenance fuck, and more of a heightened experience. It is true, what they say about experiences. It doesn't matter what happens, just who you have around when they do occur.

[saintbarou]

tags: 18+ minors dni / fem reader / fingering / reader is mexican / spanish / religious imagery / aftercare / hinted virginity loss / penetration /2.6k/ pwp - let me know if i miss something.

synopsis: javier escuella feels an all encompassing desire to have you. you feel it too, maybe even more.

Javier laughs into your lips, you are kissing him with the reverence of the faithful. You kiss sweetly, gently with the undercut of hunger he is all too happy to sate. Your form is soft beneath his hands, flesh pillabe like the strings on his guitar and the trigger of his revolver - the hollow of his palms filled with the curve of your hips. Javier nips at your lip until he can hear you hiss from the sting among your sighs from the pleasure of having him suck on your tongue.

“I can’t believe you - all I did was kiss you,” he stops to puff a breathe against your lips snickering at the dazed look on your face and the glistening spit on your lips, “and now you’re letting me fuck you.”

You whine, high and embarrassed but so unbearably needy and pressing yourself up against him like a cat in heat. There’s a little gold necklace threaded along the slopes of your collar - it glints against your untouched and unblemished skin like a comet, looping along your form in a circle until completion where it stays in perpetual orbit. Javier doesn’t know if he should be jealous of the thin necklace or not.

Your nightgown is off, spread out on the ground and Javier’s eyes are caught on the pendant that holds the face of La Virgen that glints in the lowlight of his tent - his eyes meet hers and he feels a shiver against his spine. Of course she would be there, looped above your too-good heart and appearing before him. It almost pains him to touch you, the holiness of your skin burning his palms that are too greedy to stay away.

You gasp his name and it brings him back to you - it brings his lips to your chest and you sigh as your hands twist on the fabric of his shirt clad shoulders like you are scared to touch him. You still have your bloomers, the white cotton stark against his tan hands and he presses another kiss right above your heart as it stutters tucked away in your ribs.

“Esta bien hermosa - you can touch me.” The pet name makes you tremble, whining when the word graces your flushed ears. Hermosa, meaning beautiful or gorgeous in the language your mother would sing you to when you were a girl. Your nostalgia brings desperation and it only serves to make you needier, wanting for more of the man above you like how priests desire the light of God. You think of that ill-stricken Reverend that wanders this camp and something aches in your chest as you let your hands go over the curve of his shoulders and anchor yourself there. Teeth aching with each suck on your tongue you don’t notice it when your bloomers are off until the brisk cool night breeze dances on your bare thighs. The skin there is hot and growing more so when he lets his hands settle on the smooth skin.

It’s almost comical how perfectly you fit in his roughed hands, his callouses from his knife so seamlessly accepted by the plush of your thighs. Like the velvet cushions rich men sit in their gilded train cars and golden stagecoaches. You go from velvet to wet silk with simple touches and you moan something sweetly into his ear as his face goes to your chest and his hands in between your thighs. The backs of his knuckles tease the wetness of your slick that leaks like honey and Javier lets his lips kiss the bud of your nipple softly but not without letting his teeth have their own kiss at the edge to make you whine.

“You are so wet, leaking for me - you’ll make a mess on my pants mi amor.” His teasing is endless and you can hear that smile you see whenever you blink. You jumble out a half-assed apology and it makes Javier laugh at you again. He must have you in quite the state if it’s making your perfectly trained manners fall off like wool when faced with sheep shears. His fingers have made their way to where you are the most needy - letting them pet along the slit and cup at your mound. You moan his name, oh so, softly when he squeezes gently, cradling your most delicate part the same way he cradles the neck of his guitar.

“Javi - please, please.” The shortened version of his name makes him grin, shivering pleasantly at how affection given only to him melts into his ears like syrup.

“Ya se, ya se. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you tonight.” Dark eyes are wicked at how they glint in the low orange light of his tent as he lets one finger slip in. He reclines himself back so he can watch how you take him.

Javier does not profess how he would take care of you every night for the rest of the nights you have in your life.

You whine thinly into the air, and it makes him hiss at how tight you are around his one finger.

“Relax, chiquita - I can’t take care of you when you’re all tense like this. Shh, shh,” he murmurs to you and in return you whine with a nod; pliable and sweet for him as you let your legs shuffle more open, working on letting him in and letting him deeper. One finger turns to two, and they curl into you cruelly without respite for how you weep and sniffle at the pleasure he tugs from you like music from his guitar strings. Your mouth is hanging open, drool shining on your lips as you let out thin little sounds.

You feel full, and pleasure dances along your spine as his thumb plays with the glimmering pearl of your clit. You whine - no sing his name like gospel and it makes something inside his stomach preen like a peacock.

Javier is dedicated, giving you an even pace and deep curls of his fingers to make you soft and loose for him. Dark brown eyes watch you with the precision of a predator - eagerly taking in how sweat drips down the middle of your breasts and how your jaw drops to make out little pants of his name just for him to hear. His fingers do just enough to bring you to the edge, and you stutter over your words as you push at his wrist with the desperation that is unbecoming of you. Etiquette and education are long gone from your mind as you beg him with an addled mind.

“Please, please not - not like that,” you stutter and let out soft little moans in between each word as Javier remains unmoved; letting his fingers stay inside you at their same pace, dark brown eyes taking in how even this almost makes you weep in pleasure. His cock stirs in his jeans at how it will be when he’s inside of you, filling you well beyond anything you’ve ever had.

“No, like this - it will hurt if you don’t cum now.” He mutters, voice thick with lust as he watches your hips twitch and jump when you have begun to hit the highest peak of your pleasure. Your body is eager for his fingers, tightening and fluttering around them as you leak down to his palm. Javier goes to shush you but you’re a good girl he realizes, watching you with a grin at how your hands shoot up to your mouth to muffle your long winded whines when you crash and cum for him. His voice is soft, reassuring you as you ride out your pleasure with the trembling of your hips and the quickened rising falls of your chest.

“Just like that - like that. There you go, there you go. Cum for me, give me this one and I’ll give you another.” He promises you, his accent thick as he watches your eyes go dark and unfocused as you burn with hot desire for him until he hears your broken voice mumble; “There’s more?”

He laughs. Teasingly, adoringly, lovingly and so many other words he can’t quite say.

“Si mi vida, there is always more with me. That I can promise you.”

Again, he laughs at the way he feels you twitch around his fingers that have stilled inside at the prospect of what more entails. He won’t admit to how his cock twitches in time with you tucked away in his pants.

You whine at the idea, hot at the image of being filled with all of him and whine again when his fingers slip out of you. Gossamer strands of your cum follow them, only to break and splatter along the inside of your flushed thighs. Javier smiles the same charming smile as when he sings and soothes you by rubbing your thigh with one hand while the other goes to undo his belt buckle.

You don’t see the length of him, only feel the heat of him against the petals of your cunt and it’s enough for you to yelp like some poor animal caught in a trap. Javier is bent over you, the build of his slim body covering you with his elbow supporting him above your head, eyes attuned to the half lit scene before him. You, sweating enough to make strands of your hair stick your flushed face with your eyes half lidded and mouth parted. His hips move without him thinking, coating his length in your glimmering release and rubbing against your still sensitive clit that it makes you flinch - mewling his name in a wet and defeated tone that makes him huff in half fondness-half teasing.

“Javi-” you whine, hotter than you have ever been and voice cracking when the head of his cock brushes past your entrance and makes its way in. You gasp into his mouth, one hand coming to cover your eyes and the other gripping at the fabric of his shoulder. Javier sighs against your lips and kisses you to muffle his own noises - higher pitched than he’d like to admit they are lost in between your two mouths as you take another inch of him. He is long, he knows this and you are tight ; tighter than anyone else he’s ever been with due to your lack of experience so he is slow with you despite how he wants to devour you entirely with one stroke.

Javier is tactical when he wants to be and is more than practical when he has to be so he controls himself, letting you have him inch by torturous inch. You are panting, throwing your head back in a way that lets him catch the tears that make it down your cheek and are uncovered by your hand. With one hand he bats away yours until your face - glistening and flushed is revealed to him as your mouth shines with drool from pleasure. His thumb goes to wipe away a tear and you move to feel the warmth of him more closely.

“Why are you crying hermosa, hm?” He asks you, sighing at how you take more of him so sweetly. You don’t respond only squealing and squeezing around him as you lose more of yourself on his cock. Half of him is seated inside you, enough for you to moan his name brokenly as you beg for more despite you wincing when he moves. Javier grunts and stops, letting the half of him that’s inside you stay still to let you breathe

“You can,” you pant, “you can put the whole thing in - please, please put it in.” You beg, and a thrill goes up his spine at the idea of seeing you weep from his cock being too much runs across his mind before he pushes it to the side. You are far too sweet, too delicate to be treated so roughly by him. You aren’t a working girl he can forget about come morning but the woman he wants to wake up to, which is why it’s easy for him to do what he thinks to be best.

He denies you.

“No, this is -” he sighs deeply at the way you feel around him - slick and wet and wanting for him to give you more until it aches. “This is enough. You’ll take the rest next time.” You whine at the thought and whine again when he pulls his slim hips back to fuck you like that. He gives you slow, careful thrusts with the hand that cradles your face sneaking down to rub at your pulsing clit with gentle precision. It’s almost too much for you, he notes and he feels bad that the sight of you weeping on half his cock, losing your mind with your eyes glassy from tears is doing it more for him than anything else.

You’ve always been a proper girl, ever since he saw you on your horse in the snow of Colter looking at him with the sweetest eyes framed by snowflakes. There’s a sick pleasure tugging at his stomach at how he has you now, manners gone and all you are now is debauched and drunk on him. It’s almost enough to make him finish and clearly it’s enough to get you there too by the way you weep out the little nickname you gave him.

“Javi, Javi, ’m going to -” He cuts you off with a punched out exhale, grinding his molders to keep from cumming inside by how you keep tightening around him like a vice.

“Go let go for me, mi amor - you’ve been so good.” With that you break, voice so ruined it cracks when you whine out babbles of precious thank yous in his ear as you come to completion a second and last time for the night. It’s painful, the last drag he gets of your cunt before he tugs at his sticky and slick cock to shoot his spend against the mound of your cunt. The sight of him dripping down to your twitching lower half more than makes up for it and he is more than willing to bend back over you to press gentle kiss after kiss on your panting lips. Your eyes had fluttered close and you babbled mindlessly under his gentle touches as you slowly came back down to look up at him with blearily eyes. Javier smiles at you with all the tenderness of the world when you wrap your arms around his neck - he manages to settle on his side with you in his arms and you tuck your face into his neck. You nuzzle the skin and sight softly, eyes red and half lidded tired from all he has pulled for you. Javier is soft with you, spoiling you by letting his nails scratch your scalp the way you like.

“Rest mi vida, I’ll clean you up.” he murmurs into your hair, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. You hum, murmur his name and a soft little confession of love before your eyes slip shut. You shiver when the soft fabric of a pocket square wipes at the mess of your swollen cunt and whine when you are moved to have your nightgown pulled over your head. Through your fussing Javier remains gentle, whispering praise as he settles you to his chest to sleep. When you awake you’ll be faced with teasing you thought you were quiet enough to avoid but that can wait. Now your eyes are heavy and Javier’s heartbeat is soothing - anything else can wait as for now you want for nothing else.

[redstarwriting]

the clash | ix. last caress

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2.4k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings: language, insults, cavity-inducing fluff, crying hobie, mentions of giving blood, mentions of procedures, needy cat, mention of weed, allusions(ish) to s*icide

a/n: omg writing fluff takes me so much longer than anything else cause i’m squirmin around and squealin BUT here it is! second to last chapter! (also, i’m not black so i hope i touched on the haircare for black hairstyles right! if i missed the mark please let me know and i will re-educate myself!) what a wild ride, i’ll get the last chapter either up late tonight, or tomorrow! thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! 

previous chapter: viii. love you to death

now reading: ix. last caress

next chapter: x. brand new

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When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the smell. Weed and incense. You groggily open your eyes, realizing you’re clutching a bat plushie. You grin. It’s cute, especially since it belonged to Hobie’s world, and you didn’t own a bat plushie. You sink further into the satin pillow, shocked at how comfortable you are in his bed. You hear the soft sound of a guitar playing, and you reluctantly and slowly sit up. Your intention is to go harass Hobie, but damn. Venom must have done a number on you. You’re sore as hell, and your energy is still almost completely gone. You successfully sit, but you’re immediately leaning against the wall as you do. The guitar playing stops, and you hear Hobie’s thick accent from the next room over. “You awake in there, love?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice is scratchy. How long have you been asleep? He walks into his room and leans against his door frame. He’s wearing casual clothes, his suit nowhere to be found, and yet somehow, he still looks cooler and more attractive than anyone you’ve ever met. “You know, you really should be layin’ down,” he says, and you shrug. He walks over to you and sits on the bed, next to your legs. You notice he has dark circles under his eyes, and he looks exhausted. “How are you feelin’?” he asks, placing his hand on yours. You shrug. “Honestly, been better.” He nods and looks down. You frown. “What’s on your mind there, Hobie?” He plays with your fingers, and you turn your hand over, grasping his. He visibly relaxes a bit. You softly squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back. “I… need to tell you somethin’,” he starts, “Somethin’… bad.”

“What…?” you look nervous. He looks at you and frowns. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Seeing the fireworks with you,” you respond, and he nods. “Good,” he mumbles, “I guess I should start with tellin’ you you been sleepin’ for three days now.”

“Three days?” you ask, surprised. He nods, “Yeah.”

“Have I been here the whole time?”

“Mhm,” he says, dreading the next thing he’s about to tell you. “I appreciate it, Hobie, but why not just take me home? Do I look like I need a caretaker?” you joke, and he smiles a bit. “Yeah, actually, you do,” he responds and you grin. “But uh… you are home now…” he says, and you look at him confused.

 “What?” He sighs, scooting further onto his bed and turning to face you with his whole body. His other hand reaches out, and he cradles the hand he’s holding with both of his hands. “Right, lemme just… start from the beginnin’, then. Venom takin’ control of you… that wasn’t meant to happen,” he says, staring at your joined hands. “What shoulda happened was Venom was supposed to take over m–… the Prowler. And then, uh… then he woulda become the spider of your world after Venom bondin’ with you for a short while and gainin’ your spider abilities before returnin’ to the Prowler…”

“So, there would have been two of us? One good and one bad?” you ask, and Hobie looks up at you with a sad expression. “…No. No, there woulda been one bad cause… well…”

“I was supposed to die…?” you whisper, and he nods, his grip on your hand tightening. “I woulda saved you either way, but… I accidentally-on-purpose interfered and–”

“You killed the Prowler,” you finish his sentence, and he looks at you surprised. “Venom mentioned something about you killing someone, so…” you mumble, and he nods. “Yeah… yeah, I kinda lost my cool for a bit after seein’ what he did to you and uh… took matters into my own hands,” he says, and you nod slowly. “What did Venom mean by you killed yourself?” Hobie freezes and looks down again. How the hell is he supposed to explain this one? Guess he’ll just say it and accept whatever reaction you have. “The Prowler on your world… was me,” he whispers the last part, feeling himself tear up. He prepares himself for you to pull your hand away and use what little energy you had to travel to Gwen’s world and never talk to him again. He would completely understand, learning that someone identical to him ruined your life in so many ways must be jarring.

So, he prepares for the worst.

What he doesn’t prepare for is to feel your hand on his cheek, gently wiping away a single tear that escaped down his cheek with your thumb. “That wasn’t you, Hobie. He may have had your face and your name, but… he wasn’t you,” you assure, and he swallows the lump in his throat. The anxiety wracking his body eases slightly, and he lets out a shaky breath. One of his hands comes up to grasp yours on his cheek, holding it there as he leans his face into it, closing his eyes. He feels another tear fall, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t agree with society’s take on masculinity. He opens his eyes again, looking at your face. “Don’t cry, love,” he hears you say, and he gives you a small smile. “Nah, that’s my nickname for you.”

“And?” you say, grinning at him softly, “I’m not one to necessarily give a fuck what you say.”

“Cheeky. You’re lucky I loved it,” he says, and you softly laugh. “But uh… right, so I killed myself, sorta.”

“In a way.”

“A different me. Did you know he worked with the cops?”

“Oh yeah. They hate me. Another clear indication that he is not you in any way except physical,” you say, and he grins. “Well, in the fight we had–”

“Did he hurt you?” you ask, and he shrugs. “He tried. I won, though. Obviously. But the fight was in Oscorp Labs, and durin’ it… I broke some glass, releasin’ Venom to the outside world like the bloody dickhead I am,” he explains, and you nod, but give him a look. “You’re not a dickhead, Hobie. If you weren’t there, evil you would have bonded with it because he wouldn’t have died, so… maybe it was a good thing?” you suggest, trying to lighten Hobie’s dark mood. “Maybe. But then Venom followed me back to your flat after I killed who it was originally supposed to bond with,” he says, and you frown. “It probably wanted to bond with you,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “It told me it feeds off of the life force of humans, and the easiest way to make it more powerful is for the host to have strong negative emotions. That’s why it taunts and belittles whoever it has control of. To piss them off. It probably saw the anger that drove you to kill and figured you’d be the best host.”

“But then I went home before it could attach itself to me, so it attached to you instead,” he mumbles, and you nod. He sighs. This really was all his fault. “Well… yeah so it attached to you, and then you remember what happened next.”

“Yeah,” you nod, and he rubs the back of your hand against his cheek with his thumb. “So, we did end up successfully killin’ the wanker,” he says, and you nod, “but in doin’ ‘at… we killed your world with Venom.” You freeze. “W-What?” You draw your hand away from his face due to the shock of the statement. He subconsciously grips your other hand tighter. “Venom was supposed to be the spider-person of your world… there were too many canon changes,” Hobie explains, and you feel your chest tighten. Now you’re the one crying. But seeing you cry and look so defeated makes him cry more. “I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. He loosens his grip on your hand, fully expecting you to pull away, but you don’t.

“Everything… everything’s gone?” your voice is weak, and he opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, he’s interrupted by a meow. You turn your head, and see a black cat, looking up at you before hopping onto the bed and nuzzling against your side in an effort to cheer you up. “Shadow…?” you mumble, and he meows. But he doesn’t look like the Shadow you’re used to seeing. He looks more like a cat from Hobie’s world. “We saved what we could,” he whispers, and you look at him again. He smiles sadly at you. “I told Gwen, Miles, and Pav to grab everythin’ they could… they got everythin’ but the furniture, it’s all out in the sittin’ room… figured you probably wouldn’t want to move in with me after hearin’ bout what I did, so… we could move you to one of the other flats in the buildin’.  Y’know it’s an abandoned buildin’, so there’s loads of rooms, and you wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout payin’, and–”

“You made sure my things were safe…?” you cut him off, and he looks at you. His focus was drawn away from you during his rambling, so he didn’t notice the realization of just how much he cared about you spread across your face. “Of course… it was the least I could do,” he answers, “I also asked a friend for that lil bat for you to have while goin’ through the genetic procedure. it was all my fault this happened, so helpin’ you adjust–” 

“Adjust to what…?”

He takes a deep breath. “Miguel has a way to alter the genetic code of someone to have ‘em switch worlds… when we found out your world was gonna… disappear, we prepared. After the fight, I took you to Miguel and we successfully changed your genetic code. We did the same for Shadow, and all your things,” he explains, and you look at your hand. Sure enough, you look like you belong in Hobie’s world now. You didn’t notice the change before. Not until this very moment. “I had to give a lot of blood to continue to stabilize your genetic code changin’, so if I look like shit, that’s why” he admits to you, “But I would do it all over again without a second thought.”

“You don’t look like shit. That’s virtually impossible,” you mumble, and he smiles softly. You look down at Shadow, scratching between his ears with your free hand. Hobiie looks down, feeling another wave of emotion crash over him. He takes a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, (Y/n). This all happened because of me… it’s my fault,” he whispers, and you gently put your hand under his chin, lifting his head to look into your eyes. “Stop doing that.”

“Doin’ what?”

“Blaming yourself,” you say, wiping away some of his tears. “Can’t help it,” he mumbles, his voice shaking. “You can. Just takes time,” you respond, smiling softly at him through your own tears. He wipes away some of yours in return as the two of you stare at each other, no words being spoken. His eyes flick down to your lips before returning to your gaze, nonverbally asking you for permission. You nod slightly, and the two of you slowly lean toward each other. When your lips meet, the both of you immediately relax into each other. The two of you stop holding the other’s hand, but you quickly wrap your arms around his neck as he wraps his around your waist, pulling you closer. You two only break apart from each other to take a breath, but you keep your foreheads together as the two of you stare into each other’s eyes.

“What makes you think I wouldn’t want to move in with you?” you whisper, and he grins. He gently rubs up and down your sides, humming in response. “Cause I’m an absolute turnip,” he mumbles, and you giggle. “Nah. You’re more like my hero,” you say, and he chuckles. “Always, my love. Always,” he whispers, kissing you again. You smile into the kiss, causing him to do the same. Shadow’s annoyed meow makes the two of you look down at him, and Hobie laughs. “Little mate can’t stand that he’s not gettin’ all the attention,” he says, taking one of his hands away from you to pet him. You yawn, and Hobie looks at you. “I think it’s time for you to get some more rest, my love. Your body’s goin’ through a lot right now,” he says, and you nod.

He moves to get up, but you tug on his arm. “You need rest, too, Hobart,” you say, and he grins. “Are you sayin’ you want me to stay?” he teases, and you roll your eyes. “On second thought…” you start and his smile falters. “No, wait,” he says a bit too quickly, causing you to laugh. “Get your ass in here before I change my mind,” you say, and he slips underneath the covers. He maneuvers you so that he’s underneath your body, and he holds you tightly to his chest. You bury your face in his neck, and he smiles. “You’re lucky I got my durag on,” he mumbles, and you hum in response, already starting to feel the effects of sleep overtake you. “Y’know, I thought you’d be a little more upset with me,” he admits, and you sleepily shake your head. “Death is inevitable, Hobie. Instead of giving into the inevitability of the end, I like to see the beauty in it. Although my life as I knew it has died, a new life is beginning, and I think that’s beautiful,” you mutter. He grins. “You are such a fuckin’ goth,” he mumbles, and you playfully smack his chest. “Maybe I was wrong before...”

“What’s that?”

“Maybe not all people are selfish assholes. I know one who isn’t,” you trail off, falling asleep. He softly kisses the top of your head, “Maybe I was wrong about some shit, too, my love.”

Shadow curls up beside Hobie, and he places one hand on the cat while the other keeps you pressed against him. He’s so tired, that he doesn’t move at all during the sleep that he gets, which is unusual for him. But at this moment, he’s never felt more content. Just him, you, and Shadow in yours and his home.

He could get used to this.

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