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forzalando · 5 months

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Orange Theory

Charles Leclerc x best friend!reader (female reader)

summary: charles and his best friend do countless nice things for each other, but they're just behaving like any good friend would. right? wc: 2.5k author's note: ok guys so this is not the Charles fic i promised (she is still a WIP and i will finish her eventually. probably will have to be a multi-part fic with how long it's getting), but i hope you enjoy this one in the meantime! special thanks to @scuderiahoney for encouragement and inspiration. special thanks to @sof1shticated for reading and assuring me this doesn't suck. if you haven't read their fics, both Lee and Mel have some gems that i adore. HIGHLY recommend checking out their masterlists! warnings: none!

You loved summer break – Charles was home for at least a few weeks, days spent on a yacht, every afternoon and evening spent with friends either at dinner or out at some club until someone got too drunk to carry on.

Today was, in your humble opinion, the perfect day. All of your friends, courtesy of Charles, were sprawled out on the sun deck of a rented boat or splashing around in the water below. You could feel the heat radiating off of Lando as he laid next to you and whispered about how McLaren was making insane upgrades – according to him, they might just have a race-winning car in the second half of the season.

“Are you boring my best friend to tears, Norris?” The brutal sun disappeared behind Charles’ body as he stood above you – as if on instinct, he shifted slightly so that you could look up at him and not be blinded by its rays.

“She’s hanging on my every word, right, Y/N? In fact, she asked me how I’m feeling about Zandvoort and the rest of the season.”

“And?” Charles asked, a small smile on his face.

“Like I would tell you what’s going on with the car! I know Y/N can keep a secret, she would never betray me to a prancing horse. She bleeds papaya.”

You laughed along with Lando – the one point of contention that had always existed in your friendship with Charles. Of course, you became a Ferrari fan because of him, but you’d always been a McLaren and Mercedes loyalist. It was something that Lando, Oscar, and George relished in.

“Alright, alright, no need to rub it in, Norris,” you giggled. “What can I do for you, Charlie?”

“I just came to give you this.”

Within seconds, a perfectly peeled orange dropped in your lap. Lando’s eyes grew wide for a moment but a swift glare from Charles had his face back to normal in no time. You missed the interaction, jumping up from your seat in excitement.

“Aw, Charlie! You are the best friend a girl could ask for,” you chirped as you started separating the wedges of fruit.

“Ah, don’t mention it,” he sighed, waving his citrus-scented hand in the air. “There’s more in the cooler if you want! Freshly peeled!”

“Thank you, mon cher ami.” You quickly kissed his cheek, noticing as you pulled away just how red it was, along with his neck and the tips of his ears. “Charles! How many times do I have to tell you to put on sunscreen? Your face and neck are fried!”

“I don’t think it’s from the sun,” Lando mumbled, his eyes trained on the fruit in your hands. With Charles insisting he was fine, you could barely hear what he had said.

“What did you say, Lan?” You asked, turning your attention away from Charles for a moment.

Once again, Lando was met with a menacing glare and he laughed awkwardly before moving his gaze to the horizon.

“Nothing, nothing, Y/N. Just thinking out loud.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you turned back to Charles and handed him the orange he had just given to you. With your now free hands, you rifled through your beach bag until you found the SPF 50 face cream you had packed that morning with Charles in mind.

“Here, I packed this for you. Please put some on so I don’t have to worry about you getting sun poisoning,” you pleaded with your best puppy dog eyes.

Charles stared without answering for far too long – anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask him and he’d do it. Even without you gazing at him with your wide, siren eyes, he would give you the world if you so desired it.

He shook his head slightly, pulling himself out of the daze caused by your pleading eyes. “Oui, ma fleur, I will put on the sun cream. Je promets.”

You smiled in triumph, taking the orange back from Charles and bidding him a “see you later” before laying back down in your lounger. Popping an orange slice into your mouth, you let out a contented sigh. Somehow, whether Charles was magic or he had some serious connections in the produce world, the fruit he picked out and gave to you always tasted better than anything you bought yourself.

“He peels your oranges for you?”

You hummed and turned to Lando – “what, Lan?”

“Does Charles always peel your oranges for you?”

“Well, no, obviously not always. Why?”

Before Lando could answer, Lily plopped down next to you and stole an orange slice from your hand.

“I swear,” she huffed, “Alex and George are competitive to begin with, but when they get together, it’s unbearable. They’ve been having a “who can hold their breath the longest” contest for the past thirty minutes! Rematch after rematch after rematch, I called in my favor with Oscar to get out of judging their little competition.”

“As if either of them could beat me, they probably didn’t ask me to join because they’re scared,” Lando bragged. “I’ll leave you ladies to chat, go show them how it’s done.”

As Lando walked towards the edge of the boat, you and Lily turned towards one another.

“Men,” you scoffed in unison, following it up with belly laughs and lingering giggles.

As the laughter died down, Lily ate the orange slice she had stolen from you and practically moaned in delight. “Where did you get this orange? It might be the best I’ve ever had!”

“It’s from Charles! I was just thinking about this, I don’t know how he does it but he always has the best fruit. Every time he brings me any I am both ecstatic and pissed off – my fruit is never as good as his and we shop at the same grocery store!”

“Well, does he have any more oranges? I could eat 20 of these.”

“He said he left me more in his cooler, let me grab them.”

A few moments later, you walked back to Lily with a bag of peeled oranges in your right hand and two bottles of water in your left.

“Are you a professional orange peeler? You were only gone for two minutes.”

“Oh no,” you giggled, “Charles peeled them for me. He knows I don’t like peeling them so when he can, he always does it for me.”

“Y/N,” Lily looked at you suspiciously, “do you know what the orange peel theory is?”

You wracked your brain but came up empty. “No, what is it?”

Lily went into a brief explanation – something about how it became a viral tik tok challenge, people asking their partners if they would peel an orange for them and how it was an indicator of true love, soulmates, a healthy relationship, and everything in between. “Well, that’s just silly,” you mumbled through chews, orange juice dribbling down your chin. “I think it just means someone is a good person – Charlie and I aren’t anything more than friends and he peels my oranges, among other things, because he has a good heart.”

“Among other things?” Lily pressed you, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place.

“He slices my apples because I have never been able to master the apple corer contraption! And he takes all my grapes off the stems when he’s at my place because I never do – it’s too tedious.”

“What else?”

“Oh, when we go out to breakfast, he always brings me a tea when he picks me up. He’s an early riser and I take forever to get ready. He knows I never have time to make it myself when we have plans before 10am.”

Lily was smirking at you, no, smiling at you. It was a little unnerving, the way she was entirely amused at the information you were giving her. However, the moment was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Alex.

“What are we talking about, ladies?” He spoke cheerfully, a broad smile on his face which meant that he was most likely declared the best breath holder of the 2019 rookies.

“Y/N was just telling me about all the sweet things Charles does for her,” Lily gushed.

“Oh god, when is he not doing things for her? Did you see him buttering her bread for her at dinner last week?”

Lily burst out laughing while you playfully punched Alex’s arm. “I’m indecisive! He butters it for me while I read the menu since it takes me so long to figure out what I want to order. It saves time!”

“He does that on a regular basis?” Alex asked incredulously, looking at Lily with wide eyes. “My god, that man is head over heels.”

“Alex,” you protested, “Charles is not in love with me. We’ve been friends for six years, I think I would know by now.”

“You’re both impossible,” Alex groaned. “Come on, Lily, I just came over to get you so we could play water polo with George and Carmen.”

Lily sighed in defeat, though she had a smile on her face at the thought of spending time with Alex even if it meant another competition. “I’ll see you, later, yeah?” She called over her shoulder, waving goodbye as you teased her by dramatically eating another slice of orange and settling back in your chair. At the front of the boat, Charles was laughing with Pierre and almost as if he felt you looking, he turned around and met your gaze.

Even though you had just wholly denied anything more than friendship between you and him, you couldn’t help but think about your interactions with Lily and Alex.

Sure, Charles sometimes did things that were out of the ordinary for ‘just friends’, but he had the sweetest soul of anyone you’d ever met. He always sacrificed his umbrella or jacket for you, made sure you had fresh tulips in your apartment when he was home in between races, had your favorite meal delivered to you when you were having a rough day while he was away and you missed him.

You did things for him too – cleaned his apartment when you knew he was on his way back to Monaco, left him plenty of sticky notes with words of encouragement if he was coming back from a bad race, stocked his fridge full of his favorite things. Recently, you’d been gifting him annotated books because he mentioned he wanted to read more and always enjoyed listening to you talk about your favorite novels. Since you spent most of the year apart, you decided he could at least read your thoughts.

When you could come to races, unfortunately a rare occurrence due to your graduate classes and work schedule, he made sure Ferrari hospitality had your favorite flavor of sparkling water on hand. Anytime you saw a cute dog video, you would send it to him because they always made him smile.

You’d do anything to make him smile, just as he would for you, which is what a good friend would do. A best friend, it’s what a best friend would do.

But best friends didn’t linger in doorways and stare at each other’s lips when bidding each other goodnight. They didn’t cuddle close and fall asleep in each other’s arms on a couch while watching whatever movie you had chosen because he always let you choose.

They didn’t look at one another the way Charles was looking at you now – his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and a dopey smile on his face. He waved to you and dramatically blew you a kiss, something he always did when he caught your eye across a room, no matter who was around.

You practically launched yourself to your feet, the last remaining orange slices in your lap falling to the lounger and staining the seat with juice. It was only seconds until you were standing in front of Charles but the walk over felt like an eternity with the way the world around you disappeared and your heart pounded in your chest.

“Est-ce que tu maimes, Charles?”

The question came out in one breath, your chest heaving in anticipation for his response.

“Of course, I love you, ma fleur,” he laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“No,” you panted. “Do you love me, Charlie? Est-ce que tu maimes?”

“Of course, I love you,” he answered again, his eyes shining and a small smile on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Every time I think of you, I love you. Every time I breathe, I love you.”

“Every time you peel my oranges?” You whispered, holding up your orange juice-stained fingertips. He took your right hand in his and held it up to his face to kiss your palm, his eyelashes fluttering against you gently.

“Especially when I peel your oranges. Did you know that I hate doing it too? Like, really hate it. I don’t even peel them for myself.”

You gasped in shock, watching as he threw his head back and laughed jovially.

“I’d do anything for you, ma fleur. Mon soleil. Mon cœur.”

“Would you kiss me?”

“Maybe if Pierre would leave and stop gawking at us.”

This time you threw your head back to laugh, Charles soon joining you as Pierre protested the accusation.

“No, no,” he shouted, “you didn’t even give me a chance to leave. Just started declaring your love before I knew what was happening. Which, by the way, was so obvious it was starting to get annoying. We’ve all tried dropping hints to both of you so I don’t know who got through to you, Y/N, but – ”

“Pierre!” You shouted, eyes wide and arm gesturing him away from the two of you.

“Ah, désolé, I’m leaving,” he grumbled, almost tripping over his own feet to get away as quickly as possible.

You giggled again and Charles gripped your chin softly, pulling your eyes away from Pierre and back to face him.

He leaned in gently, as if he was afraid you would back away and regret taking the leap to go from friends to something so much more.

He tasted like salt water, smelled like sweet fruit and sunscreen – you smiled into the kiss knowing that he had listened to you and put it on, even though you knew he hated the way it felt on his skin.

His fingers gripped your waist and yours trailed up his chest – both of you slightly sticky from the citrus juices and sweat from the sun.

You pulled away and nudged his nose with yours, breathing him in and wishing that this moment would never end. Charles lowered you both to the sun deck, adjusting until you were sitting between his legs and his arms were wrapped firmly around you, the two of you facing the sunset and open sea.

After a few moments, you broke the shared silence. “You know, I would have happily peeled an orange for you if you had ever asked me,” you asserted.

Charles’ hold on you softened at your admission, the thinly veiled meaning not at all lost on him as he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 x reader #forzalando #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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hawkinsbnbg · 2 months

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Steve's love language is casual intimacy.

He presses his thigh against Eddie's when they're on the couch and watching TV, plays with Eddie's hair when he's bored, holds Eddie's hands when he has nothing to do, and rests his chin on Eddie's shoulder while they're out shopping.

Eddie's love language is sharing.

He shares everything he has with Steve. Those big and small stories that he knows, those pretty trinkets he hoarded all of his life, those morning pecks, those goodbye smooches, and those goodnight kisses.

Even his heart isn't the exception. One part he keeps for himself, his friends and family. While the other half is all for Steve.

It was a lazy evening when Eddie pillowed his head in Steve's lap and peered up at his husband who was peeling an orange.

The citrus scent was lovely. And so was Steve.

The pout on his lips every time he concentrated on doing something, the dip of his brows when he was puzzled by Eddie's teasing, the hazel in his eyes that rivaled the beauty of the sun, and the stray lock of hair that curled on his forehead.

In the background, their radio was crooning about old love, and Eddie's stomach was full and warm after the delicious dinner he had helped Steve prepare.

He was content to just lie there and gaze at Steve, in awe of how lucky he was to be here and live this wonderful life that he had built together with his best friend—his husband.

"Say ah," Steve finally looked down at him, hand holding a peeled orange.

Eddie complied and was fed with each pulp until there was nothing. He chewed slowly, savoring the sour sweetness that popped inside his mouth.

"Taste good?" Steve raised an eyebrow at him, already moving on to peel another orange.

Instead of answering that question, Eddie smiled at his husband, dopey and stupid.

"Love you, sweetheart."

Steve huffed out an amused snort. "Of course, I gave you an orange."

"And it tastes good," Eddie grinned.

"Yeah, love you, too, baby," Steve leaned down and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

Eddie felt like the sun was inside his chest, so bright and so lovely.

And he knew it was happiness.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #mi media naranja #when love language is peeling your husband oranges #sionewrites

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capslocked · 7 months

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 1

[prompt: against a wall window]

male reader x huh yunjin

5k words

You're not entirely sure where the jacket to your suit has gone.

You know you should know; it’s a rental and you need to return it in a week. But Yunjin told you to take it off, and since then, things have been... a little hazy.

More concerning - or it would be, had Yunjin not also lost some part of her attire - is what her thumbs are hooked into. Like she's peeling out the silhouette to her skin-tight, backless dress - the way she can't keep from leaning against the elevator wall. Your lips have the taste of her red lipstick all over, and her body melts with every little flick of the tip of her tongue against yours, puddles that much further when she feels your fingers curling into the folds of that skin-tight black material.

The motion to push the fabric up and over the rise of her hips is a purposeful kind of thing.

For the past hour, her skirt kept brushing over the fabric of your pants while you went from shaking hands to kissing hands to her placing yours on the hem of her dress, in the quiet space of a balcony the hotel staff had clearly marked as off-limits. A kiss behind the shell of her ear, a suggestion, a shiver.

Now, things are happening in a sort of reverse: from slow and curious, to needing more and wanting less, and suddenly, neither of you want to wait - until her thighs are spread wide apart, with your free hand slid over her smooth thigh, fingers skirting the edges of her lace, cupped over her heat - right, there. The throbbing.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me," is what she's asking.

"Something awful," you reply, but there's only a gasp out of her throat to prove your point. No words.

Just the look: desire clouding over the expression. The not-so-subtle display of want, need. Tongue pressing to lips and tugging along the corner. A moan, two, quieted behind the knuckle she can't quite help putting in her mouth.

You consider shoving her panties down the curve of her thighs and spinning her around - leaving her arms to brace the railing and keeping the dress around her waist while you fuck. Quick, rough.

The mental image is too nice to let it go.

You consider how much she might genuinely prefer to that to whatever she'd had in mind when she suggested you really ought see the view of the city from her room - oh, the skyline, it's gorgeous, she offered, lips tugged into a perfectly practiced little quirk that said: the view of me, on all fours, face down into a mattress as my ass swallows down your cock - I can't wait to have you.

You can feel the thought concrete itself to the base of your skull when you roll the flat of your finger over her clit and start sliding up and down between the lips of her pussy - finding her a little wet already, dripping onto the fabric in the most obvious way. When the elevator stops a few floors shy, you try to play it off by squeezing at her rib cage and tugging the fabric back in place, hiding the tell-tale lines between the fabric, just as Yunjin starts that gentle laugh from the very base of her spine. A real beautiful timbre in its sound.

But things get more muddled, admittedly, when the doors ding and the group on the other side piles through.

There's an exchange of glances, where they're asking if this is allowed, is there enough room, can they make room. One of them, in a dizzyingly plunging, strapless blue number that has you pressing your palm into the small of Yunjin's back just a little more than you have been up to that point, considers, carefully.

"Yunjin," she says, fingers brushing through the fringe of a smart-chic bob, prim cut of jet-black hair.

Yunjin shifts her weight onto the other heel. "Chaewon."

"By the looks of it," she says, and the way she looks you over has all the judgmental verve of an older sister, a real cold stare. "You've got a I'll-be-staying-in-tonight kind of vibe."

A deeper laugh now, rolling out across the backs of her teeth. "If it's all the same to you," is what you hear from her, "it'll be an early night for me."

“Don’t make it a habit,” she tells Yunjin.

“We’re just going to go enjoy the view.”

“Yeah.” Chaewon gives you one final, disapproving expression. “I bet he will.”

The elevator isn't totally silent, not for the subtle hum and whir of machinery. But everything is a lot closer now. Especially your thoughts, the way Yunjin pulls herself closer against you by a hand on the back of your dress shirt - her fingernails mapping the ridge of your spine, finding your hip bone, thumb curving back and forth against the curve of it.

The four girls at the corner are just making chatter in their corner of the lift. They've got a reservation - in name, anyway. If things were as simple as getting from the hotel to the elevator and beyond, no need for the next forty floors to pass at a snail's pace.

In fact, the four have this sort of tense, concentrated way to them that suggests otherwise - like maybe they came all this way and made that sort of promise to have the whole night end the way some things ought: alone.

"Don't stop on account of us," one of them says after a while.

Which is enough to set off this glare into the furl of Yunjin’s brows. Not her friend's intention. But they laugh it off.

When the doors scuttle open, finally, the two of you stumble out, feet not catching up to the rest of you before Yunjin has her fingers around your wrist and drags you out. Her heels - red-bottomed and not entirely flat but definitely a lot less heel-ey than others (she’s tall, she says, it makes her self-conscious), are clacking quick across marble tile until she arrives at the door of her room, pulls her keycard out of her clutch and leans shoulder-first into the door after the click and whir of entry.

She takes a step backward.

The door locks at your back when it's kicked into its frame.

The first thing you notice is her dress: pooled on the floor around the arches of her heels, cast off like a cloak or some overcoat - to be tossed aside once the sun goes down.

"Make a habit out of this, huh?" you ask in an effort to keep yourself busy - gawking's never been a good look on anyone, even with your natural gifts, the glint in your smile, all your charm - but the curves of her body are stunning, curves that start where her thighs begin, wrap around her hips, cut in at her waist, bloom from the perfectly-small-breasts that now are showing their dusky pink nipples, firm and on full display.

All of Yunjin, like this, beneath pale moonlight pouring diffuse through the fish-bowl-glass of her hotel room, is nothing short of an invitation.

A good look, is what you're about to say if you don't come up with anything else.

"You do this kind of thing often?"

"What's that," Yunjin says over the sharp line of a grin.

"What I mean to say is: I hadn't pegged you for the," and you gesture, rather elegantly, with the flop of your wrist, "lure-some-poor-sap-away-from-a-party-and-take-advantage kind of type," before managing something like a genuine laugh. "Not to knock that lifestyle or anything."

"There's not a thing in the world you know about me," is what she offers. Which is, unsurprisingly, totally true, and slightly unfair.

Yunjin is walking toward you while you consider it.

Drifting when she comes around. It's that close. You can smell the warmth of her skin, a whiff of that vanilla, an infuriating softness - the room is dark, but the moon is bright and the city is glowing, reflecting its light and the various hues from neon signs below, outside, until Yunjin stops, standing right in front of you, just, waiting.

Then, the steady rise of an eyebrow that, for a second, feels like a challenge.

“So," you kiss into her lips, and that's the first. "Let me know you."

The second is when her hands slip up and over the back of your neck and you can't keep from reaching for her sides, pulling her closer. Her hips and ass and those fucking gorgeous, full, legs that can't decide which direction to take - until she's pressed, warm, soft, and perfect against your body, and she's sighing this sigh, heavy, a moan.

The third time, she's licking into your mouth, tongue rolling in and around the taste of your own.

"Too many clothes," she murmurs, and you can feel the pull at your half-undone bowtie, the collar to your dress shirt. She's working the buttons off their slots with deft, clever fingers.

"That's what happens when I'm trying to look sharp."

"Sharp, and hot."

"Is it working?"

Her eyes are as dark as the hair framing the smile that plays at the edge of her mouth. "I'm taking your clothes off, aren't I?"

"Mm," you reply, a smirk of your own. Pressed right into her jaw, her neck, the column of her throat, where she tastes sweet and salty. Like the sea and the night. Before you can even ask, with your fingers teasing the elastic of her underwear, I'm guessing you want me to do the same.

Yunjin makes a sound like, mm-hm.

The hotel room is quite standard, which is to say, nice. But, for what it is, it's not too fancy. There's a large, king-size bed with the crispest sheets you've ever felt. A little kitchenette. Some counter space and a fridge. A TV hanging opposite the bed, with an armchair and a love-seat positioned to face the screen.

"Do you want me to tell you what to do?" Yunjin asks, and her voice is low. Almost a husk, a whisper.

"What did you have in mind?" you say to her, and there's a hand on the nape of your neck, a fist of soft, slender fingers wrapping the length of your cock.

"You're going to fuck me until I'm cumming on your cock. You'll get me on my knees, first, though."

"That's the plan?"

"Unless you have another." Yunjin grins, a smile so full and bright and genuine. You don't know anything beyond her name and the perfectly sculpted curve of her ass. She could be anyone, an actress, a singer, a model. A girl-next-door. A friend of a friend.

She could be yours.

And in a way, when she's on her knees, her mouth hot and tight around the shape of your cock, those fucking lips pressed into the base of it, sliding easy with the spit she leaves on your shaft, that's exactly what you tell her.

"Yunjin," is all you're saying, a sigh, a hiss. You're helping her get your pants off the ends of your feet while your cock is lathered and bathed in her spit, feeling her slender fingers pull up and down your shaft. "That feels so fucking good, baby. Just like that." It's fast, sloppy, she's taking you in and out of her hot mouth like it's the most natural thing in the world. A slurp, a cough, and she's completely unfettered, sucking down and swallowing another breath - not to mention all that about her tongue. A swirl over the head of your cock and you show how much you like it, letting her read the bite into your lip, inventorying every little wince through your brow.

But see - you have your fingers in her hair, holding the strands away from her face. Away from where Yunjin's eyes are breathtaking and glittering, blinking back up under upturned brows, looking up at you from where she's taking you into the hot wet of her mouth, inch-by-inch. And the part of you, this cruel, twisting sensation, would hate for her to think anything of your hands - how they're at the top of her head, cradled behind, and easing her forward, the head of your cock teasing the roof of her mouth.

The back of her mouth.

The back of her throat.

Fuck, her eyes go wide. She's good. She takes it.

And just from the pretty look she keeps on her face, Yunjin loves it. Loves to be pushed, loves to have her hands running along the ridge of your thigh until her fingers are prying the very bottom, the underside, your balls. Like this, with her kneeling down between your legs, the flexing muscle of her upper arms to her palms squeezed tight on either cheek of your ass, where the heat starts to stir deep - to pull. Bring the full length of you to the back of her throat.

The choked sound from deep in her chest should surprise you.

And for the shortest moment, you're holding still and forcing her head, your hands keeping her perfectly put: just there, right there. Exactly like that - where she could look like the perfect mess and feel a twitch right between those lips that keep asking so kindly, go ahead, fuck a load of cum down my throat, baby, use these lips - the soft swell of these lips until you're cumming for me.

Or something else along those lines.

The thought of it crosses your mind: cum spilling from the corner of her mouth as she tries to take everything you have. The flutter in her throat wringing it all down. The mess that all would make. Not that she isn’t already a perfect sight.

You tug on her hair again.

Yunjin's eyes sparkle.

Her eyelashes go a little droopy, hazy. Dark.

And she starts humming across this wistful note of a sigh as her lips start slipping over your shaft - dragging in that slow, agonizing, blissful way over everywhere sensitive and aching. Taking her time, while one hand goes up and strokes what her mouth can't touch, while you pull her head, those perfect strands, just a touch further down, because if she can't quite deep-throat you then Yunjin can give a goddamn masterful impression.

Her cheeks hollow, and the suction - god.

You could cum right in between the pretty little pout of her lips, over the flat of her tongue. Right down her throat.

But in a turn of events neither of you anticipate, you don't do it; you are, much like anyone else, not without limits. Which is probably how you end up lifting Yunjin back up by the underside of her elbows, asking, "that feels a little one-sided, no?"

It's only fair to pull a smirk, kiss, all the best tricks - all for the best parts of her, full, curving, down from her neck, shoulders, her arms, the palms of her hands, every part of her: that perfect shade of peach, pink. From there, everything else falls away. The slow way Yunjin sneaks away with the kind of saunter you'd expect, hips swaying all the way up, sashaying out this inviting side-to-side before you realize it's working -

And you're asking, "Yunjin?" then telling, "I want you up against that window."

The sun's long set - but it'll come up soon enough, over the edges of skyscraper-blocks and shining up out from the base, until everything is bright and gleaming.

"Which window?" she teases.

So you swat at her ass. A not-so-delicate slap. "I don't care so long as I fuck you into it."

"And if someone sees?" she laughs out, still intent on teasing you, and the small edge in her voice is some combination of excitement and worry.

"Then we better give them something worth seeing."

Yunjin's palms land flush to the glass, fingers spread out - wide, wanting, willing - where the blue, yellow glow of city lights shines in over the curves of her profile, the slope of her cheek, the bright pools her irises turn under the warmth. She's the only thing worth seeing, and there's nothing that could possibly stop you from needing, wanting more, right now.

There's no other explanation. No other reason, really, to explain how you're desperate: to fill her, bury yourself inside her - to where you're promising, coming up behind her and guiding her over - so you can spread those creamy thighs apart, push her shoulders up against the cold surface of the window. Where she'll catch a view of her reflection staring back at her: beautiful, exposed, and hers.

"I'm going to fuck you now," is exactly what she's been begging you to say, is why she ends up feeling, with the deep, twisting need building somewhere, how you'll work your cock so deep into her wanting cunt that the only thing that makes her legs go weak - wobbling, really - is the promise of cock rubbing so close and teasing the slick folds between her legs. Until she's a little more demanding, needy - and fuck, where is all the foreplay you'd promised earlier? That perfect, thick cock of yours is missing. She knows what all this really needs.

"Yeah? You need me here?" and she gets this whine, a little pathetic, but in the cutest way.

Yunjin turns her eyes to you, over her shoulder, just the faintest bit of a sneer.

Because she needs it, right now - rough, quick, good.

A gasp catches in her throat when you drag your cockhead through her wet heat, once, twice, and the slide of it against her clit becomes the only thing that matters in the entire goddamn world.

"Inside," her teeth are clamping hard on her lip now, holding it from trembling as she tries to put words together, "Put," is where she loses focus and you're sucking, and kissing, and biting at her shoulder, "put, fuck. Please, put your, put - that cock of yours in my-" You slip into her hot-soaking-wet cunt, and after you've clenched a fist and brought a palm to the center of the window, so that you could open up your body around her a little easier, her muscles squeeze and grip and milk the first few strokes so tight. So-fucking-good.

There's not even a word for it, how she fit like a glove around the first thrust, but if the expression on your face says anything, it's everything Yunjin wanted and more: the shape, the angle, how you're pressing your fingers so hard into the impossible geometry of her waist, the round of her ass - oh, she’ll be a mess of red marks, shapes and lines, reminders of how good you fucked her - these long deep strokes in and out of her creaming pussy - evidence left where the heat inside her builds and pools.

And god, Yunjin is so, so easy to fuck: you can pound into her as rough and steady and fast as she'd begged - there with your other hand, pulling hard, hard, at the loose, dark locks of her hair. Where it has Yunjin gasping, moaning, the whole nine. She has to look to find her balance - and meets the two silhouettes framed inside the reflection on the window. Two shapes, lost in the blurred shadow and outline of lights outside the hotel window, behind which the whole city and its crowds might have stopped the way they'd started, with the rest of you caught between these strange moments:

First, the mindfulness. The purpose and meaning in movement, sensation. In being alive and young, hot, gorgeous and dumb as you can afford to be be.

Yunjin's murmuring, "right there, I want you," or telling, or begging, "don't, you have no idea, I, no-" until your body presses flush up against hers, hips rocking into her perfect figure - taking you like she was built for it, and everything feels so much tighter now, so much closer. Her palms and cheek against the glass, her knees are all shaking and ready to fold at any moment. "So deep, fuck. Fuck me right there, just like that."

Then as you suppose, the unbridled lust on display: Yunjin's turned to this kind of abandon - she's swearing out loud, saying things that have no name and very little form until you've dragged the roughness of your fingers all over her body and found she needs a palmprint on her inner thighs, her ass. That she's whimpering with every deeper plunge until, finally, she gets what she's after - and the words are falling out of her mouth. All it does is mean nothing now - whatever you've been waiting to hear, the pleas to fuck her harder, the cocksleeve talk, or any other request or order.

It's a small miracle, really, considering how she'd gotten you throbbing and aching with just the press of her lips and the dangerous little curl of her tongue - the tight heat all in the back of her throat - but Yunjin cums first.

Loudly.

Messily, too, as she rides out the feeling - tightness gathering right into her core. But her head, it's in the clouds and a little far away, the skyline bathing her skin in shades of glittering silver and gold. And god, the heat of her tight, twitching, soaked pussy - pulsing around the thrusting curve of your cock: the sublime kind of place, spot, rhythm.

How her arms give out and she's pressed, flushed, back to chest with you, right there. Her words are soft. Wholly unimaginative: yes and fuck, yes and oh, she wants you, loves how well you fuck. The murmur comes from that gorgeous body of hers, the exact shape of everything that feels good to feel. The jut of her hips and her legs are longer than her height suggests they'd be, flawless from the ankle and foot to her thigh to where your arm wraps around the base of her ribs, hugging her from the back.

It's a perfect fit.

And not in the glass-slipper kind of way that means there is such a thing as a soulmate, no.

"Cum in me," she breathes, and then - all over. That's it. The moment your fingers are splayed back out over the pane of window, she can't hold her gaze steady. Those tears prick up at the corner, where they get caught. Where her voice is too high and pitchy - begging, a whining noise and some syllable. Something inaudible that has pressing these hot, open-mouthed kisses right into the pretty rise-and-falls of her spine. The sloppy-wet sound from your cock slipping back in, and back again, until you're just left fucking these little ragged breathes out of her chest.

The space between her lips and the glass, the white-ghosting breaths of air out between those plump little pouts that have shaped and molded themselves into some version of words, a few half-finished pleads: “kiss, hold, fill, fuck, just," and, "my body, love-

"Your fucking pussy, Yunjin, holy shit, it's - fucking - so, god," you all but growl out.

Pounding into the tight clench of her cunt.

The bed in the other room might be the better choice, the sheets and pillows for more support than the hard wall she's propped against. But the glass, to see the view and take her up against it: it feels nice, cool and comfortable, even when your motion makes it fogged and sticky with condensation. She had, when your first thrust pushed inside the molten heat of her pussy, reached around the corner - fingertips splaying wide apart, up, along the foggy pane, watching the shadow of her palms turn blurry and indistinguishable against the soft glow of neon beyond.

"I'm cumming," you tell her, "I'm cumming - fuck," before shoving her body even further into the glass. Fucking her hard - just short of bending her to the point of where she might break.

That last stroke or two goes a little wild; all that coiled and pressurized want and need, boiling over the moment you fuck your cum deep into her trembling body. This time, your sounds aren't just the thoughtless hum and groan from the depth of your lungs, but some collection of dirty words, grunts. Nasty things. A whole host of obscenities: like how it's for the sake of claiming, leaving something of yourself behind. How you're pulling the smooth, curve of her hips into your body to push as much of yourself inside the gripping warmth of her. How your hot cum is starting to spill from her pink, perfect, hole - all for the better because when you take your thumb and swirl and trace and smear all along her slippery-wet slick, she gets like this: squirming in these lazy, needy little wriggles against your touch.

It takes the two of you sometime longer to move. Not long, but, you know, a little while.

When it is that Yunjin comes back to herself, you feel the smile as the ghost over your arm.

The kind of thing to ask, though you're too fucked to pay attention, are questions about life: where do you go to school, how long will you stay? All of that. There's a quiet moment where your mind plays back, vaguely, a little more intensely, the realization - and regret of it, the waste - of fucking a stranger for a night.

And in a real short moment:

"That was - really good," she says, still not recovered quite enough to walk.

Yunjin sounds all that same: a stranger. Not familiar. That's, like, your last chance or whatever. Before this becomes a one-off.

("Stay for a while?" is what she doesn't manage to ever ask.)

"Have to leave early tomorrow." And she looks at you, shoulders dipping at the ends. She says things like: "my work," and "we have an international flight. Customs is a bitch."

"Oh," is what you say to all that, looking her body over again, drinking down all the small details of her. The ones you'll lose forever after tonight. All of them, you know.

All because that's how it had to be, from the start.

"For sure."

Yunjin's hands are twisting at the end of her hair, stroking and brushing through the silky, black strands. Just for something to do: maybe, optimistically to keep herself occupied with some semblance of a thought that has nothing at all to do with how she can't seem to shake this sudden, cresting wave of frustration - how there's an urgent throb from deep within, pushing into her skin like a force.

You swallow. Try to smile. "It was fun."

The hotel's checkout desk is staffed by a cheerful looking man, almost fresh out of high-school. Too cheerful a smile, perhaps, and maybe a little too bright for the time of day. You'd been busy pacing the lobby, trying not to stare at your phone for the third or fourth time since stepping out of the elevator. Your feet have scuffed the ground under the coffee table, around the floral couches - almost tripping over the boutiques lined in the middle of this path. Likely you'd have considered them if you weren't focused elsewhere.

Thinking about how you'd put off any discussion about piecing back together your rental suit.

"Did you have a good stay, sir?" the concierge asks, reaching out across his desk to pick up a card. He's placing a machine in front of him.

Your face warms ever-so-slightly. "Wonderful."

"That's what we like to hear. Just swipe your key here."

The machine's screen flashes and there's another cheerful beep, indicating everything was processed.

"Could you get me my receipt?"

"Absolutely. One second."

And the printer whirs to life: spitting out line-after-line of printed data. Until there are twelve characters of nonsense and garbage, including but not limited to the link to a questionnaire and an explanation for all the boxes marked 'x'. It also indicates your total costs (minimal, really) and lists a detailed breakdown of services: breakfast, in-room bar, laundry, towels - all the necessities.

"There, would you like- wait. Sir? Someone asked me to hand this to you," and after reaching under the desk, "looks like a suit jacket of sorts."

"Oh."

He raises an eyebrow. "From the event, I'm assuming."

It's hard to tell what it's about. But as you wrap your fingers into the cloth of the fabric, tug at it a bit, there's a note that slips and falls to the floor.

You sort of frown, skeptical. Fumble with the note. And the note says this:

In your absence, I helped myself to your jacket, your wallet, an extra serving of breakfast, as well as a large iced-coffee. Promise you I'll get the next one. Call me: (xxx)-xxx-xxxx.

Affectionately, your (girl)friend for an evening,

Huh Yunjin

#yunjin smut #le sserafim smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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ivystoryweaver · 1 month

Text

"There is a simmering, molten lust turning over and over..."

Summary: You feel awful and Steven makes it all better. Or, I've read the amazing period fics. What about the sometimes-hell of ovulation? Pairing: Steven Grant x f!reader Word Count: 1.3k Content: nsfw, ovulation, breast and nipple play, oral - f. rec., fingering, hair pulling, breeding kink suggested, not beta'd ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You're ovulating, like...to the extreme.

There's a heaviness in the center of you - different from cramps, not exactly bloating...

Your boobs aren't merely sore, they're...straining.

Your nipples have stood erect for a day-and-a-half, to the point that pinching them almost feels better than them brushing against your t-shirt, as you attempt to lounge around the house after work.

They're poking, quite obviously, through your pajamas, even through your bra, earlier.

Steven comments more than once, assuming you're cold.

"No...fuck, I'm...so horny," you finally admit...somewhat embarrassed by your own wording.

...drawing his earthen gaze straight to your chest - before his eyes drop to the center of you.

No, in your core, it's not (merely) cramping and bloating. There is a simmering, molten lust turning over and over, making you constantly wet.

Steven pushes off the chair he was sitting on to read after dinner, halfway scolding himself for not noticing your distress - for not offering to assist with such a predicament.

Honestly, you've been a touch moody and he didn't want to push you

Your sweet Steven is suddenly a panther on the prowl. Whoops.

"No, I'm not like...it's not that I'm trying to..." You attempt to find the words to explain that your brain isn't completely in the mood but...

...hell - if he would just grope your breasts, take the weight off for a few minutes, fondle your nipples, roll them between his fingers. Maybe suck them...

Steven is on his knees before you, ready to please - cheeks flushed as a careless curl tumbles across his forehead. His lips part in anticipation.

"I'm ovulating," you decide to admit, with a defeated huff. "So...we can't, you know. I accidentally missed a pill, and we shouldn't - not until I'm sure - ugh..." Your head drops to your hands in frustration. You have got to change birth control methods, to something less daily.

Nodding once, Steven's eyes darken, locking on to yours. "Let me take care of you."

Your breath trembles at the gorgeous man on his knees for you. "Steven...we can't - we shouldn't - "

"I heard you, love," he evenly responds, the heat of his lustful stare setting you ablaze. Pushing his fingertips underneath the hem of your t-shirt, he offers, “Stop me if it's not what you want."

Then this man - this socially awkward, brilliant, beautiful man who loves you like an ancient legend - peels your clothes from your body, almost reverently, kneeling beneath you like you're one of his sacred goddesses.

"Not cold then," he murmurs, brushing his fingertips over the round swell of your breast, his breath ghosting your pebbled flesh. "Just desperate." He doesn't give you a chance to refute him, capturing your nipple between his plush lips and sucking gently.

And ohh fuck, it feels good.

Your breasts get sore from time to time, during your cycle or mid-month, but this particular month has you so tender for some reason.

You feel the warmth of Steven's tongue laving as his hand cups your other breast, gently massaging - dragging the pad of his thumb over your other greedy nipple.

Then he sucks you hungrily, like he's feeding from you, for a full minute longer. Your back arches, thrusting your chest further into his warm, wet mouth. Pulling off your tit with a pop, his eyebrows shoot up, a slight smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

"Better? Or worse?"

"Good - it's good, baby, come here," you gasp, eagerly reaching to bring him to your other breast, threading your fingers through his thick curls as he lavishes your nipple with attention from his tongue, teeth and lips, sucking and fondling until you are a squirming mess.

He releases you and surges up on his knees to meld his lips with yours, licking into your waiting mouth. Taking your face in his hands, his thumbs stroke the apples of your cheeks as his fingertips trace the shape of your jaw.

He kisses you so good, you lose your mind and forget all your bodily complaints, the kiss lingering on and on, until you part for breath, inhaling and exhaling one another as if each of you needs to other to survive.

(You do.)

He lays you down on the couch where you sat, fidgeting uncomfortably all evening, cute little huffs and puffs letting him know you were distraught on some level. Those huffs are now pants of desire.

His lips meet your bare stomach - your most sensitive and self-conscious body part, breath fanning over all the dips and valleys he adores. He kisses down to your joggers, pulling the tie loose before easing them over the swell of your hips and down your legs.

He smiles to himself at your superhero boy shorts - you’re definitely one for comfort. He smells you now - wet and eager to be touched, to be fucked - the core of you dampening your panties.

So he pulls those down and off your body too and, by the time he kisses an adoring trail up your inner thigh, you're trembling - whimpering, too.

"Steven, Steven, please..."

He answers with his tongue, licking up the center of your sex, collecting your juices, his cock twitching as your back arches violently off the couch.

You feel him smile against you. Steven is The Needy One so this must be quite fun for him...

Your mind goes blank as he fucks his tongue into your hole in a slow, taunting rhythm, holding steady, soaking his lips and the stubble on his chin with the tang of your sex.

Dragging his tongue back out, his lips wrap around your throbbing clit, sucking vigorously as you twist your fingers though his hair, yanking just the way that gets him feral.

He moans against your core, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure through the center of you, and just when you think nothing has ever felt better, he slides two fingers into your dripping cunt.

This was exactly what you needed.

“Yes…oh god, Steven…”

Grasping the meat of your thigh with his free hand, he hooks one leg over his shoulder, driving deeper into you.

With your grip almost painfully threaded through his soft curls, you push and pull his face against your cunt, rocking your hips faster with each pass, your moans a scandalous crescendo of lustful desperation.

The dull, aching want in the center of you swells like a throbbing balloon, ready to burst, and Steven rumbles out a Jake-worthy chuckle between your legs as you find yourself shrieking like nothing he’s ever heard before.

He curls his fingers into the spongy softness deep in your walls, the steady suck of your clit finally drawing you into absolute rapture. Pleasure surges through your body, releasing soreness and tension as your cunt gushes all over your lover’s mouth, soaking him from nose to throat.

He lets you ride it out, pressing sweet, wet kisses to your tummy, brushing his fingers over your thighs, telling you how beautiful and perfect you are.

“So good, mon cœer, love the sounds you make for me.”

“Thank you,” you gasp, as he climbs back up your body and pulls you against his chest.

He kisses your temple, ignoring, for a moment, his blatant erection. “Good, yeah?” His eyebrows shoot up in adorable self-satisfaction.

“So good.”

He lets you recover, keeping private thoughts of how, when you're ready, he would love to fuck a baby into you and take care of your moods and your tits all the time, as your body grows his child.

You can feel the tension rolling off of him, almost chuckling as his gaze falls to your abdomen, his hand gently caressing you there. "I'm not ready right now - not at all, but...I would want it to be with you," you quietly confess.

He swallows thickly, nodding as his forehead drops to yours. And you breathe together, in and out, inhaling and exhaling one another as if each of you needs to other to survive.

(You do.)

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Steven Grant-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

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updates blog - @ivystoryupdates

#moon knight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #ovulation sensation fic #oscar isaac characters #moon knight ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ #mcu #Steven Grant x you #Oscar Isaac fic #moon boys #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant x f!reader #steven grant smut

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evilminji · 9 months

Text

You know what I never see explored?

"Not on MY watch!" Superfan Dash Baxter. The young, limnal, quarterback built like a tank and willing to hit like one.

Because let's be real here. Imagine that scenario: Dash, heading to practice with his Bros. His best friends. The team. When? Oh shit! It's PHANTOM! Best day EVER right?

Except it's NOT.

Somethings wrong. He's not as graceful as he usually is. There is no clever comebacks. He looks beat up, man. What HAPPENED? Everyone looks confused when Dash looks around. But before he can call up to him?

Phantom is Shot Out Of The SKY.

Hits the football field HARD. The entire team is already running. Full sprint. It's those fucking GIW. Already driving onto the field and tearing it up. Jumping out, weapons primed.

Phantom's not... oh god, he's not getting up.

He looks hurt. Really hurt. Those bastards are closing in.

Dash's team? Has his back. They're also fans. Friends of his. Not a single one hesitates. They put their BACKS into it and welcome these sick fucks to Tackle Practice. With a follow up of "Taste Your Own Teeth". Amity special, coach would be proud.

But Dash... fuck, he can't wail on these guys AND protect Phantom at the same time. Kwan tells him to go. Throws him his keys. His car is least shit. Dash owes him SO many pizzas for this. First pick on movies for LIFE, man.

It hurts to leave his team behind. His best friend. But Dash has to GO. He can already hear the Fentons closing in. He grabs Phantom, his HERO, and runs for his life.

Barely manages to peel out of there in time. Floors it. Calls Paulina, obviously. She and Star are doing a spa day thing. She picks up because she KNOWS he wouldn't bother her if it wasn't serious. And-!

Oh...

Oh fuck.

In the rear view mirror. The Fentons and GIW just screeched onto the road behind him. Closing distance FAST. What does he do? Paulina he can't... he WON'T hand Phantom over!

And of course she understands. For God's sake, she in LOVE with the guy. He's never heard her sound so scared and furious. They'll get phantom over her twice dead body. She and Star are making some sort of noises, chanting, and...?

Giant Amazons with swords? GHOST Amazons. Suddenly in the road, jumping over his car to attack the cars behind him. Paulina what the FUCK?? She been talking to her Abuela, APPARENTLY. Who's friends aunt's "roomate" was particularly good at communicating with the dead. So OBVIOUSLY Paulina got her to send notes and studied them in secret.

Gotta be able to speak to you future husband's family in their native language. You win brownie points. Gives her a step up. "Not the point"? It's kind of a point! Giant warrior women! Who-?

Paulina made friends while practicing.

Of course she did. Why is he even REMOTELY surprised she chose the giant terrifying Amazons to be beasties with? He's know her for years. He should know better by now.

.....he feels small asking. Hates that his voice shakes. But... but what do they DO, 'Lina?

What he hates even more is the little shake in his childhood friends voice, even though she's trying to sound certain and strong. What they Do? What they DO is Dash drives his ass the her house, gets in her BETTER car, which she is going to load up, and they leave Amity.

She has LOADS of money. All sorts of jewelry. They're very last season. Frankly, she.. she can't WAIT to pawn them if they have too. They just have to drive. Get Phantom as far away from those freaks as possible. Get help.

And? It could go so many ways from there? Paulina LOVES Phantom. How will she reconcile that with her views on Fenton? How will Dash? Seperated from their roles as "the popular ones" and "the crazy people's son". Knowing that... that Danny likes her TOO.

But she's been AWFUL to him. She said so much. DID so much.

Do the even? LIKE each other? Or just the IDEA of each other? The person they made up in their heads.

They're afraid, tired, on the run. But free from school, the expectations of others, the baked in histories of a small town. Who ARE they as people? Do they like each other? COULD they?

I want to believe that Paulina really means it. That no one is at their best in middle and high school. They say and do stupid, mean, shallow shit. Because the world presses and presses and tells them it's all they are worth. Because they don't know who they ARE yet. Because she is a child. Not yet eighteen.

And Danny isn't perfect either. He saw a pretty, pretty face and got distracted by it. Didn't see how HARD she works. How smart she is. How ambitious and brilliant at reading people.

Are they trying to get to an Embassy? To Paulina's extended Family to the south, who would most certainly take them in, and would gladly fight gods for them? Or is this a crossover? Are they going towards other Heros? Older ones?

Is Paulina planning to pull a Lois Lane and Cause Problems On Purpose? Is Dash HAUNTED by "oh fuck, Wes was right." And now knows he's gonna have just... just WALK UP TO THEM. Broad ass daylight. Like "hello, I clearly know your secret identity! Please don't kill me!"?

Whatever the plan? Danny is in the back row of Paulina's once nice, now beat to hell car, bleeding irresistibly damaging acidic ecto-blood all over the seats. Wrapped up like a mummy. Texting Tucker.

The live tweets from Amity are... An Event. A Spectacle for the ages. His parents KNOW now, have speed run their grief STRAIGHT to RAGE, directed that rage at the GIW, and gone to WAR. Once a Fenton, always a Fenton. Jazz was right. "Anti-ghost" sentience testing once a week DID pay off.

Was it a pain in the ass? Absolutely. But results don't lie. He clearly passed. Is clearly sentient, emotional, and their son. All in hard numbers they ran themselves. Will it stop them attack FULL ghosts? Jazz has no idea. But it sure did convince them to put the GIW in a hole and fill it with concrete.

Danny's getting reports of "you SHOT MY BABY!" Being shouted in public. Sam has decided to channel her frustration at being unable to help him into Full Goth Dramatic Shit Stirring. Non-waterproof mascara, disheveled hair. Clutching a picture of him. Dramatic howling and weeping in the arms of her parents.

Apparently now that he's presumed DEAD, the Mansons ALWAYS loved him. Like a SON to them. A sweet, innocent child. Their daughters friend! The GIW are monsters and child killers, they decry.

And the Red Huntress is... Oh, yikes. Yeah he should call her. Val is one more bad thing happening from her villian origin story. At least she... PROBABLY... has killed anyone yet. Note to self: when Danny can actually move torso again, buy Valerie soothing anti-stress...everything. All the things. She responds to stress by punching. Deliver from safe, non-punchable distance.

All in all? My Dash? Needs more Dash! Give the popular kids a chance to prove they aren't just cardboard cut outs! That they can grow beyond the roles high-school and society has pushed them into! Give them some trauma! Why only Danny? Spread the psychic damage!

@stealingyourbones @hdgnj @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #dp prompt #dash baxter

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 months

Note

oh hi big sis hru just wanted to ask for bucky making out w reader and "choking" reader? ((not really choking, just his hand on readers neck 🧜🧜 need that metal hand inside me

big sis?! AW GET OUT THATS SO CUTE!! salivating bc it’s such a delicious idea. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

VIBRANIUM NECKLACE.

bucky barnes x fem!reader — smut/ very suggestive

word count. 592

warnings. 18+ bit of a hand kink (self indulgent? no😏don’t be silly) light ‘choking’ (basically just throat holding) mdni

Picking up on hints is something Bucky does best - his prior life as a weapon coming in handy when it came to connecting dots.

But he didn't need his training when it came to you. Your clues were far from decreet.

He had noticed the recent liking you had taken to his vibranium arm - the longing glances, the touches, that look in your eye when he skims you with his metal fingers.

There was something so lewd and erotic about it: the coldness of the metal when it touched your skin or just the thought of the sheer strength he could wield with it - just knowing the amount of power he could muster and still be so gentle with it around you.

He noticed it more prominently now. Standing together in the kitchen as you prepped dinner, you on Bucky's side as he chopped the ingredients. His right hand skillfully gripping the knife, his left metal hand holding a potato, keeping it still.

You were supposed to be on peeling duty, but every time you caught a glimpse of his hands, all work got delayed, consequentially leading to him having nothing to chop. So you pass him another peeled potato, watching how he brushes your fingers in the process - his hands purposefully lingering longer than they're supposed to.

Bucky's not an idiot. He could see it clear as day: the way your ears pull back, the delayed exhale in your chest, even the dilation in your pupils. He could see it all.

You continue watching the smooth, fluid-like motion of his hands - practically ogling him as he drops the cubed produce into the saucepan. You're utterly captivated as you gawk at him, following his every move as he effortlessly glides around the kitchen - watching him place the pan onto the heat to boil.

He gives the potatoes a stir —fully aware of your stares— and turns to face you, noticing that same glimmer in your eye. He takes a step closer and presses a momentary kiss onto your lips, then pulls back, picking up on that hint of desperation across your face.

So he leans back in, kissing you again and again until it evolves into much more than a few chaste, casual kisses. All of it progressing into something hungrier, eager - heavily making out as his lower half cages you against the counter. His cock chubbing up against your lower tummy.

He tests the waters and decides to use the one thing you've been eyeing up all evening. So he teases his left hand over your shoulder, fingers steadily skimming along until he reaches that part between your collarbone and the base of your throat - a faint, whiney moan leaving your lips in the process. The soft dulcet noise muffling into his mouth.

With your silent agreement, he snakes his palm higher - fingers itching up the sides of your throat until they settled in a light, comfortable grip just below your jaw. His grasp is faint, just merely holding your throat as he deepens the kiss, groin pushing you up against the edge of the counter.

He nips on your bottom lip before pulling away slightly, both of your chests practically heaving from the desperate makeout. He grazes his thumb over your chin, itching higher to run over your bottom lip, the pad outing it slowly - his eyes following attentively.

"Don't you go anywhere," he whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips - moving away to attend to the bubbling pot.

#yonlyssguts #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky fanfic

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froggibus · 5 months

Note

hello hello! froggi i have something rotting my brain and i would love to hear your thoughts on it, but by no means is this something you have to answer!

how do you think gojo satoru and nanami kento (and anyone else you'd like to include!) would feel about having someone pack lunches for them? like real, thought out, balanced lunches in nice containers and thermoses with little drinks and maybe notes

i can already see the confused first years, yuji and nobara gossiping about whether they're dating someone and megumi being weirded out gojo isnt just buying something like the rich boy he is

Sack Lunch - Satoru Gojo, Nanami Kento & Suguru Geto

Pairing(s): Satoru Gojo x gn! reader, Nanami Kento x gn! reader, Suguru Geto x gn! reader

Genre: fluff!

Word Count: 667 (Gojo's), 685 (Nanami's), 680 (Suguru's)

Summary: a day in your s/o's life when you pack a lunch for him

CW: established relationships!, jokes about dying/being widowed (Gojo's--though they are not necessarily married), lots of cutesy stuff, Gojo acts like a child

anon you are the first person ever to call me froggi (and i kinda love it omg)!! i have not answered a request/ask in a hot minute, but this one was too cute to pass up! not sure if you wanted headcanons for this or not, but i got really carried away :') hope this is what you wanted! also i really feel strongly about Gojo having a 90s lunchbox collection that he is very proud of! - also!! the Valentine's Poll is open if you guys have any ideas of what you want for our Valentine's event this year!! you can vote here - also thank you @l0serloki for helping me with writing nanami!!

Satoru Gojo:

“Satoru!” You shake your head at the man as he slinks past the kitchen.

He pops his head in, white hair falling over his eyes. “Yes?”

“Don’t forget your lunch.”

“You made me lunch?” He coos, surging forward to pinch your cheek, “you’re so cute.”

You roll your eyes. “No one should spend as much money on food as you do.” You chastise. “And I want to make sure you don’t only eat sweets today. I can’t have you dying on me at 30.”

“Pft, I’m gonna live forever!”

You shove the metallic Sailor Moon lunchbox into his hands. “Keep eating what I make you and you just might.”

“Aw, baby,” he practically sings, “look at you, trying to take care of me.”

He playfully ruffles your hair, but upon seeing your scowl, drags his hand down to your waist. He leans in and presses a sloppy, needy kiss to your lips. You stand on your toes just to kiss him back, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

He pulls away blushing, lunchbox in hand. “I’ll see you later! Love you lots!”

You wave to him as he heads out the door, “love you too!”

Even when he gets out to his car, the grin on his face doesn’t fade. He might have teased you a little, but only because he was so honoured that you even thought to pack him a lunch. The cute Sailor Moon lunch box that totally isn’t his is only the icing on the cake.

—

Nobara and Yuji stare at Gojo in disbelief. The man has his feet propped up on his desk, whistling a song as he peels a mandarin. A mandarin. The sight of their teacher eating an actual, real fruit is jarring.

Yuji elbows Nobara gently, “has Gojo-sensei finally lost it?”

“He must have, have you ever seen him eat real food before?”

Gojo rolls his eyes behind his blindfold, popping a slice of the orange into his mouth. He listens to his first years gossip about him as he makes his way through the lunch you packed. You really outdid yourself with this one, he has to admit.

It’s all of the foods he likes, cutely displayed in pink containers that match the glittery exterior of the lunch box. You even packed him strawberry mochi, homemade and neatly bundled. There’s a note in there, too.

Please eat all your fruits and veggies, I don’t want to be a widow.

Lots of love!

Y/n

Gojo stifles his laughter at your note, but he can’t stop the flush that creeps up to his blindfold. Not only did you pack him a lunch, you wrote him a note. He can’t wait to come home to you and tell you how much he loves you.

It’s when Gojo gets up to use the bathroom that Yuji makes a mad dash to peek in his lunch box. “Sailor Moon?!”

Nobara leaps to her feet, joining Itadori at the desk. “There’s a note, look.”

Fushiguro sits at his desk, softly chewing on the sandwich that you also made for him this morning. He shakes his head at his nosy peers, wondering why they care so much about their ridiculous teacher’s life.

“From y/n?!” They cry out in unison.

“Did he steal this from someone?!” Nobara exclaims.

“Did he do something to y/n’s boyfriend?!”

The pair share their conspiracies on just how Gojo ended up with a homemade lunch and a handwritten note from you, oblivious to the way Megumi snickers at them in the back.

Finally, he can’t take it anymore. “They’re together.”

Their eyes practically pop out. “They are?!”

“Yep,” Gojo leans against the door to the classroom, smirking at his students.

“And it’s…like that?” Yuji asks quietly.

“It’s like that.” Gojo raises his eyebrows for emphasis.

All three First Years cringe, groans filling the room. Gojo smiles proudly though, already figuring out how he’s going to tell this story to you when he comes home to you.

Kento Nanami:

Nanami’s cheeks tinge pink as he makes his way to the door and sees you standing there. There’s a massive grin on your face and you’re holding a grey lunchbox in one hand and a coffee thermos in the other. Despite this being an everyday occurance, Nanami still isn’t used to it.

“I packed your lunch.”

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips, grabbing the items from your hands. He sets them on the small table just next to the door to free up his hands before immediately wrapping them around your waist. He caresses your sides gently, almost as gently as he kisses you—trying to show all his gratitude and love for you with a single gesture.

You’re flustered when he pulls away, straightening out your clothes while you find your breath once more. You watch Nanami as he grabs his lunch and coffee from the table and pulls his keys out of his pocket, clicking open the lock on the front door.

“Oh!” You call to him just before he steps out. “There’s some extra snacks in there, just in case Yuji wants them!”

His dark eyes fill with admiration, his face falling into that soft look he saves for those closest to him. “You really are the greatest.”

You giggle, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says. “Have a great day today, dear.”

“I will!” You wave at him from the door as he walks to his car. “Oh! And please don’t forget the cutlery at work again!”

“Will do!” His words are punctuated by the closing of his car door followed by the roar of the engine.

You shut the door but the grin doesn’t fall from your face. These mornings are always a highlight for you.

—

Nanami is exhausted by the time he makes it to his lunch hour. Him and Yuji had been running around all afternoon chasing some low grade curse. The second his watch beeped to indicate lunch time, Nanami was already headed to the crosswalk to head to the park across the street, Itadori in tow.

It’s a beautiful day out, the warm sun heating the wood of the park bench just enough to keep it comfortable. He has his most recent novel open on his lap, his lunchbox on the seat next to him. Yuji sits on the other side of his lunch, happily snacking on the extra things you packed for him.

“Y/n really is the best, Nanamin.” He says through a mouthful of food, “packing you all these snacks and keeping you healthy.”

Nanami offers the boy a half grin, though he’s tempted to remind him of his table manners and how rude it is to talk with food in his mouth. He takes a sip of the coffee in his thermos—still warm from this morning—and relaxes farther into the bench. You always make it just the way he likes it, no sugar and hardly any cream.

He reaches a hand into his lunchbox to grab the small container of carrot slices when his fingers graze something else. He closes his novel and leans over to examine the paper he’s just grabbed.

Hope you’re having a great lunch today, honey. Made with love

To the moon and back,

Y/n

He tries to hide his widening grin and reddening cheeks by pretending to cough into his arm, but only succeeds in drawing more attention to his flustered state.

“Are you okay?”

Nanami nods, catching his breath from his fake cough. The heat starts to fade from his face. He pulls his head out of his elbow and turns to address the boy, only for his eyes to widen in horror as he realizes the First Year is clutching the note that was just in his hand.

“Woah,” Yuji’s eyes widen. “It’s like that? You really are lucky, Nanamin.”

Nanami breathes a sigh of relief, glad it was Yuji that found the note and not Nobara or Gojo. Had they found it, he would never hear the end of it.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I am lucky.”

Suguru Geto:

Suguru is shocked when he sees you waiting for him by the door with a small, black bag in your hand. He tilts his head at you when your eyes meet his, as if asking you what you’re doing.

“I threw together a couple of things,” you explain. “For lunch.”

He’s never been cared for like this, never had anyone to pack him a lunch. A million thoughts cross his mind. Thank you, you’re the best, how’d I get so lucky? Of course, none of that comes out.

Instead, he utters a simple, “...why?”

He cringes at the sound of his own voice, bracing himself for you to be disappointed. Luckily, you don’t offend easily and your smile never wavers.

“Well, you were complaining about Satoru only ever wanting to go to sweet shops—and that you were sick of eating lunch alone, so…”

You look down to his hands, suddenly too embarrassed to face him. It felt like a great idea at the moment, but the longer Geto looks at you, the dorkier the idea feels.

Geto closes the gap between you, grabbing your hand from under the lunch box handle. “Thank you,” he mumbles against your lips, tugging you closer so he can taste you better.

Relief floods through you at his words of gratitude. You lean into the kiss, relishing in the way he feels against you.

“I really do love you, you know?” He says softly when he pulls away, the bag now hanging from his hand.

“I know.”

He looks at you expectantly, giving you the same look he does when you’re acting like a dork or giving him attitude.

“I love you too, Suguru. Now get going! I don’t want you to be late.”

He offers you a small wave before he heads out the door, wondering exactly how he’ll return the favor when he gets home.

—

Satoru stares at Suguru from across the table in the teachers lounge. Even with the blindfold on, Geto can tell the man is eyeing the food he has spread out in front of him.

Gojo raises a finger, about to open his mouth.

“Not a word, Satoru.”

His best friend chuckles, dropping his hands in surrender, and goes back to eating his pastries out of a cute pink box. Geto goes back to his own lunch. Though you claimed you just ‘threw together a few things’, he knows that’s far from the truth.

It must have taken you an hour to prepare it all, at minimum. Not only did you make his favorite meal, but you also packed him steamed, honey coated carrots, a slice of homemade banana bread, and a small thermos of his favorite roasted rice tea.

He pops open the lid of the thermos to smell it, the familiar toasty aroma filling his senses. It smells like home—like the nights where he can’t sleep and you bring him a cup of it mixed with sweet honey.

“What’s this?” Satoru snatches the lid from the desk, flipping it upside down and letting a small piece of stationary fall out.

Suguru groans, reaching desperately across the desk for the lid, only for Satoru’s jaw to fall open. He lets the paper float back down to the desk.

“What?” He demands.

Gojo offers him a teasing grin. “Y/n and Suguru, sitting in a tree….”

Geto scowls and grabs the note before Gojo can pick it up and tease him more. Any annoyance he was feeling at the fellow special grade fades away when he sees your handwriting scrawled across the paper.

Hope Satoru doesn’t give you too much trouble today. I love you so much, can’t wait to hear about your day when you get back

All the stars in the sky,

Y/n

Satoru must not see the way Suguru’s cheeks redden at the sight of the note—or if he does, he doesn’t say anything about it. Though he teases, he couldn’t be any happier for his friend as he watches him read the words on the note over and over, a growing smile on his face.

masterlist | jjk masterlist

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hunn1e-bunn1e · 5 months

Text

Ootori Kyoya - "Follow Through"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which after trying to find your assigned room at Ootori Kyoya's family beach house, you stumble upon said man's room and he teasingly offers you a risqué proposition. Or; In which a certain vice president of the Host Club is caught off guard by your seriousness in accepting his joking offer.(In this fic, you take the place of Haruhi.)

Warnings –> Mildly Suggestive!

🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠

You took him in as he held himself above you; completely unfazed by the provocative position he's put the two of you in. His dark hair is still damp, and misty droplets of water occasionally fall onto the duvet and soak into the fabric. The gaze he held was serious but somehow you could tell he was only doing this to get a reaction from you.

To pay your debt with your body...

The proposition that Kyoya had offered had come out of left field for you, and yet you still found yourself considering it. Somehow...— somehow, you didn't mind settling your debt that way, especially if it was with him. You certainly found him attractive and this could be your opportunity to stake your claim on him.

In thought, you raise your arms to gently run your hands up his toned chest; snaking them around his neck after your hands find his shoulders. You humm, running your index and middle fingers down the length of his spine, pulling an involuntary shiver from the man above you. Kyoya squeezed his eyes shut at the pleasant feeling, still awaiting your reaction.

"...Alright. Do you want to do it now?"

You muttered quietly, tightening your hold on him as you absent-mindedly toy with the shorter locks of hair at his nape.

You could feel him freeze under your touch; whether in shock or confusion, you did not know. His dark eyes snap open and lock with your own; they're wide and filled with an inner turmoil completely unknown to you. All you offer him is your own gaze; eyes half-lidded as you peel back his complex layers with only a look. Kyoya looked as though he couldn't even speak; the witty remarks he could've offered seemingly vanished from his mind.

"I— What?"

The bespectacled boy choked out; unable to hide just how far he'd been taken aback.

His brows furrowed as he reopened his eyes; searching your face for any sign that you're just messing with him. Brownish-grey eyes crinkled at the corners as he tried to wrap his head around just how his little joke turned into something so potentially serious.

"You'll have to take it slow with me, okay? I'm not very experienced in things like this."

You purr at him, looking up with hooded eyes that coax him to relax and fall into you.

Kyoya is still; unmoving as he stares into your eyes, unable to look away. In some sense, he's in awe of you. How you can be so bold and direct in what you want amazes him to the point that he finds it annoying. Annoying but oh-so-attractive. Your chuckling brings him from his headspace; reality fades back into view.

His naked back is against the damp duvet and your soft hand is resting on his stomach. You're standing now; looking down on him with a sort of amused softness. After a few soft pats from your hand, you turn and make your way to his bedroom door.

"You shouldn't make suggestions that you can't follow through on, my dear."

Those are the words that you left him with.

🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠•♡•🌠

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

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ahqkas · 2 days

Note

Y’know how doe eyes are suppose to be cute and when you stare at someone with doe eyes they look so cute? But what mattheo had a partner who had those doe eyes but instead of cute aura and stare. It’s an actual unsettling stare like from an angle their stare look darken and it kinda gives Mattheo a shiver. A bad and good one

-🍕

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

MATTHEO RIDDLE WASN’T EASILY UNNERVED. he thrived in the shadows, embraced the darker side of his family name, and found a strange comfort in the eerie silence of the dungeons. yet, there was one thing that could send a shiver down his spine — a single look from his partner's doe eyes.

your eyes were large and innocent, framed by long lashes that should have given you a sweet, almost naïve appearance. at first glance, you appeared harmless, radiating a charm that many found endearing. but mattheo had come to learn that your gaze held an unsettling power, something that lingered between the realms of innocence and something far darker.

it was during one of those late-night study sessions in the slytherin common room that he first noticed it. the firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows across the walls as you sat across from him, engrossed in your potions textbook. he had been watching you, a soft smile playing on his lips, when you suddenly looked up, your eyes locking with his.

for a moment, time seemed to freeze. the warmth of the room faded into the background, replaced by an inexplicable chill that ran down his spine. your eyes, wide and seemingly innocent, bore into his with an intensity that was almost predatory. it was as if you could see right through him, peeling back the layers of his soul to expose his deepest fears and desires to you.

a shiver, both good and bad, ran through him. it was a sensation he couldn't quite place — part fear, part fascination. your stare was magnetic, drawing him in even as it unsettled him. he found himself unable to look away, trapped in the depths of your gaze.

"mattheo, are you alright?" your voice broke the silence between the two of you, snapping him back to reality. the concern in your tone was genuine, yet there was a subtle undercurrent that kept him on edge.

he shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering unease. "yeah, i’m fine," he replied, his voice a bit strained. "just got lost in my thoughts for a moment."

you smiled, a small, gentle curve of your lips that did little to reassure him. "you should focus on your studies," you said softly, returning to your book.

as the weeks passed, mattheo became acutely aware of your unsettling stare. it haunted him during the day and lingered in his dreams at night. he found himself torn between the instinctual urge to flee and an irresistible pull that kept drawing him back to you.

one evening, as you both sat by the black lake, the moonlight casting a silvery glow over the water, you turned to him with those eyes again. this time, the darkness in your gaze seemed even more pronounced, sending another shiver through him. he reached out, almost without thinking, and cupped your face in his hands.

"your eyes," he whispered, his voice a mix of awe and trepidation. "they're . . . something else."

you leaned into his touch, your gaze never wavering. "do they frighten you, mattheo?" a hint of challenge was present in your voice.

the boy swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your stare. "they do," he admitted quietly. “but they also draw me in. i can't explain it."

"maybe that's because you see something in them that others don't. something that mirrors a part of you."

mattheo didn't respond, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. all he knew was that despite the unsettling nature of your gaze, he couldn't stay away. it was a paradox he was willing to embrace, even if it meant confronting the darker parts of himself reflected in your doe eyes.

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bloodlust-1 · 6 months

Note

I think your writing it beautiful! I think you'd write Gale's inter struggle excellently. Him wrestling with feelings for Tav before confessing or pursuing them properly. Because guilt and the orb and they're supposed to be focusing on the mission and the tadpole and the timing is awful. I think the softness you've given him would lend really well to that.

Thank you anon <3 and Yes! Ofc. Gale battling to keep his feelings subtle, but its unapologetically obvious to everyone around him expect himself.

⊱Is this love⊰

Gale x fem Tav — fluff, angst

Summary: Gale tried to be subtle, he totally wasn’t looking at Tav. But when she catches him, it triggered an array of emotions he battled within himself.

Notes: this was a request, so I hope you like this anon<3 (also merry Christmas Eve!)

Short and sweet

Gale had his nose buried in a book, but was he really reading? Nope! In truth, the book in his hands was nothing more than a shield, a way for him to keep a watchful eye on Tav as she chatted with Shadowheart at her tent. He was so focused on Tav that he could've missed a world-changing plot twist on the page in front of him.

Sweaty palms clutched the oversized book tightly. Gale kept his gaze down, desperately trying to be subtle about the fact that he was staring at her. Their time in the weave together echoed in his mind and he felt an intense heat rising up within him.

How could she think of them kissing? Gale never even dreamed of it. Now, she was barely giving him the time of day, as if she hadn't just brought up the thought of them sharing a romantic moment. He felt so confused, embarrassed, and flustered.

Gale didn't exactly hate the idea of her lips. Actually, he noticed just how plump they were and what it would be like to kiss them.

He cussed himself under his breath. This was no time for love. Feeling guilty, it only resurfaced old heartbreak with Mystra. How he craved to be better than the man he used to be.

Gale nervously bit down on his lower lip, slowly peeling away the skin as his mind raced. Did he say something wrong? Did he scare her away with his burdens? Or the orb that cursed him? He reasoned that she was someone he could trust, but he couldn't ignore the fact that Tav was incredibly attractive. She was exactly his type.

STEALTH CHECK: FAILED.

As Gale lowered his book to peek another look, his soft brown eyes were met with another pair. He jumped back with a small gasp and clutched his book like it was the last thing on earth. His face instantly burned red from embarrassment.

"Hey Gale," Tav said, trying to sound casual. She placed a hand on her hip and raised her eyebrow with a knowing smirk. "I saw you back there. Are you okay?"

Tav paused, studying Gale's reaction. She thought he was a nerdy-nice guy, but his lingering gaze towards Shadowheart made her heart sink a bit. Taking a deep breath, she continued.

"Listen, if you like Shadowheart, I'm willing to make a deal with you. Let's just forget about what happened the other night." She flashed him a reassuring smile, hoping to salvage any bond between them.

Gale exhaled a heavy sigh of relief, feeling as if he had just survived a heart attack. His body relaxed a little as Tav spoke, causing his eyes to widen in contradiction. "I assure you," he blurted out in a teacher-like tone,

"I was not looking at Shadowheart." Gale's mouth moved faster than his brain could keep up with, and he quickly realized he had just let the cat out of the bag. As his words hung in the air, a wave of embarrassment washed over him. He had unintentionally confessed something he had been trying to keep secret.

"Oh-" Tav's eyes widened as the realization hit her, letting out a small gasp, "Oh!" Before she cracked a nervous, flustered smile, her cheeks flushing a soft shade of red. "I uhm...wow." she chuckled, crossing her arms and rubbing the side of her arm in shyness, "What a relief.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck! What was he doing?

Gale nervously ran his fingers along the spine of the book, trying to keep his hands busy. He cleared his throat before speaking, his voice soft and apologetic. "I'm sorry. I tend to get carried away with my words. Please forgive me for my blabbering mouth."

Tav smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with something Gale couldn't quite put his finger on. Her cheeks had a rosy hue to them that made his heart skip a beat. Was it possible that she felt the same way he did?

His knees grew weak as he heard her say, "It's quite okay, I don't mind at all." He could hardly believe it - was it really okay with her? Could she feel the same way he did?

A wave of guilt crashed over Gale as he thought of his past heartbreak. It was an unfamiliar territory with Tav, but also strangely invigorating. His heart raced and he felt a renewed sense of importance - something he had been missing for far too long. Gale couldn't deny that he was enjoying the feeling of being wanted and desired. Something Mystra had been revoking from him for so long.

Gale smiled shyly and looked down at the ground, unable to meet Tav's gaze. She brought the heavens to the earth realm in a way he never thought possible - her presence made his old, rusty heart start to move again and he couldn't deny the pleasure it brought. But at the same time, it scared him to open up his heart after so long, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for it. Or how to even fix himself to be better for her.

Tav's infectious giggle and lighthearted teasing echoed in the air as she remarked, "You're welcome to stare all you want, but I would much rather have your company than distant looks." She winked and intertwined her hands together, clasping them in front of her body before flashing a soft, knowing grin.

Tav slowly backed away, her gaze never straying from Gale's puppy eyes. With a final, lingering look, Tav disappeared to her tent, her graceful sway still lingering in the air.

Gale couldn't help but be drawn to her beauty, mesmerized by the gentle sway of her hips and the peacefulness of her aura. He let out a soft breath of admiration as he mouthed the word 'wow'.

His thoughts trailed off as he wondered to himself: Have I already fallen for her? He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a flutter of nerves in his stomach. Even with this tadpole, Tav made it so hard to concentrate on the mission.

Yes, he was already in love and it consumed all his guilty feelings into something happier. His heart was light for Tav. How he wished to properly pursue Tav without this dammed tadpole.

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

#bg3 tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 fluff #tav x gale #gale bg3 #gale fic #gale fanfic #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #gale romance #gale x reader #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale x oc #request

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luveline · 2 years

Note

jade roan being jealous of eddie cause reader is taking care of eddie on a sick day, i know youre working on halloween reqs but i just cant get this off my mind 😭😭 hope you do this after the celebration 💗

thank you for your request! roan being jealous / sad because you're being really sweet on her dad and leaving her out :( ♡ dad!eddie x fem!reader | 1.8k words

"Hello, Mr. Munson," you say quietly, unsurprised to find Eddie exactly where you'd left him.

"Roan?" he asks hoarsely.

You want to ask something sarcastic, like No, why? Have I shrunk? But he's really pitifully ill, so you answer his implied question without any wit. "She had to pee. I thought she was gonna wet herself in the car, she couldn't stop wiggling."

"Told her she has to stop holding it, she'll," — Eddie coughs, a crunchy, awful sound — "hurt herself."

"I know," you murmur, raking a limp curl away from his weathered face. You know pretty much everything there is to know about Roan at this point, and near enough the same about him.

You kiss his cheek and linger there. You love taking care of him because he's yours, but you miss your healthy, present Eddie too. Poor guy's been sick for almost a week now, and while Roan has helped out endlessly by being on her best behaviour, you need him to keep the ship afloat. Thankfully, he seems to be in the recovery process, and his fever's been gone for days.

"You feeling any better?"

"I feel awesome," he says, dropping a heavy arm around your back.

You take his face into both hands. You'd worried he'd make you sick too at first but whatever it is he has he's yet to pass on. You figure if it was catching you would've felt it by now, and you can't say you care too much when you steal a kiss. He tries his very best to reciprocate, his exhale hot as it fans over your top lip.

He peels his dry eyes open as you pull away, and you remind yourself to get him a hot towel or a tea tincture, something to ease the soreness.

"You're on the up and up, handsome," you say.

Eddie's never been sick like this while you've been together. Colds and the flu when you have a kid as young as Roan are a given; you've both fallen victim to her runny noses and sore throats a thousand times. They're easy enough to work through, especially when Eddie makes his lemon and honey tea. But this sickness, a virus, has had Eddie up against the wall. He's really worried you.

He can see it on your face.

"I'm actually feeling way better," he says, sounding extremely like himself despite the undertone of scratchiness to his voice. "Got a damn good nurse looking after me."

Roan's footsteps echo up the stairs. You don't turn to look at her as she enters the bedroom, hand stroking sweet, shaky lines down his stubbly cheeks.

"Hey, Roanie," he says, shifting so he can see her from behind you. "D'you have a good day at school? Come and tell us."

"Daddy!" she cheers, climbing up onto the bed and walking across it. Eddie pulls her skirt out of her tights where she's accidentally tucked it in, almost losing an arm as she collapses into his side.

"Roan," you chide gently, "be nice, baby, your dad's still fragile."

Eddie wraps his arm around, sending you a very grateful look as he says, "It's okay, I didn't like that arm very much anyway. Now c'mon, I wanna hear all about it. Did Stacy K remember her show and tell?"

Roan starts to recount the day's events, little legs tucked under her knees and the top of her body draped over Eddie's chest. You keep a selfish hand on the very edge of his face, thumb petting his cheek. After a short few minutes his eyes start to droop. He tightens his arm around Roan and rubs her back, her soft cardigan bunching up under his hand.

"Baby, I'm still feeling icky, okay? Maybe you can tell me the rest later?" he mumbles, hand slowing.

"You can tell me double," you offer distractedly, frowning at Eddie's unhappy face. He doesn't look peaceful anymore, he looks tired. Ragged.

"Okay," Roan says, kissing Eddie's cheek three times in a row. You can't tell if she's upset by his lack of attention. She doesn't look upset, but she can be surprisingly deceptive.

She slides off of the bed. Her steps stop at the door. "Mom?" she asks.

You beam at Eddie's dozing face and give his slack cheek another quick kiss.

"What?" you ask Roan, turning away from her dad with a smile. Everytime she calls you 'mom' it makes your day, and today is no exception.

"Can we have spaghetti shapes?"

You squeeze Eddie's arm before you stand and meet her in the doorway, looking down at her mini features with a fond smile. "Yeah, we can have spaghetti shapes. They had princess one's in Bradley's," you say, suddenly excited as you remember.

"Really?"

"Mm. But there's spongebob if you want those ones instead."

Roan takes your hand and starts to pull you toward the steps. "Princess ones, duh! Please."

You watch Eddie's face until you can't, following Roan down the stairs and into the kitchen.

You love how it's started to look as much like her and Eddie's kitchen than just your own. Her drawings and certificates litter the fridge, a family portrait pride of place and secured with upwards of five magnets so it doesn't fall off. There's sugary cereal across the top of the bread cabinet and a safety catch on the drawer with all the batteries. Cartoon characters are everywhere — on plates, spoons, Roan's placemat, and the spaghetti shapes themselves. You crack open a can and place a pan over the burner.

"What do you want with them, princess? A dinner roll?"

She wraps herself around your legs. "Two dinner rolls."

"Yeah? You must be hungry from all the running around this morning."

When you'd dropped her off, her and her friend Jordan had decided they needed to run a race around the playground. You'd cheered from the sidelines.

"Can you pick me up?" she whines.

You drop the wooden spoon you'd been stirring her spaghetti with into the pan and look down at her pleading pout. "Aw, yeah, I'm sorry."

You pick her up and find her head quickly buried in your neck. She's almost as warm as the stovetop. You work your hand against her head and feel her temperature, concerned for a moment.

"I thought maybe you were sick like daddy, then, but you feel okay," you say softly, stroking curls back from her face. She's started hiding behind her hair like her dad more often. "Come out, I wanna see your lovely face."

Roan lifts her chin.

"That's what your dad said to me when we met. I'd never heard that word before I met you," you tell her.

"What word?"

"'Lovely,'" you say.

She smiles with you for a couple of seconds but then it falters, and she looks at your necklace instead. A gift from her and her dad for mother's day. You'd cried for hours.

"What's the matter?" you ask, eyebrows pinching together.

"Nothing."

You readjust your grip on her hips and lean back against the counter to stop from dropping her. She's getting heavier every single day.

"Are you sure? You can tell me."

Roan shrugs. It's adorable, though her next words are heartbreaking. "I don't know," she admits.

"Are you feeling sick?"

She shakes her head but won't look at you. You hold onto her tight and wait for her to continue, if she's even going to, the clock on the wall ticking in the quiet, the smell of spaghetti sauce sticky in your nose.

"Are you sad about something? Did you… have an accident?"

She shakes her head again. "No, I didn't. It's 'coz… I feel bad."

"But not sick?"

"Not sick."

"Oh no," you murmur, biting the inside of your bottom lip as her small face crumples. "Please tell me, Ro. I don't mind what it is, I promise."

"I feel bad," she says again. "I miss dad."

You feel your eyebrows jump. It makes sense for her to miss him, he's hardly awake when she's been home and they haven't had much time together all week. It's a sudden change. You feel very guilty very quickly for not realising it.

"I'm sorry," you tell her genuinely.

"I miss you, too. We don't have our hug after school now."

Your guilt amplifies by a thousand. You haven't been spending that time with her after school, too busy checking on your bed bound partner.

"Aw, Roan, I'm sorry, I've just been so worried about daddy, I didn't mean to forget."

"You've been giving daddy hugs," she says insistently.

You lean back further to take in her face. Her cheeks are red with blush, whether that be blood rush from embarrassment or injustice, you're unsure. She's frowning at your chin, eyes flicking up to meet yours. When she realises you're watching her she looks away and starts wiggling to be put down again.

"Roan, it's okay," you start, arms crossing over her back. You angle your face to get her attention, holding her gaze. Pretty brown eyes edged in dark, long eyelashes like her dad's. "It's okay, bub. Don't wriggle, I wanna talk to you. Can I talk to you?"

She pouts some more. You pout back, bringing a hand up to the back of her head.

"I'm sorry I haven't been giving you as much attention as you dad this week," you say. You want to explain how hard it's been to handle everything by yourself, but you don't think it's the kind of thing she should ever have to worry about. "I'm really sorry, Roan, daddy's been so sick that I've been thinking about him all the time when I needed to be thinking about you too. I didn't mean to make you feel bad." Feel bad, feel jealous, feel upset by your redirected affection. "I love you so much. I didn't mean to forget our hugs, but it's okay if you're mad."

Her spirits are lifted pretty swiftly after that. "We can hug again when daddy's not sick?" she asks.

"We can hug right now!" you say urgently, carding your hand through her hair.

"On the couch?"

"Yeah, princess, on the couch. You can even eat your dinner on it if you promise not to tell dad."

"You'll eat dinner with me?" she asks, suspicious.

No tricks. "I promise."

She smiles, a mirror image of her dad and all his mischief and her relief clear. "Okay, good, because I missed you and Teddy missed you and I didn't getta tell you about the rabbit we saw at school today. It was this big and it had pink eyes."

You smile at her, a mixture of love and guilt. You're lucky to have a daughter like her, forgiving and patient, and you're lucky her dad did such an amazing job at making her that way. Rest assured, you won't forget your after school hugs again, even if Eddie's two bad coughs from the ER.

He appears an hour later to find you snuggled up on the couch, jealous and petty about it as he slots himself between you both. You and Roan hold hands over his chest. Munson cuddle piles are the best.

more eddie and roan

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #dad!eddie munson x reader #dad!eddie munson #eddie and roan #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #kid fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fandom

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brbsoulnomming · 8 months

Text

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 21

-----

He doesn't tell Steve.

There hasn't been a chance to tell Steve, he reasons with himself.

Steve comes back with Robin and Dustin, and has somehow also acquired Lucas and Max. Not long after, Nancy comes by with Mike and El.

He does actually try to hide with Steve in the kitchen while Steve puts together some kind of chicken noodle casserole, but apparently the check in tonight includes how talking with his uncle went, so Eddie has to be too actively involved with it to get a chance to get Steve alone.

By the time everyone's gone, Eddie's exhausted, and he needs to lean on both Robin and Steve to make his way back upstairs.

They've only just made it when the doorbell rings.

Steve groans. "What do those little shits want now?"

Robin laughs at him. "They're your children, Steve," she teases, wrapping an arm around Eddie's waist in preparation for Steve peeling off from them.

Eddie bumps her hip with his, shooting a little grin at her. "You're on shithead wrangling duty tonight," he informs Steve as he and Robin continue on to the bedroom.

"I'm always on shithead wrangling duty," Steve grumbles to himself, but he does head back downstairs.

Eddie assumes one of the party forgot something, and doesn't really think too much of it as he drops down onto the bed, watching Robin start adjusting the pillows.

Or at least, he doesn't think too much of it until he hears Steve call up the stairs.

"Hey, babe? Have you seen Munson hanging around the kids recently?"

Robin freezes, looking at him wide eyed, and Eddie's pretty sure he's holding himself just as still.

Not one of the hoard.

"Stay here," Robin whispers, like Eddie had any intention of doing otherwise.

"Did we join the neighborhood watch or something?" Robin yells back as she heads out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Eddie waits, trying not to vibrate out of his own skin.

Jesus Christ, he's so fucking tired of hiding and waiting.

Fortunately, it's only a few minutes later that Steve and Robin come back, and they look… unhappy, but not terribly panicked.

"It was Jason Carver and the only two lackeys he's got left," Robin says.

Eddie breathes out, relaxing just a little. Not ideal, but better than the police.

"One of them saw your uncle driving away from here with Dustin," Robin continues. "They asked about you, but I think they were just fishing."

"Great," Eddie mutters, flopping back dramatically on the bed. "Should've called me the freak, make it sound like you're on their side."

Steve snorts. "I don't want them to think we're on their side."

Which is sweet, but - "It doesn't matter what they think, Stevie, I'd still know you guys were on my side no matter what you said."

"Aw, Eddie," Robin says, and Eddie looks up at her just in time to see her plop down on the bed next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He tips his head away, trying to hide his flush.

"It's not that," Steve says. "If they think we're on their side, it opens us up to having them come around more. They'll loop us into things, sure, which wouldn't have been bad for knowing their next moves, but they'll expect things from us. It's a bad idea when you're hiding here. Plus…"

He trails off, considering, and he's quiet until Robin makes a little hum of encouragement.

"I think Jason's too far gone," he says finally. "But Andy and Eric? They're not as convinced. If I treat this like it's stupid, like there's nothing here and they're wasting my time, like it's boring, they might start to reconsider sticking with Jason on this."

Oh.

"King Steve, huh?" Eddie asks quietly.

Steve shrugs one shoulder, a little too careless. "It's not like I don't still know how to navigate all of that. It just doesn't matter anymore. Everything it means, it's just… pointless."

Eddie looks over at Robin, to find her looking just as contemplative as he feels. Robin looks back at him, and yeah, he's pretty sure she's thinking the same thing he is.

They scoot apart at the exact same time.

"Come here," Robin says, as Eddie reaches out and makes grabby hands at him.

Steve looks between them, giving a little crooked smile, then he kicks off his shoes and climbs up onto the bed, settling in the middle of the two of them.

Robin pillows her head on Steve's chest, and Eddie squishes in so he can rest his own head on Steve's shoulder. Eventually, they'll have to get up and get ready for bed, reconfigure themselves into their usual sleeping arrangement, but for now?

For now, this is perfect.

—

Eddie's surprised to find he feels good when he wakes up, despite overdoing it the day before.

Knowing that his uncle is safe, that he isn't out there worrying over Eddie - or hating him - is like a massive weight off his chest, makes it a little easier to breathe.

He lets the good mood carry him through getting up and helping make breakfast, refusing to let himself get bogged down in everything he hasn't worked out yet.

Robin is completely on board, it seems, and she and Eddie make a nuisance of themselves while Steve tries to resist getting caught up with them.

A losing battle, when both Eddie and Robin are so determined to distract him. It means some of their pancakes burn while Steve throws chocolate chips at them and they have a competition over whether Robin or Eddie can catch the most of them in their mouths, but it makes Steve laugh and Robin shriek happily whenever she gets a few in a row, so it's worth it.

Eddie likes a little charcoal taste with his breakfast food, anyway, and syrup covers almost anything.

Literally.

Both he and Robin have syrup in their hair, though Robin's is way more obvious, and she bitches at him as she wolfs down her pancakes before heading upstairs to shower.

It's just him and Steve, then, sitting on the ground in front of the coffee table, half eaten pancakes still on their plates, and Eddie feels too good to want to mess this up with any kind of talking.

"She's just trying to get out of helping clean up," Steve grumbles, but he's still smiling, and the morning sun lights him up all golden and gorgeous.

"Wishing you thought of that first, huh, pretty boy?" Eddie teases, all wide smiles and the same reckless thrill he'd gotten hot wiring the camper for Steve to drive.

Steve's smile doesn't slip, his expression doesn't go pinched, but because Eddie's so close to him - because he keeps being close to him, keeps greedily memorizing everything he can about him, his soulmate - he sees the way something shutters in his eyes.

Shit.

Did he push too far, this time? Eddie pulls back, falling hard into straight teasing and away from playful flirting. "Ah, I see His Majesty does not favor being compared to a fair maiden, my mistake. Perhaps he'll forgive-"

Steve is shaking his head, though, cutting him off with, "That's not it."

Eddie raises one eyebrow, a silent invitation to continue.

"It's just - it's always an insult. Like come on, pretty boy, let's see what you've got or wow, it's a good thing you're so pretty, Steve. I know you don't mean it like that, I do, but it's not a compliment when people usually say it, you know?"

Oh.

"I wouldn't know," Eddie says, mostly to buy himself some time to figure out how to really respond to that. "Pretty's not usually something people call me, insult or otherwise."

Now Steve's expression goes pinched, brows drawn down like he's personally offended, and whoops, nope, he can't let Steve go off on that tangent.

"No pretty boy, then," Eddie says hurriedly. "You don't like it, I won't say it."

Steve blinks at him, a little thrown. "…just like that?"

"Just like that," Eddie agrees. "Steve - you don't owe me an explanation about anything, you know that, right? I'll listen if you want to give me one, and it'll probably help me understand, but if I do something that you don't like, you can just tell me, and I'll stop."

Steve considers that for a moment. "I like - this," he says, gesturing between them. "I didn't want you to think I wanted you to stop all of it."

Both of Eddie's eyebrows shoot up this time. Yeah, he kind of figured Steve liked the banter and teasing thing they have going on, or else he wouldn't have continued it, but he didn't expect Steve to flat out acknowledge it.

"All of this is just me being my obnoxious self," Eddie points out, because he can't just leave well enough alone.

Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah," he says simply. "I like that."

Oh god, Eddie can feel his cheeks heat up, and he ducks his head and hides behind his hair so he doesn't have to look at Steve.

Forget the demobats, his stupid soulmate is going to be the death of him.

"There's plenty of other words besides pretty, anyway," he says, once he's reasonably sure he can nail playful teasing again without sounding flustered. "I'm just going to take this as a challenge to find them."

"Please don't," Steve says dryly, but Eddie can see how hard he's fighting not to smile, and he knows he has him.

"Whatever you say, beautiful," Eddie replies, batting his eyelashes at him.

Steve's ears go a little pink, and oh, that's still just as nice as the first time Eddie saw it. It only makes him latch onto his dumb plan even harder.

"Shut up." Steve shoves him.

"No," Eddie replies, so fucking delighted he can't help but grin all wide and gleaming. "My soulmate's so fucking beautiful it makes me want to weep, look at you."

The pink on Steve's ears deepens, and he gives Eddie a look that is probably supposed to be venomous, but his eyes are gleaming with affection and it only makes him more attractive.

And this is - everything that Eddie's ever wanted, everything that he thinks he could actually have if he asked. After the butterflies, he's more than pretty sure that Steve wants Eddie the same way that Eddie wants him, and more than that - he thinks Steve is brave enough to go for it, even with how messy and complicated things might be.

It's just that Eddie isn't.

He knows he has to stop this, knows he needs to pull back and stop fucking flirting, because it feels like this is it, this is the thing that's leading them both to something else, and god, he can't do something else.

But he can't seem to make himself stop.

Not when Steve keeps looking at him, and Eddie is starting to be able to read him well enough to recognize what these looks mean. He knows that with the way the glint in Steve's eyes has sharpened and the corner of his mouth half turned up, he's thinking of something that Eddie'd probably brushed past and thought he'd successfully deflected. He knows that Steve's about to open his mouth and prove that nope, he still remembers that and he isn't letting that go and -

"Do you mind being called pretty?" Steve asks.

Fuck.

"No," Eddie's saying before his brain catches up with him. "I mean, like I said, wouldn't know. But no, I don't mind it. In theory."

Steve twists a little, upper body turning so he can look at him headlong instead of from the side, planting his hand on the ground for balance - so close to Eddie that if he leaned just a little, he could brush Steve's arm. Steve's other arm is resting on his propped up knee, loose and relaxed. It's stupid, how effective that is, how it opens Steve up to him and creates a little barrier from the rest of the world with his body, like Eddie's got all of Steve's attention now and he's shutting out the rest of the world.

"You are really pretty, Eds," Steve says.

It should sound smooth and practiced. Eddie tries to remind himself that it's a fucking line, that Steve's probably said it to dozens of girls, but when Steve says it now it comes out a little breathy and quiet and so fucking earnest that Eddie's throat closes up.

"I'm sorry that everyone's been too stupid to notice it, or not brave enough to tell you." It sounds just as genuine, and fuck, the way Steve is looking at him. "I'm more sorry that I used to be one of them."

Eddie swallows. "But you're not now?"

"I'm not now," Steve agrees.

Is he closer? Eddie's pretty sure he's leaned in closer, and the hand Steve's got on his knee twitches like he's thinking about reaching in to touch Eddie - maybe Eddie's own knee, maybe he's going to cup his chin and hold him steady as he -

The doorbell rings.

"Fuck," Eddie swears.

Steve's eyes dart toward the stairs, like he's considering going to get Robin out of the shower to answer the door with him again, then he exhales sharply and shakes his head.

"Hide," Steve says.

"Where?" Eddie asks, his heart still pounding, though for an entirely different reason now.

"Anywhere. No, wait, not the kitchen, just - don't tell me where, just go, somewhere I can't see you," Steve replies.

Eddie pushes himself up, darting down the hall to the double doors that have always been closed, and ducks inside them. It's an office, the smell of old leather and dust heavy in the air. He considers leaving the door open a crack so he can hear, but he doesn't want to be too obvious, so instead he just presses himself up against the wood when it's closed so he can try to hear through it.

It's muffled, but he can just pick up the sound of Steve opening the door, an indistinct conversation, and then footsteps down the hall.

"How do you take it?" he can hear Steve asking from the kitchen.

"Just cream, thanks," one voice says, followed by a second saying, "Cream and two sugars."

There's the sound of dishes clanking around.

"Thanks for letting me know," Steve says. "Like I said, I haven't been out of the house yet this morning. Had kind of a late night with my soulmate - she's up in the shower now."

"Do you have any idea who might have done this?" the first voice asks, and Eddie recognizes it now - Chief Powell.

Shit.

"I don't want to put blame on anyone without evidence," Steve says, his voice a little reluctant like yeah, he does have an idea - giving them something to press him for.

The other voice, the one Eddie's guessing is Callahan, immediately jumps on it. "But you do have an idea?"

Steve sighs. "Jason Carver was here last night. I think he's pissed at me for talking in the town meeting, and he kept insisting that I must have been, like, hypnotized into Eddie Munson's cult or something."

"…but you haven't, right?" Callahan asks.

Steve snorts, and Eddie can just picture the bitchy look that he's making. "Come on, really? Eddie Munson leading a cult? The guy failed Zoology because he felt bad dissecting frogs."

That's not completely why, but Eddie can still feel his cheeks heating up. He hadn't known Steve remembered that.

"Look, I feel for him, but Carver wants someone to blame, and it kind of seems like he doesn't care who that is." Steve's voice dips a little lower. "I knew Patrick and Chrissy, you know? Patrick was a good guy, a great basketball player, and Chrissy was nice to everyone. They deserve better, they deserve real justice. I just think Carver should keep his nose out of it and leave the investigating up to the actual professionals."

"Hear, hear," Callahan says, sounding pleased.

It must have not been a lie, but Eddie's pretty sure Callahan and Powell aren't the professionals Steve means.

"Did the neighbors say they saw anyone?" Steve asks.

"Not last night, but they did mention you have quite a few people coming and going," Powell says. "You know who they might mean?"

Steve hums thoughtfully. "Robin Buckley, my soulmate, she's here most days. Nancy Wheeler and her brother are over a lot. Jon Byers, he's visiting from California, and he usually comes with his friend Argyle and his little brother and sister. Lucas Sinclair, he's on the basketball team? And his soulmate Max. Then there's Dustin Henderson, I still babysit him sometimes when his mom's working late. I think it makes her feel better, you know, with everything going on."

"Checks out," Callahan says. "So, are you thinking you want to press charges if we find out it was Carver?"

Steve's quiet for a moment. "No," he says finally. "I meant what I said about feeling for him. Just, maybe talk to his parents? Before he goes too far and does something stupid he can't go back from."

"Good man," Callahan says. "Thanks for the coffee, this is way better than the crap we get at the station."

"Let me make you a thermos to go," Steve offers.

There's more clanking, then the sound of footsteps walking away - though only one pair.

"You don't happen to know where Eddie Munson might be, do you?" Powell asks.

Eddie holds his breath, suddenly and ridiculously afraid that if he even breathes too loud, Powell will know.

"Honestly, I have no idea where he is right now," Steve says.

Powell hums. "If you do see him…"

"Yeah, sure, I'll tell him you're looking for him," Steve says.

"And tell him he's not our top suspect anymore," Powell adds. "We just want to ask him a few questions."

"Sure," Steve says again.

There's a long silence.

"We'll talk to the Carvers," Powell promises, and then Eddie can hear footsteps receding.

The front door closes, locks, but Eddie still waits until he hears clanging in the kitchen again before he steps out.

He finds Steve setting a pair of cups in the dishwasher, a new pot of coffee percolating in the maker.

"Hey," Eddie says.

Steve closes the dishwasher, looking up at him. "You hear any of that?"

"Some," Eddie admits. "What did Carver do?"

Steve breathes out, forearms braced against the kitchen island as he leans forward. "Keyed up my car, smashed my tail lights in. Spray painted a little message on the driveway."

Fuck.

Eddie has to get moving, way too full of nervous energy, so he makes his way over to the cabinet to take out another mug. "What did it say?"

"Does it matter?" Steve asks, sounding tired.

Eddie slams the cabinet door shut. "What did it say."

Steve's quiet, and when Eddie turns around, he finds him looking at him far too closely.

"What?" Eddie demands.

"Eddie," Steve says, pushing himself up to come stand next to him.

Despite himself, Eddie finds some of the tension bleeding out of him. "What?" he asks, softer this time.

"You're my soulmate. Okay? You're my soulmate. It could have said anything, and I wouldn't care. He could do it again, with something else, and I'll be pissed, but I won't regret having you here."

Eddie closes his eyes, rocking back to lean against the kitchen counter. "Stop knowing what I'm upset about before I do," he mutters.

Steve huffs out a little laugh. "No."

"What does it say?" Eddie asks again.

"Traitor," Steve replies.

Eddie snorts.

"Yeah," Steve says.

They're quiet for a moment, and Eddie listens to the sound of the coffee hissing.

"I'm going to turn myself in," Eddie says after a while.

"What? No."

Eddie opens his eyes. "Come on, Steve. If I don't - do you really think Carver is going to stop now? What if he decides just to break in here, huh? What if I can't hide quick enough next time?"

Steve jaw sets, and Eddie can tell he isn't happy about it, but he can't seem to think of a good counter argument. "Then I'm going with you."

Eddie grimaces, but yeah, he'd been expecting that, and he pulls out his trump card. "Only if Robin agrees."

Unfortunately, Robin agrees.

He frowns at her in utter betrayal while Steve gets El to put Hopper on the walkie and gives him a rundown of what happened.

Robin shrugs at him. "You should know by now that Steve's never going to let himself be sidelined when someone he cares about decides to throw themselves off the bench."

"You two and your sports metaphors," Eddie grumbles, but he has to admit - at least to himself - that she's right.

If they tried to stop Steve, he'd probably find a way to come anyway.

Hopper agrees to meet with Murray again today, then come over tomorrow to make a plan for the actual going to the police station part, and Eddie trudges upstairs to call his uncle at the hotel.

Uncle Wayne doesn't like it, Eddie can tell, but like Steve, he can't think of an argument good enough to beat Eddie's, so he just agrees to meet them here tomorrow, too, and makes Eddie promise not to do anything until they all agree on a plan.

Eddie really wishes that he could just get this over with, now that he's decided he's going to do it, but unfortunately, they all have a point.

So he just takes his own shower, gets the syrup out of his hair as best as he can, and tries not to be pissy about more fucking waiting.

When he gets out of the bathroom - Steve's sitting on the bed, clearly waiting for him.

"Hi," Steve says. "Can we talk?"

Shit.

Eddie swallows. "Now?"

"I don't want to keep waiting, man, especially not if we're doing this tomorrow," Steve says.

And yeah, okay, Eddie can't really protest that, so he just nods, sitting on the bed next to Steve.

"It's just - I'm really, really into you," Steve says, his voice soft and low and his eyes warm and earnest. "And it kind of seems like you're into me, too."

Fuck.

Steve huffs out a soft little laugh, running his fingers through his hair. "I mean, maybe I'm wrong, and I have no idea how to tell if a guy's interested in me like I usually can with girls - I'm kind of still new at the guys part - but I thought, you know. What if I'm right, what if I'm missing out on something great? And I figured even if I went for it and I was wrong, you'd be good about it. You wouldn't like, punch me or anything."

"Steve," Eddie breathes out, touched by the sentiment despite the fact that he can already feel his heart breaking over what he knows he's going to have to do. "That's a lot of trust in me there."

"I trust you," Steve says, like it's that easy, no hesitation. "Plus, you know, I'm your soulmate, so you're stuck with me no matter what."

He sounds confident, and if Eddie didn't know him so well, he's not sure he could hear the little hitch in his voice, or see the hint of fear in his eyes.

"You're my soulmate," he agrees, rushing to get that out before anything else. "I'm not going anywhere, no matter what."

Steve shoots a tiny relieved smile at him, leaning in so their shoulders press together. They sit like that for a few moments, silence resting between them - it's warm and cozy despite the tension, like melted marshmallow being stretched longer and longer.

"But?" Steve asks after a bit.

Eddie swallows, running a hand over his face to try to buy him some time while he figures out how to say this without either lying or hurting them both even more.

"You're not wrong," he says finally. "I am into you. Steve, I - I love having you as my soulmate. I wouldn't want it to be anyone else. I'm happy with you, okay? I am."

Steve nods, though his expression has shut down a little, and Eddie can't quite read what's in his eyes anymore.

"But…" Steve prompts again.

Eddie closes his eyes, taking the coward's way out so he doesn't have to look at Steve while he says it. "But I don't think I could handle sharing if we were romantic soulmates."

There's silence again, and Eddie can hear Steve pull in a ragged breath and let it out.

"Okay," Steve says after a while.

Eddie opens his eyes. "Okay?"

Steve frowns at him. "What am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know," Eddie admits. "You could be a little bit of a dick about it? Tell me I don't know what I'm missing, that I could be having the full Steve Harrington experience here? Yell at me for breaking your heart?"

Steve snorts. "There's no full Steve Harrington experience."

Eddie gasps, mock affronted. "There is, didn't you listen to the gossip? I would be most aggrieved if I didn't get it."

Steve rolls his eyes, shoving him. Then, "My heart'll live. You are, shockingly, not the first person who's had to shoot me down like this."

Eddie thinks of Nancy Wheeler, feels his stomach clench a little at being on the same level as that whole mess. "Sorry," he says quietly.

"I mean, I'm not going to pretend like it doesn't suck, but I'm happy with you, too, okay? I want you as my soulmate, no matter what."

Eddie groans. "What did I tell you about saying stuff like that to me?"

Steve gives him a little smile. "I'm still not going to stop."

It's quiet again, not quite like the comfortable silences Eddie'd gotten used to with Steve, but something close.

"So. Boys, huh?" he asks after a while. "Who'd have thought that'd be something Steve Harrington was into."

Steve fixes him with a look. "Boys, huh?" he mimics. "Who'd have thought that'd be something Eddie Munson was into?"

Eddie shrugs one shoulder, conceding. Eddie'd worked very hard to be the freak, to be the type of metal-loving, Satan-worshiping, drug-dealing scary guy that people were afraid would steal their daughter or girlfriend or sister away. Granted, most of it hadn't actually been work, but it still wasn't really who he was.

"Mostly boys," he says, if only to actually say it outloud, to let himself be purposefully vulnerable with Steve even though they both already know. "There's been a few girls-" He tries hard not to think about Chrissy Cunningham's sweet smile and bright laugh. "-but mostly boys."

"Opposite for me," Steve says quietly. "Mostly girls, but - yeah, a few boys."

Eddie's eyebrows shoot up. "A few boys? Steve, are you telling me I'm not the first boy you've had eyes for?"

"Shut up," Steve says, shoving Eddie away when he makes grabby hands at him. "You're the first boy I ever wanted to be my soulmate, but yeah, all right, not my first crush."

Eddie lets himself feel all soft and gooey for a moment before he goes back to hassling Steve to tell him who.

"Ugh, fine," Steve groans. "But you can't tell anyone."

"Cross my heart," he promises.

"Jonathan," Steve mutters.

Eddie's forehead crinkles. "Byers?" He takes the silence as agreement, and grins at him. "What, get a little too into being up close and personal with him when you guys had that fight?"

Steve groans. "No. Believe it or not, I've experienced too much getting knocked around to get off on it, thanks. No, it was after, when we were fighting the demogorgon. Jonathan grabbed my hand to pull me away, and I just kind of instinctively grabbed it back, and then we were holding hands and I just - it was nice. I thought about it later, and realized I really liked holding his hand."

And that, well. Realizing that you like boys because it was really nice when a boy held your hand in the middle of fighting a monster is so Steve that it makes his heart ache, that it kind of makes him want to say fuck it and kiss him.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks instead, wiggling his eyebrows. "Whose hand holding is better, then, me or Byers?"

Steve's expression doesn't change, but his eyes shutter - Eddie can see it now even more than he could when he called him pretty boy, can see the flicker of pain there before he just shuts himself down.

"Oh," Eddie says quietly. "Should I not?"

There's a moment where Steve considers that.

"No," he says after a while. "That was okay. But I think we might have to put a pause on too heavy innuendo, or too many jokes about me wanting you. Just for a little bit."

"Yeah," Eddie mutters, feeling his heart crack a little more. "I can do that." He pulls his legs up, arms wrapped around them. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault, man," Steve says.

Eddie rests his chin on his knees, ignoring the slight sting from the tug of his stitched together skin. "Kind of feels like it is, a little," he admits. "I mean, Robin's okay with sharing."

Or at least, he assumes she is. He knows there's no way Steve would confess romantic feelings for him if Robin didn't know about it or wasn't on board.

"That's different," Steve says.

And - yeah, true. Robin's got another soulmate waiting for her, too, and maybe that makes it easier to share a romantic soulmate.

Steve looks a little troubled, though, and he leans just a little to bump their shoulders together. "I don't - I don't expect you to be Robin, you know that, right? Platonic or romantic, it's different."

Eddie snorts. "Well, yeah, I'd hope things would be a little different if we were - you know." It's half teasing and half serious, and he considers for a moment before adding, "I know you don't expect that."

Steve nods, and Eddie can hear him breathing out, feel a slow release of tension. There's quiet for a little longer, then Steve says, almost haltingly, "I don't… think romantic relationships mean more than platonic. I used to, but, uh. Almost everyone who's ever really meant anything to me has been platonic. Once I got out of high school, and with the Upside Down stuff, I just… I don't know. But Robin and you and the kids - you're the most important people in my life. You always will be."

He doesn't know what to say to that. It touches too closely on what's been pulling him into the party and pushing him away from it this whole time - he doesn't really know how to let people see the real him, not after so long of keeping up his walls to protect himself.

Or he guesses - he doesn't know what to do now that there are people who've seen the real him, and who still want to keep him. Eddie's only ever had Uncle Wayne like that, and he doesn't know how to be important to people, how to be more than just a band member or a dungeon master.

He's terrified of messing it up.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says finally, which seems to be enough for Steve, who bumps his shoulder and then pushes himself up, heading out to go join Robin.

It wasn't a lie, obviously, so Eddie believes that Steve doesn't think romantic soulmates mean more than platonic ones. The thing is - does Eddie believe that romantic soulmates mean more?

And it's.

Yeah.

He does.

Which means he guesses there's more he has to think about.

Eddie: well at least Steve and I are totally on the same page now, now all I have to do is turn myself into the police and reevaluate my opinions on platonic and romantic soulmates, sounds good

-----

Part 22

Steve: wow I am 2 for 2 on confessing to my soulmates and getting gently shot down, platonic for life it is

Tag list (always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #steddie fic #steddie soulmate au #platonic soulmates stobin

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aziraphales-library · 11 days

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Hello! I have returned to my favorite page for fanfics to request some suggestions! (I really appreciate your guys work, thanks so much!) But I need some badass Aziraphale in my life, don't get me wrong I love Aziraphale's character as a whole but I am BEGGING for some badass Aziraphale action!

Hey, I am BEGGING you to check our pinned masterpost where you can find a link to our #bamf aziraphale tag with loads of fics already recommended! Here are even more to add...

Heaven Is A Place On Earth by Mizmak (G)

The countdown to the start of the Second Coming is nearly to zero...but Aziraphale is fiercely determined not to lose what he loves most.

A Kind of Hope by EdosianOrchids901 (M)

When Crowley is captured by humans, Aziraphale sets off to save him at once. Will the rescue and tender care afterwards give the two of them a much-needed push to discuss their mutual feelings?

A Strange Feeling With Regard to You by KannaOphelia (G)

Aziraphale and Crowley have drifted into congenial retirement in the South Downs together. They're closer than they have ever been—until Crowley is violently taken from Aziraphale. They say you don't know what you've got until it's gone.

screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing by midnightdragons (T)

Aziraphale sighed exasperatedly, crossing his arms over his chest and casting a disapproving eye down to the clearly-in-a-lot-of-pain demon. Crowley groaned half-heartedly, and then, without Aziraphale even having to speak a word of chastisement or scolding, he gave in — which was concerning in and of itself, Aziraphale thought worriedly, for him to so quickly admit that something was in fact wrong. “Ffffine,” he mumbled exhaustedly, and then, stubbornly ignoring Aziraphale’s attempts to move forward and help him, he sat up the best he could, hunching over slightly and wrapping trembling arms around himself for a moment as if in minute comfort. Crowley hissed through his teeth as he began to peel up his black shirt with shaking hands, digging a fang into his upper lip so hard it looked painful and snarling in the back of his throat, an almost chillingly animalistic sound.

Aziraphale comes to Crowley's aid when the latter is attacked and left beaten by demons, and the angel takes care of him while he's too weak to do it himself. Very unapologetic whump and BAMF Aziraphale.

The Language of Forgiveness by graywings (M)

After the events of S2E6, Aziraphale and Crowley are reunited and finally given the chance to form their own side between Heaven and Hell, to restore balance among the planes of existence. But forces in Heaven still want to exploit their unique ability for big miracles. Their quest to confront the Metatron will lead them on a journey through Heaven, dealing with old and new allies and enemies. Are they powerful enough to defeat the Voice of God?More importantly, can the pair ever learn to talk honestly about their feelings? Can a demon who views himself as unforgiveable ever learn to forgive?

The Exit to Our Old Street by asparkofgoodness (M)

“Welcome home, Aziraphale,” the Metatron said warmly. White light, pure and brilliant, cleansing, flooded his vision as the elevator doors opened. Should home feel like a battlefield? — — — Aziraphale dives right into the work associated with being Heaven’s new Supreme Archangel, ignoring his fragile emotional state and hoping to make change that will benefit everyone: the humans, the other angels, and, most importantly, Crowley. When the Metatron begins to share plans for the Second Coming with him, he realizes it may take more than kindly-worded notes to protect all that he loves. Meanwhile, Crowley tries to find solace in whiskey, pain, and destruction. They both have a lot to learn, and, if Heaven has their way, not much time left in which to learn it.

- Mod D

#good omens #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #bamf aziraphale #hurt crowley #hurt/comfort #mod d

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foursaints · 2 months

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currently can’t stop thinking about dj barty doing sets in shitty underground clubs and playing the most god awful remixes of obscure post-punk with evan in the booth behind him sitting cross-legged on a speaker or something and looking somehow both entirely out of place and like he was sent from the heavens to be there. and he’s not even drinking or really listening to the music he’s just watching barty’s hands move over the decks completely unaware that when the strobe lights hit him he’s causing half the people in the crowd to think they’re having hallucinations that angels have started to come to earth, because everything from his shirt to the too-white whites of his eyes are glowing so brightly under the light that he literally has a halo. but anyway barty’s just zoned out playing off-beat bauhaus mixes till there are blisters on his fingers and occasionally glancing back at him to check he’s still there. etc etc.

they sleep during the day, in a one-bedroom with black mold & peeling wallpaper, to come alive at night. if you ask barty how he met evan, he'll laugh and tell you he fell from the sky right into his lap. barty used to steal credit cards from the purses of the girls he took home, and now he pawns the lost phones he finds after his shows, buys evan a popsicle on his walk home. feeds him from his palm, pets his head, and clicks his tongue to beckon him all like a stray cat. you can watch him weaving through crowds heading up the booth, evan mutely clutching his sleeve, shielding evan with his body.

bartoloměj always looks like he's trying to kill himself slowly, dresses like he doesn't exist outside the scene, chipped his front tooth clean in half with his tongue piercing. he's always got that Thing shadowing him (his little angel), who dresses like a schoolchild and doesn't speak, pay rent, dance, or do much of anything but stare. he's terrifying. whenever barty takes anything, evan obediently sticks his tongue out, expecting half (when barty spins out he always clutches evan's shoulders, asks: are you alright, rosie? are you alright?, even though evan is the one who's fine). barty loves the music. evan doesn't like any music much at all, but he appreciates the science of it, memorizes barty's hands. everyone knows they're together, but no-one asks if they're married or dating or anything. it's more like barty has a shadow, and they're going to live forever, a pair.

#a #feeling the need to crack this ask open & pour it over myself the way athletes do with those coolers of gatorade. THIS is my rosekiller.#the way you've described evan on his perch is just so perfect. beautifully conceived. i love the little world that you've spun here...#when i speak about balkan barty it's mostly because I want him as a stereotypical eurotrash edm club rat #anon i feel that we are two shooting stars. kindred spirits even. i'm happy you're here. have i met you in a dream?#rose & thorn #fave

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lunarw0rks · 9 months

Text

TF 141 as Hozier songs

A/N: I love hozier so much. genuinely listen to his songs for inspo while writing quite often. here's some of the sounds that remind me of the 141 boys. I seen others doing this w/ their fav artists/songs, so here's my version. Warning(s): nsfw + sfw, established relationship, trauma mention, fluff/smut/angst, basically. // Word Count: 1.5k

☆ MAIN MASTERLIST ☆ 141 MASTERLIST ☆ ASK BOX

『 PRICE 』

As It Was: And tell me if somehow Some of it remained How long would you wait for me? How long I've been away The shape that I'm in now You're shaping the doorway Make your good love known to me Just tell me about your day

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ A relationship with Price is anything but triumphant. His lovers spend more time waiting for him than with him, yet you've stuck around long enough to savor every waiting moment.

The putter of your heart and foot against the floor as you wait for that door to open. Finally greeted with the rugged man after several months, in various battered states every time.

But there aren't powerful conversations paired with physical leaps of joy; all he wants is someone to wait for him. To love him, despite the state he's in when he comes home. It's the little things.

Eat Your Young: I'm starvin', darlin', let me put my lips to somethin' Let me wrap my teeth around the world Start carvin', darlin', I want to smell the dinner cookin' I want to feel the edges start to burn Honey, I want to race you to the table If you hesitate, the gettin' is gone

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ All of Price's restraint is out the window once he comes home to you; finding you in your natural stated. Relaxed and waiting for him to arrive.

Forget the filling meal — his hunger is much deeper than any entrée on the stove.

It's become a game of sorts, the race to the finish with every step. To peel your dressings, to fumble through his with haste, to wrap his lips around your warm body and feast.

Movement: When you move I can recall something that's gone from me When you move Honey, I'm put in awe of something so flawed and free So move me, baby Shake like the bough of a willow tree You do it naturally

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Nothing is more natural to him than his love and need to observe. All your flaws, all your frustrations, every little bit of you in his sights — they're savored.

Whether it be your quirks, your qualms for the day, or the way you've come undone from his famished hands.

There's nothing more cherished, either a mundane act or a carnal one. They matter most to him.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 SIMON 』

To Be Alone: Honey, when you kill the lights and kiss my eyes I feel like a person for a moment of my life You don't know what hell you put me through To have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ He had to get used to being loved, being touched by another person who didn't want to make him bleed.

The sensations of being human, being present rather than lost in his void of memories — it's foreign.

You've made him feel resuscitated as if the blood finally pumped through his veins once again. Now, he's forced to cope with being a person again, plunged headfirst into the agonizing act of loving another soul unconditionally.

Arsonist's Lullabye: When I was a child I'd sit for hours Staring into open flame Something in it had a power Could barely tear my eyes away // Don't you ever Tame your demon But always keep 'em on a leash

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Spent hours in his childhood disassociating, finding mindless ways to pass his miserable time. Especially as an adolescent, any time away from home was desirable, even if it meant being troublesome.

The military was his only escape, yet the phantoms of his past never left him.

Simon wasn't sure he wanted them to, either. They're such a vibrant portion of his whole being, and he despises it. But he keeps them around to be the soldier he needs to be.

In The Woods Somewhere: I raised myself My legs were weak I prayed my mind be good to me An awful noise filled the air I heard a scream in the woods somewhere

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Simon's flashbacks were always vivid and as agonizing as the moment in time he endured them. The worst of them all, the most suffocating — the day he was buried alive.

Every ounce of his strength to get out of that box, his muscles burning and exhausted.

The screams he's heard haunt him; civilians, hostiles, his family that had been slaughtered. They taunt his ears as if he's suffocating alone all over again.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 SOAP 』

Work Song: When my time comes around Lay me gently in the cold dark earth No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ When Soap is with someone he's whipped.

That's what makes leaving you so hard, especially when there's no guarantee he'll be home by the end of the run. His letters, his tags, and the cherished memories might be all you have left.

But even in death, he's with you; no matter how hard the journey it will be when that inevitable day comes.

Dinner & Diatribes: Honey I laugh when it sinks in A pillar I am of pride Scarcely can speak for my thinking What you'd do to me tonight

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ He's an arrogant lover, oozing pride and vigor with every move he makes on you. Oh, how he loves to have you at his mercy — but how he loves being at yours.

Keep him in the dark, surprise him; let mounds of restraint double the reward, and he's yours. Wrapped around your finger and ravenous for the coquetting you indulge in together — and more.

Moments Silence (Common Tongue): Who views the deed as power's creed, as pure authority This moment's silence when my baby puts the mouth on me // Like a heathen clung to the homily Let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me So summon on the pearl rosary Let the reason come on the common tongue of your loving me

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ His carnal need for you is never satiated, it's ever-lasting and as ferocious as his mouth. Soap's wicked tongue, either occupied on you or tight against the roof of his mouth when he clenches his jaw.

There's no act lovesome enough, not in comparison to your wicked tongue devouring him in all ways.

Whether spouting back and clashing with his pride or silencing him with lascivious ecstasy in the most biblical form — it's your choice.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

『 GAZ 』

NFWMB: 'Cause the rest of you, the best of you Honey, belongs to me // Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing can get a look in on my baby // If I was born a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you Fuel the pyre of your enemies

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ If there's one sure trait of Gaz, it's covetousness. However, only where you're concerned. Though you aren't a possession, nor a warm body to be claimed, and never viewed as one — you're his.

It better be clear, too, and not from your side. It's his job to keep the envious eyes and acquisitive palms far from you.

There's no doubt in his mind that you're devoted, either. It's the sick world around him he lacks trust with — stemming from the depravity he's witness to each day.

Talk: Imagine being loved by me I won't deny I've got in my mind now All the thing I would do // How I'm imaginin' you I'd be the last shred of truth In the lost myth of true love I'd be the sweet feeling of release

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ His hands; calloused and ever-useful to you. The scars that litter them are a patent voucher of all they've been through — all they've done to keep the world clean.

Through his walls, and the subconscious armor that he uses as his protection, he's a whole new man. You seemingly materialized into his life, intertwining yourself with every bit of him — in every way. Your body knew it, too, as did his.

He'll have you yearning for his touch — the sweet release it gives you. It's the least he can do, considering all he asks in return is loyalty, and that's what he's gotten.

Sunlight: Oh, and these colors fade for you only Hold me, carry me slowly, my sunlight // Each day, you'd rise with me Know that I would gladly be The Icarus to your certainty Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Few people see the tenderness deep within his rigid exterior, and for good reason. It's intentional, who does or doesn't get a glimpse of his most merciful portion.

You, devoted and accepting of his demanding lifestyle, have earned that right. No matter how far he is, you know you're both watching the same burning star in the sky.

Kyle was in deep; like all his foes, you become the forefront of his psyche, his reason for getting home — the face he sees when looking at the sunlight.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ Thanks for reading this far! <3

`` ~ ୨୧ ♡ · divider cred. - cafekitsune

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