#they are all technically old looks but this week was real week

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙩 || dieter bravo x camgirl!reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || being quarantined in his hotel room has dieter getting a little stir crazy, and when the drugs run out, he has to find a new vice. that's how he found you.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (18+ only; phone/video call sex, use of toys, male and female masturbation), sex work (obviously, look at the title), dieter being down astronomically bad with a burgeoning housewife kink, basically nothing to do with the movie he's from whatsoever it's just porn with almost no plot

(my challenge for @the-slumberparty this week was to write a fic that has a bouquet of flowers somewhere in it! leave it to me to find a way to include that in something so insanely smutty...)

He couldn’t stop watching you—both right now, in this moment, and just generally.

Right now, he couldn’t take his eyes off the way your cunt slid up and down on the glass dildo, your walls gripping every ridge and detail of the toy, your arousal coating it and running in droplets down to the base.

And for the past two weeks, your videos had been his obsession.  Maybe it technically qualified as a porn addiction—but it wasn’t just about that.  He didn’t watch anyone else, and he didn’t even jerk off every time he watched one of your videos; sometimes he just liked hearing your voice, feeling less alone in quarantine in his hotel room.

Most people just put on sitcom reruns or the local news to make a hotel room feel less empty, but that didn’t work for Dieter.  Maybe being an actor ruined the illusion of scripted TV for him—and as for the news, well, nobody would be comforted by the news these days.

So he turned to the only comfort he could rely on when all else failed: masturbation.  But he didn’t like to do it without something to watch, and normally he would just find a video he liked and work with that, but something tempted him to try a cam site… and now he was never turning back.

You weren’t the first girl he saw, it took a little scrolling, but something about your channel caught his eye.  It didn’t take even a full stream before he was addicted: you scratched every itch.

First of all, though he didn’t want to be too shallow, he couldn’t deny that your body was just his type.  It felt like he could stare at you naked for hours and never get bored—and it drove him crazy that he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t turn you around and look at every inch of you.  Instead he just had to lay back and let you show what you wanted; in a way, it was like a dominance thing—he was a victim to your whims, he could only get what you offered and that was it. 

That said, you never left him wanting, that was the second thing he couldn’t resist about you.  Your videos were… indulgent, maybe that’s the word he was looking for: it was so much more than just a girl rubbing herself in front of the camera and calling it a night.  You spent a while talking with the viewers and reacting to comments, sometimes while undressing if you weren’t already naked; then, you upped the ante bit by bit, teasing yourself and him until it finally culminated in you bringing yourself to the peak over and over—until neither of you could take anymore.  He wasn’t just satisfied after watching you, he was exhausted, in the best way.

And lastly, this one was probably just him projecting, but you seemed… sweet?  Kinky, sure, but with something real about you—kinda that girl-next-door vibe.  Maybe it was because you started some of your videos in normal clothes—not lingerie, not a sexy nurse outfit or whatever people are into these days—just a baggy band t-shirt and shorts or an old hoodie and pajama pants.  It was hard not to imagine you as his girlfriend during those streams.  Actually, once he let himself do it, he couldn’t stop—and it got him harder than anything else.

Perhaps Dieter had a bit of a reputation, and most would say he wasn’t very… sentimental with women.  They wouldn’t be wrong, but they’d be misunderstanding him a bit.  Truth be told, he was a pretty sensitive guy, and he’d always wanted a real relationship, it was just difficult with his career.  Love is sort of like eating healthy: maybe you like to cook, maybe you like green beans and chicken breasts, but when a bag of potato chips is right there, you know what you’re probably gonna end up eating.

And Dieter really did go through ‘em like potato chips.  It was easier that way.  He got used to expressing his emotions through acting, and when emotions become your career, it’s a lot harder to be vulnerable for free.

Sometimes he wished he’d met you in person, somehow.  (Then again, right now he was wishing he could meet anyone in person.)  But if he’d met you in person, he would’ve probably just hit on you, convinced you to sleep with him, and then gone back to his same old habits—you would’ve just been another meaningless night.  Instead he was trapped in this hotel, using his laptop like a window to the outside world, and you had become his vice.  Even drugs couldn’t do for him what you could; the high you brought him was incomparable.

He told you just as much; sure, he felt like kind of a loser, but he started commenting on your streams hoping to get a reaction.  I think I’m addicted to your videos.  It was just one in a long string of adoring, horny comments that floated up alongside your video that day as you were casually touching yourself—one hand teasing your breast, pinching and circling the nipple, the other between your legs as you gently rubbed your clit.  You hadn’t noticed his comment that time—or if you had, you didn’t say anything—but the next time, you saw it.  You’d been using a vibe, taking it on and off your clit so you could edge yourself: that alone was a feat of self-discipline he couldn’t imagine.  Can’t wait to see you cum, he’d written, too worked up himself to really wonder if it was clever or interesting.

You smiled, a little breathless laugh coming out more through your nose than your mouth.  “Can’t wait to see you cum,” you repeated, “me either, buddy.  Shit.  Need to come so bad.”

Hearing you read his comment made him actually anxious—like an adrenaline rush, like when he was a kid and hadn’t gotten rid of his stage fright yet.  You had such an effect on him; his heart was still racing when he finally came—he managed to wait until you did, only because he didn’t start jerking off until the last minute.  Having to keep his throbbing dick out of his hand was an enormous task, but he knew that once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop.  And it was worth it, to come with you; he loved hearing your moans as you came, imagining how you’d sound if he was fucking you—imagining all his come painting your stomach or ass or even going inside you…

And now, right now, he was imagining that last thing—imagining filling you with his come.  You rode that glass dildo beautifully, and when he moved his hand at just the right pace, he could watch and feel the way you would ride him.

“Mm, y’like that?” you moaned, looking back at the camera—damn, if you looked back at him like that while you were on his cock he’d be a fucking goner.

“Yeah,” he panted, in real life, because responding to you aloud was a bad habit when he was close to coming.

“Wanna come in me?” you encouraged, and he bit his lip as he nodded; he wanted to shut his eyes from the pleasure, but he couldn’t miss a second of you picking up the pace as you bounced on the toy.  “Wanna fucking come inside me?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he panted out, starting to fuck up into his hand when your pace felt teasingly slow (even though it was already getting so much faster).

“C’mon baby, I want it—come in me, nice and deep,” you begged, voice getting shakier as your own orgasm neared.  “Can you come with me?  Please?  Just fill me up right as you make me come—fuck, so good—”

“God, baby,” he whined, tightening up his stomach to try not to come instantly.  Thankfully, he only had to hold out a few more seconds before he heard you start to make those undeniable moans: when you came, you were loud.  He fucking loved that.

“Yes, yes!” you screamed, and he swore he could see the way your pussy squeezed that toy, he could see the shiver that ran up your spine—he’d give anything to feel that squeeze on his cock, to feel that shiver under his hands…

Come painted his hand, splattering onto his chest and thighs; if only he’d had the thought in advance to take his robe off entirely before he did this, now he was going to have to send some very shameful laundry to the front desk.

“Fuck, that was intense,” you laughed breathlessly as you started to recover.  He could tell you were still a bit shaky as you lifted yourself off the dildo— and he winced, the last drop of come squeezing out of his slit, when he saw the way your pussy was left gaping for juuust a moment by the toy.  Then one squeeze and it was like you were back to normal; she’s fucking incredible, he thought to himself, finally taking his hand off of his softening dick.

Panting, he felt the slightest tinge of shame in the back of his mind.  Not just shame, actually, but loneliness: he watched you smile and turn to face the camera again, reading the slew of filthy praises in your comments, and he just wished it was the two of you— in real life, alone, holding each other…

But this was easier, this was so much easier.  Being alone meant there was no one here to judge him, and that was worth having no one to wrap up in his arms in a time like this.

As he snagged a tissue from the bedside table to wipe himself off, he listened to you read and react to some comments.  “Thanks, guys,” you beamed as you were overwhelmed with so hot and I just came so hard and you’re perfect.  “You flatter me, stop it…”

He had to bite his lip when you started to play with your own tits, seemingly out of nowhere.

“They’re so sensitive after I come,” you explained with a giggle, then a moan as you pinched and teased the buds.  “Have any of you ever tried that?  Playing with your nipples?”

Dieter laughed as the comments poured in: what? that’s fucking gay all the way to I’m doing it right now for you my queen

“Oh god, has it been an hour already?  I think I need to hop off, guys,” you announced.

Instantly the chat was flooded with pleas of don’t go!! and ten more minutes and how much do we tip for more time?

“If anybody wants to keep the conversation going, private chats are on sale on my page right now,” you explained with a friendly smile.  “But if not I’ll see you tomorrow!  Or, you’ll see me.”

With a flirty wave to the camera, the image froze and blurred; STREAM ENDED popped up on the screen.  It was already trying to suggest other streamers live right now that he could watch, but Dieter only sighed and shut his laptop.

Seven seconds later, he opened it again.

“Private chats…” he mumbled to himself remembering what you said.  He knew that you offered other services on your page, but something about you mentioning it this time got his attention.  As he considered for a second if he should’ve washed his hands before touching the trackpad, he navigated to your page and looked at the menu of additional services for purchase.  The list was long: private chats, as you’d mentioned; custom videos anywhere from 15 minutes to a concerningly-long two hours; a subscription to daily nude pictures, sent via Snapchat; even used panties available for shipping anywhere in the US and Canada.

He was originally just going to get a custom video, but as he scrolled through more options, he saw one-on-one video chat, and he got that feeling again—the adrenaline rush.  It took him a second to even compose himself enough to read the description.

Do you hate having to share me with all the other viewers during my streams?  I’d love to have some personal time to get to know you better, and do exactly what you’ve been dreaming of.  You can use voice if that’s easier for you than text—top fans can even turn their camera on if they so desire.

A half-hour video chat was only $75— that sounded like a steal to Dieter right now— and they were available to book as soon as tomorrow.  The idea made him feel all tingly and weird, but weird in a good way.

Top fans can even turn their camera on…

His constant engagement with your page for the last couple weeks had earned him the ‘top fan’ badge.  When he imagined showing you his face, his body, he got unexpectedly anxious, though; he wasn’t a particularly shy guy, but this was a delicate issue.  What if you recognized him?  What if you were a fan?  That would be weird— in a bad way.

Or what if you were a fan and you were overcome with the need to send him free videos, free pictures, even being willing to meet up with him sometime?  That would be… convenient, certainly, in some ways; but the thought overwhelmed him, and he decided that if he was going to buy one of these chats, his camera would have to stay off.  Just not worth the trouble.

He decided something else, too; a strange instinct, but one he was too deep in his post-orgasmic haze to resist.  He wanted to send you a gift.  Mostly, he hoped it would set him apart from other viewers— give you two something to talk about during that call.  If he bought you a toy from your wishlist, maybe you could use it for the first time for him… that would be incredibly hot.

Or maybe he’d buy you something more normal, like a nice throw pillow for the bed you laid on for some of your videos… the domesticity of that certainly attracted him.

But then, he had a simpler idea.  When in doubt while giving a gift to a woman, why not stick to the classics, right?

There was a P.O. Box for fanmail and gifts on your page, and he pulled up another tab to search: can you send flowers to a po box?

Just because he was a whore didn’t mean he wasn’t a romantic.

~

“I have to say, I get a lot of gifts… never gotten flowers before.”

His heart warmed to hear you say that— but it didn’t stop racing.  This felt different: having you here, in only a t-shirt and panties as he’d seen you many times, but knowing it was just for him… he loved it, but it was a little scary.  In a good way.  “Do you like them?” he asked.

“Yeah!” you smiled, fiddling with the stems as the vase sat beside you.  “Pink roses, lilies, orchids… you’re gonna spoil me, Hector.”

(Yes, he gave you his real name.  Ironically, he used it to hide who he actually was— but he liked hearing you say it.)

“Not that I mind,” you added with a wink.  “Do you mind if I have these in the background of my next stream?  They'll match the toy I'm gonna use."

"O-oh, yeah, sure,” he choked.  “What toy are you gonna use?”

You smirked a little, to the point that he almost felt stupid for asking that— but you didn’t mind showing him, in fact you had it ready and showed the baby-pink toy off for him.  His throat got a little tighter when he saw the U-shape of the toy; didn’t take a genius to imagine where that would go… and already his mind was jumping ahead to how you’d look with those silicone ends penetrating both your holes—

“Looks like fun,” he managed to get out, and you looked pretty proud of yourself for making him a bit flustered.

“Do you wanna turn your camera on?” you offered suddenly after you’d set the toy aside.  “No pressure, of course.”

He went through a whole rollercoaster when you asked that.  Because yes, he did—sort of.  But would it just make things more complicated?  What if you were uncomfortable with him being famous, thought he might expose you or something—or, more concerningly, what if you exposed him?  Or what if you just berated him with dumb fan questions when he was trying to forget about his life right now?  “Uh,” he stalled, “is it okay if I don’t, this time?”

“Of course, it’s all up to you,” you replied.  “I’m just a little curious… you have a sexy voice.  Gotta wonder if it matches.”

He didn’t even know if you would think he was sexy—he certainly hoped so, but maybe you had a type of your own.  Maybe you were a lesbian, how should he know?  “Thanks,” he hummed, “you too—but, you know, all of you is sexy.”

“Aw shucks,” you said as you struck a pose, putting your hands under your chin and batting your eyes to complete the sarcastic impression of innocence.  He laughed, and it reminded him why your videos were so special— ‘cause you made him laugh like that.  “You know, a lot of people book these chats because they have a specific kink they want me to try for them,” you explained.  “What about you?  Why’d you book this?”

“Is it weird if I just… kinda wanted to talk to you?”

His heart skipped when he saw your reaction—the shy, tender smile that appeared on your face.  “No, that’s not weird,” you replied, and for some reason it was how incredibly sweet you looked right then that made his cock jump in his boxers.  “We can talk about whatever you want.”

“Can we talk about you?”

“Not much to talk about,” you shrugged, smirking a bit; of course you were teasing him, he didn’t even mind.

“I really doubt that,” he chuckled.  “Is this your only job?  Do you do anything else?”

“I, uh, used to do something else,” you answered, “but then they found out about this.”

“Oh, that sucks…”

“Nah, worked out for the best.  Started making way more when I had more time to put into it,” you nodded.  “I like this a lot better, actually.  No sick leave, but no dress code, either.”

“Yeah, that’s a plus,” he nodded, even though you couldn’t see him.

“What about you?  What do you do?”

“Um… I’m an actor,” he replied.  He considered lying, but couldn’t come up with anything else.

“Oh, that’s really cool!” you smiled.  “Wouldn’t have seen you in anything, would I?”

“Probably not,” he laughed off your question.  “Do you, um, have any hobbies?  You must not have a lot of spare time, with people paying for chats and custom videos and all…”

“I take a few days off, here and there,” you nodded, “mostly I just like movies and stuff.”

That made him even more anxious that you would know who he was.  He still hadn’t decided if that would be a good thing or a bad thing, though.

“I like to cook,” you added. 

It was starting to feel like you were intentionally targeting his newly developed girlfriend fetish.  Instantly his mind was flooded with all this domestic bullshit: shopping with you for ingredients, coming home to a fresh dinner, waking up to you in the kitchen wearing his shirt and flipping pancakes.  “I like to eat,” Dieter replied, “we’re so compatible.”

You laughed, and if this was all just some act where you pretended to think he was funny and interesting, it was the best acting he’d seen in a while.  “Are you flirting?” you noticed, raising an eyebrow as if to point out how fitting-yet-bizarre it was for him to be hitting on you—because he didn’t need to, you were his for the half-hour regardless.  But he liked this better, and he loved making you laugh.

“Maybe,” he offered cryptically in return.

“Is that what the flowers were for?  Are you trying to seduce me?” you accused with a grin.

“Those were just to get your attention,” he admitted.

“Hector, honey,” you cooed, making his heart skip.  “You already have my attention.”

That excited him and his dick, which was now making a tent in his boxers as it waited for some of your promised attention; somehow, just casually-flirtatious conversation with you was almost hotter to him than the usual stuff.  Maybe he was just a little burnt out on all that by now— because talking to you had become much more valuable than seeing you naked.

“Just tell me one thing about you,” you bargained.

“Alright,” he agreed.

“Are you hard?”

He swallowed.  “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice sounding weaker than he meant it to.  You smirked a little.

“We don’t have to,” you assured him, “but if you’re interested, why don’t we get off together, hm?  Does that sound okay?”

Was it a good sign that you were initiating this, or did it just mean you were getting impatient with him?  God, it didn’t matter—he was gonna do whatever you wanted.  “Okay,” he answered.  “Yeah—that sounds… more than okay.”

Biting your lip slightly, the way you looked at the camera almost made him feel like you were sizing him up—even though all you could see was a black screen.  “Are you touching your cock already?”

“N-no, I… I still have boxers on,” he replied.  “Should I?”

“No, you should rub it a little through the boxers,” you instructed.  “That’s what I’m gonna do—touch my clit through these panties.  It’s even more sensitive when I do that, don’t ask me how.”

“R-right, okay,” he nodded.  He already liked taking instructions from you more than he thought he would.  His hand spread out over the bulge in the cotton, a sigh slipping from his lips as he started to find the right amount of pressure so he wouldn’t get too into it too fast.

His eyes were transfixed on the way you spread your legs, and he swore your panties already looked a little damp…

Your finger traced delicately over the seam of your pussy, and his balls tightened up at the way you sighed as you teased yourself.  “You should play with your tits, too,” he informed you, his own voice sounding shaky as he tried to hold back from just getting his cock out and jerking off as fervently as he wanted to.

“You’re just full of good ideas, huh?” you joked, taking your free hand and pinching yourself through your shirt.

“Then here’s another one for you,” he offered, “take something off.”

“Shirt or panties?” you asked.

“Dealer’s choice.”

You smiled and surprised him by lifting your hips, pulling your underwear down your thighs before kicking them off to the side.  For some reason, even though he gave you the choice, he expected you to take the shirt off first; and there was something surprisingly sexy about you still having that casual t-shirt on and nothing else.  (Likely, it was because it made it easier to imagine you just wearing one of his shirts…)

It added a new thrill to the now-familiar sight of your pussy— not that he ever got bored of that view.  “Can you— can you spread it for me?” he panted, nearly whimpering when you took two fingers and scissored apart your lips.  “Fuck, got such a pretty hole, baby…”

He saw it flex as you heard the compliment, and he couldn’t help but moan quietly.  “Yeah?  Have you thought about how good it would feel?” you encouraged with a sigh.  “How good this hole would feel on your cock?”

“Every fucking day,” he promised.  

“Then take it out,” you instructed breathily.  “Start touching your cock, and think about what it would be like if I was there touching you instead.”

Though he was glad to do as you’d said, pulling his throbbing erection from his boxers with a sigh, he had to disobey one of your commands.  “No, m’thinking about a lot more than that,” he replied, and you cracked a smile as you rubbed your clit faster.  “Thinking about being— fuck— inside you…”

You hummed happily; after all that teasing, he was so sensitive and worked up that it felt like he was already fighting to hold himself back.  He certainly couldn’t keep his pace down— right away he was stroking himself quickly, struggling to keep it together.

“Thinking about how fucking tight you are,” he added with a groan, loving the little whimper you let out in return.

“Hector, baby,” you moaned, and he hadn’t heard that name said that way in a very long time.  “This might be over sooner than I thought if you talk like that…”

“Good,” he decided, “it’s not gonna take me very long, either— you always make me like that.”

“How would you fuck me?” you asked, panting, rocking your hips against your hand.  “Tell me how you’d fuck me, baby.”

“Fuck, I—hard,” he choked out.  “So fucking hard—”

“Mm,” you moaned encouragingly.

“And I’d eat you out,” he decided, “before and after.  I’ve been dying to know how your pussy tastes.”

“After, huh?  Is that with your come inside?” you wondered.  “Or did you wanna come on my tits?”

“Inside,” he groaned.  “I’d eat my—fuck—eat my come out of you, I don’t care.”

“That’s dirty,” you purred, “I like it.  I like a man who can clean up his mess.”

“Never liked coming inside that much until I started watching your streams,” he admitted.  “Now it’s all I can think about—coming inside you.”

“Fuck,” you moaned, “want you to think about that when you come for me now, okay?  Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” he promised, moving his hand faster and feeling that tension in his gut that told him the breaking point was approaching.

“Think about filling me up,” you continued, “giving me all that come, so deep inside—”

“Fuck,” he hissed, “are you close too?”

“Baby, I’ve been trying not to come since we fucking started,” you admitted— and maybe it was a lie, but he bought it joyously.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he gasped, “I’m gonna come so hard— fuck yes— gonna come for you…”

“Do it,” you begged, “I want you to, I want you to come, Hector.”

“You— you should come, too,” he countered with a shaking gasp, his cock already starting to flex as he knew he was seconds away from losing it.

“I will,” you promised with a smile, your voice itself turning every word into a moan, “I’m gonna come with you, baby, fuck— lemme hear it, wanna hear you come—”

He came with a grunt, squeezing down on his cock with his fist as come launched out in long pulses; “F-fuck, I’m coming, ahhh fuck,” he narrated— normally he wouldn’t say something like that, but you had asked to hear it, so…

“Me too, I— oh!” you shouted, and he watched with heavy eyes as you tossed your head back, hips rocking up into nothing— your hand was a blur over your pussy but he swore he could see it pulsing and clenching, creamy slick leaking slowly from your hole.

The last of his come came out as a fat droplet running down his shaft, making his fingers unpleasantly sticky as the ringing in his ears subsided and he began to slowly come back to reality.  You were panting, pushing yourself just a bit further until your whole body jolted and you quickly pulled your hand away.

“God,” you groaned, “that was… draining.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, laughing a little at how wrecked his own voice sounded.  

“I wish I could just, like, take a nap right now,” you admitted with a tired grin.

“I mean, you could— we’re almost out of time…” he noticed.

“No, I— yeah, I could, but I have something after this,” you replied, and he felt a little twist in his chest.  He didn’t blame you at all for it, but it made him jealous to think of you hopping right on to your next call— it made him feel like he was just one of your thousands of fans, which is not how he wanted you to think of him at all.

“Another call?” he assumed.

“No, just private chats,” you corrected, which somehow made him feel a little bit better, “and I should probably post a few things for my Snapchat— we’ll see.  I will definitely need a break before my stream tonight, though… will I see you there?  Proverbially?”

He smiled a little.  “Yeah, definitely.”

“Drink plenty of fluids before then,” you winked.  “Thanks for calling, Hector… I hope we can do this again sometime.”

It’s an upsell, she’s not actually into you, she’s not actually into you, he tried to force himself to believe.  But it was so much easier, so much more fun, to imagine that you really liked him— that those flowers stood out enough for you to realize that he’s different.

You both said your polite goodbyes and the call ended.  He was definitely sleepier than he anticipated after all that— you said you were, too, which made him just want to have you here even more so you could fall asleep on his shoulder and he wouldn’t have to be alone in this bed for the seemingly-thousandth time in a row.

Exhausted to the bone, some impossible mix of satisfied and starving for more of you, Dieter sighed and shut his laptop.

Seven seconds later, he opened it again.  He wanted to book his next video call before he passed out.

~

thank you so much for reading! if you're interested in a second part to this, please let me know by reblogging or maybe even leaving a comment! you can read my other works for pedro pascal characters here or check out my full masterlist here

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x y/n #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #navy and roo's sleepover

[littlebigmouse]

List of Small Things™ I enjoy about Fullmetal Alchemist in no particular order

Everyone in FMAB/manga is just Some Guy™ and very human and I love that so here goes:

Falman getting stuck with a serial-killing suit of armor in his appartment for days and his reaction to it. It may have been weeks. He's been on sick leave the entire time. He's a guy in his early thirties with a flock of early-greying hair because being in a dead-end-role in the military is stressfull, ok. He gets stuck at home with a funny little serial killer (and eventually some foreign body guards, and a foreign prince?? lighting signal fires in his backyard?? like man what a week)

The whole military ambush against the Devil's Nest was yes, kind of kickstarted by the gang kidnapping Al for Greed, but it was mostly kickstarted because Ed was down south to do his yearly official report and Bradley and Armstrong just happened to be present when he was informed Al had gone missing. Greed's entire operation was done in by a teen doing his paperwork

on that note, Greed really decided to spend his immortality wisely by pursuing absolutely none of his supposed ambitions and just decided to settle down with a bunch of buddies. An offshot of the buddies he was initially made to guard, too. I don't think Greed is aware of this either

everyone on that radio building. The radio host 100% down to get some coup-shenanigans into his station to drive engagement. The guys sympathising with Mrs Bradley and taking care of her. Breda taking control of the narrative with a perpetual frown by the skin of his teeth.

I know the story of how the Bradleys met is technically not canon(?) but Mrs Bradley slapping her future husband upon their first meeting because he got his flirting tips from his siblings will never not be funny. Idiots. All of them.

EVERYTHING about Darius and Heinkel. They lost their jobs and became wanted criminals upon helping out some scrawny 15 year old. They have families they miss dearly. They haven't looked back since. "You guys don't HAVE to help me save the world" - "It's not like we have anything better to do"

i was going to say the Ice Cream Truck, because it's iconic, but actually, when told to disguise a vehicle, 15-year-old pinacle of edgelord fashion Edward Elric turned it into a colourful nightmare of spikes that barely resembled a car but might be closely related to the worlds deadliest parade float. None of this was necessary. Ed is just like that.

Hawkeye growing her hair out after meeting Winry, and Winry getting piercings after seeing Hawkeye's

Denny Brosh bursting into tears when he sees Maria Ross is still alive. Dude managed to not quit his job despite working in the same city (department?) where his best friend's killer was his supervisor. They were also very real for showing us that this is a guy who oversleeps and is older brother to at least three younger siblings. There was no need to give us more on Denny Brosh but every little detail hit so hard when they reunited.

okay so remember that time Ed and Ling ate Ed's shoe. Remember that Ed spend some time on a "deserted island" as a kid. Gluttony's stomach had nothing on him. Izumi raised some anime-ass boy-scouts. 100% Farm boy behaviour. These kids are so 15 it makes me want to bite things

immortal, soul-spliced dwarf in a flask got rid of his Sloth and still managed to procrastinate on his world domination plan until the last minute. Most Human disaster.

the entire half-episode they spend on Dr. Knox and his regrets and family. FMA is so good about humanising everyone.

everyone bullied Yoki because he was a small town fraud exploiting workers for his own benefit. Simply a jerk. He also hit Pride with a car in an epic rescue, and cried and screamed the whole way through

that one shot of a kid curiously poking a soldier they found bound on the ground with a stick

(I know it's technically not canon, but-) "I'm trying to save your life, asshole!"

Edward Elric

#fmab #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fma #fmab meta #of course there are more #'it's not like they have a tank or something- fuck'

[waynes-multiverse]

Love On The Brain

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Summary: Dean and Y/N – hunting partners, bunker roommates & idiots in love. Sam is fed up with their constant “will they/won’t they” bullshit and decides to move things along with his own plan until these two fated lovers’ paths finally cross one night – naked.

Warnings: +18, smut (mentions of masturbation f & m, oral f, fingering, p in v), crack of the adorkable kind, nudity, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: Happy V-Day, babes! 💖 The V stands for... Welp, you know me well enough by now to know where I’m going with this 😝 This is a lot of moronic crack mixed with some sweet smut and fluff. We all know how much I love the “idiots in love” trope, and I fully dove into this one. So, grab your glass of favorite liquor & let’s settle in, shall we? ❤️😘 Written for a request by @imagine-all-the-fandoms after making some adjustments. Found Rihanna’s Love on the Brain fitting for this one, so that’s what we went with as a general mood. Hope you enjoy, m’ladies! 🖤

Feedback is highly appreciated! Get me drunk on it and fill my writer’s juice 🤓🥃

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchster Masterlist

Freedom! Thank fucking God…

Y/N exhales a blissful sigh as she saunters to the Dean Cave with a bag of still-hot microwave popcorn in her arms. The Winchester brothers have decided on a little overnight road trip to the next, bigger town over to see a movie – and for some brotherly bonding or whatever – which means Y/N can finally enjoy some goddamn alone time in the bunker. Not that she doesn’t love Sam and Dean to bits and pieces, especially the latter one. They are like family to her, the only one she’s ever truly known, but even family can grow exhausting sometimes.

Living with two boys can grow exhausting, honestly, so Y/N has decided to spend her alone time doing a bunch of girly shit she can’t do with Tweedledee and Tweedledum around – at least not without enduring some judgmental looks.

So, first on the agenda? Watching a bunch of chick flicks, aka any movie the oldest Winchester wouldn’t approve of. Mean Girls, Clueless, 10 Things I Hate About You, You’ve Got Mail, and so on – you get the gist.

The second order of business is a long-ass bathroom time for a little much-needed self-care, including a hot and relaxing bath with an abundance of pink bubbles and soap that smells like the goddamn Queen’s flower garden. Then she’s going to shave and wax… everything. Admittedly, things got a little hairy in recent weeks. There wasn’t a lot of time between hunts and sharing close quarters with two men in motel rooms, and every time she did attempt a proper shave, Dean would yell outside the bathroom door, needing to pee or God knows what else, so she dropped the razor again. Honestly, it’s not like she’s being followed around by an array of suitors these days. It’s been months since anyone has seen her private parts or even her bare legs, including her. On the upside, at least her vibrator doesn’t mind the extra locks.

Oh God, she’s fucking sad, isn’t she? Yeah… It’s a sad affair all around, really.

Regardless, the mention of some self-love reminds her of her third to-do item on her list: sex. Well, technically masturbating to Ryan Gosling’s pictures. Maybe even Andrew Garfield, Sebastian Stan, that hot dude Jackson from Grey’s Anatomy… Leo in his prime. Brad Pitt – young and old. Seth Rogen… Whoa! Don’t judge, okay? It’s not all about looks. She loves when a guy can make her laugh, and his laugh is so sweet, deep, and… bear-y, alright?

Yeah, fine, she knows she needs to get fucked properly by a real dick instead of a fictional one – rather sooner than later before she goes for… the dick that’s been living right under the same roof, only three doors down from her own bedroom.

Shit.

Yep, Dean fucking Winchester – God of all Gods, monster hunter extraordinaire, hero of all innocent damsels, and idiotic clown of all clowns, shamelessly stole her heart since… well, pretty much the minute they met and she first laid eyes on him. It felt like being blinded by the sun, the golden freckles on his cheeks and nose resembling the twinkling, starry constellations in the night sky. In an instant, she was an unsuspecting, innocent moth to a blazing flame. How could she possibly resist that irresistible, boyish charm? There’s no vaccine against that green-eyed virus. She swears she’s seen women faint and gasp before him, and she certainly isn’t immune, either. No one truly is, not even other men, for crying out loud.

Unfortunately, Dean will never ever look at her in that way and see more than a friend in her. The thought alone is so ridiculous it makes her snort before she starts to uncontrollably sob and whine. But God, does she wish more than anything he could be hers and she could be his.

Admittedly, she feels a little lonely, especially with the ominous Valentine’s Day looming around the corner, or as Dean likes to call it – unattached drifter Christmas.

Dear fucking God, why did she have to fall in love with that dork? Why can’t it be some nice, normal guy without an abundance of commitment issues?

On the other hand, it’s a good thing the oldest Winchester isn’t here tonight, even though he’d probably love the fourth part of her evening: naturism.

Yup, walking around naked while you’re alone is the best fucking thing in the world and so goddamn freeing. Tits out. Let the ladies breathe a little, you know? Having the girls constantly locked up in bra prison is no way to go through life. And Y/N knows for sure Dean would not only agree with that sentiment but also highly support it. After all, he was the one that suggested Naked Tuesdays when she first moved in. Sam then established a rule that the oldest Winchester wasn’t allowed to “sexually harass” her. It was completely unnecessary but sweet nonetheless. Y/N knows Dean’s just a teasing goofball 99% of the time and would never seriously harm her or make her feel uncomfortable. In fact, she loves that the brothers are always looking out for her and have her best interest in mind.

So, as soon as she hears the big metal door of the bunker slam shut, Y/N excitedly begins her girl’s night alone, trying not to think too much about the green-eyed hunter and focusing on Gosling on the silver screen instead.

“So, this movie… is it like Zombieland?” Dean inquires with a wide grin, wiggling his eyebrows as he grabs a couple of beers and snacks from the fridge for their road trip to Wichita.

Sam’s brow furrows in confusion. “What? Dean, no… It’s not an action movie or a comedy. It’s an environmental documentary about how soil can counteract the climate crisis,” the younger Winchester explains, chuckling in amusement.

Dean’s face drops, his features morphing from excitement to shock as his eyes blink in rapid succession. “What?! But you said Woody Harrelson is in it! You lied to me!”

“Nooo,” Sam laughs, shaking his head, and corrects, “I said Woody Harrelson narrates it. It’s a good documentary. Trust me.”

“Fuck no! I don’t wanna watch a movie about dirt,” the older brother whines, his plump lips shaping into a pout. “Can’t we go see something with action and blood and guns? You know, something fun?”

“Dean, our whole life is action, blood, and guns. Would do you some good to care about the Earth and climate every once in a while,” Sam lectures him.

“Screw that! We’ve already saved the planet multiple times. All that Al Gore shit ain’t my problem,” Dean huffs, pops open a beer and takes a sip. “‘Sides, I don’t trust these environmental clowns. I know the first thing they’d wanna do is get rid of Baby, and then I swear I’m gonna start shootin’. I can’t stand for that insanity.”

“Fine,” Sam frowns and lets out a resigned sigh. “Then I guess you’ll have to stay here because I wanna watch that movie.”

“Fine by me,” Dean agrees with another sip of beer.

“Good. Since you’re not coming, I might even check out the Mid-America Fine Arts Museum,” Sam shares, the excitement gleaming in his hazel orbs.

“Yeah, nerd yourself out, little brother,” Dean snorts. “Did you know Wichita has a Pizza Hut Museum?”

“Uh-huh, yeah, you tell me that every time we go to Wichita, Dean,” Sam reminds him and suppresses the laugh. “Well, uh, have fun alone with Y/N then,” he smirks slyly, and Dean’s short-lived relief disappears as realization dawns, his brow knitting. “Who knows? Might even be a good opportunity for you to tell her you’re madly in love with her.”

“Wha-, uh, pffft, no?” Dean brushes his little brother’s lunatic accusations off the kitchen counter and awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, clearing the fluster in his throat. “Dude, are you drunk? I’m so not in love with her, alright? Don’t be ridiculous, okay? Do I find her incredibly hot, smart, sweet, brave, kind, adorable, and funny? Sure… That’s why she’s our friend, right? But that doesn’t mean I like… love “love” her, okay? At least not like that.” He forms sarcastic air quotes around the cursed word and grimly swallows his uncomfortableness and the lies down with a big gulp of beer. “And for crying out loud, keep your voice down when you say shit like that. I don’t want her to hear us,” he hisses, his green orbs nervously eyeing the kitchen door. “It’s echo-y in here, you know?”

“Sure, whatever you say, Dean,” Sam casually shrugs his shoulders, clearly not buying a single one of the green-eyed hunter’s words, and it only annoys the older Winchester more.

“Don’t-… Nuh-uh, don’t gimme that fake ‘whatever you say’ bullshit shtick. There’s really nothing going on, alright?” Dean assures anew, growing more irritated by the minute.

Sam twitches his shoulders once more and then cockily folds his arms over his chest, a teasing smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, so you won’t mind if I set her up with Matt, right? It’s just-… She seems a little lonely lately.”

“Lonely?” Dean arches an eyebrow in apprehension and scoffs, “She’s fine, Sam. She’s got us.”

Sam frowns for what feels like the hundredth time during this conversation. “Dean, you honestly don’t think that’s enough for her.”

“Why not?” The older Winchester shrugs, refusing to see clearly. “It’s enough for me. Our life is awesome. You don’t see me complaining.”

“Yes, you’re obviously the golden standard for healthy relationships,” Sam mutters sarcastically and rolls his eyes back.

Dean purses and smacks his plump lips, scratching the bit of scruff on his throat. “Well, uh… shut up, okay? And don’t set her up with Matt. The guy’s a douche.”

“Alright, what about Josh? You like Josh,” Sam suggests next.

“Yeah, as a hunting partner, he’s alright, not as a boy toy for our friend, Sam,” Dean grits bitterly and rolls his eyes, chugging the rest of his beer. “Seriously, what is wrong with you? You’re not her pimp. Just leave her alone, alright?”  

“Look, if you don’t wanna date her – fine. That’s on you. Just don’t stand in the way of her happiness because you can’t stop self-sabotaging yourself, man,” Sam argues with a judgmentally raised brow.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Dean grumbles, the offense clearly written in every deep wrinkle on his face.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say, Dean,” Sam deadpans and grabs his laptop bag, making his way out of the kitchen.

“Stop saying that!”

“Look, I’d love to discuss all your weird issues in detail with you, but I still have to pick up Eileen on my way to Wichita,” Sam notes nonchalantly as Dean trails behind him through the bunker’s corridors. “I’ve watched you two beat around the bush for years. It’s getting annoying. You guys are worse than Ross and Rachel.”

“Wait, Eileen? Did you plan all of this on purpose? Were you trying to trick me?” Dean’s voice rises with his exasperation. He hates when Sam puts his nose where it doesn’t belong, mainly in his business. It’s the typical little brother shit he had to deal with all his life. Siblings, man…

“Me? No, I would never,” his younger brother replies with feigned innocence, marching up the metal stairs to the exit, but Dean can hear the goddamn deceit in his words.

“I don’t believe you,” Dean grits with a sternly creased brow, narrowing his juniper eyes at his younger brother as he halts at the bottom of the steps.

“Okay, whatever you say, Dean,” Sam grins complacently and opens the door. “Just don’t be an idiot. Make the first move, alright? That’s all you need to do. Trust me. It’s gonna be fine. She likes you, too.”

With that, the youngest Winchester closes the door behind him, leaving Dean to ruminate in his convoluted misery.

The hunter then stomps through the hallways of the bunker, furiously mumbling to himself as he passes the Dean Cave on his way to his room. Hearing sounds coming from inside, he stops by the cracked door for a moment and realizes Y/N is watching a movie in there. He considers joining her before recognizing Gosling’s voice, a deep sigh leaving his lips. Of course, she’s watching chick flicks again, so he decides against his plan, knowing some silly rom-com could potentially be a slippery slope and lead to some dangerous innuendos.

He downright refuses to play into his little brother’s evil scheme. Sam’s not goddamn Lindsay Lohan, and this isn’t the fucking Parent Trap. It’s better and safer if Dean stays far away from Y/N for the entirety of Sam’s absence, so the hunter quietly retreats to his room.

Dean decided to watch a bunch of his favorite horror movies until late into the night, ignoring the boiling feelings under the surface. He then closes his laptop with a heavy sigh, ready to call it a night after a nice, warm shower.

With headphones on and some classic rock music drowning out his hammering thoughts, he takes off his clothes and wraps a towel around himself. During an earlier snack run to the kitchen, he noticed the Dean Cave had already been deserted, the room quiet and dark. Y/N luckily has withdrawn to her own room again, so he knows he won’t accidentally run into her. She still hasn’t left his mind, his head in a constant swirl since his stupid conversation with Sam.

So, naturally, Dean comes to the conclusion that only some self-completion down the shower drain might help to clear his thoughts and flush the huntress out of his mind for good. He’s not proud of it, but it’s certainly not the first time since he’s known her that he thinks about her while jerking off. Usually, it only happens when he has to spend too many nights in a row with her in a small motel room without a way to escape, but this time, though, he fully blames Sam and his big mouth for it.

Wandering down the hall to the bathroom, his head bobs to the rhythm of the music flowing through his ears, his green eyes fixed on his phone screen as he scrolls through his playlist. Mindlessly opening the door, he suddenly freezes as another body bumps straight into him.

It all happens pretty fast from there. There’s a loud, high-pitched shriek that filters through the music, his hand drops his phone, and his headphones fall down with it, severing the connection and leaving him in silence as his palms catch a taut-skinned body in his arms while the towel around his waist glides to the tiled floor. And then, he just stares into two big and shocked pupils, which are probably as wide as his own.

Fuck…

For a second, Dean feels incredibly exposed before noticing the warm skin that’s pressed flush against his own body. Yep, he doesn’t dare to check, but he’s certain Y/N’s completely naked, too.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…,” Y/N’s panicked voice chimes in his ears as both of them awkwardly avert their gazes in different directions to the ceiling and avoid eye contact at all costs while still clinging tightly onto each other, aware that if one of them moves, it’s game over and they’d see each other in their full glory. Basically, they’re each other’s damn shields – as uncomfortable as that may be. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

“I, uh…” That’s when Dean realizes Y/N probably didn’t even know he stayed behind and let Sam go to Wichita alone. “Sam wanted to watch a documentary.”

“I know!” Y/N yells in annoyance and grits, “You were supposed to go with him! Granted, I was surprised you agreed to it in the first place, but still, you’re not supposed to be home!”

“He didn’t tell me it was a documentary about dirt, alright? Otherwise, it would’ve been a straight-up ‘no’ from the start,” Dean explains and tries not to get hard as he feels Y/N’s tits press against his chest. Judging by the precise feeling that’s poking him, she must be somewhat cold.

“Yes, he did! I was right there when you agreed,” Y/N argues. “He talked about it for over an hour.”

“Oh,” Dean stumps and clears his throat rather awkwardly. Who could blame him for not listening, huh?

“You never listen to people! It’s so goddamn annoying!”

“Y/N, you need to stop talking, sweetheart,” Dean begs her, squeezing his eyes shut as he concentrates on anything else for dear life.

Baseball, Sam drinking green smoothies, a scratch on Baby’s new coat of paint… He attempts to distract his mind from the unavoidable, but it’s no use. The skin-on-skin contact is his final nail in the coffin.

“Oh, I’m sure you would love that, wouldn’t you?” Y/N continues in a furious huff, “It’s not always about you–”

“Y/N, please… All that angry shaking isn’t helping, sweetheart.”

The huntress cocks an eyebrow high, almost reaching the messy bun on top of her head. “Helping with what?”

“Uhm…”

And that’s when he can’t control it any longer. There’s a distinctive twitch against her thigh, and he’s sure she’s felt it, too. Shit, shit, shit…

“Oooooh.” Y/N awkwardly presses her lips into a thin line, her fingertips tapping a nervous melody on his skin. Her single utterance makes his heart stop. It’s game over. She’s going to call him a gross perv, move out of the bunker, and then never speak to him again. “It’s-, uhm, it’s okay,” she says surprisingly, her head bobbing with a thick swallow as she reassuringly squeezes his biceps where her palms rest.

“Y/N, I’m-, uh… oh God… I’m so, so sorry,” he stammers, deciding to keep his eyes shut to escape some of the awkwardness.

“I-, no, it’s not-… This is a weird situation we’re in… It’s fine. Completely normal, right? Like, uhm, like a reflex?”

“Uh, yeah, guess so,” Dean gulps, his eyelids slowly fluttering open and gaze drifting back to the ceiling. It’s not a goddamn reflex, though. It’s all her. It’s the effect she has on him.

“We should, uh, probably, uhm, detangle…”

“Uh-huh, yup, nope, agree,” he says and clears his throat once more, hoping the fluster will leave his body soon. “You, uh, wanna bend down, and we both can grab our towels?”

Fuck, it’ll probably be awkward between them for months now. They’ll avoid each other during breakfast, lunch, dinner… They’ll stop watching movies together, Sam will have to be their buffer and hate it, and they probably won’t look directly into each other’s eyes till Christmas – and it’s only fucking February.

“Oh, uhm… I actually, technically didn’t, uh, come with a towel?”

His eyebrow twitches upward, head slightly tilting to the side as he thinks about her words. “Oh, uh… Wait… Were you, uhm, walking around like… naked through the bunker?”

Well, there’s an image Dean’s never gonna get out of his head. Now, he’ll forever wonder if she takes off her clothes as soon as he walks out the door.

“Look, I thought I was alone, okay?! Again – you’re not actually supposed to be here! Don’t judge me!” Y/N defends, the panic returning to her voice, and then adds something in an almost inaudible mumble, “Just wanted to let the girls breathe a little. Sue me…”

“What?” His head tilts some more, the fine creases on his brow deepening.

“Nothing… never mind,” she quickly splutters, her cheeks flushing bright red as she visibly swallows.

Dean snorts. He’s in love with a dork, isn’t he? God, she’s adorable.

And then, it fucking happens again. Dammit…

“Was that…”

“Again – I’m so, so sorry,” he apologizes once more, although he’s sure he can’t do it often enough. His dick is an escaped zoo animal and clearly on the prowl tonight.

“No, uh… So how do you wanna do this? We could, uhm, maybe turn 180 and then close our eyes and let go… I could, uhm, run really fast down the hall, and you could just quickly back into the bathro–”

Y/N doesn’t get to finish laying out her plan. Dean’s lips on hers stop any further words from spilling out of her mouth. The featherlight kiss doesn’t last longer than a painfully anxious second, his mind racing a mile a minute, his brain positively fried.

What the hell is he fucking doing? There’s only one rule in the bunker: don’t sexually harass Y/N. Dean’s pretty damn sure he’s breaking that rule right now and crossing too many goddamn lines. How’s he supposed to ever recover from this?

“What, uh…” Y/N’s speechless, every muscle frozen stiff in his embrace. Her eyebrows draw up and reach her hairline, eyes blown wide in shock. “Or that… you could do that…”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Dean groans in defeat and shame, hoping the Earth opens up and takes him straight to the burning fires of Hell. See? There aren’t enough apologies in this world to make up for his stupidity. “You know, this is all Sam’s fault… He just got into my head… I mean, this is obviously the wrong first move… I-I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just have a, you know, teeny-tiny crush on you, but still, this is obviously inappropriate.”

“You-, uhm, you have a crush on me?”

Dean swallows the hard lump in his throat. “Uh, yeah… Yeah, I do,” he admits bravely. “But don’t worry about it, okay? It’s just a temporary thing, alright?”

Y/N nods slightly in understanding. “For how long have you felt this way?”

“Well, uhm, like I said – not that long… Just a very short period of time… Like, since November 29th… 2012,” he gulps and shrugs sheepishly, watching her brow furrow in confusion.

“But… that’s the day we met,” Y/N points out.

Dean chuckles uncomfortably and rebuffs her concerns. “Is it? No…,” he rasps. “Well, uhm, anyways, that doesn’t change anything. Don’t worry, alright? No need to make this weird. I’m sure if we give it a couple more years, I’ll be completely over you.”

Y/N’s head bobs again, her lips pursing. “Okay, uhm… But what if you, uh, you know, maybe get over me in the literal sense… and I could get under you?”

The gears in his head start turning as he musingly squints his pine green eyes at her and studies her features. She seems nervous. There’s a bite of her lower lip and a light swallow in her throat, her pupils flickering insecurely. “Uhm, well… is that something you would like? I mean, to get-, uh, would you wanna get under me?”

“Uhm… yes? Yeah?” She looks up at him and meets his gaze, their eyes fully connecting for the first time since they have catapulted themselves into this mortifying situation.

“Is that a question?” Dean checks and chuckles lightly. “Because you kinda need to be sure about this, y’know?”

Another swallow and Y/N nods, determination gleaming in her eyes. He feels her weight shift forward, her feet rising on tip-toes as her palms move from his upper arms to the back of his neck. Her soft, pillowy lips catch his, a tender touch as their mouths carefully mold together. She sucks on his upper lip, nibbles on the bottom one before he feels the tip of her tongue lick between. He opens his mouth wider, lets her slip inside.

Dean’s hands then begin to travel, his confidence growing as Y/N’s fingers tug slightly on the short strands of hair in the nape of his neck, trying to draw him closer. One large hand cups her neck, the other one smoothing down her spine and pressing into the small of her back. He pushes her closer, deepens the kiss, and both of them moan needily while their tongues dance with each other. His grip on her becomes stronger, their bodies melting into one. Y/N gasps into his mouth, her hips pushing against his, skin on skin, as her bare pussy brushes his bulging dick.

“Shit…,” Dean mutters breathlessly against her lips, and Y/N breaks the kiss and meets his eyes with a hint of a smile.

Her lips are red and glistening, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. He cups her blushed cheek, thumb ghosting over the kiss-swollen flesh of her bottom lip as he mirrors her soft smile.

“You okay?” Y/N checks, giggling slightly.

Dean chuckles, palm still caressing her cheek. “Yeah, uh, just realized we’re incredibly naked.”

She snorts and nods, “Yeah, guess that doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination, huh?”

“Definitely not,” Dean agrees and laughs a little, his cheeks blushing with bashfulness. “But, look, we don’t have to do anything tonight, alright? We can take it slow.”

Y/N thoughtfully chews on her lip, her dimples showing a smile before she shakes her head. “No, I think we’ve been taking things slow for long enough.”

Dean’s face breaks into a grin before he pulls her back to his lips for a searing kiss. Y/N’s hands lock around his neck, allowing him to lift her up, and her legs instinctively wrap around his waist. His hand weaves into her hair, still damp in the back of her neck from her bath, as the scent of her delicious body wash and lotion seep into his nostrils with each intake of air.

“You smell nice,” he notes, his mouth trailing along her jawline and down her throat, leaving wet kisses in his wake as he sucks her pulse point black and blue. “Like a flower garden…”

Y/N giggles, the cute sound in his ears causing his heart to flutter. She clasps his jaw and draws his attention back to her face, nuzzling her nose against his, whispering, “Bedroom. Need you inside me…”

“Jesus, Y/N… Going in for the kill, huh? You can’t say stuff like that to a man in a compromising position,” he jokes, making her laugh more. “Okay, hold on, sweetheart. You ready?”

She confirms it with a nod, and Dean adjusts his grip on her body, grabbing her a little tighter before bolting down the bunker hallway like a little kid on Christmas morning. The huntress squeals and giggles in his arms as he kicks the door open to his bedroom, gently laying her down on the mattress. She lets herself fall back and stretches out on the bed, her shoulder blades indenting the memory foam, and he hopes the thing does as advertised and fucking remembers her forever.

“You’re fast,” Y/N teases him as he quickly makes his way on top of her.

Dean chuckles, placing soft kisses on her lips in between his laughs. “Yeah, well, I’d run a mile just to get a taste of you, sweetheart. But don’t worry – not all of it will be this fast, alright?”

“Oh, I didn’t think it would be,” she giggles and licks her lips. “Can you just do me a favor?”

“Anything, sweetheart,” Dean assures her and lovingly brushes her hair behind her ears.

“Just judging by, uhm, size-,” she interrupts her sentence for a giggle, and he joins in. She’s so fucking cute. “Can you go slow?”

“Oh, trust me. I would’ve taken my time either way, but tell you what – I’ll even do you one better,” he says. His fingers then slide up her arm, along her collarbone and down to one breast. She shivers underneath him, her skin breaking into delicate goosebumps, soon soothed by his warm lips. His thumb brushes her bud, plays with it until it hardens and then alleviates the sensation with his hot breath and wet tongue.

“Fuuuuck,” Y/N sighs blissfully, her toes curling as a smile shapes on her lips, fully relaxing under his care. “Feels so good, De.”

His chuckle vibrates against her ribcage, his mouth traveling down her upper body, his kisses not missing an inch of smooth skin. Every rib, every beauty mark, every freckle gets the attention they deserve, even teasingly dipping his tongue into her navel. The last tender kiss is placed on her mound as he moves between her legs and spreads her thighs a little wider.

A smirk forms on his face as he leers at her pussy, bright pink and already glistening with her arousal. He catches her watchful gaze, sees a bit of insecurity shimmering in it as she nibbles her fingernails and bottom lip almost bloody, so he cheekily wiggles his eyebrows and sends her a wink, causing her to giggle and roll her eyes at his antics before she lets herself fall back into the mattress with a calming, deep breath.

Licking his thumb pad, he presses it against her sensitive nub, her thighs jolting for a second at the initial touch as a hiss escapes her throat, followed shortly by a strangled whimper. Y/N’s hands fist the bedsheet a little tighter, her knuckles turning white, every muscle wired to the nth degree. Her chest heaves frantically as her breathing grows more erratic with each little circle of his digit. His index finger then stretches and reaches her dripping entrance, rubbing at the tight ring before he easily pushes inside and curls it, poking the spongey spot.

“Fuck, Dean…,” she manages to croak out, biting down on her tongue.

Dean only chuckles, a giddy feeling spreading in his stomach and loving how responsive she is to his touches. There’s a loud whimper when he kisses her pussy lips, tongue dipping between and giving her clit a kitten lick, distracting her enough to shove his middle finger inside her cunt as well, scissoring them once he’s knuckles-deep.

“Oh God… shit,” she groans and whines above him.

He laughs lightly and curiously observes the torment on her face. “Wanna cum, huh?”

“Dean, I swear… I-… please,” she begs, her initial threat morphing into a soft plea for mercy.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he assures her amusedly and swiftly presses his mouth back on her pussy, sucking her sensitive bundle of nerves between his plump lips and thrusting his digits harder and faster inside her. It only takes three, four pushes and one skilled suck before she convulses, trembles, and soaks his face and fingers in her juices. He groans at the sweet taste of her on his tongue, his cock twitches gleefully between his bow legs, only too eager to slide in next.

“Oh God! Fuck… shit… D-Dean!”

The green-eyed hunter grins broadly up at her, his face almost split in half as he bathes in her blissed-out expression and the rosy cheeks that accompany it.

“Wow,” she breathes and shakily catches his swollen and wet lips as he comes back up to her eye level, propping his arms up on the sides of her head.

“I think you’re ready for the big gun now,” he laughs and places a loving kiss on the tip of her nose and another one on her forehead.

“Uh-huh, I’m not so sure after this,” she giggles, still catching her breath. She cups his jaw, kisses him deeply, and licks her arousal from his pillowy lips. “You’re… amazing.”

“Right back at you, sweetheart,” he winks, the softness of his smile contrasting his cockiness. “Do we, uhm, need–”

Y/N shakes her head, anticipating his question. “No, uh, I’m on the pill. I just need you.”

With a smile, he nods and ducks his head, entangling her in a blazing kiss as he devours her lips. His hand pushes between their heated bodies, fisting his achingly hard cock before he threads his dickhead through her folds, coats it with her slick before it catches at her entrance. His thick and leaking tip pushes inside, slowly entering her drenched cunt inch by inch till he’s buried deep and touches her cervix, stretching her tight walls around his impressive girth and hearing her little gasps of sheer pleasure.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps at the feeling of her pussy enveloping his cock and gently brushes her hair out of her face, kissing her deeply. “Taking me so well… Such a good girl f’me.”

“God, you feel like heaven,” she whimpers and wraps her arms around his neck.

As he languidly pulls out to the tip, he kisses down her neck, sucking a mark into her skin. His hand wraps around one of hers, pinning it above her head to the mattress, fingers tightly interlocking before he thrusts back into her heat. His hips then work up a rhythm, a slow and soft song, as he fucks her deep and slams home harder at just the right spot.  

Her second orgasm builds slowly yet deeply, aiming to shatter her from within as she hears the ticking of a bomb in every muscle of her body, counting down the seconds before a massive explosion. She moans loudly as the earth-shattering climax hits her at full force, booming and wild as she curses his name over and over.

His fingers grip hers tighter, his thrusts growing sloppy as he lazily fucks her, her pulsating walls clenching around his firm cock. His hips begin to stutter, broad shoulders quaking as he spills deep inside her and stills. He grunts, her name falling from his lips, loud, strained, and primal when he cums, painting her walls with his milky seed.

“Wow,” Dean repeats her earlier sentiment, her giggle causing his heart to soar higher than the moon in the sky. “You okay?”

A wide smile spreads across her face, a tired nod moving her head. “Yeah, more than okay,” she assures him and seeks out his lips.

Dean places one last kiss on her hairline before removing his limp and drenched dick from her center, rolling to his side and pulling her onto his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around her frame. “Hey, Y/N?”

She wearily lifts her heavy head to meet his green eyes. “Hm?”

“Were you, uhm, lonely?” Dean asks, his fingertips drawing tender patterns on her back.

“I guess… a little, yeah,” she admits. “Why?”

He kisses her forehead and pulls her closer. “Nothing. Just… I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere, okay? You wanna move into my room?”

Y/N’s beam is blinding, her cheeks blushing brightly pink. “Yeah, I’d love that,” she replies and snuggles back into his chest.

Dean then notices her eyes falling shut, losing the battle against sleep as her breathing calms in his embrace, his own mind following her into dreamland soon after.

In the morning, Y/N and Dean are still soundly asleep, entangled in sheets and limbs, when there are a few abrupt knocks on the door before it pops open to its full extent, the youngest Winchester’s voice drowning in from the hall.

“Hey, Dean? I’m back! Look, I figured we could talk. I’m sorry about yesterd–… ay… Whoa!”

“Wha-!” Y/N jolts up from the bed at the unexpected intrusion, her elbow hitting Dean straight in the face as he rises behind her. The force of the blow knocks him out of bed, the hunter tumbling to the cold ground.

Y/N clasps her palm over her mouth, staring at Sam’s shocked expression, their eyes both wide before she glances over her shoulder to her lover on the ground.

“Ow! Jesus…”

“Y/N?”

“Hi, Sam,” the huntress smiles awkwardly at the younger Winchester, sheepishly shrugging her shoulders as she hides her naked body underneath the sheets. “Good morning. How-, uh, how was the documentary?”

“Uhm, good?” Sam doesn’t look any less freaked out by what his hazel eyes are witnessing, though.

Dean groans behind her, rubbing a palm over his aching face before sending his little brother a lazy grin. “Hiya, Sammy.”

Sam then lets out a long sigh through his nose and mutters, “About damn time…”

“Yeah, about that, little brother… Might call Eileen and book yourself a room for at least a week somewhere,” Dean tells him, smirking.

Sam’s brow furrows, “What? Why?”

“Oh, because I’m gonna rail Y/N in every room we have,” Dean explains casually, watching Sam’s eyes widen.

“Oh?” Y/N sends her boyfriend an intrigued look, which he responds to with a sly wiggle of his eyebrows and a wink. “Even the dungeon? Are you, like, gonna tie me up and stuff?”

Dean’s eyes look at her lovingly, causing her cheeks to flush with heat. “Where have you been all my life, sweetheart?”

“Oh God, what have I done…,” Sam groans with a thick swallow.

PHEW! And we’re done with one shot week, babes! 😮‍💨 I honestly hadn’t planned this but found some inspiration over the weekend and finished some WIPs, and since they were all about different kinds of love, I figured they were perfect for Valentine’s Day 💖

Hope you enjoyed these various journeys, and if you did, please consider telling me here and leaving me with some kind words 🥰 Now excuse me while I go work on a few Soldier Boy one shots. I’ve missed my toxic Ben-Ben. Read you soon, babes! 😝🖤

Everything Jensen Tags: @extraterrestriali @this-is-me19 @writercole @awkward-and-indecisive @eevvvaa @panicking-outside-the-disco @globetrotter28 @imherefordeanandbones @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @xlynnbbyx @jassackles @maggiegirl17 @perpetualabsurdity @deans-spinster-witch @deandreamernp @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @deanwithscissors @mrsjenniferwinchester @justrealizedimmascifygurl @akshi8278 @flamencodiva @chriszgirl92 @lhymer1995 @wittyboldsoul @djs8891 @leigh70 @snowlovespie @b3autyfuldisast3r @recoveringpastaaddict @ladysparkles78 @muhahaha303 @mimaria420 @creepzeyecandy @avanatural​

Dean Tags: @parinarain​ @hobby27​ @fromcaintodean​

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester fic #dean winchester reader insert #dean x reader #dean x y/n #writing request #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic

[rebelfell]

The Third Date

Eddie Munson x Anorgasmic!Reader

When you move back to Hawkins after graduating college, you find yourself reconnecting with an old friend in a new way. Your first two dates with Eddie Munson are everything you’d ever dreamed, but the next one has you unraveling.

Part One. Part Two.

cw: childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, fem!reader, deceased parent, mentions of poor sexual experiences, some drinking, sexual anxiety, making out, fingering, panic attack, eddie being sweet and reassuring, fluffy ending.

I was kinda in my feelings and needed Eddie to tell me all the right things. Sue me. 7k 18+, MDNI

You used to like this mirror.

It was vintage. Full length with an ornate gold frame, swirling embellishments on the top and sides. Not to mention it was a fucking steal at $10 from an estate sale. You’d liked it enough to make it one of the scant number of things you hauled all the way back to Hawkins when you moved out of your shoebox apartment in the city.

Right now, though? You kind of hated it. 

Usually, standing before it made you feel stately and elegant, even if all you had on was ratty denim shorts and a threadbare t-shirt riddled with holes and bleach stains. Yet here you were in one of your favorite outfits, hair meticulously styled, face glowing and dewy after spending an hour on it, and all you felt was ridiculous.

Not the mirror’s fault, technically. But it was the messenger. It told you at every twist of your hips, at every outfit change, at every pluck and tug of your clothes, that you were never going to look right—that you were never going to feel right. And it mocked your every failed attempt to do so.

You inhale, breath shallow and shaky as you try yet again to calm down. It’s just a date, you remind yourself. It’s just a date and he’s just a guy. There’s nothing to be worried about. 

Except it wasn’t just a date. It was the auspicious Third Date.

And it certainly wasn’t just a guy…it was Eddie.

This was something you’d been waiting for forever. For longer than forever. For longer than you could count. Eddie Munson was your oldest and dearest friend. Growing up, you were like each other’s second heads—facing the worst of what small minds in a small town in Indiana cooked up. You stood, middle fingers brandished like swords, dreaming of a wider world.

It felt strange to think this would only be your third date when you’d basically been dating since you were thirteen. You went to movies together, wasted weekday afternoons at the record store, lounged on the gravelly bank of Lover’s Lake reading well-worn paperbacks—Two Towers for him, Dorothy Parker for you. He begged you to sit in on Hellfire when he started the club your junior year and only had three members, himself included. He’d sneak you into the dive bar where his band played Tuesday nights, and you would immediately stick out among the five drunks who assembled every week. But as long as all you ordered was ginger ale and swore up and down you weren’t a cop, the bartender let you sit there all night to watch him.

Nights never ended the way “real” dates did. No hands being held as he walked you from his van to your doorstep; no kisses under flickering porch lights scored by a cricket symphony.

He never touched you too much, always quick to withdraw his hands when they lingered on your hip or back or arm. That would change, though, if he smoked or drank a bit and his cuddly side came out. Secretly, you longed for these times. You reveled in having his chin rest on your shoulder or his arms wind around your waist to hold you close. It never felt gross or crossed the line into groping like with other, lesser, guys looking for something to fondle. With Eddie, it felt more like he was showing you how he wished he could be all the time.

At least that’s what you let yourself imagine. 

He always apologized the following day, just short of castrating himself over it. It made you want to slap him. Slap him and then kiss him and slap him again. How could he not get it? How could he not see how goddamn in love with him you were? How could he not feel the same way? You waved him off, assuring him he hadn’t done anything wrong. All the while thinking, you fucking idiot, and not even knowing if you were referring to him or yourself.

Then came graduation. Or rather, your graduation and his sullen admission he wasn't eligible, which lead to the longest, most difficult conversation of your lives so far. It wasn’t even a conversation so much as it was you swinging wildly between reactions—scolding him for not telling you sooner; grasping at the straws of extra credit assignments your teachers would never assign; volunteering to stand guard while he broke into the administration office.

Eventually, though, you had to face the reality of losing him and it left a prominent break in your heart. Your acceptance letter to a school in Indianapolis that used to make you feel weightless, like you could finally fly out of here, now felt more like chains dragging you away.

You had half a mind to take him with you. You must have rehearsed the speech you wanted to make something like fifty times. Screw Hawkins, you’d say. Screw their closed minds and their disdain for anything even a little different. He could get his GED—you’d help him, happily. He could find work in the city and take community college classes or go to trade school. The two of you could live together and watch slasher movies every Friday night, falling asleep on his chest when you got tired just as you’d done all throughout high-school.

Of course those thoughts inevitably spiraled into what would happen once he started dating. A bigger city meant a bigger pool of people, all with the potential to realize the kind, sweet, caring boy who was bursting with passion for his fantasy games and music and his other rich interests was actually a massive catch and not a social pariah. In no time, it would be someone else falling asleep on his chest and you watching them be carried to his bed.

You couldn’t bear the thought of that. Maybe even moreso, you couldn't bear the thought of asking him to come with you and him saying “no.”

So, you went alone. You packed up your car with the barest necessities, you kissed your dad goodbye and said you’d see him at Christmas. But it was Eddie who saw you off, taking you into his arms and holding you there with your head tucked under his chin. You buried your face in his chest, tears leaking onto the patches you’d helped him sew on his denim vest. He told you how proud he was and how much he was gonna miss you. He said to write. To send pictures.

All you could do was sniffle.

At college, you tried expanding your horizons. You joined a couple clubs to make new friends and started going to parties. You met people like Carl. And even though he was handsome and seemed nice enough, you turned him down when he asked you to dinner. It wasn’t until much later, when your roommate scolded you for doing so, that you even felt some doubt about it. What was even the point when you knew he wasn’t what you wanted?

Except what you wanted might never be yours.

That first trip home to Hawkins was wildly unnerving. You knew it hadn’t actually been that long since you left. But why did it feel so strange that everything felt exactly the same? Had you really changed so much already that your home no longer felt like home? 

Even seeing Eddie again felt like rupturing old wounds you thought had successfully scabbed over. You withdrew from him without even realizing you were doing it. He knew something was wrong, but didn’t dare voice it. His greatest fear loomed: you were done with Hawkins. 

Done with him.

It took a while to strike the balance between the old and the new. You’d run away so fast and tried to overwrite everything in your life, returning to Hawkins felt like entering a fantasy world. And Eddie became like an apparition, a specter of everything you missed most. 

You started writing to him more, sharing stories about your classes, gossip in the dorms, drunk adventures in the city. And he wrote back, telling you all about the new members of Hellfire who also happened to play instruments and were eager to replace the members of Corroded Coffin who had graduated and moved away. Eventually, the letters became more like a diary. 

You could confess things you’d never imagined telling anyone—stuff about your mom and how you’d spent every day wondering if she’d be proud of you; how you worried about your dad and wondered if he would ever get over her; how you feared you might never find love like theirs and even if you did, how it might be taken away from you like it was from them.

And he confessed back to you. Amidst his ideas for new D&D campaigns and song lyrics, he gave you deeper insight on things you knew already—his father’s sordid criminal history and his mother’s inability to cope, which led to her dropping Eddie on his uncle’s doorstep at the ripe old age of eleven. Reading about Hawkins through his eyes made it feel more real and less like a dream you’d woken up from. It kept that connection open, a bridge between your worlds, so  you could experience college and all the new things it had to offer, but still felt connected.

Then the end of your sophomore year brought more bad news. 

Again, he wasn’t eligible. Again, he wasn’t graduating.

You’d not been able to let go of that fantasy of him joining you at school. Every time you walked across the quad, leaves crunching beneath your boots, sunlight dying as it dipped behind the old brick buildings and cast everything in a hazy golden autumn glow, you imagined a pair of clean, white sneakers next to yours and a ringed hand squeezing your fingers.

He promised you this was his year. Swore it, in fact. ‘86, baby! he’d scrawled big and messy under his signature at the end of one of his letters. And maybe it would. He said he was doing better—army crawling his way towards a D in Mrs. O'Donnell's class, already planning how he would snatch his diploma and flip the bird at the principal as he walked the stage.

He was certain enough it made you start to believe it too.

You never dared to broach the subject of what he wanted to do after graduation. He hadn’t mentioned applying to any colleges or looking for work. The rest of the band was graduating with him. Maybe they’d all move here to get more exposure. Maybe they wanted to record a demo they could pass out to record companies. Or maybe Eddie wanted to go solo.

The lack of information made you antsy. Was he being decidedly cagey about his plans? Was he hiding something? Or was he just afraid of disappointing you again?

It was nearing the end of the school year when you finally broke. You had to see him.

For once, your spring breaks were going to overlap. You blew off your classes on Friday to make the drive and managed to get to Hawkins High just as the final bell was ringing. His van still sat in the parking lot and you pulled in alongside it to wait, practically jumping out of your skin with excitement. Thirty whole minutes crawled by before you finally spotted him.

He emerged from the woods at the back of the practice sport fields, chattering with ease to maybe the last person on earth you would have expected to see.

Chrissy Cunningham was just as pretty as she’d always been. She was a couple years behind you and Eddie in school, but everyone knew of her from the moment she made the varsity cheer squad as a freshman—a staggering feat no one else had ever managed. She still had the same bouncy ponytail, the same enormous eyes and cherubic cheeks you imagined must ache at the end of each day from her constant smiling. And she was somehow smiling even wider than normal at whatever Eddie was saying as he grinned back at her.

It made your stomach churn thinking what they could have been doing to have her smiling like that. You knew he’d started dealing for Reefer Rick to earn extra money, but in what universe would the queen of Hawkins High be struck with the urge to buy a bag of skunky weed? 

Unless it wasn’t weed she was after at all.

Panic doused your body. You jammed your key back in the ignition and sped out of the lot, praying he didn’t see you. You drove straight back to school, tears streaming down your face for the entire journey, making you hate yourself more with every salty trail that stained your cheeks. Because what else did you expect? For him to pine for you like you did for him? For him to be like you and not date anyone, ever? To keep everyone who even attempted to get close at a distance? Reserving a space in your heart for someone who might not even want to fill it?

You loved him more now than you ever had. Even without seeing him every day, even without having him constantly at your side. If anything, it had gotten worse. Your feelings piled up within you just as his letters did in your room. They all lived in a box under your shitty dorm bed to be pulled out over and over and over so you could parse every line for hidden meaning. Crying at his words, so heartfelt and honest you didn’t even notice the grammatical and spelling errors.

By the time you got back to campus, you felt raw and spent. Your face was streaked with tears and you were breathless from crying. For days, you walked around campus like a ghost until you bumped into Carl, the only other soul not off on some debaucherous Spring Break trip. And when he asked you for seemingly the hundredth time if he could buy you dinner…you said yes.

It came in the mail a few months later. Your address scribbled messily on an invitation to the Hawkins High Class of 1986 graduation. Eddie had included a photocopy of his final grades and written “proof it’s not a clerical error” with a little smiley face in the corner.

You called him that night to tell him how proud of him you were. And you were proud of him. So unbelievably proud. But when he asked if you were coming, you lied. You said your boyfriend’s parents would be in town and that he wanted you to meet them. You told him how sorry you were, all the while thinking Chrissy could congratulate him enough for the both of you. 

And in spite of yourself…you let yourself pretend you heard a little dejection in his voice when you used the word “boyfriend”—fictitious as it was.

The truth was, you’d only been officially dating Carl for a couple weeks. And he was perfectly nice. He’d kissed you and it felt fine. It didn’t quite live up to what you believed it should feel like, but maybe that was a good thing. Maybe what you imagined wasn’t realistic. Maybe what you thought it should be wasn’t feasible.

Maybe you just had to let that go.

And dating Carl was simple and uncomplicated. It served a purpose. It made you feel at least like you weren’t languishing in a wasteland of your unrequited feelings. It made you feel like you were trying. Sure, the sex wasn’t great. But you hardly expected it to be good for you. 

You’d hooked up with the odd guy here and there over the years. It was a pattern that began with some guy you met downtown whose assignment was to keep you occupied while his friend put the moves on your roommate. You were a little drunk and a lot lonely, so you’d gone along with it. It was quick. A little uncomfortable. It certainly didn’t make you eager to repeat the experience. But at least you could say you’d done it.

Part of you thought maybe it would get better, but it never did. 

Even guys you thought were decent at first were quick to gloss over the preamble and lead up, jumping straight to stuffing themselves inside you with no regard to your winces of discomfort. It didn’t take long before you started to assume you had to be the problem. Even by yourself, it took you ages to reach any sort of precipice. And even when you did, even when you felt your heart rate rising and your body heaving in response, the pay-off was…underwhelming.

With Carl, you thought it could be different. Maybe you needed a deeper connection; maybe you needed a few times to get comfortable with someone to properly ascend that peak. But the more you did it with him, the less attainable that seemed. Maybe you were just broken. 

You also tried not to dwell on the fact that the only times you ever got close were when you pictured a different face hovering over yours; when you imagined your fingers twisted up in dark, shaggy curls; when you visualized pale skin littered with tattoos and sinewy arms caging you in; when you lit that one candle you only bought because it reminded you of Eddie’s cologne.

The decision to move back home turned out to be less a decision and more a necessity.

A whole year out of school and you’d had truly terrible luck finding a job—at least a decent one that actually wanted to pay you. Carl, ever the charmer, wondered why you even wanted to work when you’d just wind up quitting when you got married. Really, you appreciated it. It was exactly the kind of comment you needed to jolt you out of a relationship that had been on autopilot.

You were a mess. Lost. Aimless. Barely treading water. Wishing you could call the one person you knew would cheer you up, but unsure if it would only result in more heartache. In the blink of an eye, it had been over five years since you left home and it was starting to feel like your only accomplishments were breaking up with your boyfriend and buying a mirror.

Then came the call from your dad.

He’d taken a nasty fall at his hardware store. He was fine, for the most part. But he was now significantly weaker and would have to have surgery as well as physical therapy after. And he certainly couldn’t run his store anymore. It had never run particularly smoothly to begin with and his books left something to be desired—another thing you’d be helping with once you moved back. He never outright asked you to do so, but he also didn’t have to.

The only good news was the bad news: a massive fire that disintegrated Starcourt Mall had led to an influx of renovations to the downtown area. In the wake of the mall’s destruction came a resurgence in small businesses that breathed life back into the desolation the mall caused.

It was in this newly resurrected downtown where Eddie was making his mark. He had opened a hobby shop where he still hosted his weekly D&D games with a lot of the kids who had originally been in his club. His store became like a beacon for all the kids (and even some of the adults) in Hawkins who felt there was no place for them. Eddie gave them somewhere to belong and celebrated all the things that made them targets of ridicule to everyone else.

It was also your first stop on your first day back.

The whole shop was so Eddie. As you walked inside and took in the decor, it seemed entirely possible he had just moved everything from his bedroom at Wayne’s right in here. He’d even rigged the entrance with a speaker that played the guitar riff of “Enter Sandman” when someone came through the door. 

You wished you could bottle the moment he came out front, your arrival signaled by the song.

“Holy shit…”

The box of miniatures and figurines he’d just finished pricing in the back fell to the floor with a thump and a rattle of plastic parts. He barely registered it, though. With round, unblinking eyes he stared, too stunned to move a muscle until a smile cracked his face wide open.

In just three long strides he crossed the store and swept you into his arms, lifting you up and whirling you around. “You’re here!” he gushed, arms crushing you around the middle in the most exquisite pain. “You’re really here!”

“I told you I was moving back!” 

You laughed heartily in his ear as he placed you back on the ground, telling yourself it must have been the unexpected lift making you breathless and not how the sunlight coming through the windows hit his eyes and made them shine like molten honey. He kept you close, letting his hands rest on your arms and squeezing them like he had to be sure you weren’t a mirage.

“I thought it was one of those ‘too good to be true’ things,” he said sheepishly, a pink blush creeping across his cheeks. “Had to see it to believe it.”

“Well, believe it,” you sighed.

You were already prepared for the loss of his touch, for when he would shamefully retract his hands, but he never did. He held you comfortably, his thumb lightly brushing over your skin. He let you go reluctantly, not regretfully, letting his fingertips trail softly down your arm.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, his voice coated in warmth. “I missed you so much.”

You nodded, your throat pinched as you tried not to cry. “I…I missed you too.”

Eddie’s smile grew even bigger, his eyes seeming to dance with excitement. “Well, we have to celebrate,” he said. “I close up shop at six. Meet me back here and we’ll go to the Hideout?”

You stalled, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you considered. Almost on instinct, you’d nearly agreed right away. Old habits and what not. But did you want to fall immediately back into your old patterns? Hawkins had changed so little since you left, it felt too easy to slip back into the trap. Could you really go right back to hopelessly pining for him as you’d done so long?

“Come on,” Eddie urged, flashing those doe eyes he knew you couldn’t resist. “It’s one drink.”

“Okay, okay!” you laughed. “One drink.”

One drink turned out to be three. Starting with your first legal drink together at his old haunt while a different band of hopeful kids fumbled their way through clumsy Metallica covers.

“Please tell me we were never that young,” Eddie sighed, taking a swig of his beer.

“You’ve never been young,” you teased. “You came out of the womb a crotchety old man.”

A little later, you absconded to the corner booth and tucked yourselves away from the rowdiness of the growing crowd. You were flushed from the alcohol buzzing in your bloodstream and from how close Eddie was sitting. It felt just like old times, except it was nothing like old times.

Because this time, he was flirting with you. And not being subtle.

You thought maybe you were imagining it at first, but it only became more obvious the longer the night wore on. There was a whole new confidence and intention in the way he talked to you. He’d never been shy, never had any trouble drawing people in, but there was a fire lit behind his eyes tonight you’d never seen before. And you were the sole object of that blaze.

“So…still with Carl?” He finally asked, after bolstering himself to do so for the last three hours.

You took a long sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his over the rim of your glass. The liquor made you bold, the burn at the back of your throat adding smokiness to your voice.

“No-pe,” you said, popping your lips on the final syllable. Eddie smiled wolfishly and leaned in.

“Good,” he purred. “Cos that would have made it real awkward when I asked you out.”

He took you to dinner two days later. Rang the doorbell and smiled at you as he stood on your porch wearing a black button down under a darker black velvet vest. His black jeans were a new- looking pair of the same kind he’d always worn, sans the ragged holes over his knees.

Despite the thin material of your sundress and the balmy weather outside, you were sweating with nerves. The breeze played with your skirt as he walked you to his van and the coolness of it on your clammy skin made you shiver. But when Eddie suddenly darted ahead of you to open your door and turned around with his hand held up to help you inside, it made you melt. 

The gesture filled your body with warmth, chasing away any hint of a chill.

After dinner, he suggested you walk a block or so to a bar where Eddie liked to play pool. And as you did, his hand reached for yours and he threaded your fingers together. You stared down at it, stunned. How many times had you wished he would do that? How many times did you imagine the heat of his palm against yours mixing with the coolness of his chunky silver rings on his fingers? It had always seemed so impossible and he’d just done it.

Like it was nothing. Like he’d done it a thousand times before. Easy. Natural.

He held your hand all the way into the bar, only letting go of you to accept a tray of balls from the bartender when Eddie requested a table. With a couple of beers in hand, you followed him to his favorite one that was tucked away in a little alcove, practically private.

You set down the beers and watched as he racked the balls, gaze lingering on his long frame and chuckling at the way he shimmied his hips as he leaned over the table to break. “Eyes on me,” he told you, playful smile revealing his teeth.

It was a redundant request, because it was entirely impossible to look anywhere else.

Eddie had filled out quite a bit since high-school. He was never an athlete by any means, but evidently a regime of guitar playing and dice throwing was enough to maintain decent tone. You stared at him unabashed as he walked around the table, lining up his shot. His vest now flapped open and he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal the familiar smattering of bats under his elbow and the puppetmaster etched inside his forearm. It made you wonder how many more tattoos—new ones you’d not yet seen—were hiding under the rest of his clothes. He smirked at you, smug as he leaned over the table, thoroughly enjoying the way your eyes followed him.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” he drawled before sinking a bank shot.

You rolled your eyes, trying to fein being unimpressed. “Trying to distract me, Munson?” you asked, chalking the tip of your cue in a much more sensual manner than necessary, letting your fingers lazily stroke the stick as Eddie watched transfixed. He huffed a laugh at the display.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Evidently, both of you were equally distracted. Most of your games lagged for a mutual inability to sink more than one shot in a row as the other did their best to pull focus. It was far easier for you, having only to lean forward slightly across the table from him to reveal a healthy dose of your cleavage. That, coupled with a coy smile and batting eyelashes, spelled disaster for Eddie. Everytime you did it, he’d scratch his shot and chuckle dryly at his own hubris.

He took a different approach, choosing instead to stand as close to you as he could as you lined up your shots. His musk and cologne filled your nose, a tantalizing woodsy smell that made your head spin as you struggled to keep your eyes on the ball. He rested his hip against the table, handcuff belt buckle glinting as it reflected the light from the lamp hanging overhead.

You could practically hear the childish taunt of not touching you, not touching you.

“Just take your shot, baby,” he cooed, low and husky. The sound made your heart hammer.

A couple hours of teasing and toying later, both of you were ready to explode. Your glasses sat empty on the nearby table, neither of you terribly interested in a refill. And as Eddie sunk the eight ball again, his eyes flashed to the tray for the balls rather than going to re-rack them.

“I guess I should get you home?” he asked.

A little sullen at the idea, you nodded and returned your cues to a rack on the wall while Eddie brought the balls back to the bartender and settled the tab. Only when you were walking back to the table to get your purse and passed a pair of men who reeked of tobacco did something occur to you: Eddie hadn’t taken a smoke break once.

“Did you quit?” you asked, staring at him with wide eyes. He smiled as he drew nearer to you, relishing the way your chest heaved as you reacted to his closeness.

“Took a couple years, but yeah,” he said. “Sometimes I still need a little help, though.”

He tugged his shirttail out from the waistband of his jeans, causing his belt and the chain on his wallet to jingle slightly as he lifted his shirt to flash a strip of his stomach. You’re so distracted by the action and the cut of his v-muscle it takes a few seconds to register the beige nicotine patch stuck on his hip. You stared at him and then back at it, fingers itching to reach out and touch.

He leaned in, his face the closest it had been to yours all night, his voice hushed so only you could hear. “For when I’m really nervous,” he said.

Streetlights and stars blurred as you stepped out of the bar and he whirled you into the alley. The rough brick scraped your back and snagged on your dress as you were flattened against it and you gazed up at Eddie, string lights overhead shining brightly in your eyes.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly. “Are you ready for this to start?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight his eyes trained on your face. Your hands settled lightly on his waist and you gave an impatient tug as you nodded. It was all the invitation he needed. 

His mouth met yours like the sun met the horizon. The softest kiss you’d ever had deepened gradually until you were grasping at him, fisting his shirt in your fingers. Your lips felt molded together, pliant to the other’s movements, but still insistent as they chased one another.

Control shifted subtly between you, taking turns drawing the other in and pulling back. More teasing, more toying. Yet you never denied each other long, unable to stay apart.

God, this was it. This was what it was always supposed to feel like.

It could have been hours you stood out there kissing and laughing, but you’d never have known. The only thing that alerted you to the passing of time was when the lights inside the bar shut off and the employees filed out for their final smoke break before heading home.

Giggling like terrible criminals begging to be caught, you and Eddie hugged the shadows and made your way back to his van. You rode home with your panties soaked, subtly shifting in your seat, trying not to think about the arousal pooled between your thighs. And at home, back in your room, you were so tempted to dip your fingers into the slickness as you thought about Eddie’s breath on your lips; how the ends of his curls tickled your sternum when he leaned into you; the way his scent lingered on your skin after being pressed between his body and that wall. 

But you didn’t dare risk the disappointment that would follow when your pleasure receded like waves being drawn into a riptide; when you backed down from the edge of that cliff, feeling even emptier after not reaching that peak. Again. No, you couldn’t spoil this night with all that.

You saw him more throughout the week. He started popping into your father’s store almost as soon as it opened, offering you coffee and a kiss. And he spent the first hour of the morning with you at the front counter, propped up on his elbow with his chin resting on the heel of his hand.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you asked, swatting him with a folded up newspaper after you finished doing the jumble together.

He just shrugged with all the casual ease of somebody whose own shop didn’t open until 11. Or noon if he was hungover. “What could be better than hanging out with my favorite girl?”

Favorite girl. The words lived in your brain all day. It made you positively giddy every time you thought about it, even causing you to accidentally enter a customer’s 15% discount as 51% and not even bother correcting it. The loss on a value pack of paint brushes and trays seemed a paltry fee for the smile that spread across old Mrs. Gershwin’s face when she saw her total.

Eddie started calling every night at 9:30, practically on the dot, and it didn’t take long for you to get in the habit of settling into your bed around that time so you could pick up the receiver in your room before the ringing disturbed your dad dozing in his recliner downstairs. 

“So when do I get to take you out again?” he asked, clearly not oblivious to how it made you melt on the other end of the line. 

You blushed your way through making arrangements for an early movie Saturday followed by dinner. Then, before beginning the long process of saying your goodnights, you paused to ask him the thing you’d been wondering since that night at the Hideout.

“Eddie…are we really doing this?” you asked, torn between giddiness and trepidation.

“I certainly am,” he hummed into the receiver.

He talked the whole way through the movie and still had more to say at dinner afterward. 

It didn’t bother you, though. You loved listening to him talk. Your ears had gone so long without his rambling, it was more like music than words. His feet toyed with yours under the table and after you ordered dessert, he excused himself to use the bathroom only to slide into your side of the booth when he came back. You giggled over tiramisu and cheesecake, your sides pressed together from shoulder to ankle. Later, the tastes of your desserts would mix in your mouths as he kissed you deeply in his car dropping you off.

Everything about it felt so alive. So ripe with the promise of what this could turn into, what it had already become. In two dates with Eddie, you felt more connection than you had in two years of dating Carl. Not that it was fair comparing them. Nothing and no one could ever compare to this.

It was a Wednesday when he made a new proposition. You had already crawled into bed and swathed yourself in blankets to wait for his call. And after the few customary minutes of talking about your respective days, he brought up his idea for Friday night.

“Would you want to come over here for dinner?” he asked.

“You…you mean like your place?”

“I was thinking mine, but if your heart is set on a neighbor’s, I’m sure breaking in wouldn’t be too difficult.” He’s smirking so hard you swear you can hear it over the phone. 

“I guess yours will do,” you chuckled. “Does this mean I’ll get to see The Hair in person?”

Eddie was living with Steve Harrington, which had taken a commanding lead for being the most confusing thing you’d learned since returning home. Apparently they’d been brought together by a shared friendship with Dustin Henderson, one of the kids from Hellfire Eddie had taken under his batwing during his third and final senior year. Dustin had spent months insisting both boys would get along if they only gave the other a chance until his badgering paid off.

Now, the pair shared a tiny apartment downtown, walking distance from Eddie’s shop and only a short drive to Family Video where Steve was now the manager. And Dustin evidently couldn’t go five minutes without congratulating himself for bringing the two of them together. Eddie liked to joke that they were now co-parenting the little shithead (affectionate).

“Actually, Steve is out of town this weekend,” Eddie said, struggling to contain his excitement and keep his cool. “So, we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Breathe, breathe, breathe. “Oh, yeah?” you said, voice spiking just an octave too high.

“Yep. And, um…you could stay over if you wanted? If that sounds good to you?”

Stay over. You knew what that meant. There was something gut wrenchingly endearing about the way he asked—the innocent peal of his voice. But there was no doubt in your mind what he was getting at. This wasn’t going to be like crashing on his couch after a movie night or pouring yourself into his bed after a Corroded Coffin show that lasted to the wee hours.

This would be something new. Something completely different.

“That sounds great,” you said, finally.

And it did sound great. It just also sounded a little terrifying.

Admittedly, you hadn’t been on many dates in your life. But television and film had successfully indoctrinated you with knowledge of that classic Third Date milestone. And it made sense. He wasn’t some stranger. You’d known each other for so long, it stood to reason things would continue to accelerate between you. And was that such a bad thing? 

This was Eddie, after all. He was your best friend. He was your other half. You weren’t sure if  you even believed in soul mates, so to speak, but if they did exist you couldn’t imagine anyone besides him in that role. He had stoked life into the coals within you that you were certain had burnt into a lump of ash. You never felt with anyone the way you felt with him. 

So if you were gonna do this, you were gonna do it right.

You went shopping, fighting off anxious nausea as you perused the racks of lingerie in the far corner of a little boutique. Averting your eyes from the more salacious options, you settled on a matching set of midnight blue embroidered with silver thread to look like stars. It was made of thin mesh that gave the illusion of coverage, but revealed plenty through the sheer netting.

It also looked a little like something a wizard might wear. And for obvious reasons, you had a feeling Eddie might like that. 

Securing your purchase you thought might make you feel more prepared, but it only caused your thoughts to unravel further. This was the first time Eddie would be seeing your underwear and it wasn’t even your own. At least it didn’t yet feel like your own the way your drawer full of less suggestive garments did. What if he thought you looked ridiculous? What if he laughed or got turned off because your thighs were too big or the pudge of your stomach grossed him out? Worse yet, what if you failed to live up to the implications? What if he saw it and assumed you knew what you were doing, only to be woefully disappointed by your skills? Or lack thereof?

It was impossible to reconcile the two wolves fighting for dominance in your mind. On the one hand, it was wildly exciting: the thought of finally getting to be with him and touch him and have him touch you back. At the same time, though, you were overwhelmed at the prospect. What if it changed things between you? You’d always thought you wanted more than friendship with him, but what if in that pursuit you lost the person you treasured more than anything in the world?

And then of course there were the normal fears. 

After so much unfulfilling sex, you couldn’t help but be fearful your body would betray you as it always had. It was hard not to pin all your hopes on this and you didn’t want to add any more pressure to this night than you already felt. But even if you backed off that peak and failed to reach the summit, surely the ascent would feel just as nice as long as it was with him. 

Right?

This was what you tried to tell yourself as you turned one last time in front of your mirror. 

Literally everything about this night was making you uncomfortable and it hadn’t even begun yet. The lingerie that felt fine when you bought it was tight and itchy on your skin, and it felt glaringly obvious you were wearing it under your clothes—like a diaper or a straightjacket.

You’d shaved, even though it made you feel like a creepy bald Barbie, and even though you found the concept kind of disturbing. Whose brilliant idea was it anyway that to be sexy you had to look like a child between your legs? And you always wound up completely bare because you could never get it even and kept having to take more from each side until nothing was left.

Still, you did it. Because that was what everyone did, right? That’s what he would expect?

Shaking your head, trying to fling away all your thoughts, you busy yourself packing your small overnight bag. It was the same one you must have brought over to Eddie’s a hundred times over, but for the first time you found yourself doubting it. Would he think you were high maintenance for wanting your own toothbrush and a change of clothes? For bringing something comfortable to sleep in? Would he think you were a weirdo for not just sleeping naked? God, what if he saw it and figured you’d been sleeping with so many guys, you just kept it packed all the time?

Panic creeps up the back of your neck. It burns hot on your cheeks and makes your heart pound in your temples until you’re so dizzy you have to lean against the door with your head bent.

Breathe, you think. Breathe, breathe, breathe. 

Frustratingly slowly, the thrumming in your chest subsides. You managed to bring yourself down off the ledge and find your center—Eddie.

Eddie would make everything alright. 

He always did.

Part Two

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #tw: anorgasmia

[forever-rogue]

Hi Bee,

OK I got a Nurse Steve request for you. I was thinking tooth rotting fluff. I'm thinking it's been a few days since Cami was brought home and Steve doesn't leave her side. He's talking to her in a baby voice, badly singing, watching her every movement, telling her that if she ever considers dating Uncle Eddie and Aunt Robin will help bury the body..etc. The reader watches smiling, Steve's sees her his eyes light up with so much love. He knows its time for Cami to eat he says something like "Mommy's the best, she's going to feed you, just go easy on her " Or something like that. Then he kisses the reader, presses their foreheads looking into her eyes saying. "Thank you for everything, my clumsy girl"

(Let me know what you think <3)

AN | Okay, but imagine Stevie and his clumsy girl bringing home baby Camila 🥺 This can be read as a companion piece to the below but also as a stand alone!

Warnings | Mild Language

Pairing | Nurse!Steve x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.1k

Masterlist | Steve, Main, Nurse Steve

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Camila May Harrington had been home for almost a week. 

And it had been singularly the best and most stressful week of Steve’s life. There wasn’t a way for him to properly describe the feeling that came from being at home with his wife and daughter. To put in simple terms it was the best feeling in the entire world; he had everything he could have ever wanted. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The two of you were lying in bed, thoroughly exhausted but happy. You were hoping to squeeze in a few hours of sleep before Cami woke up again; it was hard adjusting to the sleep schedule of a newborn, but at least you’d had some practice with the last trimester of pregnancy where you could barely sleep yourself. 

“Hey,” Steve whispered softly, shifting over to face you, a sleepy smile on his own face. He reached over and tenderly brushed his knuckles over your cheek, causing you to lean into his touch.

“Hey yourself,” you reached for his hand and brought to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to it, “do you think we’ll be able to get some sleep for real this time?”

“I think we might be in the clear,” he laughed softly, draping an arm over your waist and pulling you closer to his warm body, “maybe Cami will have some pity on her poor old parents.”

“Can’t even blame her but fuck, this is hard,” you hated saying the words out loud but if anyone in the world understood what you were going through it would be him. He knew, at least technically, all that your body was going through. Plus he was there with you in the thick of it all; you were so thankful that he’d taken time off to be home with the two of you, “I love her so much but do you think it’ll get easier? Am I…am I a bad mother?”

“Angel,” he tutted gently and shook his head, “it will get easier, I promise. We’re adjusting to a whole new little person being with us, and having to be the people that keep that little person alive and happy. It’s a big change and responsibility but it’ll get better the longer we do it. And you are not a bad mother. You’re amazing-”

“How do you know? It’s barely been over a week,” you felt the tears well up but Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead in what he hoped was a sign of reassurance, “I don’t wanna mess anything up!”

“You’ve already been taking care of her for nine months,” you couldn’t help but snort in amusement at his bright smile, “and it’s easy to see how much you love her. She knows that too.”

“Okay,” there wasn’t a way you could love him anymore if you tried. He really was everything to you, “you too, you know. It’s easy to see that you adore our daughter.”

“I do,” he promised, even though it definitely didn’t need to be said, “and I like getting to say our daughter.”

“She definitely takes after you,” you yawned and he raised an amused eyebrow, “those pretty brown eyes and an already full head of hair. And she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“So does her mother,” he took your hand and laced his fingers through yours, “we’ll make sure the next one takes after you.”

“Oh? You assume I’m going to go through this again, Steve Harrington?” his cheeks pinked as he sheepishly shrugged. But you ruffled his hair affectionately, “you already know I would, my love. We’ll have all the little Harringtons running around one day.”

“I am so-” before he could finish whatever he was going to say, you hear Cami’s soft cries coming from her crib. You didn’t bother to hide your sigh; this was a normal reaction after all, it didn’t mean that you loved her any less.

"I'll go," you couldn't even remember whose turn it was to go and check on her but it had just become such a natural reaction. Steve wrapped his fingers gently around your wrist and kept you from getting out of the bed, "Steve-"

"I'll get her," he insisted softly, but with a firmness that suggested he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He kissed you softly before making his way out of the bed and towards the door, "I'm going to take her to the nursery so you can try and get some rest."

"Thank you," you looked at two of them, the absolute picture of perfection, before slumping back against the pillows, "I love you both so, so much."

"We love you too," he replied softly as he held Cami against his chest, "lots and lots."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Hey there Cami girl," he cooed softly as he held her gently, but securely, against his chest. Her cries had quieted slightly but she was sniffling and had big crocodile tears running down her chubby little cheeks, "its alright baby girl, Daddy's got you."

He opened the door to her nursery and turned on the nightlight before gently sitting down in the rocking chair. Steve remembered how much you had loved it while you were pregnant and how'd you sit in there while you watched him work. He wouldn't have had it any other way.

"Shh, shh," he cooed as she laid against his bare chest, her chubby little hand holding onto his pinkie. He liked getting to hold her like this and was a big fan of skin to skin contact, "yeah, you're okay, huh? Daddy's right here."

He smoothed his hand up and down her back in the way he'd come to know that she loved. She hiccuped lightly but the gentle rocking of the chair seemed to lull her and calm her down.

Steve started singing softly to her, lullabies that he remembered from his childhood - some of the earliest and best memories he had of his parents - and one that he’d taken the time to learn during your pregnancy. He thought he sounded terrible, but you always insisted that you loved his voice; he hoped that Cami agreed. 

Once she grew more tired and her breathing evened out, he switched to telling her stories from when he was younger and all the people that she was going to meet soon. 

“Family,” he stroked her pink, chubby little cheek, “one thing you’ll learn in life is that sometimes the best parts are the family that you make. But I hope that you always know that your mama and I love you so much. We’re always going to be here for you.”

She made a small sound almost like she was agreeing with him, which brought a smile to his face. He closed his own tired eyes, willing himself not to fall asleep; there was a part of him that was still worried about accidentally crushing her despite the fact that he knew that was extremely unlikely. 

“You’re already so loved,” he promised her, “you’ve got a huge family all waiting to meet you. I think you’re going to be stuck with them for life. Like Aunt Robin, Uncle Dustin, and Aunt Nancy and Uncle Eddie. You’re never going to be lonely. And, as you get older, you’ll be so thankful for them. Except for maybe when you start dating…Aunt Robin and Uncle Eddie would be the first to help me hide a body, but I’m just putting that out there. But we won’t have to worry about that for a long time.”

Before the two of them managed to fall asleep, Steve told her some stories about his adventures with his friends, the parts that were either suitable for children or severely edited, and about his story with you. Eventually, sleep won over and Steve fell asleep along with the baby snuggled up on his chest. Meanwhile, you were passed out in bed, snoring softly as you caught up on some much needed sleep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You weren't sure how long you had been asleep by the time you woke up but you were still alone in bed. You stretched, enjoying the popping of your stiff joints before making your way down the hall to the nursery. You had a feeling you'd find your loves there.

Sure enough, the two of them were in the rocking chair, both snoozing away. You didn't want to wake them but you also felt bad for leaving them like that knowing Steve would have a stiff and sore neck. 

"Hey, my love," you gently put your hand on his shoulder, attempting not to startle him. His sleepy, pretty brown eyes slowly opened and he graced you with a gentle smile, "come back to bed. It's your turn for some rest."

"You sure?" He mumbled as you nodded. Your husband gingerly stood up, doing his best not to wake the baby as he padded back down the hall after you. 

Pulling back the covers you made a space for him and he almost all but fell into bed. You slid in next to the two of them, snuggled up as best as you could.

Cami seemed to have other ideas as she started to squirm and fuss around again. Steve gently cooed at her, attempting to calm her down, but nothing seemed to work. It only took him a few minutes to realize what was going on, "you're hungry, huh baby girl? Well, your mama's the best but you have to ask her."

"Yeah, I think I can help out here," you whispered, gently reaching for her small body to hold her to yours. It was amazing what just a few hours of sleep could do, but you already felt a little better. 

"You gotta be good to her, okay? Be easy on her," he murmured as fixed your top so she could easily nurse. He rolled onto his side and closely watched the two of you with nothing but awe and reverence in his eyes, "you gonna be okay, angel?"

“Of course,” you settled Cami on your chest so she could latch on properly and start nursing. After a little bit of struggling the first couple of days, it had become so much easier, “the little bit of sleep helped. And I’ve got you right here….there’s nothing better.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he wished he had his camera then and there to capture the sweet moment of his family, “my whole world, right next to me.”

“You’re such a romantic,” you carded a hand through his dark hair, gently scratching at his scalp, “I love you.”

“I love you,” he yawned and felt his eyes getting heavier again, “‘m sorry you have to do all the hard work.”

“What do you mean?” you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your lips, “Stevie?”

“You’re the one that had to be pregnant and your whole body is still going through so much,” yeah…that had been pretty hard, “would do it for you if I could.”

“I know,” and you both knew that he was being serious, “you’re a good man, my love. But don’t worry, it’s all okay. And just so you know, I’d do this all again.”

“Again?”

“Mhmm,” you soothed your hand gently along Cami’s back, “and we’ll do it again eventually, yeah? Have baby number two.”

“Only if you want,” he loved the idea of having more children, but he’d never push you to do anything you didn’t want, “you’re really cute pregnant, but you’re always cute. Beautiful, sexy. All of it.”

“Oh Stevie,” you sighed contentedly, “I love you so much. We’ll figure it all out eventually. But for now, we’ll take it day by day.”

“That sounds perfect to me,” he agreed softly, “my girls, you’re everything to me.”

And he was everything to you too, as was Camila. 

That broken ankle really was one of the best things to ever happen. 

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington one shot #nurse!steve #joe keery

[alwaysshallow]

gorgeous, part 4

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

You decide to have some fun; you also talk to old friends. (3,3k)

READ ON AO3

previous part || next part

It's surprising how many times you see him, actually.

It's surprising because you thought – if you're lucky – it's gonna be after six months, on a check-up visit. Technically, he had no business to be here, especially considering how hidden he was, how he wasn't the type to chit-chat. It was okay, you didn't mind it.

And the day after he texted you, when you close clinic, you could see him right in front of the building, his hands in pockets, looking straight at you. It was a hypnotising experience though, especially when you walked in his direction, your knees like marshmellows, and he was still looking.

"Your mechanic was pretty nice." you said, tilting your head. "He said it's gonna be done in two weeks or less since he has work to do."

"Mhm." he matched your pace, walking with you side by side. "Finally doing something with it, aren't we?" he raised his eyebrow.

You laughed. "You make me look like I'm a bad car owner."

"Am I? Or that's just your thoughts?"

His comment made you open your mouth in pure disbelief at his honesty – you nudged him with before realizing how he could react at that gesture. He wasn't exactly a touchy-feely person, but there was no comment from him, so you were glad.

"Mean." you murmured, amused.

"'st speaking my mind, Addison."

"Uh-huh. That's why you're here? To speak your mind?"

He sighed, his eyes on the road in front of you. "You really like asking questions, don't you?"

"I like knowing things. Don't you?" you mimicked his low tone.

"I like knowing things. But I don't ask questions if I'm certain." he answered, straightening his back; a cracking sound that came out automatically made you shiver. "It's just walking you home. 's all, as I said, Sparkles would hate to have another vet."

"Right. Safety reasons, yeah?"

"Good girl. Learning so fast."

Motherfucker knew how to get to you – just after this comment, you had absolutely nothing to say, which made him visibly amused; his brow cocked, and he let out a low chuckle, looking away from you again. Thankful for the darkness, you just walked with him to start another topic after a while – about his cat, of course.

You had to leave 'good girl' behind, to not provoke him to say more because he could easily find out that nickname works for you perfectly. Especially if someone is British, especially if someone is just alluring as him.

And he had blonde hair. A bit curly. That's literally the recipe for a disaster.

After that interaction, he was walking you off to your apartment, day by day. It wasn't surprising after three first times – you just knew he's gonna be here, but you caught yourself looking for him, interested.

Not like you cared – at least that's what you told yourself – but it was curiosity speaking since you knew he was doing that just because of your car. Just because he somehow cared, just because he wanted to know you're safe.

Cute.

What was less cute though, you had to talk with Celia. You just had to and there was no excuse since your car already was in another mechanic's garage. And, Simon knew that you needed to talk with her, so he would ask about it eventually, so dodging the situation wasn't a plan, no. Not when he'd laugh the shit out of you, he did enough with implying you're not taking proper care of your car.

He had a point, though.

You took a few hours off in the morning, leaving Bernie on her own, just to see Celia – you even had your guilt cookies, big jar in your purse. It's not a surprise for anyone who knows you that you bake when stressed, and you certainly were stressed before this meeting. She could tell you anything; and it wouldn't be such a surprise if she'd tell you to go to hell.

A hope was there, though. Not only Simon said it, but when you thought it, it would be a real shame to ruin a friendship, running ten years, just because of a toxic guy that wasn't worth it. Not only that, your best friend had all the right to say I told you so.

You knew you kinda deserved that for being such a blind bitch.

Knock to her door came after a minute of staring dumbily at them, like it would help in something, or if she would magically open it without you knocking. It was a quiet knock though; shy one because, truthfully, you wanted to sprint from her house as far as possible. Confrontation? Not your best quality, no. Not at least in situation like these, when you know you have to apologize from the bottom of your heart.

A minute passed, and you knocked again, louder this time. You started considering walking away you thought maybe she wasn't home, but right after that, no one but Celia opened the door. Her eyebrows furrowed, arms were crossed against her chest, and you immediately knew what her attiude is.

Jesus Christ, it couldn't be easy, could it?

"Hi, Celia. Got a minute?" you asked; hesitantly. She could slam her door in your face, after all.

"Depends. You here because of the car?"

You sighed. "I'm here because I want to apologize, actually."

She seemed surprised as you said it; nonetheless, she let you in, leading you to kitchen. It was the main place of talks in her house, you could say that – not living room, not dining room, kitchen. Very big one, pretty, a table with two seats by side, so you sat there with her, clearing your throat. Wondering how to start.

How do you start conversation like that?

You had the simplest words on your mind. "I was a bitch." rolled off your tongue without even thinking. "I still am, though – but I was a bitch to you when I shouldn't have been. You wanted the best for me, and I just... well, I'm not proud of what I did. I should listen, not throw hands at you. It's not how it was supposed to be, it's not how I wanted it to be. Like, I know also that I should apologize way, way earlier, but-"

"Addie, c'mon." redhead interrupted you with a wave of her hand. "We're both bitches, we literally fought like fuckin' kids. Let me ask you one thing, you done?"

"With him?"

"Yeah, with that scumbag."

"Funny. You're the second person who talks of him this way" you mused, remembering this one situation with Simon. "Done, yeah. For five months right now."

Celia was silent for a moment, obviously analyzing the situation she found herself in; then, with a sigh, she looked again at you, her expression unreadable.

"Good to have your ass back on board, sister." she murmured, smiling a bit.

Next thing she did, was hitting your arm with such power that you let out a little 'ow', laughing with her in the same moment.

"Deserved." she pointed at you. "I apologize too, though. I could be better, I could just... well, tell you everything a bit differently. Not so harsh, you were in love with that prick." your friend muttered, rolling her eyes. "Okay, enough of apologies, though. Who said he's a douche, though? That person might be my second best friend."

So, you told her – almost everything, saving little details about his appearance or aura to yourself; Celia was a pretty fan of him, especially his snarkiness and comments. Yet, she was a bit jealous that you had the audacity to bring your car to other mechanic; mostly, she was jealous of the car, not you.

Her baby, as she liked to tell everyone. She picked it out for you from her uncle, repaired it, added some "cool shit" (it's a mystery what cool shit is, you didn't ask though).

Nonetheless, she was more than glad that you managed to find someone who's gonna help you with that, and you came to her purely to fix something between you two.

A friendship that – you promised yourself – would live through everything, no matter what would happen, no matter of circumstances. She was your person, just like Rosalie.

Who, speaking of, left million voice messages on your phone on your way back to clinic, so you considered it the perfect ocassion to listen to them all.

Apart from her excitement on your car situation, she invited you to her local bar for... a party. You didn't exactly know what party was about, or if it was just a casual hangout, but you agreed to go. It's been a while since you took a break from clinic and actually spent your night out, not under some blanket, watching movies with a bowl of chips or icecream.

Not like it was bad. Not at all. Sometimes you just needed a... change in your routine.

Rosalie promised to pick you up since your car was still at mechanic's – so, your only task was to look good, but not too good. Bar was something else than club; more casual, but you really wanted to at least flirt a little or to catch an eye on someone, even if your mind was... pretty occupied with certain someone.

Maybe your best friend would bring someone worth your time, yeah? She usually had some ideas and wanted to play as your little matchmaker, so you never knew what was coming.

That being said, you opened your closet.

It was almost embarrasing how many clothes you had that you didn't even wear more than one time; mostly, cocktail dresses for fancy ocassions since your parents insisted on buying something new. People of business, someone would say – always having a whim about their galas and shit like this, it was hard not to hate it, considering that business comes before family, mostly.

Maybe that's why you limited contacts with them, sending them a text or two of what you're doing, how's the clinic going. And, of course, Christmas with them or Thanksgiving was a must if they weren't on some fancy vacations abroad.

With a thought in your mind that you have to go through those dressed, you decided to pick something simple to bar. Black tank-top, a simple baby blue shirt on it (unbuttoned, of course) and a pair of simple jeans worked in your mind, as well as in reality, so you found yourself quickly putting on a pair of sneakers.

Your make up took a little longer; you paid attention to your skin, the perfect eyeliner, a delicate lipgloss bringing out the shape of your lips. Everything had to look effortless, even if it wasn't; your motto, basically.

As promised, Rosalie picked you up; and you've talked with her the whole road, almost two hours to be exact. You haven't seen her for two months straight and even if you were updating her as much as you could in a day, it wasn't even close to your sincere talks. She asked a whole palette of questions; how's your car, how's that Simon who rescued you from jerky ex; she looked a bit amused when topic was on him, but you had no idea why.

"Man that has good ideas is rare" she summed up, chuckling, when you catched her up with Celia situation and told her your car is going to be fine, you just have to pick it up in the next week. "Don't tell him that by any means. His ego wouldn't take it."

"Oh, you have no idea."

Soon enough, you arrived. Bar was cute; not too large, but with big-ass bar table and glass shelves behind it with amount of alcohol that you couldn't count, even if you wanted to. Dim, orange lights just added to the view, and you smiled under your nose instincitvely, happy that you've decided to go there.

Tables weren't occupied as you thought they would be; Rosalie mentioned earlier it's gonna be a private party, but you didn't think that private, considering that you could count like... maybe ten, eleven people. Military men with their significant others, as you saw when you walked up to the barman, ordering a drink for you and your best friend.

You couldn't obviously ignore that someone was discussing with MacTavish near you; seemed like a heated discussion, until they looked right at you.

Guy with a skull mask. Full-ass skull mask like Simon had this one day when you two...

Fuck, could it be him? Maybe he was in unit that wore masks like these, you thought. It would be a strange coincidence, wouldn't it? And, Rosalie for sure would tell you that her comrade is the guy you are talking about sometimes since he adopted a cat, Sparkles, yeah?

Rosa had her significant smirk when she looked at you, and it was all you needed to know, especially when men approached you both.

Trouble in a person, that would be on your best friend.

"He gets a bit shy around strangers. Ain't your fault" Johnny joked, nudging you with his shit-eating grin, as he gave his friend a look.

"Mm, I bet. Good to see you, MacTavish." you murmured, which made "stranger" roll his eyes and grumble something under his nose. "And what's your friends name?" you raised an eyebrow, making eye-contact with those brown eyes you wouldn't forget ever.

"His name-"

"-you know my name, doc." Simon said, interrupting Soap. He took off his mask with one, swift movement, to reveal to you his scarred face and disheveled, blonde hair that you wanted to dip your fingers in so desperately.

To say that Johnny was shocked, was the understatement; he looked at his comrade in shock, opening and closing his lips, like he wasn't exactly sure what to say, considering that he took off his scary mask.

"Didn't know you have friends in military."

"Apparently, we're both full of surprises" you sipped a bit of your margharita, shrugging, like you two meeting here was the most normal situation that could happen.

"You two know each other, no?" Soap meddled in conversation, observing you two. It was obvious that he doesn't really know how you two could met, and honestly, no one could blame him. He was in military, barely going out, and you were a simple vet.

You nodded. "We met, yeah."

"Oh, I'd really want to hear it."

"Simple help. Nothin' too fancy, MacTavish" he pointed out, taking a sip of his alcohol.

Soap's look was piercing in you, though. "Helped him with a cat. Simple, like he said." "Fuckin' cat? Ghost is a cat mom now, eh?" he chuckled, which made Simon roll his eyes.

You wondered if Ghost was something they named them in the field, and if yes, why? After all, everything always was supposed to fit. As Rosalie said to you, even if she couldn't tell you everything (classified, of course) every nickname had a meaning behind it.

Ghost... seemed ambigious. You couldn't put it anywhere.

"Better than you'd be, John. Let's drink, shall we?" you raised your eyebrow, trying to lead the conversation elsewhere; looked like your companion thought the same way.

Rosalie introduced you to rest of the team – they all told you their names, but you were sure as hell that you're not gonna remember that, considering your memory was shit, especially to people that you don't see often. Either way, they were nice; very nice, after a few drinks with them you were pretty sure that your platonic soulmate is Kyle Garrick, who was the best partner in karaoke. And, he was also such a gossiper, finding every ocassion that he could to talk to you about something.

Not military related, though; only "things for civilians" as he giggled to you after fifth shot of tequila, telling you something about a girl that he had eye on. Curiosity piqued in the moment he confessed that she was 'out of reach' for him, and it was no chance that he could get together with her.

Hell, for you "no chance" before even trying was non-existent. You loved to prove people wrong, to make them watch you accomplishing various of things just to rile them up, or to reach your goal.

"Don't say that" you pointed at him. "There's always a chance for something. You won't try, you won't know. That's it."

"It's the same chance, as the chance that Ghost will get any of us to that fancy gala. Non-existent." he groaned, burying dramatically his head in his hands. "And like his driving skills."

"Garrick" he murmured; low, rumbling voice made sergeant straighten a little. "'s enough talkin' of it, yes?"

You chuckled. "What gala? And what, your driving skills are that bad?"

"I have rather..." Simon played with glass filled with alcohol "...complicated relationship with cars, I'd say. I prefer walking."

You raised your eyebrow a little, amused; what does it mean his relationship with cars is complicated? You couldn't help but think, as you nodded your head with faked understanding. It was hard to believe that his ass in military didn't have a driving license, so it only meant that his ability to drive was...

Different, maybe. And for his own safety, as well as yours and anyone on the road, he picked out walking instead of driving. Smart, though.

"That's why you've walked me home."

"Affirmative."

"Walked you home?" Kyle looked at both of you in shock, laughing to himself. "Oh, fuck, man. So many things are happening on leave, ain't it?"

"Gaz." Price shot him a look.

"I can't even-"

"Gaz."

"Fuck, okay" he rolled his eyes, shaking his head to himself. "Just so you know, if Johnny wouldn't be so caught up in Ros, he'd back me up."

Your gaze automatically went to Rosalie, who talked with her bartender friend. Johnny, right next to you, was looking at her with slightly darker eyes, leaning his head against palm of his hand. It was... a view, honestly; friends, but not admitting to something more, even if everyone else saw their bond is beyond simple "best friends".

Something that you considered as cute.

You couldn't help but wish that they will be together soon enough; the way they cared for each other... Hell, probably everyone wanted something like this for themselves, as well as you; something so pure with longing glances that would make you weak in your knees.

A sigh of annoyance came out of you – where the hell you were supposed to find something like this when you spent most of the days in the clinic? Tinder or any portal like this wasn't even an option.

Mostly because you met your crazy ass ex here, but also you wanted to... hell, get past that online dating stage.

Was it too much to ask?

"Another round?" Kyle's voice brought you back to earth; you nodded immediately, standing up from your seat. "Captain, Ghost, you comin'?"

"Mm, no. 'm gonna make a call." Price shook his head. "You go. Another one will be on me."

You looked at Simon.

"I'll pass too." he murmured, coughing. "

"Oh, come on! You have to do one shot with me. Please."

"Addison-"

"Please?" you pleaded, extending an arm to him, so he could grab his hand. "Just one."

Simon sighed. "You're not gonna let it go, eh?"

"No, not really. I owe you for that mechanic, don't I?" you tilted your head, smiling a bit. "Come on. Please. Just one shot. Or one drink, anything, really."

He didn't say anything; just followed you to the bar with boys, while you babbled about your work, when Gaz asked what does exactly vet do, besides controls and all.

And it felt really good to feel Simon's eyes on you the whole time. How he keeps his rich, brown eyes at you, while you tried desperately to keep yourself together, just in case - because after alcohol, you were the touchy-feely version of yourself.

He had some time to learn it.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fanfic #simon riley fanfic #cod mw2 #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x you #call of duty fanfic #call of duty ghost

[buckets-and-trees]

Fandom: MCU Title: The Pool Party Op Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!Reader, Sharon Carter Word Count: 1.2k 

Summary: Post TFATWS. The Power Broker hasn't made any major plays, but finding out who they are is still a priority. Bucky has been working on and off with Sharon to track them down as there are potential leads. This mission has them attending a luxury pool party in The Maldives.

Content Warnings: sexual situations (kissing, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration), strong language Logistical Notes: Filling my twelfth square for Bucky Barnes Bingo @buckybarnesbingo - Y5 "Pool Party" - and Hot Bucky Summer Week 8 - "How did you meet?" undercover mission, high stakes op.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“You’re sure that–“

“Yes, I’m sure, Bucky,” Sharon cut him off over the comms. “I’ve told you a hundred times. Everyone here lives in the grey area and after everything you were technically responsible for leading with the Thunderbolts team, the status of you as the reformed and squeaky-clean good boy is not a widely held belief anymore.”

“I know you managed to get me on the Power Broker’s guest list, but I still think this is too easy,” Bucky murmured loud enough for Sharon to hear.

“Tell me when you haven’t been able to trust me.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“And if things go sideways and you have to go full Winter Soldier mode on someone, all the better for convincing them you’re back in the Big Bad Business.”

“It just feels weird to know I’ll be strutting around with the arm on full display.”

“So that’s the real problem. It’s a pool party. People will look at your arm, but then your abs are going to steal the show.”

Bucky could feel the immediate flush of heat rushing up his neck, over his ears, and cheeks.

“I’ll get you in. The plan will work. Just be ready to improvise – I only told you half the plan because I knew you would argue with me over the rest of it. I’m going radio silent now so you can’t bitch at me and because that was already part of the plan anyway. Make good choices, Buck. I’ll check in with you in twenty and see you at the extraction point in forty-five.”

Bucky closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a few deep breaths. This was, in fact, not the first time Sharon had gone rogue on a mission, but he did trust the track record they had together. He would never tell her a part of him reveled in the challenge that went with working blind or having to improvise. She didn’t need that kind of encouragement.

And he trusted her, which was more than he could say for most of the people he got assigned to work with or who assigned him to missions these days.

Bucky was always wary of putting operatives who were basically civilians into the field during missions, but he understood that sometimes the objective required it to ensure they achieved their objective.

Sharon had told him that much – that he would be working with a desk agent and providing cover for the mission in addition to actual security and extraction if it came to it. She said she would be talking to his assignment when he arrived, they would make eye contact, and then Sharon would move out so Bucky could move in.

They still didn’t have credible leads on the identity of the Power Broker, but merely being at the party, Sharon was going to mingle and grab facial scans for as many people as she could with the photo-contacts she’d been issued while Bucky assisted with the other key objective.

The Power Broker’s communications were behind an impenetrable wall that the team at the CIA had been unable to hack for over a year, so when they got a tip the Power Broker was hosting a glamorous end of season pool party at their luxury vacation home – or in this case, summer fortress. The play was to bring one of the CIA’s top hackers to a party Sharon was tapping into some of her old Madripoor experience to get them on the list for, and access and bleed whatever information they could from inside the system.

That hacker was you.

He sighed when he saw it was going to be a standard meet-cute play, sneak into the house to find someplace more private, and clearly that place would be the home office. He excused himself from the present company he’d been an idle party to conversation with and moved to the steps out of the pool, grabbed a towel from the rack, and wrapped it around his waist, then grabbed two drinks off a tray one of the servers was circulating around the crowd and approached you.

The plan was good. He didn’t like it at first, but he was sold on it now.

His lips on your neck, his right hand cupping your mound and his left hand palming the delightful weight of your breast in his left hand, grinding his hips against your ass, this plan was perfect.

The soft, broken whimpers escaping your mouth were satisfying, indulging a hunger he didn’t know he’d been suppressing until it was finally unleashed in this moment. Now he didn’t want to stop.

It seemed like you didn’t want him to stop either. 

The person who had come to check on the room and “caught” them was long gone, wouldn’t be coming back any time soon, and if they did they seemed too mortified to do more than check for noises and maybe knock on the door, but Bucky could tell they wouldn’t open the door again, so… he could stop, but there seemed no reason not to carry on.

He pressed hot kisses along the column of your throat from the base up to just below your ear, then paused to ask, “This okay?”

“Yes, yes,” you managed.

“You want–“

“More,” you moaned, putting your left hand over his to encourage him to continue his ministrations there, and clutched at his bicep with the other.

He didn’t need more encouragement than that. Bucky sunk two fingers into your slick cunt, and you rocked up against him. He smiled and licked the shell of your ear.

“Bucky…”

Your tone seemed almost hesitant, so he slowed for a moment. “What is it?”

“I mean more, Bucky,” you said.

“Fuck,” he groaned as you pushed back roughly against his hard cock. “You can have it, doll.”

Your hands reached back to tug his swim trunks down. He took over, pushing them down his thighs, and you hooked your own fingers into your swim bottoms to drag them down, and you leaned forward, resting your forearms against the desk, presenting your pretty pussy for him.

Fuck.

Okay.

He lined up the head of his cock with your slit, then pushed in and gripped your hips. The first full thrust he took slowly, sinking in balls deep. You were such a shy thing, and half of the fun once he’d discovered that had been flustering you, standing too close – because he needed to in order to keep the cover intact, the intentional but not strictly necessary touches, and now to have you decidedly not shy any longer as he pumped in and out of you.

He could do more missions like this.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #hotbuckysummer2023 #buckybarnesbingo2023 #bbb2023 #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #aspen wrote something

[bastardmandennis]

pretty when you cry (jonathan levy x fem!reader)

Summary: You don't mind being Jonathan's TA--until he makes a mistake that almost costs you your job, and you decide to confront him about it.

Word Count: 4.9k (i need help)

AO3

Warnings: SMUT, literally pure smut. afab reader, no y/n, lots of pet names, slight power imbalance (professor jonathan/TA reader), crying (sexually and normal), drinking, smoking, asthma/inhalers (loser), men crying begging whimpering etc, slight dom/sub vibes? ish?, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), technically cheating (but imagine mira signed the divorce papers right away and isn't coming back at all, so technically not cheating? iffy), riding, dirty talk, coming untouched, im so bad at tagging things smh if i missed something pls let me know!

A/N: this is extremely niche and self-indulgent (i wrote this mostly for me and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin tbh)--ty for indulging in the professor jonathan brainrot with me!! im so obsessed with this pathetic man. title comes from lana del rey’s song pretty when you cry (for obvious reasons). enjoy! xx

“I came here…I came here because you fucked me!” That gets his attention. He stubs the burning cigarette out on the counter, coughing wildly, eyes wide as he gestures to you in between wheezes. You spot his inhaler on the kitchen island next to you and hand it to him wordlessly. His ring finger is noticeably bare as he wraps his hand around the inhaler. He takes a deep breath, then another, slowly exhaling out into the silent kitchen. “Excuse me?” he says. Your cheeks burn.

After another long shitty day in a long shitty week, all you wanted to do was get home at a reasonable time, maybe have a nice glass of wine and a bath, and not talk to anyone for the next 3-5 business days. Today happened to be the worst day of all–you’d just gotten called into the philosophy department chair’s office, where she scolded you for a mistake in the curriculum.

A mistake that wasn’t even yours.

As a teaching assistant, you usually got stuck with the grunt work that the professor didn’t feel like doing. Last year, for example, you’d gotten stuck working with a man so old he didn’t know where he was half the time. That’s tenure for you.

You thought this year would be different: new year, new professor, new group of anxious overachieving students. And it was different, but not necessarily better.

Because you’d gotten stuck TA-ing for Jonathan Levy, the most handsome, charismatic–and let’s be real, a little absent-minded–professor in the department–maybe even the whole school. 

You slunk out of the department chair’s office, cheeks blazing and heart pounding. One slip-up would’ve been bad enough, but this was technically your last straw. And if you got put on probation, or worse, kicked out, all because of Jonathan, you’d have to find some way to ruin his life in return. Tenure be damned. 

The thing is, he’s not a bad teacher, not at all. He shows up to every class with a big smile, already rambling about the latest topic of the day as he walks into the lecture hall. He’s passionate, if a little disheveled–the stereotypical professor archetype. He clearly loves what he does, and if you hadn’t seen the glint of a wedding band on his hand that first day, well…

But no, he’s off limits personally and professionally. And that made you want him even more. 

The thing is, he’s always so fucking oblivious to your attempts at flirting. Like the day you’d worn a short skirt to class, crossing and uncrossing your legs every time he looked in your direction, and he’d barely even looked at your bare legs. Or the night before Thanksgiving break, when you’d invited him to come out with some of your colleagues for a drink, letting your hand linger on the soft sweater covering his arm, and all he’d done was give you a goofy smile and mentioned wanting to leave early to beat the traffic.

So yeah, he wasn’t a bad guy, but he’s been clearly going through something these past few weeks. His normally rumpled clothes now look extremely disheveled, sometimes showing up two days a row in the same outfit. You’d never seen him look so hopeless, the way he raked his hand through his greying curls and mumbled vague instructions to the class about the test next week.

It wasn’t unusual for him to email you well into the early hours of the morning occasionally, sending a link to some journal he didn’t want to lose, an article he asked you to print out for class the next day. But something about this one lighting up your phone screen at 2am the morning before seemed extra…pathetic.

hey–can you handle class tmrw? not feeling good. attaching test for you. x j

It made you pause, this short misspelled email. You could usually expect a 3 paragraph minimum email from him, including a detailed report about how and why he wouldn’t be there tomorrow. This…this wasn’t right. But when you opened the attached word document with the test, everything looked normal. You had no reason to question it when you printed out the required 150 copies the next morning, when you handed out each one to a hall full of bleary-eyed students, when they shuffled to deposit the tests on your desk on the way out. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, even the next day when you’d left them in Jonathan’s office to grade. (Technically your job, but he liked to take his time writing detailed notes and explanations on why he was marking an answer wrong that you just hadn’t mastered yet.)

And yet, here you were after getting your entire ass handed to you by the department chair. The problem, according to her? Jonathan’s grading of the tests–it was inconsistent, vague, no sense or pattern to which answers he’d marked wrong or why. Enough students had complained–or rather, gotten their parents to complain, fucking trust fund kids–that she decided to investigate. And since it was supposed to be your job to grade tests, as the lowly TA, the punishment fell on your shoulders.

Bullshit.

Cheeks flaming, crumpled test in hand, you march down to Jonathan’s office, ready to semi-professionally rip him a new one for putting you in this position. His office was dark, empty–he rarely showed up to office hours on a good day, let alone with whatever’s been going on with him lately. Coward.

Before you could totally think it through, you reached for your phone and pulled up a new email. 

Where are you right now? Need to talk to you. 

You wait, pacing around the crowded office, not wanting to stop and let your anger fade. If he wasn’t such a control freak, if you’d been able to grade the tests like you were supposed to, this wouldn’t have happened. 

A silver picture frame lays face down on the desk, and you pick it up carefully. You’ve seen it before–a picture of Jonathan and his wife Mira on their wedding day. She’s wearing some (objectively hideous) mermaid style gown, but he looks…so good. His hair is slightly shorter in the picture, less grey, a light stubble grazing his jaw instead of the full beard he wears now. His eyes are crinkled as he smiles at her–the same way he looks at you sometimes. You swallow back the sudden nausea and flip the frame back over.

Finally your phone pings with a new message:

home today. can this wait? 

No, it absolutely cannot. 

You’re around the desk and sitting in his scratchy office chair before you realize it, leaning over to type in his computer password (Ava123, of course) and quickly finding his name and address on the department directory. If he didn’t have time to talk to you here, well, you’d show up and make him make time.

It’s quiet as you navigate the backroads to his house, whistling to yourself when it comes into view. There’s his beat-up Subaru in the driveway, so at least he wasn’t lying about being home. You park across the street, letting your car shudder to a stop and marching up to the front door before you can change your mind.

You lay your finger on the doorbell once, then again when there’s no answer. It’s a cute little neighborhood, very quiet. You shiver in the late February air, realizing you left your coat in Jonathan’s office on your way over. Fuck it. You pound your fist against the door, abandoning all sense of subtlety.

Finally you hear signs of life inside–the creak of wooden stairs, a low fuck, shit, when he bangs into something, and he’s talking as he flings open the front door.

“Mira, I said–oh.”

The fight leaves your body immediately upon seeing him. He looks flustered, even more so than usual. You’ve never seen him this casual in a crewneck UMass sweatshirt and grey sweatpants. His socks have little rubber ducks on them. It feels weirdly intimate, like you shouldn’t be seeing him like this right now, this man you’ve never seen in no less than four different layers no matter what time of year.

You clear your suddenly dry throat. “Professor Levy, sorry, I–I have to talk to you. Is this, um, is this a bad time?”

“Bad time?” He chuckles sarcastically, gesturing to his outfit, his wild hair even fluffier than usual. His glasses sit crooked on the end of his nose. “I can’t think of a better time. Come on in.”

After a slight hesitation you do, stepping over various toddler shoes and toys scattered around the entryway. He doesn’t say anything as you follow him to the kitchen, searching through the cluttered drawers for a lighter and a half-opened pack of cigarettes. You didn’t even know he smoked–seems ironic for someone with bad asthma, but you bite your tongue and try not to make a joke to fill the uncomfortable silence. He gestures the pack to you, offering, shrugging when you shake your head. He cracks the back door slightly and inhales deeply, letting the heavy smoke flow out into the night air.

“So,” he says through a cough. “What’s–why are you here? Sorry, that was rude but I’m just a little confused.”

You watch his arms curl around himself, the way his biceps bulge even through his bulky sweatshirt, and suddenly you can’t remember why you’re mad. Oh right, the tests.

“Professor, I just–”

“Jonathan, please,” he quickly says. “You’re in my house, I think you’ve earned the right to be on a first-name basis.”

“Okay. Jonathan.” you begin again. 

You don’t know why you’re suddenly nervous–you’ve had so many conversations with him before, able to go toe-to-toe with him in any of the many arguments you find yourself in. So why is standing here in his house that smells so much like him, so cozy and smoky and a little papery, watching him smoke in his comfy clothes, make you want to turn and run?

“I came here…I came here because you fucked me!”

That gets his attention. He stubs the burning cigarette out on the counter, coughing wildly, eyes wide as he gestures to you in between wheezes. You spot his inhaler on the kitchen island next to you and hand it to him wordlessly. His ring finger is noticeably bare as he wraps his hand around the inhaler. He takes a deep breath, then another, slowly exhaling out into the silent kitchen.

“Excuse me?” he says. Your cheeks burn.

“Not like that, I mean–” you remember the test in your bag and pull it out, slapping it down on the island. He squints and fumbles for his glasses, tucking them behind his ears as he peers down at the jumbled writing. You can smell the cigarette smoke clinging to him as he leans in your space, reading the paper on the counter.

“Oh,” he says. He rubs a hand over his scruffy jaw sheepishly, looking up at you through dark lashes. “I see. Did Sandra give you a hard time?”

Oh? That’s all he has to say? You feel the fire return from earlier, remember why exactly you were mad at him in the first place, with everything at stake for you. Of course he wasn’t worried–it wasn’t his ass on the line for this kind of fuckup.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You don’t try to hide the bitterness from your voice. “She–she wants to put me on probation, Jonathan. Said enough parents complained, big donors, and if one more threatened to pull their donation I’d be done–”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He steps closer, reaching a hesitant hand out to cover yours where it’s gripping the edge of the counter. His thumb smooths over your knuckles, back and forth, back and forth. “I’ll talk to Sandra, don’t worry about it, okay honey? They’re not getting rid of you that easy, huh?”

You manage a watery smile. His eyes are so warm, crinkled up in the corners as he looks at you. His thumb comes to nudge your chin up and you smile, and then he’s stepping away and clearing his throat. You miss his warmth immediately.

Now you’re embarrassed–he probably thinks you’re crazy, showing up at his house over something so simple. But he just looks at you, reaching up to push his glasses back up on his nose.

“Thank you Prof–Jonathan,” you say. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes darken when you say his name. Just a trick of the light, the way his eyes seem to linger on your nipples poking through your thin impractical t-shirt. Or…maybe not, if the way he shifts until he’s standing right in front of you again is any indication.

“You, um. You want a drink, or something?” he husks. “Came all the way out here, right? Let me—I was just about to pour myself a glass of wine. Want one?”

“I shouldn’t really, we have an early class tomorrow I have to get ready for…”

He scoffs. Finds two glasses in the cabinet, pouring a generous amount into each from the open bottle of red wine on the counter. He hands one to you, and when you don’t immediately take it, wraps his hand around your fingers to make you hold it. His hand is so warm and covers yours completely.

“I have it on good authority,” he says, “that class will be canceled tomorrow, anyway.”

You take a long sip, mostly to hide the smile pulling your lips. His eyes never leave yours as he drinks his own wine, watching you watch the pull of his throat as he swallows. Again you realize the finger usually wearing his wedding band is bare, a little sad looking. Just like him.

“So…how’s Mira?” you say gently.

His expression tightens, eyebrows pulling together as he scoffs.

“Don’t really know,” he says. “She, ah…left me. A week ago, now.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he chokes the words out.

“Jonathan, I’m–fuck, I’m so sorry,” you place your hand on his, unsure how to comfort him properly.

He shrugs, sniffs a little and turns so you can’t see the tears in his eyes. “Yeah, well. It’s been over for a while. I should’ve known when she stopped wanting to…” he clears his throat again. “Sorry you don’t, you don’t need to hear about this.”

Another tear slips out and you reach out before he can, bumping the edge of his glasses as you wipe it off. He’s silent, barely moving, and then he leans into your touch even more with a low groan. 

“You know the best way to get over her?” you ask suddenly. He blinks more tears away and stares at you, uncomprehending. Heart pounding, you take his hand and lead him to the stairs, arousal growing with every step you take. He doesn’t resist, letting you direct him upstairs, down the hall to a big bedroom with an even bigger bed in the middle of the room. 

One side of the covers are turned down, rumpled and thrown off. On the nightstand is the book he assigned for class next week–you know if you opened it, it’d be covered in nearly incomprehensible scribbles, post-its, half thoughts only he could figure out. You’d had to decipher his chicken scratch more than once.

Jonathan is silent as you examine the room, doesn’t say anything when you find your way into the walk-in closet. One side is almost completely bare, just a few dresses strewn across the floor. You step over them, ignoring the low noise he makes, and run your fingers across the sweaters hung up neatly on the other side, the brown corduroy pants you recognize immediately, the ones that have no business making his ass look that good. It’s not what you expected–the room, the closet, the bathroom–they’re all clean and tidy to the point of feeling sterile.

He’s leaning against the door jamb when you emerge from the closet. He clears his throat once. “What are you–I mean–”

“Do you or do you not want to fuck me right now?” you say, just to watch the flush spread across his cheeks, the way he shifts in place. He doesn’t look up until you move to stand right in front of him. The steady thrum of arousal you always feel around him, the one you’ve managed to push down and ignore out of respect for his wife, for your career and his, spreads unchecked like a wildfire.

“Of course, honey,” he whispers, rubbing at his watery eyes with a thick finger and you rub your thighs together.

Heart racing, you tell him get on the bed, and he scrambles to listen, perching on the rumpled side of the bed, the one he’s clearly been sleeping on, but that’s not what you want.

“No,” you say, and he freezes, apology already on his lips. “The whole bed.”

Something passes through his eyes, darkening until they look almost black in the low light of the room. He flips the other side of the covers down without hesitation, and when he leans back in the middle of the bed you can see the growing outline of his cock through his sweatpants. 

His eyes follow you as you stand at the foot of the bed, hands fisting the sheets as you run a hand under your own shirt, lifting it up an inch, then two, before dropping it down again. He groans, low and deep, and you feel a little thrill at the noise, how wrecked he looks already. He’s so easy.

“Take your glasses off,” you instruct, and even before you finish speaking he’s pulling them off and setting them gently on the nightstand. Just waiting for you to tell him what to do next. His throat bobs with a hard swallow. 

“Lean back and don’t move. If you do, I’m gonna stop, okay?” He looks dazed but nods, fisting his hands by his side in the sheets to keep them there. 

You quickly shed your jeans and t-shirt, ignoring the whine in his throat when he sees your exposed skin, the light fabric of your panties already damp with want, and crawl up to settle in between his spread legs. For a moment you sit there, not sure what you want to do next. Would he let you sit on his face? Slip a finger or two inside you until you’re dripping, begging for him to fuck you? No, tonight should be about him first, you decide quickly. 

You scratch your nails through his beard and he hums, leaning into your touch. He doesn’t move as you take his face between your hands, keeps his hands to his side until you shift forward until you’re hovering over the bulge in his sweatpants. He throws his head back with a low thunk against the headboard, gripping your sides with his warm hands as he tries to pull you down, closer to where he’s hard and aching.

“Jonathan,” you say mock-sternly and his eyes fly open immediately. You shake your head, lifting yourself up and back over to the end of the bed and he panics, hands scrabbling at the empty air.

“No c’mon, I’ll be good, come back–can you just, just touch me please, honey?”

His face is flushed, chest heaving as he watches you settle by his feet again. He’s still wearing those damn socks. His breath catches once but when you look up in alarm he smiles, gives you a thumbs up. What a loser.

“I think you’ll like this better, though,” you whisper. “Take your shirt off.”

And he does, whipping it off into the corner of the room before you can say anything else. His chest glints with sweat as he leans back again, breathing heavily. You run your fingers down his stomach, through the light trail of hair that disappears into his sweats and he groans, bucking his hips up. 

Your fingers run under the waistband of his pants slowly, a barely-there brush of fingers that he tries to buck up into again. You push him down, holding him to the bed by his hips and he just lets you. It’s hotter than it should be.

“Are you gonna be good and stay still?” you ask. He nods quickly and you smile at him, ignoring the stickiness between your thighs. You pull down the waistband of his pants and to your surprise his cock bobs up, ruddy and thick and already leaking precum.

“Commando, really? What–were you jerking off before I got here, is that why you were too busy to talk to me?” He doesn’t say anything, averting his eyes from your knowing glance. “Holy shit, you were. What were you thinking about?”

He doesn’t answer right away so you drag your fingers lightly over the sticky head of his cock, and that gets his attention, the words spilling out almost uncontrollably. “I don’t know, you–shit no, I mean. Fu-uck, please.”

You let him push his hips up into your hand once, twice, and then you’re pushing him back down, cutting off his protest when you lower your head down, licking the salt and precum off your hand before you wrap it around him. You let your tongue run over the pulsing vein as he chants please please fuck please. 

“Were you thinking about this? About me with your cock in my mouth, on my knees for you?” and before he can answer you take his length in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks just to hear him whine, jacking what you can’t take in your mouth. His hands grip the sheets, his own thighs, hovering like he wants to grab your head so you let him, guiding his hand to the back of your head as you move up and down, taking him further and further into your mouth until you’re swallowing around him. 

He groans, trying to move his hips up and you push him down even harder, pulling back to suck light little kisses up and down his cock instead. He’s whining now, loud in the quiet house, pulling your hair and panting, practically wheezing. You’re just leaning over to take him in again, letting your breath fan over the thick head, but before you can even do anything he’s tensing up, a low groan spilling from his mouth as he comes, untouched. 

A little string of saliva follows when you finally pull back, and he stares as you wipe your thumb across your cheek, pushing the string of come there into your mouth. His face is red as he watches you sit back on your heels, dick limp and twitching against his stomach.

“Fuck, are you okay? I’m sorry–it’s, uh, it’s been awhile. Clearly.” He rubs a hand over his face, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. He coughs again, breathes out sharply and then fumbles for the inhaler tucked into the nightstand. 

“Was it everything you dreamed about?” you joke, settling yourself over his thighs, linking your arms behind his neck. He huffs out a quiet laugh and runs his hands over your sides, stopping when you push yourself forward, letting your bare breasts drag against his chest. His hands are unsure, lingering as he grabs your hips, rubbing his thumbs over the panties you’re still wearing.

“Not exactly,” he says, and when you start to protest he tightens his grip, quickly adding, “no I mean, of course, you’re–fuck, you’re amazing–but I wanted to do this properly. Wanted to get my mouth on you first.”

The thought of his mouth on you, taking you apart, letting his beard scratch up your inner thighs–it makes you even wetter than you were before and you try to be subtle about the way you’re shifting around in his lap but it’s clearly not working, if the groan he gives is any indication. You can feel him, half-hard and growing when you grind yourself against him. 

“Already?” you gasp, somewhat impressed with his recovery time, and he gives you a shy smile and a shrug. His fingers drag down lower, snapping the side of your underwear and you rise up, shucking them off as he kicks his sweatpants down until you’re both fully naked.

“Will you let me touch you please? Can I get my mouth on you, please, been thinkin’ about it all night, since you walked into my office that first day of class, shit, you’re so pretty, please–”

You cut him off with a kiss, running your hands through his messy hair and he groans into your open mouth, a little rumbling thing you can feel as you kiss down his throat, his shoulder, and then he stops you with a hand to your chin, pulling you back up to look at him. He scoots back, dragging you with him as he settles back on the bed, grabbing a pillow from her side of the bed to place under his head and looking up at you expectantly where you’re waiting, holding yourself up over his stomach.

“Sit on my face,” he murmurs. “Please, will you? Let me make you feel good, c’mon.”

All the air leaves your body in a rough exhale–maybe you need his stupid inhaler this time. “Y-yeah,” you rasp, and then you’re shuffling up his body, hovering over his face until he grunts and wraps a hand around each thigh, pulling you down to where he’s waiting.

You’re right–his beard does burn, tickling the insides of your thighs as he mouths sloppy kisses there, nipping randomly until he pulls you down, again, letting you settle right over his warm mouth. 

He’s good, licking up into you with an intensity you’ve never felt, fucking his tongue in and out until you’re groaning, gripping the headboard and grinding your hips down for more more more–so greedy. His nose nudges your clit lightly, not enough to do anything until you lean forward even more, pressing yourself against him. He groans and you feel it through your body, where you’re dripping onto him, moving even faster against his mouth. Your thighs begin to shake, pleasure coiling in your stomach, and then he nudges your clit again, licking hard and you’re done, coming hard into his mouth as he guides your hips over and over until you finally push him away, too sensitive.

“Holy shit,” you gasp when you see him, beard drenched, eyes hooded as he stares back at you, chest hitching and stuttering with his heavy breaths. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, yanking your body down until you’re rocking against his cock, hard and thick and just what you need. He tips his chin up to look at you with a soft smile as you press small kisses over his ear, his beard, the tip of his nose until he’s whining please please please.

“What do you want? Gotta use your words,” you murmur, reaching behind you to grab his cock. He’s still slippery with come and you run your hand up and down him slowly, ignoring the way he pushes his hips up, how his fingers dig in the spaces above your hip bones.

“Please sweetheart, lemme fuck you, ’s all I think about–you’re so pretty I just wann-ah shit, wanna–” he’s panting again, breath catching in a wheeze, and you reach down to clasp your palm over his mouth just to get him to shut up–the last thing you need is for him to have a fucking asthma attack right now. His whine is muffled and tears are forming in the corner of his eyes as you carefully grab his throbbing cock, steadily leaking precum, and position yourself over it. You just hover there for a second, letting him feel the heat of you, how wet you are, and his head jerks back beneath your palm, tears rolling down his temples.

And then you’re sinking down slowly, letting you both feel the stretch, his eyes wide as he watches the slow glide, the way you envelope him so completely. It’s so good and you just sit there for a second, adjusting to the way he feels, forgetting about your hand over his mouth until he mumbles something. His hands are gripping the covers again, the sheets a mess with both of your come, and you feel a perverse sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“What?” 

“Can you p-please move, so tight, ’m not gonna last.” He breaks off into a groan when you lean forward, changing the angle until your clit presses right into his pubic bone, hips bucking uncontrollably when you rake your nails down his chest, watching the red marks appear with satisfaction. Mine now.

You hush him, wiping the stray tear from his face as you roll your hips slowly, keeping your hands pressed against his chest in warning when he tries to move too quickly. He’s thick inside you and you shift minutely, letting him rub against the spot you like, the one that has you clenching around him with a low moan.

He smiles when you gasp, murmuring right there, honey?, and all you can do is nod, chasing the growing tension as you try to keep moving at a steady pace. You feel your legs wobbling, tired now, and he grunts, shoving his hips up up up and all you can do is hold on and let him. He reaches for your clit with his thumb, rubbing lightly until you feel yourself tense up, pleasure zinging through your body until you finally explode, hips stuttering over him as your muscles lock up. 

You try to catch your breath, getting ready to move again, to let him finish until he stops you, face red again. Then you finally notice the trickle of come seeping out from where you’re still connected, his cock slowly softening, and you lift yourself off and flop down next to him. It’s silent, the harsh rasp of his breathing prompting you to roll over and look at him but he’s already looking at you, eyes soft as he pushes a stray piece of hair out of your face. 

“Thank you,” he says softly, and you shrug. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” you say. “I’m still ratting you out to Sandra tomorrow.”

He laughs softly, a little wheeze that has you smiling. “Fair enough.”

--

masterlist here

#jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy fic #jonathan levy smut #scenes from a marriage fic #just look at that gif and tell me u dont want to see him cry. RIGHT. #didnt tag anyone else bc i didnt know who else would be into this besides me and angela LOL #ok goodnight #lexi writes things

[qdbs-writes]

May I have a slightly strange request?  Raiden and Fujin's reaction to their crush suddenly saying "God save Johnny Cage" (the reader and Cage are friends and this phrase just escaped by chance and was not even intended for anyone in particular)

nonny, i promise you this is like the least strange thing i've had in my inbox lately

Fujin and Raiden React To Their Crush Saying "God Save Johnny Cage"

It was like any other day in the Sky Temple, or, as normal as the Sky Temple could be. In the last few weeks, you'd been setting up your friendly neighbourhood Shinto deities with some more modern Earthrealm technology, the latest edition being a TV. It was nothing fancy, an old Goodmans 1408 that you had lying around. The real challange was hooking it up to modern channels. After some percussive maintenance, you tune the CRT TV to a talk show featuring Johnny Cage. The storm brothers gathered behind you, enchanted by the flickering screen you had brought to life for them. The interview itself was relatively dull, with Johnny being asked about his latest movie or suspected liasions with other Hollywood actors. It was until the interviewer mentioned one of Johnny's costars, an actor who'd been publicly outed as transgender, and asked if Johnny could ever work with the 'dirty, immoral liar' again. The three of you watch as Johnny begins to shout at the interviewer, screaming that they had no right to say that about his costar. The arguement continues until Johnny punches the interviewer across the jaw, before turning to the camera crew and live audience to speak about the importance of trans rights. But he could only get a few words in before the program cuts off, with a 'We Are Experiencing Technical Difficulties' message. The storm Gods share a look while you nod your head proudly. "God save Johnny Cage." you mutter. You didn't have time to think about the nuances of what you had said in front of the two Gods, but decided that it was more amusing to let them come to their own conclusions.

Fujin

Recently Fujin had been building up the courage to reveal his feelings towards you. He was sure of how he felt but painfully unsure of how to go about it. He had asked his brother, Raiden, who was little help. He had even asked other Earthrealmers, although he did his best to hide your identity as the object of his affections.

Fujin knew one thing, that if he couldn't tell you, then he absolutely couldn't tell any of your friends, what if they stepped in? What if they said something to you that gave you a bad opinion of him? What if someone stole your heart first?

There were far too many ways it could all go terribly wrong. And now he was even more confused. "God save Johnny Cage", what did those words mean? Well he knew what they meant, but why would you say them?

Fujin was a god, did you want him to save Johnny? If that were the case, Johnny didn't seem to be in any danger. If you really cared that much about Johnny, maybe it's time Fujin confessed his feelings for you before it's too late.

When the two of you are alone, Fujin will drop to his knee dramatically, "I vow to protect Johnny Cage for you, because since the day we met, I have loved you, and I will do all in my power to make you happy, even if you love another."

Fujin emotionally braces, expecting rejection, but instead hears your delighted squeals as you wrap your arms around him, saying how you love him too, pressing soft kisses to his cheek.

Raiden

For the last few months, Raiden had been delicately calculating how to best start a relationship with you. Part of that was navigating how you felt about others, and if he had any competition to worry about.

From what he had seen, your relationship with Johnny Cage was platonic at best. But Johnny was also more experienced in courting techniques and had succeeded in gaining many partners over his short, mortal lifetime.

Raiden's heart sinks at the idea that perhaps Cage's charm had reached you through the television, ensnaring you enough to make you say "God save Johnny Cage".

He knew the meaning behind that saying, he wasn't a complete fool. To ask a god to save someone was a verbal decleration of your devotion to someone, your pride in them, how you wish their lives to be long and happy.

Weren't all those things the sum of love? Those were certainly all the things Raiden wished for you. For you to suddenly feel this way towards Cage... The only explaination was the TV, clearly a cursed device that you must be protected from.

Que Raiden launching the TV over the nearest balcony when you aren't looking, if you ask where it went, Raiden will feign ignorance and instead invite you for a walk in the gardens, offering his arm for you to take.

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat headcanons #mortal kombat imagines #mortal kombat x reader #mk x reader #fujin #fujin x reader #raiden #raiden x reader #qdbs writing #queuedbs #johnny cage #this long ass post is brought to you by my adhd medication

[formosusiniquis]

Lineage

Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington WC: 2173 | G | Day 4: Middle Names | AO3

“What are middle names for?” The question bubbles out of Steve as he takes in the picture of Michael J. Fox in Tiger Beat.

It’s the kind of question he thinks of a lot. The kind he’d normally bury in the back of his brain to ponder over on his own when sleep is a far off concept. But Robin is different. They’re so much a part of one another that Steve has stopped holding those questions in his own brain, realizing she likes to puzzle them out and tear them apart like he does.

Only Robin’s base of smarts is a little different, sometimes these questions he has actually get real answers. 

He can feel Robin go still beneath him, his head on her shoulder just like hers is on his. With anyone else the position they’d found themselves in this afternoon would probably be uncomfortable. Sprawled out on his bed, technically back to back, Steve is using the bony knob of Robin’s shoulder to raise his head just enough that he doesn’t have to hold the magazine he’s reading up in the air. Robin has taken the top of the bed, her legs make an L where she has them stretched out against his bedroom wall, toes pointed toward the ceiling. Whatever book she’s been reading is propped up against her thighs, too far to actually read without using the binoculars Dustin left behind last week.

He flips another page in the magazine, content the way he always is with Robin, knowing that when she has finished puzzling out the order that she wants to respond to him in that she’ll speak. Steve thinks it’s probably to tell the difference between people. There are so many in the world, eventually you’re going to have two Tommy H.’s in a room and have to use that middle name.

Tommy Allen, the thought of spending two years of junior high and two and a half in high school calling Tommy that in public drags a little giggle from Steve. That would have made them losers of the highest order. Robin makes a noise that reminds Steve of Mrs. Johnson’s cat whenever he’d feed it for her when she was out of town, inquiring but also a little annoyed that you disturbed whatever it was doing before.

He shimmies his arm just enough that she knows he’ll explain it later. Once he figures out a good way to explain how much of being popular is being good at being perceived the right way. Tommy H’s can be popular, Tommy Allen’s get their slightly bucked teeth and bad laughs noticed. She isn’t going to like that, but Steve learned pretty quickly Robin doesn’t like a lot of things about how popularity actually works.

“I think,” Robin says slowly, she’s talking a little funny and Steve wonders now if she’s let the binoculars rest against her chin instead of just putting them down like a normal person. He could turn and look but figures all he’d actually see is the blurry, too close suggestion of Robin’s face. It’s better in his imagination. 

“I think,” she repeats, in his head the binoculars wiggle down her chest a little further every time her mouth moves, “it's to continue the family line. That used to be a big thing you know, it’s why men didn’t want daughters because then the family name would die out. So you’d give your kid a middle name to help continue one of the old names from the family that was just going to die if you didn’t keep making your wife have more and more babies that she probably didn’t even want.”

“Oh like JR.”

“JR?”

“Yeah, you know JR. He’s that football player that graduated two years ago. His ears stuck out weird and he always seemed to have, like, a Rudolph zit on his nose.”

“You mean Mark Williams?” She shouts, incredulous.

“Sure, I think it was Mark. His dad was definitely Mr. Williams, but they had the same name so whenever they went anywhere he always called him JR. ‘Hey JR wouldja get that for me.’ ‘If you ever wanna go pro, JR, you’re going to have to learn how to take a tackle.’”

Robin is in fits beside him, the impression is terrible but it’s also exactly what the guy used to sound like gruff but also whistley somehow.

“Wait, wait,” the bed shakes as she adjusts herself, he can feel the weird shape of her ear and the uncomfortable poke of her earrings in the cradle of his arm. “What’s your middle name?”

“You mean you didn’t see it when you rifled through my employee file to find my birthday and social security number?”

“I was looking for important information.”

“So you could steal my identity.”

“So I could make fun of you less on your birthday if it was in the summer or maybe just take the whole day off so I didn’t have to deal with the cavalcade of pretty blondes coming in to fawn over Steve Harrington, real adult man.”

“Ew, the worst way anyone has ever described me. You make it sound like I’m some kind of pervert.”

“They would want you to be,” Robin agrees, “I think it would be part of the appeal.”

“Richard.”

“Theodore.”

“No, dingus,” he relishes the moment that he gets to turn her favorite pet name against her, “my middle name is Richard.”

Robin takes that new information and digests it for at least thirty seconds, but that’s just a guess since she’s laying on the arm that has his watch on it. “Stephan Richard Harrington,” she tries out.

“The one and only.”

“It feels like there should be a number at the end. Stephan Richard Harrington the Sixth, best of his line.”

Maybe if he were a Sixth he’d like it a little better, he thinks. “No, it’s like what you said, continuing family names? Mom named me after her brother that died in the war, and Dad hated that or him or probably both knowing him so I got stuck with Richard so he could be included.”

“Robin Marie Buckley,” Robin offers in exchange.

“Ew.”

“I didn’t ew yours even though it makes you sound like a fancy little rich boy.”

“I am a fancy little rich boy,” Steve says, flipping the front of his hair with a half assed toss of his head, “you’re lying here in my ivory tower.”

“I think ivory towers have less blue plaid.”

“I like the blue plaid, it makes hanging things up easy. I’m sorry we can’t all have this season’s Laura Ashley-”

Robin is, unfortunately, at the perfect angle to punch him directly in the chest. “My parents did that to surprise me when I came back from bandcamp two years ago so I could have a more mature room as a high schooler.”

For all that it’s worth he tries not to sound mean when he snorts, the Buckleys are nice and mostly well meaning or at least they have been every time he’s visited. “And they somehow missed the dresser covered in spiky bracelets and the closet full of grandpa suspenders while they were in there.”

“They mean well,” Robin unintentionally echoes Steve’s own earlier thoughts. “They just don’t… really get me.” Her voice trails off, a little lost, and he hates himself for being the person who made Robin feel like that.

“We should change our names.”

“What and go on the lam?” Robin asks.

“We can, but I don’t think any lambs, sheep, or goats need to be involved.”

Steve sits up in bed, forcing Robin to do the same as he pulls his arm out from under her head. It only takes a quick spin before he’s facing her, grabs her arms so she can’t pull away from how totally and completely serious he’s being. “It’s like you said, it’s about family right?” He says, “You’re more family to me than my douchebag dad has ever been so why do I have to be stuck with his name when I could be Stephan Robert.”

“Not Robin?”

“Don’t wanna make it too obvious, and Robin Stephan probably wouldn’t fly at the name changing place.”

“Robin Stephanie,” she tries slowly.

“I mean obviously if I were a girl I’d go by Stevie,” he jokes.

“We can’t just change our names!” Robin says, she doesn’t sound like she believes it though so Steve is pretty sure he’s winning.

“Why can’t we, people do it all the time, I bet it’s super easy.”

“When they get married! Or like adopted. People don’t just change their names on a Tuesday because they feel like it!”

He tries to give that the thought that it deserves, but he mostly just feels like Robin is making excuses because she’s scared. Maybe it’s the leftover fear from Starcourt bubbling out in a place where she can control, or maybe she just likes her parents enough to be scared of hurting their feelings. One of those things he can relate to more than the other.

“Well Thursday would work better for my schedule.”

“Steve!”

“What! So we get married then, is that the problem? I mean I know I’m not your first choice romantically, but didn’t you say people do that so that they’re safe from people knowing they’re gay.”

Her arms are already out, ready to make a point that would probably be big and dramatic and a little long winded the way Robin likes to be when she’s all worked up like this. But he’s stopped her in her tracks. Face to face he can watch as the outrage melts into something sticky and wet like melted ice cream.

“You’d do that for me?”

“I would pretty much do everything including die for you, getting to be Stephan Robert Buckley would really be more like you doing me a favor.”

He’s getting pulled into a crushing hug before he can blink. He doesn’t mention how he can feel the wet fall of her crying against his neck, if it didn’t embarrass her, it might stop Robin from doing her best to climb inside him like she’s Luke and he’s that weird ice kangaroo. Mascara stains on the neck of his shirt are a small price to pay for a Robin Buckley embrace.

They hold each other for as long as it takes for Robin to feel regular again, and it’s nice. Steve thinks they’ll have to have a different conversation about how rarely he gets hugged just for the sake of it later. Right now this is about family and names and because Robin is family in every way that matters he doesn’t say anything when she wipes away those tears and a little snot with the back of her hand.

“You’ll have to wait until March,” she says, “I’m not getting married until I’m at least 18. I don’t want people thinking it’s some shotgun thing after working with you this summer.”

“As long as it’s before you get your dorm assignment for whatever fancy school you get into. If we’re married I’m pretty sure they have to let us live together.”

“Yeah? Even if I go somewhere like Bryn Mawr?”

He pretends like he’s giving that careful consideration, like he doesn’t already know she really wants to go to some big city where the schools might have a language program and she has a better chance of finding other people more like her.

“Well I guess we could live off campus then, if you really want to go to the lesbian school for lesbians.”

She punches him again. “It is not.”

“I wouldn't want the other lesbians to bully you for being married to a really hot guy.”

“One, I never said yes, dingus. Two, I have a whiteboard that questions how hot you are hotshot.’

“Pretty sure that got burned in the fire so you can’t use that as proof anymore you’re going to need more dates.”

“Data, you need to try to land dates.”

“Same difference.”

She pushes him until he’s laying down, grabs her book from his pillow and he takes that as his cue to go back to his magazine. It takes her a minute to decide how she wants to lay down again, he’s already back on his page about this month’s Hollywood Heartthrobs before she’s decided that his chest makes the best pillow and his arm can prop her book up for her. He isn’t sure what it is today, he wonders if she’s close enough to the beginning that he can get her to read it out loud to him, this month’s Tiger Beat really is lacking.

“Why does anyone think these guys are hot? The guys in Rolling Stone are usually better looking than Alex P. Keaton or the guy from Growing Pains. Johnny Depp is kinda okay, I guess.”

“Stephan Robert!” Robin sits upright again, and Steve thinks he might have accidentally started another capital C Conversation.

#stobin month 2024 #platonic stobin #steve and robin #steve harrington #robin buckley #stobin month #middle names #found family dynamics

[jjwantsme]

I Wanna Be Saved!

j.m

pairing: jj maybank x kook!reader

summary: in which he finally saves his favorite hoe. (part II to ‘Captain Save A Hoe’)

warnings: nsfw, lowercase intended, cussing, kiara still lowk being mean😭, slutshaming, promiscuous!reader, mentions of smut, kinda short

authors note: i love this little theory sm 🥲🥲🥲 thank yall for reading

masterlist

JJ looked zoned-out while John B went on about some stupid theory, a theory that he frankly didn’t care about. how could he care when hours earlier, his girl walked out on him?

okay, alright, she technically wasn’t his girl. but, in his mind, he was certainly her boy.

“JJ, are you even listening?” kiara looked at him with a face of annoyance.

“yeah, you were like, just straight up ignoring everything we said,” pope said in his monotone voice, only aggravating the boy in question even further

“everything is fucked, bro!” the blondie huffed, standing up off the couch as he shocked the other three teenagers. “y’all are confusing and annoying the shit out of me with this dumbass mystery thing, as if we’re in a fucking tv show! this is real life, okay?! we’re not gonna find fucking gold. listen, my favorite fucktoy walked out on me, okay, how the fuck am i supposed to pay attention?! also, i haven’t gotten high in, like, 25 hours and i’m getting withdrawals.”

the room stayed silent for a solid 6 seconds once JJ finished his stressed rant, the other teenagers looked at each other with their eyebrows raised. what the fuck was he talking about?

“uh, okay, let’s disregard the gold thing for a few minutes- what do you mean by ‘fucktoy’?” pope interrupted the silence, kiara nodding slowly in agreement to his statement.

JJ sighed and sat back on his spot on the couch, resting his forehead in his hands, “y/n, bro-“

“you fucked her?!” kiara exclaimed, her eyebrows furrowing in a mix of anger and confusion. “i literally told you that she was a bitch!”

“yo, don’t talk about her that way,” he lifted his head off his hands, “she’s actually cool, alright? i really, really like her.”

“so, then…what’s the problem?” john b shrugged slightly with raised eyebrows.

“that is the problem, dude! she’s pissed ‘cause we agreed on no actual feelings involved, but of course, i fucking folded.”

“such a bitch,” kiara mumbled, making JJ roll his eyes.

“i’m confused,” pope narrowed his eyes.

the boy groaned, “jesus, pope, how slow are you? she made me bust a couple times and now i’m ready for marriage!”

“woah-“

“look, J, you’ll get over her. there’s hundreds of hot girls on this island, you’ll be fine. now, can we please stay focused on becoming rich?” kiara spoke louder this time, cutting off pope’s shocked reaction to JJ’s explanation.

“whatever,” JJ mumbled as john b took the opportunity to plan out the next step to finding the mind-boggling gold.

they just didn’t get it.

maybe she is a hoe, JJ thought. maybe he was just another check off of the promiscuous girl’s list of dicks to suck. but, if she is a hoe, she certainly is his favorite.

y/n groaned as she woke up in another man’s bed.

after leaving JJ, she was desperate to find someone as good as him- but, she had been failing miserably.

they never made her feel as good as he did, and probably never will. JJ was different.

sex with these men was just boring. sure, they weren’t bad, but none of them were the best. it was just plain old sex. but, with JJ, it was like her pussy was made for him.

she couldn’t keep entertaining all these other boys anymore. she needed a man, she needed her man.

so, she swallowed her pride and typed up a text. ‘missing the taste of you’, she sent to him.

she was shocked when her phone dinged shortly after. ‘yeah? i’m missing the feeling of you’, he replied back to her.

yeah. that settles it. her pussy was made for him.

the teens continued their back and forth vulgar texts for the rest of the week. photographs of his dick being sent to her, voice memos of her cumming around a sex toy being sent to him.

‘i wanna see you again’, y/n said one day, and JJ would be idiotic to decline.

they agreed on a place and time. 2:00 AM in y/n’s bedroom. they clarified that there wouldn’t be much talking involved, they just wanted to feel each other’s bodies again.

he wanted to feel her juices pour onto his tongue as he pleasured her. she wanted to feel his cock stretching her out, she wanted to feel the mix of pleasure and pain.

so, there JJ was, exactly at 2:00 AM, in his favorite girl’s room.

there lips molded together in a heated makeout, his hands going down to grip her ass as they slowly moved towards the bed.

“wait, stop, wait,” JJ gasped out as he pulled away from the kiss when he felt her warm hand travel down his shorts. “we can’t do this, i’m sorry, but we can’t,”

“what? why?” she pulled her hands back as she looked at him with a face of confusion.

“because i still like you, y/n.”

her face fell as she sighed and stepped back, sitting on her bed. “yeah, i figured.” she sighed and looked down.

“look, y/n,” he situated himself in his shorts, trying his best not to focus on his raging hard-on, “i know that you have a boyfriend, but-“

“we broke up.” y/n cut him off when the words slipped from his mouth, making JJ’s heart stop.

“…what?” he breathed out, “really? wh-why?”

“i mean…sure, he was an okay boyfriend. but, he just…he just wasn’t you.”

JJ sucked in a breath at her words.

“i think i like you too, J.” she told him, just above a whisper.

“oh.” was all he could say, although in his mind he was celebrating her reciprocation.

“maybe…maybe we could go on a date or something?” she asked as she stood up again, walking towards him again.

“yeah, i…i’d like that,” he spoke quietly, cupping her face.

“i take back what i said,” he said, pecking her lips, “we can definitely do this.”

the couple spent the night making love, one round after another.

her moans were music to his ears, it felt like a reward for every good thing he’d ever done.

he’d do a thousand good things if it meant he’d get to fuck her everynight.

they stayed in each other’s arms all morning long, tracing shapes on one another’s bare skin.

“JJ?” y/n whispered into his neck as the sun shined on them through her window.

“yeah?”

“thank you for saving me.

#jjwantsme #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj x y/n #jj maybank x reader smut #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj obx #jj x you #jj x reader #jj x kook!reader #rudy pankow fanfiction #rudy pankow smut #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow

[learnyouabiology]

Fun Fact: Hagfish Suffocate their Predators with a Cloud of Slime!

(This week featuring my own art, bc I got a new thing and I wanna USE IT)

Sometimes, I come across an animal that makes me go: “Huh. That seems like a fictional monstrosity, fit only for tabletop roleplaying games and fantasy novels. Except I guess this one is real! Weird!”

 The hagfish is one of those animals.

Hagfish are quite spooky to behold: Rather than looking like a fish, hagfish look more like scaleless, leathery-skinned worms with little tentacle-like things called barbells around what appears to be their mouth.

Except the polite little opening that you can see in the drawing above is not its mouth. That’s its nostril.

This is its mouth:

**SCREAM**

(ok that’s technically a tongue that has teeth on it, but it’s mouth-adjacent so I STAND BY MY STATEMENT). (drawing based on this picture from this paper)

THIS IS THE STUFF THAT NIGHTMARES ARE MADE OF (and I, for one, love it!)

You don’t need to worry too much about the hagfish’s nightmare mouth, though, since hagfish are pretty much only interested in eating things that are already dead (except maybe a few fish, so if you’re a fish, watch out, I guess). 

Plus, they can go more than 6 months without eating and can survive without oxygen for 36 hours, so that’s nice.

(it’s hard to tell, but this is 2 hagfish eating a dead rockfish, plus a third hagfish possibly taking a nap. They’re having a lovely time!) 

 These guys love a good whale carcass.

Hagfish are a type of jawless fish which are categorised into the class Myxini. They are the only known animals with a skull but no vertebral column and possess 4 “hearts”: a systemic heart in the usual place, a portal heart that’s beside the 1st heart, a cardinal heart in the head, and a caudal heart near the tail. Technically, only the first 2 are considered “true hearts”, but Whatever!  x

All of these things are very strange and wonderful, but the weirdest thing about hagfish, in my opinion, is possibly their most distinct feature.

They possess weaponized slime.

Remember that time a bunch of hagfish stole a car were dumped onto a highway in 2017? Everyone (human) was fine, but the slime was REAL (source: x). 

This slimey car crash occurred because hagfish excrete slime when disturbed (they caused the slime part, I mean. The crash itself was something else’s fault). Considering the fact that a single hagfish can excrete a maximum of 24 litres of slime (given ideal circumstances) and that there were roughly *checks notes* 13′000 hagfish in the truck, you could end up with around *does some math*... 312’000 litres of slime!

For reference, that’s equivalent to approximately 1’560 bathtubs full of slime. 

(my rough math can be found at the bottom of the post, if you’re curious).

That said, this crash probably didn’t feature 312′000 litres of actual slime. What the hagfish excretes is a relatively small amount of a substance which is a combination of mucus and long, thin proteins reminiscent of super-fine silk threads.

When this substance is mixed with water, it immediately expands 10′000 times its original volume!

The resulting slime is 99.996% water (source x). So, unless the truck was also carrying 312′000 litres of water to transport the hagfish in (which is doubtful), the slime probably wouldn’t have been able to reach that volume. (assuming they didn’t try to clean the mess up with water, which is... fully possible)

For my favourite demonstration of this, here’s an (admittedly old & grainy) video of someone transforming a beaker of water into a beaker of slime using a itty bit of mucus scraped from a hagfish.

(it’s cooler in the video, tbh)

What is all this slime even for? Well, mostly to protect the hagfish from predators! 

Imagine if you bit into a sandwich and then 24 litres of slime suddenly exploded into your mouth. That would suck. A lot. You probably wouldn’t even finish the sandwich! Probably. I don’t know your life.

Understandably, predatory fish also hate to have a mouthful of slime, except it’s even worse for them, because the slime quickly gets tangled in the fish’s gills, which are important for gas exchange (aka being alive). It is for this reason that hagfish generally don’t get eaten, it seems!

(Ha! That’ll teach you to try to eat in the ocean! i love this paper tbh) 

As far as I have been able to research, there are no recorded instances of hagfish being  successfully eaten in the wild (though we have seen predators make unsuccessful attempts, resulting in them having an extremely bad time!)

(Thriving. Moisturised. In their lane. x)

While the slime sticks to the predator, the hagfish has an easy way to get the slime off its own body: they simply tie themself into a knot, wiping away the slime, and then goes about their day, unphased.

This has been Fun Fact Friday, bringing you nightmare fuel in this, the fine season of Halloween!

I know that it’s September, but if the dollar store can say that it’s already Halloween season THEN SO CAN I DANG NABBIT.

(bonus of that fish getting pwned, just bc I LOVE those pictures:

(Corrected) math under the cut:

3′400kg of hagfish in the truck (source)

each adult hagfish is around 180-260g (source)

3′400 kg/0.260 kg = ~13′000 hagfish

one hagfish can produce “a teaspoon” of slime (~5 mL), which can expand “10′000 times” its original size when it hits water (~50′000 mL -> 50 L) (source)

This^ is wrong! It’s actually 24 L, max (new source x)

one average bathtub can hold ~200 L of water (source)

(24 L x 13′000 hagfish) / 200 L = 1’560 bathtubs

#hagfish #halloween #marine biology #science #biology #fish #fun fact #sciblr #science side of tumblr #adhd in STEM #STEM #fun fact friday

[inahallucination]

famous au but um dumb

@cowboylexapro

if the poets were on social media and famous this is what they'd be known for

(age somewhere between 19-21)

todd

tumblr blog name: toad.anderson

ao3 name: toad.writes

he's technically anon but not rlly

sexiest tumblr account known to man - he's a fanfic writer and an au poster with some occasional og stuff that floods his inbox with asks begging him to publish his og work too - what fandom does he write for? all of them.

his bf proof reads them all even if he's never been in the fandom

he writes fics for his friends when they get famous

in between his novel worthy fanfics are shitty fics of his friends

his followers get rlly confused

he wrote a neil x reader fic until straight girls started claiming it and he took it down becuz the reader was him

todd on his blog: guyss… im so sorry but im taking the neil x reader fic down… im sorry if i offend anyone but the reader was me ❤️ not you - i don't like you all claiming it

after taking down the x reader, he does a neil x oc but the oc is him but with green eyes

neil, after the oc gets described: todd the only person im seeing is u tho 😦 and u have blue eyes

eventually his relationship with famous tiktoker neil perry gets revealed and ppl realize he's not just an obsessed fan

after neil says the thing blog: toad.anderson: guys my real name is todd anderson everyone: omg we wouldve never guessed

after neil and him go public and ppl dont believe that neil is gay he alternates between seething and writing neil fics and taking joy from neil's confusion

todd points out comments that are obviously thirsting over neil and neil still doesn't realize he's being thirsted over

"neil be the father of my children!" "oh i think they meant that in a godfather type way"

todd, at a breaking point, suggests that neil and him post a kissing video but neil doesnt wanna be one of those shawn camilla couples - respect

what if he posted them kissing but he made a historians will call them bestfriends joke but then ppl did🧍‍♂️

"my bestie and I 🤩 " "NEIL PEOPLE ARE GOING TO THINK UR SERIOUS"

//

neil

tiktok name: neilliard.at.julliard

accidentally tiktok famous for pretty face, charming personality, acting abilities - the theater kids had a claim over him orignially but he's pretty mainstream now

comment section full of old grandmas trying to set him up with their granddaughters

everyones dream bf until he posted about his own bf

neil: my boyfie has a big tumblr and he writes a lot and he really likes frogs and he is also blond and heres his address

hes kinda oblivious about everything

"you want a close up of my collar bones? why ?"

reading comment "'show your abs?' its nice you think i have abs! only my boyfriend can see those tho 😉 "

the comments go wild

people are stitching it screaming for different reasons

all his fans r screaming into pillows bc HES TAKEN NOOO

people are trying to figure out who this mans boyfie is

"he has a boyfriend??" "he's been straightbaiting us!" "NOO HE'S TAKEN" "IS UR BF AS HOT AS U" "look at the way his eyes lit up when he said bf i love love" "this video shows an aspect of society that-"

"tell us about ur bf" and he makes a week worth of videos but its all random stuff

"my bf looks pretty in blue" "my bf likes to put salt and pepper on his fries" "my bf has hair"

the straightbaiting comments come after him posting about pride and having a pride flag in the background of his videos <- they say things like "he's such a good ally"

people attack others in the comments who ask him if hes queer "NO NEIL ISNT GAY NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO BE GAY HE COULD JUST BE A REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY FRUITY STRAIGHT GUY WHO LIKES GIRLS"

"are you gay neil???" -> "not everything has to be gay ppl can just be allys and btw by assuming every ally is gay, ur actually hurting the movement!!!" -> "i asked becuz he said he wanted to kiss his boy best friend on the lips in highschool" -> "he meant it heterosexual-ly"

someone asks him what his type is and he describes todd to the t and they think he likes a short haired blonde

"he likes girls in sweat pants not skirts" "his type isnt ppl in skirts" -- neil would love todd in a skirt but thats not the point

his type: "he's really shy, gorgeous, short dirty blonde hair, uhhhh, really smart, and So much more :))"

he could say my boyfriend is a man who i am dating because i am gay and they would still try to straight-ify him

a grainy video gets leaked of a short haired blond guy jumping into his arms and ppl say things like "its just a girl with short hair"

todd hate writes a neil x male reader fic

he asks his friends for help and they post todd's face everywhere on his recording set

he makes a video like "meet my toddy"

in the video todd says he's a boy and he's todd and he's neil boyfriend 3485757 times and neil is like "omg babe i love u too <33" becuz he doesnt Understand

some ppl r still in denial or think he's bi w/ a preference for girls

straight girls like him becuz he has a pretty face and a general respect for women

during prom season, he gets dmed a lot of websites for buying prom tickets

"don't worry guys! i know i said my high school time was rough, but i actually did go to prom with my bf!!"

//

charlie

twitter name: therealalpha

most popular podcast name: daltons intercourse

joke/bait account ppl took seriously

The Alpha that other alpha posters bow to

says stuff like "SIGMA MALES KISS ALPHAS ON THE MOUTH TO ASSURT DOMINANCE"

the twitter alphas buy into him so bad he's making podcasts and doign interviews and he has no clue how tf he got here but he's riding the high

he advocates for being alpha via kissing ur homies

when he gets famous he begs todd to write a fic about him

todd agrees pretty easily tbh

"ARE YOU EVEN AN ALPHA MALE IF PPL AREN'T WRITING GAY FICS ABOUT YOU"

charlie posts things like "no homo" "only the real make out with their homies" over those black and white pics of muscle-y dudes w/ no context after the neil video he posts "he homo" over one of them w/ no context

at first ppl try to attack him but then theyre like wtf is going on here and realize he's trolling the alpha community

when no one realizes neil is actually gay he makes a podcast episode talking about how he thinks neil is gay gay homosexual gay - he's holding a cigar and wearing a tight hawaiian unbuttoned shirt like "lets talk about this gay gay theater gay boykisser man"

made by @cowboylexapro

//

pitts

youtube name: gerdoesstuff

joint youtube name: idkman

homework help and crafts videos youtuber - relaxed vibes only here to be calm

he gives study and concentration tips and encourages ppl to seek help and companionship and not suffer alone

he paints mugs and looks for bugs

he was on charlie's podcast and they discussed the alpha-ness of making pottery

todd wrote a pitts x reader fic becuz ppl begged him to

pitts printed it out and framed it and put it in his filming set up

he's a regular on meeks podcast too btw and meeks is a regular on his

but when meeks is around things explode so

he has a second channel with meeks where they do silly experiments

theyre posting schedule is non-existent and they also do streams but they never tell you so their viewers just have to hope and find out

knox and him are planning on making a movie review channel but its still not fully thought out so

he makes couple mugs for todd and neil when neil asks for help

he wakes up at 2 am and sends todd prompts

anytime he learns a fun fact he sends it to todd on the off chance todd may need it for a story at some point in his life

anytime he reads anything he's like damn neil will love to act like this character and lets him know about it

he sends charlie alpha podcasters to make fun of

at some point he exposes cam's shitty handwriting for the giggles

knox

instagram name: knoxious.ur.mom.ious

he posted a short on his instagram talking about how he just learned hair grows from the head and not the bottom and blew up for being a dummy - he doesn't know whats going on but he's having a blast

he stirs up drama but on accident

he was on pitts youtube before

out of everyone here he's the only one not making content he's just vibing

eventually he ends up posting background footage of everyone doing dumb shit

when it comes out theyre friends ppl stalk his instagram to find more proof

after that he starts to stir drama but more consciously

hmm what else - idk he's just chilling, getting called out for being dumb and watching his friends do dumb stuff

oh wait when he makes that short about the hair a bunch of commentary channels post about it and he takes it like a badge of honor

cameron

instagram name: cam.studies

pinterest name: cam.studies

one of those aesthetic studying accounts on insta and pinterest - takes nice shots of his homework and his pen collections and his study desk

except its only for the pics his handwriting is atrocious - he has like one page or paragraph of pretty handwriting to post and the rest is scribbled chaos - his pens are never organized by color, theyre just thrown in a box, and his desk is filled with papers and books and never looks clean but its fine he's just here for clout

he ends up sponsoring and reviewing businesses that make those cute study supplies so now he has a hoard - or at least he did until his friends started taking them

he groaned about the cam.studies x {random ass ppl} fics todd wrote but he thinks theyre funny and has them bookmarked

he went on charlie's podcast and the two argued for half of it and then explained how as two alphas they would settle their differences by kissing

his friends help him angle his aesthetic shots at cafes and shit

he got exposed eventually as a fake becuz ppl (cough) posted his real notes which were messy and disorganized

but he played it off as a commentary about how the internet is fake and got more sponsorships

he judges todd and neil but is eating popcorn at the front seat of the drama

meeks

podcast name: chameleon hotel

youtube channel name: idkman

meeks makes a podcast for very stupid intricate crimes. he has a cult following of bisexuals

its stuff like drama over a tree being taken down

"the locals even called their beloved tree 'ole alvin'"

charlie: todd write a meeks x ole alvin fic

he has standards, so he does

he went on charlie's podcast and convinced ppl that being with other men allowed u to suck in their alpha-ness and become the ultimate alpha

but generally he just makes his little silly videos and makes cryptic posts about the neil todd drama

has a joint channel w/ pitts

is up to date with the neil thing and is the one to send neil updates

he tries to convince neil to act out his podcasts (with a lot of success lmao)

he tries to convince todd to write fics based on his podcasts (also with a lot of success)

as payback for the ole alvin x meeks fic he convinces todd (very easily) to write a bunch of dumb charlie fics and todd agrees becuz he has standards

no one actually knows that the poets know each other

they eventually post a group photo

"we need to cancel neil perry for being friends with an alpha podcast guy" "nah thats just charlie"

"yall know hes bi, right?"

"he literally has a podcast about how sucking dick as a man makes u the ultimate alpha male"

it does explain why charlie's alpha podcast go from tiktok actor, tumblr fanfic writer, instagram study blog, fellow podcaster, hw help tiktoker in between his satire of normal alpha tiktokers

half of these things are like copy and pasted from our conversation btw so dont blame me for them

#todd anderson #neil perry #anderperry #dead poets society #deadpoets #dead poets headcanons #neil and todd #todd and neil #dps fandom #dps #charlie dalton #dps fanfiction #dps fic #dps headcanons #dps memes #dps incorrect quotes #meeks #steven meeks #stephen meeks #dead poets #gerard pitts #meeks and pitts #pitts dps #cameron richard #richard cameron #knox overstreet #anderperry social media

[stoned-eren]

a/n: constantly dreaming of eren and the love he provides. <3 this is very self indulgent, but i hope you enjoy it anyways :>

tw: MDNI!!, mentions of death/implied death, suggestive for a teeny tiny bit, fluff, angst

word count: 3k

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

an angel.

you swore he had to be an angel.

well, technically, you didn’t know what he was. he could have very well been a carefully constructed set of situations falling into place, somehow created in your brain.

but he felt so real. so genuine, so deep, so alive.

there was no way to really put it in a way that made sense. all judgements cast aside, you were being overwhelmed, borderline plagued by dreams of someone you had never met before.

they were rather odd dreams as well. always taking place on an ocean shore with a dusty pink sky, the dawn poking through the shore’s horizon line. every time you visited this place, colors were more vibrant, circumstances were more peaceful. there was the gentle rise and fall of the beach’s waves, encapsulating your thoughts with every push and pull of the water, every ounce of wind that brushed through your fingertips.

the first time you arrived on that sandy shore, you simply plopped yourself down where you stood, just trying to enjoy the scenery around you. in your dream like state, you were surprisingly in control of your actions; you felt like you could go anywhere, do anything. yet, you chose to remain here, feeling the particles of sand press into the back of your legs as you took a seat on the grainy earth below. you felt like you belonged. there was no reason to leave.

and that’s when you met him. you were simply watching the waves, your eyes resting on the subtle rise and fall of the water, when a voice from behind snapped you out of your thoughts.

“nice view, isn’t it?”

turning around, your eyes met a man that, at the time, was unfamiliar to you. pools of turquoise irises stared back at you, almost boring into your soul. his brown hair was slackly tied up in a messy bun, loose strands of hair perfectly framing his face. the strange man stood at a rather large stature, towering above you as he approached you. as he gets closer, it feels like he’s almost glowing, practically radiating heat. he’s just so incredibly warm. so inviting.

even though you’ve never met him, you found yourself saying yes when he asked if he could take a seat next to you. the two of you sat in silence. comfortable silence.

which only lasted a moment.

“…did you know that sand crabs can only move backwards?” the strange man casually blurts out, as if he were talking to an old friend.

“huh?” you reply.

“sand crabs… they can only move backwards,” he restates. “they even dig backwards.”

“…i see,” you slightly hum, looking into the man’s pretty eyes. “that’s actually really interesting. i would want to be a sand crab.”

the strange man gives you an awkward smile. “me too. do you think that everything they do is backwards? like… do they talk to each other in reverse?”

you can’t help but laugh a little at his question. “if they’re talking in reverse and it’s normal to them, wouldn’t that just mean that they’re talking normally?”

“hm… good point,” the man says, now lost in thought about your question.

a few times a week, from that point on, you would dream of that beach. without fail, that man you saw would be there to greet you, every time. as time went on, you learned that his name was eren. how you learned that- hell, how he assigned himself that name was beyond you. but you accepted it. you accepted the dreams, sometimes greatly looking forward to them.

each and every dream was so profoundly different, so intensely special to you. at first, your dreams were casual- light talks with one another, simply getting to know one another’s temperament and personality.

in a short amount of time, you and eren came to the conclusion that you two were dreaming. someway- somehow, you both had ended up in this vast, empty beach; with nothing else to do but to enjoy each other’s company.

and it was very easy to enjoy eren’s company. after all, eren was just so kind, so sweet. though he was a little reserved, you could tell he had a big heart. with the way he spoke, he cared deeply for everything around him; for the people around him.

despite always being a little vague, he would occasionally fill you in with life events he was going through. they weren’t specific enough for you to fully understand what was going on, but you tried to support him, as best as you could. although you wanted to ask him what exactly was plaguing him, what specifically you could do to help- you felt yourself holding back, just a bit.

pretty quickly, you decided not to talk about the problems going on outside of the dreams, opting to vaguely discuss issues that bothered you both. you didn’t want to pry too much from him. he seemed to have a lot going on, and you didn’t want to ruin these pieces of momentary bliss for him.

another thing, you noted, was that time appeared to stand still in these dreams. you would be in eren’s presence for what seemed like hours- but when you would awake from your slumber, only a brief half hour would pass. spending what seemed like hours in each other’s presence just made it easier to familiarize yourself with him; to really learn about him, and fall in love with the man who stumbled into your head.

after about two months of these bi-weekly dreams, eren allowed himself to show a more vulnerable side. one that lamented, one that grieved. it was evident he had a strong personality, a bit of tainted roughness to him. there would be times where you would help him navigate himself through bursts of pure passion, fits of anger. but despite it all, he was always so gentle, so uniquely kind to you.

it felt like eren understood you. very deeply, very intricately. no matter what you told him, he would always respond with warmth and acceptance, comfort coaxing his voice as he helped you work through yourself. softness was always apparent in eren’s gaze, his viridian eyes never failing to completely envelop you as he talked or watched the waves.

to your delight, eren seemed to share the same feelings for you; your affections for one another simply falling into place. neither one of you questioned it, never doubting it for even a miniscule of a second.

being with him just felt so right. each moment between you two was deeply cherished, every encounter treated as if it would be the last.

despite the beach being rather empty, there was always something to do together. eren tended to spend a good while by the shore of the ocean, choosing to spend his time building unstructured sandcastles, or collecting intricately detailed seashells and pigmented rocks. if he wasn’t searching for seashells, he was digging for sand crabs, creating sandy little pockets of water for them to swim in. eren also found that splashing you in various ways was rather entertaining, usually dumping seaweed infested water on you when you least expected it. of course, you would get back at him by doing the exact same thing.

when the two of you weren’t goofing around, circumstances were much more intimate. the two of you would sway in the water, twirling and tumbling to the sea’s gentle grasp. you could feel the salty ocean water chill your skin as eren would guide your body with his, his grip on you always so gentle, so hesitant. as you two would dance, he’d litter your neck with soft kisses, your hands running through the locks of his chestnut brown hair. the two of you could spend hours dancing in tandem to eren’s peaceful hums.

other dreams were spent completely wrapped up in each other’s arms, the sounds of the waves overlapping the small whimpers and sighs that left each other’s throats. during moments like these, the full extent of eren’s passion and desire for you was evident. he would whisper sweet nothings, reminding you of how much of an angel you were, how absolutely perfect you were. breathless groans of “you’re mine,” would slip from his lips as he felt the heat of your skin against him, allowing himself to become completely devoted to you.

and even though you were just dreaming, you absolutely dedicated yourself to each and every peaceful moment with eren.

dreams were an escape from reality. an escape from the perils and pressures of the world, an escape you had so desperately needed. it felt like only you and eren existed in those dreams, nothing but the crisp water surrounding you two, the pink sky stretching past your line of sight, and the air filled with soft touches and gentle kisses.

the more you would have these dreams, the more they consumed you. you found yourself wanting to be on that sandy beach until the end of time.

but of course, you couldn’t sleep forever. you couldn’t dream forever.

there would be many instances where all you could do is lay awake in bed, your eyes shot open from the previous dream. all you could do was yearn. all you could do was long to be with eren again.

and it was slowly tearing you apart from the inside out.

longing for eren was a past time of yours. whenever things in the real world started to go awry, you instinctively found yourself daydreaming about eren, begging whatever deity you could to have him there with you. it was a helpless sensation; knowing that the one who could bring you so much comfort was so far away, so out of your grasp. the only time he would bring you that comfort again was if you happened to drift off to sleep and arrive on that beach.

and truthfully, as time progressed, those times were fading away with each passing month. visits from eren became less frequent. nonetheless, his words were always so kind, so comforting. they were simply becoming farther and fewer in between.

which brings you to now.

it had been at least two weeks since you had seen eren. as you drifted off into sleep, your line of sight slowly transitioning from nothingness into blurred colors and shapes, you arrived at that tranquil beach. you sat in your typical spot, expecting to see your dream man once again. and just like clockwork, he arrived after a few minutes, slowly taking a seat next to you.

although this time, eren seemed very tired. there was a glimmer of despair in his face, a mix of torment and confusion. his normally bright and vibrant eyes seemed faded by dullness, blankly scanning the environment around you two for something- anything. what that something was, you weren’t sure. undoubtedly, the air seemed different this time around. much more still, much more uncertain.

“…hey,” eren breathed, wrapping his arm around you and gazing off into the ocean.

“eren,” you smile at him, trying to push your feelings of uncertainty away. “i’ve missed you so much…”

he turns his attention away from the waves to give you a brief smile. the pain is evident on his face; it’s impossible to ignore.

“um… are you doing alright?” you say, tilting your head at him.

he turns back to gaze at the shore. “i think i need to be honest with you.”

silently, you stare at him, a million thoughts racing through your head.

“i have something i have to do. i need to do it… and i don’t think i’m going to come back from it,” eren admits.

“what? what makes you say that?” you question, unsure of what he’s talking about.

”i just…i think this might be the last time we see each other…” he trails off his sentence, finally getting the strength to turn back to you.

the look on your face is absolutely crushed. eren feels a hint of guilt, a hint of shame upon meeting your eyes.

“…why?” you blurt out, pain starting to become evident in your voice.

“i don’t think i can fully explain. but i just wanted you to know… so you don’t keep expecting me. you need to forget about me, and be happy…” eren slightly wallows, his voice slow and wavering.

“no… no, i don’t want that,” you plead with him. “please, just talk to me…i don’t want to lose you.”

“even if i tell you, there’s nothing that can be done,” he reaffirms.

you try your best to comfort him. “you don’t know that. it could-“

“i do know…” eren interjects.

“but how can you be so sure?” you object.

“…ah. don’t judge me… alright? i don’t know how to say this, but…” he thinks for a moment. “…i know my fate, i guess. i’ve seen it before.”

with sadness in your eyes, you listen to him as he tries his best to break down his situation, everything that he’s been keeping bottled up in him for so long.

“right now… where i live, there’s a war going on,” eren speaks slowly, carefully choosing his words. “all the nations outside of my island want my people dead. but i won’t stand by and let them slaughter us... so there’s no other option for me. i’ll kill them before they kill us.”

before you can think of what to say, he continues. “i’ve seen my future… and my time is running out. but i just have to keep going, until the end.”

slowly, you begin to piece everything together. all the circumstances he’s been put in. the horrific conditions of his world. the absolute state of torment he’s currently in.

“eren… i’m… i’m so sorry this is happening to you…” you say, melancholy dripping from your voice. “this sounds like a nightmare…”

“it’s my fate… i just… i don’t even know where i am anymore,” eren says, tilting his head up to the sky. “all the memories- all the glimpses of the future- they’re confusing me. i can’t tell if i’m in a memory or not, even right now… everything is blurring together.”

“it breaks me to hear you say that, eren…” you sadly breathe. “it seems like you have a huge burden to bear. you’re going through a lot…”

“maybe…” he says, glancing down at you. “…but i’m glad i got to spend some of my time with you… i know we were brought together, for a reason.”

you feel your heart waver. “then why don’t you stay with me… please. we can be here forever, and you don’t have to go back to that chaos.”

“you know that’s not possible,” eren gives you a weak, broken smile.

“i’m just really scared for you…” you feel your eyes watering. “if what you’re saying is true, then… does that mean…”

“hey- don’t worry about what it means,” eren has a hint of faked reassurance to his tone. “our time is already running out as it is. let’s just try our best to enjoy it. i don’t want this to be your last memory of us.”

“stop saying that- this won’t be the last time,” you insist, trying to reason with yourself. “it won’t.”

eren softly says your name. “you have to accept it.”

“no- i can’t be without you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “i need you. and i want you to need me too…”

“i do need you. but i’m sorry…” he sighs. “i can’t do anything, as much as i want to.”

the two of you sit in silence for a moment. agonizing silence.

“…so… does this mean… this is goodbye?” you say, trying your best to hold back the tears starting to flow down your face.

“…my angel. i promise you… that no matter what- i’ll see you again. whether that’s in this life or the next one,” eren softly says, planting a kiss on your forehead. “-this won’t be our last goodbye.”

no words leave your mouth, just an empty whimper.

with all of his strength, eren gives you a genuine, heartfelt smile. “i love you. i hope you always remember that.”

“i…i love you too eren…” you whine, your voice strained and broken. “more than anything.”

eren’s grip on you tightens. his vibrancy and warmth spread through your body, easing your despair, just barely.

as you wrapped your arms around him, embracing him as tightly as you could, you felt him begin to slip away. colors slowly transitioned from saturated to dull, your body starting to get heavy. desperately, you caged your arms around eren, trying to grasp onto whatever amount of his body that you could-

ah. you woke up.

there were tears in your eyes as you stirred yourself out of your dream. silently, you held yourself as you tried to gain composure, your body slightly shaking and the tears unable to stop flowing down your face. the only way you could calm yourself down was by rationalizing that the dream must have been a nightmare. surely, undoubtedly- eren would come back, right? he’d be there to greet you the next time you arrived on that distant shore, with a smile on his face and open arms for you.

but unfortunately, eren was right.

that was the last time you ever saw him.

you thought about him endlessly. when you would see him again, when he would sway underneath that vibrant pink sky with you again. longing became a subconscious thought, a parasitic need that made you practically restless.

but even in your dreams, eren wouldn’t grace you. even when you would have dreams about that sandy beach again, he didn’t show up. and based off what eren told you- he would never come back.

never to return, never to whisper sweet words of affection to you- never to confide in you again. his tenderness and love would soon become a distant memory, further convoluted by the fact that all of your memories for each other took place inside of your dreams.

and as you navigated through your life, your dreams a little more alone than before, you had to make peace with the idea that eren was gone.

but just like eren said- in this life or the next, he would see you again.

and you had to hold onto that, for now. even though dreaming became insignificant, even though things felt more meaningless to you, you had to hold on.

for eren.

#so far this is my favorite fic ive written :> #so i hope you like it!!! #writing.exe #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #eren jeager #eren #eren yeager #eren jager #eren x y/n #eren x you #eren x reader #eren x y/n fluff #eren x reader fluff #aot fluff

[jaegersdevil]

boyfriend!eren headcanons pt. 4

you asked, i delivered <3

cw: mentions of reader being a mother, mentions of sex (mdni)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 5 / masterlist

bf!eren takes you to a carnival and wins ALL the prizes because he is competitive (this man is winning against literal 10-year-olds). he even won you a goldfish! in a bag!

bf!eren is now *technically* a dilf :/ & you are the mother of a fish (or the milf to eren's dilf (gag))

bf!eren taps the bag (and eventually the glass of the fish tank) like the girl from finding nemo

how bf!eren managed to secure a pet is beyond you (at least he can't throw a fish like a basketball 🥲)

bf!eren gets heated when he plays video games :/ poor jean gets the brunt of it most of the time, but it's not his fault he's bad at cod :( (it's the controller!! it's shit!!)

bf!eren wears a chain with a charm of your initial (RAHH)

bf!eren holds the charm between his teeth in concentration, when he's anxious, during sex (if you're not tugging on it to bring him closer—which drives him insane)

bf!eren wears cologne and NOT body spray because he is not 14 (although he only started wearing the more expensive stuff because you gave it to him as a birthday present <3)

bf!eren has these slippers ok. you got matching ones. they're bear slippers and they are giant and he looks so cute in them (but he wears the dilf ones connie got him MORE)

bf!eren LOVES peppermint hot chocolate and ignores the hate he gets from mikasa because he feels ~fresh~ after he drinks it

bf!eren holds your hand every single chance he gets, and if your hands are full, his arm is over your shoulders

bf!eren will pull your hoodie strings together if your hood is up to stop you from talking so he can kiss you

bf!eren once left a hickey on your forehead because he 'forgot' he was kissing you there and not on your neck?????

bf!eren has the back to the future trilogy on DVD, and they play on a loop on his TV every weekend (so megatron, the goldfish, doesn't get lonely.......)

bf!eren goes for runs and will take his shirt off halfway and tuck it in the back of his running shorts (i'm talking like 20km runs twice a week because he's insane like that), so he gets back to your apartment (not his own) all sweaty and red, and his chest (😳) someone get YOU some water........

bf!eren is allowed to get absolutely plastered at only one! party a month (his own rule because of basketball season)

at these parties, bf!eren is known for getting on top of tables (with connie (see their unhinged activities from summer bf!eren) & from that point on, they run the show)

bf!eren hosts boys nights with connie, jean, and armin, but you, sasha, and mikasa come too because you're a part of the boys

expect mario kart on these nights where bf!eren sabotages jean (who is suspiciously good at the game considering his cod reputation) so you can win <3

if it's a 'no tv' game night (which armin implemented because he sucks at mario kart), poker is a hit along with uno, which both included real-life money because it was 'more fun' (mikasa introduced the idea), which the boys loved, until it was later removed because the boys are sore losers!!!!!!!! (turns out mikasa cleans up in poker)

ok, back to bf!eren

bf!eren sings to you serenades you in the car (loser <3)

bf!eren has bon jovi on vinyl ☝️☝️

you wear bf!eren's spare jersey to his basketball games

bf!eren points at you when he gets the game-winning goal (which is surprisingly almost every game??)

bf!eren's chain under his basketball jersey with his hair tied back and a thin headband, tape on his dodgy shoulder......... oh lordy

bf!eren makes you wear his jersey while he's fucking you dumb after a win 😋

bf!eren gifts you a necklace with his initial on it on your anniversary (matchy matchy 🥲 (i'm going insane))

#basketball eren is coming...... soon #i will be expanding on him a lot #eren jaeger #attack on titan imagine #attack on titan x reader #eren jaeger imagine #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager imagines #eren jeager x reader #eren yaeger imagine #eren yaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #— ann writes!

[auteurdelabre]

Daddy Morales pt. 3 Frankie!Morales x f!Reader

Daddy Morales pt 2

Rating: 18+ (seriously young ones, this AIN'T for you)

Pairings: Frankie Morales x f!reader babysitter (in her mid 20's)

Tags: switch!Frankie, daddy kink, dirty talk, infidelity, phone sex but not, masturbation, dry (but also wet?) humping,

A/n: Happy Frankie Friday!

More Frankie x babysitter smut because y'all are askin' for it. I feel real amused that my two most commented on series right now are the sleazebag ones.

=============================

Part 3: No More

Frankie decides to end things the next time he drives you home the following week. 

He hasn't fucked you, not actually sheathed himself in your pussy and he convinces himself that this isn't as bad. That he hasn't technically cheated. 

But he never confesses to Carmen. What good would it do? Carmen insists they start up with marriage counseling and Frankie agrees.Their marriage counselor says he and Carmen need to work on communication. On making more time for each other's interests. On being kinder to one another. 

When he tells you all of this he expects you to be upset. To scream or cry. But you do neither. You listen to him and you nod and you kiss his cheek and tell him you understand. 

Frankie drives home that night relieved and yet confused. 

You don't try anything when he drives you home after babysitting the following week. Or the week after that. You simply say thank you and leave the truck. 

He can't stop thinking about you though. He's taken to jerking off in bed next to Carmen when she sleeps or coming in the shower with a muffled groan. 

When he sees your number pop up on his phone later that month his cock actually stiffens under his jeans. 

"Hello?"

"Hi Mister Morales, I'm really sorry I'm just hoping that you could come look at my sink? It's backed up. I've asked all my friends but none of them are free and I don't have the money to get a plumber out here."

"Yeah of course," Frankie says, hearing the panic in your voice. "I'll come over right away."

He heads home to grabs his toolbox. Carmen is sitting in the kitchen feeding Luca. She glances over when she sees Frankie hoisting the red box from under the stairs. 

"Where are you going?" Carmen asks, her face troubled. "Did you forget we're meeting friends for dinner tonight?"

"’Course not," Frankie insists. "Just one of my old buddies sink is fucked and I'm going to help him out. I'll be back in plenty of time." 

"That's really sweet of you to help your friend," Carmen says remembering what the therapist said about giving Frankie more compliments. She stands and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

Shame hangs over Frankie like a cloud as he drives over to your place. He remembers what happened the last time he was there and he knows it can't happen again. He needs to give his marriage another shot. 

///

You're wearing a short dress and your feet are bare. 

That’s the first thing Frankie notices when you open the door, grinning brightly as you greet him.

"You look nice," Frankie says, eyes sliding over your body as he walks into your space. 

"Thanks I have a date," you say with a tense smile. "And thanks again for doing this. It's just there in the kitchen."

A date? Frankie hides his displeasure as you lead him into the kitchen.

You hold in a sigh as Frankie opens his toolbox and starts making noise there. His back muscles ripple as he kneels down and peers under your sink. 

"I'll leave you," you breathe. "Just lemme know if you need me for anything."

You leave, trying to stop the thrumming between your legs. 

Frankie leans back under the sink on his back now, looking for the leak. He spots it fairly quickly, grateful it's not a complicated job.

"Okay I need you to turn on the tap," Frankie calls out. "Need to make sure of something."

He hears you padding over. His eyes dart down to see your bare legs brushing his. You're standing hovered above his torso. His eyes travel up your bare thighs and Frankie holds in a moan when he sees your red panties fully on display under the dress. They cling to the outline of your pussy, delicious and beckoning. 

"Is it working?" you ask curiously when Frankie goes quiet.

"Mhmm," Frankie nods, willing his cock to go down. "You can turn it off now."

You turn it off and walk back into the other room as Frankie tries to steady his breathing. But he can't stop thinking about those red panties. Frankie starts as his phone vibrates. 

You on your way home??

Soon. Taking longer than expected

Kk. I'll just meet you at the restaurant

see you there

When he sees that the leak has been fixed and the tube tightened properly he knows he can leave. And yet he hesitates.  

Don't do it.

"Just need ya to turn it on again," Frankie croaks loudly. 

"Okay," you call back from the other room. 

You walk back over, short skirt flipping around your hips. Again you step over him to reach the tap and again he takes the opportunity to stare at your barely covered pussy. 

Frankie is laying under the sink thinking about how you're going on a date tonight. How another man is going to get to taste that cunt and it infuriates him. 

You turn on the sink, legs spread as you wait for him to tell you to turn it off. Instead Frankie's hand goes to your leg, reveling in its silken texture. 

"You look really nice babygirl," Frankie murmurs, his hand skimming up your calf. "Really pretty."

"You already said that," you reply shakily before moving out of Frankie's grip. Frankie can see the way your thighs press together. 

"Thanks for looking at the sink" you say, smiling gently down at him. "Uh, I'm just gonna finish getting ready. Let me know if you need anything else from me." 

He knows what he wants from you. What he can't have. 

Frankie gathers his tools and tells himself he's going to leave. That he did this favor for you and now he has to go. But he hears the sound of you giggling in your bedroom and he follows the noise. 

You're standing faced away from him looking out the window. Your cell phone is pressed to your ear. 

"Yeah I'm really excited," you say, twirling your hair around your finger. You giggle into the phone and Frankie feels his stomach twist. 

"Okay see you later." 

You end the call and turn to see Frankie standing awkwardly in the doorframe to your bedroom. 

"I'm finished up," he tells you before smiling weakly. 

"Thank you so much," you tell him. Before he can stop you, you've thrown your arms around his neck. You hug him tightly and he responds immediately by wrapping his arms around you. 

"I don't know what I would have done without your help. I really couldn't afford a plumber right now."

"It's no problem," Frankie assures you, still rocking you gently in his arms. "Always glad to help ya."

You hum against his neck in response and Frankie feels his resolve begin to slip. It's like he can't help himself from sliding his hands from your waist over the globe of your ass. 

You don't move away, you just melt against him. His hands bring up the skirt to your waist before sliding back and feeling the smooth skin of your ass as he grabs handfuls.  

The skin is so smooth and warm. He cups both cheeks in his hand, pulling them apart and watches over your shoulder as they fall back when he releases them. 

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Frankie murmurs as he begins to rub his front against yours. 

"Doesn't feel like nothing." You sigh against his jaw. "Feels like you're waiting for something."

"For what?"

Frankie watches you slowly get down on your knees for him. 

"My mouth, Daddy."

Frankie watches from under lowered lids as you begin to unzip his jeans. He feels his breathing constrict when you take him out of his boxers and his cock hangs there in front of you. It's already hard, brushing against your lower lip. 

"Yeah," Frankie breathes. "I was-"

Frankie feels his pocket suddenly vibrate as a text comes through. 

Carmen. 

Suddenly the enormity of what he's doing is upon him and he panics. 

"I'm sorry," Frankie stammers, trying to pull away. "This was a bad idea, I never should've-"

But he can't say anything more because your mouth has found the tip and begun to lightly lick. 

"Just wanted to thank you for fixing my sink," you say between licks. Frankie whimpers when your mouth parts and you take his cock into your mouth, moaning as you do. 

Frankie feels his head tilting back and he grabs the doorframe for support as all the blood in his body rushes between his legs.  

"Fuck.... Babygirl your mouth ..." Frankie groans as you suck him deeper. "So good."

His eyes crack open and he holds in a sigh when he sees you there on your knees with your eyes looking up at him, pretty mouth stuffed full. He wants to enjoy it more but his pocket is vibrating again. Frankie stiffens all over, panic swirling. 

Not thinking he pulls it from his pocket and you pull off of him, irritated.

Where are you?

Before he can reply you take the phone from him and toss it under the bed. Frankie watches it vibrate a moment before you're back licking him. 

"Carmen is waiting for me," Frankie explains, feeling helpless as your hand slides up under his t-shirt to splay across his belly, relishing in the hard curve there.

"She can wait."

"Babygirl, I have to leave," Frankie whimpers, watching your mouth bob along his cock. He hisses when you pull off of him, your mouth wet with saliva. 

"You really wanna go?" You ask dragging your tongue along his shaft. Frankie whimpers when your tongue flicks the underside of the head. 

"I should-"

"You don't wanna fuck my mouth?" You ask, mouth sucking the tip lightly. "You don't wanna come on my tongue?" 

"I fucking do," Frankie almost whines, knowing he has to leave but now you've started bobbing your head as you stroke the base of him. 

"Don't go then," you say around his cock. "Need you here."

You’re so fucking good at this. Your mouth and tongue are making him dizzy with need. 

"Okay baby," Frankie relents, hips rocking towards you. "Just can't fuck you with my cock."

You smile nodding and when he comes down your throat moments later you swallow deeply and grin up at him. 

"Let's lay in bed for a bit," you say, finger curling into the neck of his t-shirt and tugging him to the bed. He follows after you like a puppy, no hesitation in him whatsoever. He’s so fucking easy sometimes.

You’ve set up a mirror against the wall across from your bed. Frankie notices this when he crawls onto the bed next to you. It makes him wonder if you’d planned to bring your date back here tonight to fuck in front of it. The thought flames his insides with a roaring jealousy.

You tell him to strip and you lean back against your headboard. That's when you decide you want him to lay back against you like before, nestled between your legs. You tell him to make himself come for you. 

He does twice. 

It's a while of this before you decide you need a water break. 

"If I leave now I can still make dessert," Frankie tells you tired and panting and covered in his own spend.  

"I'm not done playing," you say pouting and stroking your hand through his curls. His baseball hat lies on the floor beside your bed, forgotten between rounds. 

"I'm already two hours late," Frankie insists. You give his hair a tug and he groans in pleasure. "My wife-"

"Isn't here," you tell him as you position yourself to sitting over his lap. Frankie lets you maneuver his wrists above his head, looking up at you with glazed dark brown eyes. 

"You really wanna leave, Daddy?"

"I need to baby," Frankie says groaning gently as your hips roll over his. "I've been here for hours."

 "Who do you really want to be with tonight?"

"You," Frankie says it without even thinking. It comes rushing out like a released breath of much needed air. 

You smile victorious. You pull your dress up over your head, leaving you naked save for your panties. Frankie groans aloud at the sight of your exposed body, hands twitching at his sides. 

"Daddy I don't think you want to leave," you tell him as you slowly twist until you're on his lap facing away from him. 

"I don't," Frankie echoes, feeling his hardening cock balanced against the outside of your panties. He can feel the damp heat between your legs and he groans. His hands fly to your waist, squeezing gently.

"No" you tell him, hips rolling over him. "You don't. You wanna keep laying there feeling my pussy."

Frankie is transfixed by the way you're arching for him. His eyes go to the mirror on the opposite wall, watching your bare tits bouncing as you undulate against him. 

"I-I can’t fuck you, baby."

"I'll keep my panties on," you tell him in a hush as you glance over your shoulder at him. "Then its okay, I promise." 

You shuffle backwards, ass dragging over the head of his stiffened cock. Frankie moans as you start to roll your hips. He can feel your sweet wet cunt under the fabric. 

"Shouldn't be doing this," Frankie murmurs even as he thrusts up lightly between your ass cheeks, his cock rubbing harshly against the lace of your panties.

"But you are," you tell him, your voice breathy. "And you're not gonna stop are you?"

Frankie watches his cock slide between your clothed ass cheeks, looking debauched but delicious.

"She's waiting for me."

"You're already late," you groan as his cock moves against the panties giving delicious friction. A bright red slash of lace against his rigid cock. "No point."

Frankie's cock throbs as you moan, your ass swirling against it. He grabs handfuls of your ass in his broad hands, gripping it and marveling at how enticing it looks in his palms. He gives your left cheek a swift snap, drawing a quaking groan from you. 

"You're so fucking hot," Frankie grunts. "Lemme go under babygirl."

"Said you couldn't fuck me, remember?"

"Just a little, just to feel you. Won't go all the way in," Frankie pleads. "Daddy needs it."

You look at him over your shoulder, eyes half lidded in desire. Frankie feels like his body is on fire. 

"Just a little under," you tell him, arching, bouncing your ass on his hips. "Not too much." 

"Thank you, thank you," Frankie pants, as he tugs your panties to the side.

You give a needy whimper just as your phone begins to ring. Frankie is distracted as you lean over to grab it from your side table. You look at the number and give a little giggle. 

"Better keep quiet, Daddy," you tease just as you hit the speakerphone button and Frankie looks up. 

“What’re-”

"Hi Mrs. Morales," you say cheerfully, watching Frankie's eyes go wide from over your shoulder and he loses his hold on your panties. He goes to pull back but your ass drops, pressing his cock against your clothed pussy. 

"Hi," Carmen says and Frankie can hear the sound of the restaurant in the background. "Is now a good time?"

Frankie shakes his head no but you just drag your pussy over the head of his cock slowly, the head catching the edge of the panties and allowing him to graze a sliver of your bare cunt. Frankie holds in a groan of pleasure at the sensation. He's never been this close to it. 

"Yeah now's a great time."

"I know you're sitting for us on Saturday but I wanted to know if you're free on Wednesday as well?" Carmen asks. "I'm trying hot yoga that night, it's just from seven to eight but I figure I'll go out for drinks with the girls after."

You make a humming noise as you listen. Frankie keeps his hands on your ass, trying not to thrust but finding it impossible when he can feel how wet you are. You grip him, holding him in place as you slide the seam of your cunt along his cock. He watches your ass bounce against him, looking so good. 

"Mr. Morales isn't around?" You say, keeping your voice even as you start to rub your clothed pussy over Frankie's cock more aggressively. He tries to pull back, tries to stop himself but then Frankie feels you tug your panties to the side and now his head hits the wet slit of your cunt. 

Heaven.

He tilts back into the pillow as he slides along it, you shifting just enough to make sure he can't enter you. Carmen is a distant memory, his cock absolutely throbbing as you glide along him. 

"Frankie?" Carmen scoffs. "I can't count on him for anything. Plus Wednesday nights he's usually with the guys playing pool. So are you free?"

Frankie watches you get a look in your eyes, a sometimes mischievous look that makes his stomach tighten in anticipation. You circle the head of his cock with your pussy, grazing but not letting him inside. 

"Yeah, I'm free. I'll see you Wednesday at seven."

"Thanks so much. Have a good night."

"Have a nice night Mrs. Morales."

That's enough," you tell him breathlessly after you end the call. Frankie whines as you tug his cock out from inside your panties 

"Daddy needs to fuck you," Frankie whimpers, no longer thinking of the consequences. He lets out a shuddering moan when you pull yourself off his lap. 

"Can't fuck me," you tell him with a smile before you glance at the mirror facing your bed. He sees the small curl of your lips. "Lean back a little bit, Daddy. Babygirl will take care of you."

Frankie lays flat on his back eagerly. His large cock is wet and rosy at the tip, aching for your touch. His head is propped slightly on the pillow, allowing him to see into the mirror as you smile at him.

You give him a wink before shuffling backwards on your knees until you're seated on his lower belly. Frankie watches this, his large eyes wide in anticipation. He's confused when you lean back atop of him, your head nestling just under his chin. 

Your ass is pressed into his hips, your legs on either side of his narrow hips. Your thighs hold Frankie's cock between them. You search for Frankie's eyes in the mirror. 

"Can you see, Daddy?"

Frankie takes a shuddering breath. "Yeah."

"You don't get to come inside," your whisper, hand coming to gently pat Frankie's cheek above you. "But you can make yourself come between my legs." 

Frankie feels his cock twitch violently at this. 

"C'mon Daddy," you say arching against his chest. "Want you to come on my pussy."

Frankie begins to thrust his cock up between your thighs, his breathing sharp in your ear. He holds your waist, hips canting up as he watches in the mirror. 

"Spread your legs for me," Frankie groans into your ear. "Daddy wants to see"

You do as he asks, legs spreading. Frankie isn't satisfied, his large hands go to grip your thighs, parting them further as he fucks between your pussy lips, your panties the only barrier. 

"Oh fuck yeah," Frankie groans as he watches your soaked panties rasp against his weeping cock. 

You feel a tingle race through your body at the sensation. The head keeps rubbing against your clit with every swipe. It makes you cry out his name, hips rutting into the air. He sees your tits bouncing with every thrust he gives you and it makes his cock throb.

"That's my fucking girl," Frankie says with a purr. "So fucking wet."

You feel Frankie fumbling with the fabric of your underwear and you know exactly what he's after when the head of his cock slips underneath. 

"Should stop," you slur, eyes barely open, arms loosely at your sides. "S'bad, Daddy."

Despite your feeble chastising, you make no attempt to stop Frankie as he slides the side of his cock between the lips of your pussy. 

"Just a little baby," Frankie pants. "Won't go inside but I gotta feel your pussy." 

"Daddy," you whine. 

"Gonna come in your panties," Frankie tells you, watching his cock jumping beneath the fabric. 

"No, I wanna see it," you murmur. "Wanna watch you come."

Frankie gives a small grunt before pulling at your panties. You help him shift them down your legs and then he's back pumping between your thighs. 

"That's right," Frankie says, pulling your thighs apart himself so he can watch the lurid view of him fucking between the seam of your pussy. "Daddy gets to come on this sweet cunt tonight doesn't he?"

You feel the bulbous head of his cock nudging at your entrance, begging to be welcomed into your wet heat. You want to, you really do. But you’re not doing it now, not in a rush without thinking about it. You know Frankie would let the guilt eat him alive.

"Daddy you're getting too close," you say, feeling the head start to breach your cunt. His hands are on your breasts, kneading them, fingertips teasing the nipples into painful strains. It’s overwhelming and so fucking hot to you. To know that you can’t fuck but that you’re dangerously close to doing so.

"I don't care," Frankie tells you, his forehead shining with sweat as he fucks between your thighs. "You're mine tonight."

"No," you say, twisting so he can't enter you. "Daddy, don't be bad."

Frankie wants to fuck right into you but he holds back at your protestation. Instead he fucks between your thighs with gusto, gasping against your temple as he comes. 

You watch the lurid spray of come shoot up, dribbling over your bare pussy in warm ropes. Frankie watches it too, eyes wide with desire. He holds your legs open, watching your mixed arousal drip down your pussy over the bed sheet below. He's never seen anything sexier in his entire life. 

“That was so fucking good,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “So good baby. But I should go.”

“I think you’re a bit too late for that,” you giggle.

He looks at your face in the reflection, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering. His eyes shift to the clock on the wall that reads the late hour. He’s missed the entire dinner with Carmen and her friends. That’s when Frankie realizes the power you hold over him.

That’s when he realizes he's totally fucked. 

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