Tumgik
#ugh the qualities fucked but whatever
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Tight pussy and big dick
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opens-up-4-nobody · 7 months
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...
#just an observation bc im avoiding working on stuff but i draw a lot and post basically everything i draw thst gets finished#and its v funny to me how u can tell how out of focus i was based on the quality of the drawing#or like when i post something and its like ok some of that was good but u def gave up halfway thru one of those lol#inconsistency i funny like that. its also funny to me that now a days i get comments like COLORS!!!#which is funny bc i notoriously haaaaaate coloring. like i will sit around whining and complaining when im home with my parents bc i dont#wanna color. its just so easy to fuck things up when u draw traditionally and it takes a million years so its a big ask lol#but i guess i dont hate is so much right now bc i kinda just slap whatever colors i want together like fuck it we ball#and thats kinda fun. reckless i suppose#its agony when u wanna try to do shadows and lights tho. like finding references ugh#or wanting to draw big ideas but then its like oh god its gonna take so long and if i dont do it all in one sitting i might die#im a lil better abt thst now bc it would b impossible but in my head i still hate it#ugh. all i wanna do is draw. theres another universe where i went to art school. or just like took art classes. and i wanna say id b happier#but thats def a lie XD i like learning too much and i dont have the attention span to hardcore learn genetics outside an academic#environment. and i got way too excited abt exploring the genetic traits of my cyano species#like i can make genetics trees for traits and look for. fuck. i forgot the word. how tf did i forget the word. oh god. horizontal gene#transfer. jesus christ its like theres a hole in my brain. well. i guess i did get only like 4hrs sleep. ugh im rambling.#i need to finish getting ready for Monday so i dont have to tomorrow and ill have time to draw. prob wont stop me feeling nauseous abt#teaching tho. OH FUCK. i just remembered i have a new office space now to decorate. fuck i need to hang up pictures and stuff#what would b the funniest way to put narut0 on my deskspace? idk ill have to think abt it. oh god im not ready#my head is like a handbell. one of the big ones when u ring it and it hits soft and u can feel the vibrations. someones wrung my head lol#unrelated
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gillioncuntstrider · 1 year
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have another job interview tomorrow and I'm anxious again even though it will also most likely not work out
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lusalemaart · 7 months
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🥛🍔
#really getting fucking tired of tumblr not compressing my file itself. like it ruins the quality but it wont#automatically resize my massive fucking files!? gotta do it myself?? ugh. the lack of usability across all social media platforms is just#getting so hard to stomach anymore. nothing is functional. people get their accounts removed for no logical reason. im exhausted.#and yet i still want all my shit in a collective place -_-#ugh.do you ever look at something and are like. holy shit i painted this.damn. unfortunately it doesnt happen very often but when it does?#almost always my vent boy. why. why is that?why cant i paint anything half decent except this emo boy with a mullet?whatever. also. kinda#random but.not actually random. related actually.idk if this is just me but like. sometimes there are Articles in ur living space that just#exist. like u just accept they exist even tho u have no recollection of attaining them. im talkin clothes specifically rn. like i have this#aqua-green robe with blue trim that ive had as far back as i can recall...except i cant for the life of me remember where it came from! its#almost like it spawned in my closet one day.i just. accept it.like. dont get me wrong. it cozy. its quite physically held up for decades.#i wear it all the damn time. but ive no mortal clue how it got here. ive no memory of receiving it.also ngl i had way too much fun renderin#his beard.like u cant tell bc i apply about a million overlay layers and filters respectively to my finished works. ultimately covering up#hours + hours worth of finely rendered details each drawn individually by hand. deeming my efforts useless in the end bc i cover it up but.#trust me. i took some time with that beard.beard gang beard gang.mullet beard gang.dirty smelly mullet beard man. hello yes my name is#80 y/o who is 32/33 years old. how are you today? im personally doing terrible.good talk. WHAT CAN I SAY i just think the emo grown ass man#with boatloads of physical AND emotional trauma is neat. MY HANDS LOOK LIKE THIS SO HIS DONT HAVE TO *camera pans to a fucked up little set#of discolored claws skin translucent as alll hell. no muscle.atrophied beyond repair. also a bit of dirt is caked under the brittle + ridge#unhealthy nails. cuts and scraped take approx 3 months to heal bc the nerve functioning is That Bad*.#botdbs#fk#on a final note. I drew these about a week ago. I was literally only listening to cheeseburger in paradise the whole time. Then I learned#today that Jimmy Buffett passed away yesterday. broke my heart a little. i was just drinking my coffee from my margaritaville mug too.#Rest in peace legend. I hope heaven has so many cheeseburgers.#so many cheeseburgers in literal paradise.#Makin' the best of every virtue and vice. Worth every damn bit of sacrifice. to get a. cheeseburger in paradise.
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seventh-district · 10 months
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ignore me this is a continuation of the tags on my previous vent post lmao
#Seven.txt#Seven’s Public Diary#cw vent post#cw vent#vent post#man. it’s whatever. let’s look on the bright side- it’s been a while since i’ve had a good crying on the floor session so maybe i was#overdue for one anyways. i feel a bit better now and i didn’t even give myself a headache so that’s a win#ugh it’s thundering outside fuck. i forgot there’s a severe thunderstorm watch tonight. i rly hope the power stays on bc i have stuff to do#and speaking of the weather i might as well say that today’s Weather Report is uhhhhh#You Don’t Even Know Who I Am by Patty Loveless#and also Loveless by PVRIS. and Tapping Out (Stripped) by Issues. lmao some days i can't just pick one. i can't help myself!#they're all on this month's playlist anyways. and i finally linked it in my pinned post! which i had been meaning to do for a While#anyways! all of that stuff aside i do have good news!#Cynthia did confirm that the Sakura Ranchus i wanted are still available!!! so that's really truly great and i’m happy abt that#i honestly can’t believe they stayed listed for like. a year and nine months??? but i guess it’s bc of their wens being a bit overgrown#but that’s why i like em. i want the imperfect ones. i want the ones that no one else wants bc i know i can give them a good home#in spite of them not being ‘show quality’ or whatever#and if my father has anything else to say abt how he thinks they look bad and generic and whatever else he can kiss my fucking ass#bc it ain’t his money being spent and they ain’t his fuckin fish#anyways i thought i had smthn else to say but i forgor#so im gonna go get to work on stuff that needs doing and i’ll finally end what’s probably the longest series of tags in tumblr history#(i should really just type this shit out in the actual post and put it under a cut. maybe i’ll start doing that in the future)
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wynnyfryd · 5 months
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Trailer park Steve AU part 10
part 1 | part 9 | ao3
cw: recreational drinking
When they get to Eddie’s trailer, Steve’s mom is sitting on the couch, eyes unblinking as she watches the TV.
There’s just static on the screen.
“Steve?” she slurs when she finally realizes they’re there. Sways a little when she stands. There’s a dreamy quality to her voice, a blank look on her tired face: agreeable but distant, a smudge of campfire smoke curling far over the trees.
Double-dosed her pills again. Jesus Christ.
“Oh, Stevie, baby, it was just awful.” She reaches out for him, and he wishes he could find comfort in the way she cups his elbows with delicate hands. Wishes he could lean into her touch and offer comfort in return, but her tone is so dull and mild that bile rises in his throat. Chemical calm bullshit, and Steve has had enough.
“Ma, just…” he sighs, shrugging her off. Scrubs a hand over his face. Too young and too old for this. “Just go home, okay?” The street is quiet again, all the neighbors tucked back in their houses now that the show has run its course. He doesn’t think anyone will notice her stumbling across the road. “Get some rest. I’ll be over in a bit.”
“Sure, baby.” He leads her to the door, and she turns there on the threshold, eyes glassy and unfocused; looks through him like he’s a ghost. Then her gaze shifts around the room — the hats, the mugs, the clutter; the lived-in explosion of color that Steve’s annoyed he likes so much — like she’s just seeing it all for the first time, and absently, she murmurs, “This place is dreadful, isn’t it?”
“Mom.”
“Hmm?” she asks, but she’s already drifting out the door.
Steve’s face is on fire. He stands there for a moment, just staring dumbly out into the dark. What the hell is wrong with her??
Behind him, Eddie snorts. "Oh, she’s on the good shit, huh?”
Steve whips his head around. Eddie’s eyes are full of mirth, his dimple peeking out, and it startles a laugh out of Steve. He thinks maybe he’d take offense if he weren't so busy being mortified.
But also, like.
It is a little funny.
Or maybe it’s so unfunny that it circles back around.
“Jesus, man,” he huffs, “Sorry. I don’t— I don’t know why she…”
“S’fine,” Eddie says with a casual flick of his wrist. Seems like he means it. He rocks back on his heels, hands in his back pockets, just sort of eyeing Steve up. Assessing. Running his tongue over his lips. They're big, for a guy's. “…You want a beer?”
“Fuck.” That sounds so nice. “Yeah. Please.”
“Have a seat.”
Steve takes the offer when Eddie nods at the couch, too tired to do the whole song and dance of ‘oh heavens no, I couldn’t possibly impose.’ Who’s got the energy for that?
The couch is old. His skull thuds against the un-cushioned back when he sinks down into it, but he’s too tired to care. Worn out as the lumpy springs under his ass, the frayed fabric beneath his arm. A wave of exhaustion rattles his bones, reverberates in his teeth. He thinks he could sleep for sixteen years.
Eddie clears his throat when he comes back with the beers, a sudden cautiousness about him as he hands Steve an unopened can like Steve might claw him in return.
"Sit down," Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm not gonna bite."
Eddie makes a strangled noise. The springs bounce as he plops onto the seat beside Steve, sitting sideways with one leg up on the couch between them, his arm resting on the back. "So, ah...." He gives a wavering chuckle; pulls a lock of hair across his face to hide himself. "Is this the part where I formally apologize for trying to knife you?"
Ugh. No the fuck it isn't. Steve’s too drained for it, absolutely at capacity for more serious shit this evening, thanks; and besides that, it was...
Whatever. It's old news.
Instead of giving a real answer he reaches into his pocket, snicks his own knife open and pretends to brandish it at Eddie, asking, "Eye for an eye?"
Eddie's eyes go huge. "Dude, what the fuck??"
"Just fucking with you," Steve laughs, lifting the can up to his mouth. "But there; now we're even. Shoulda seen your face."
“Ah—!” Eddie’s jaw drops in offense. “Ex-cuse you!”
God, of course he’s more dramatic than all the kids combined.
Steve jabs the knife into his beer, pops the top and starts to chug, throat working as he gulps the whole thing down in four big sips. It tastes like frothy, bitter piss, but it's cold and it soothes the scratch in his throat.
Eddie lets out a low whistle. "Well, goddamn, Harrington."
"Is that supposed to impress me?" "You're not?"
Steve grins and wipes his mouth.
They get drunk pretty fast (Eddie refused to be upstaged in his own house, so one shot-gunned beer became two became four), and somewhere along the line the conversations get weird; hilarious and dumb. Saying shit just to say it, chipping away at the ice wall between them with bare fingernails.
Eddie hollers some shit like: "What are you even talking about?" and his arms fling out wide, almost spilling his beer. "The deep sea is so much scarier than the mountains!"
"Are you joking?" Steve throws back. "The mountains have, like, giant cats and shit! Birds of prey with wingspans the size of your van."
"Yeah, and the deep sea has eldritch monsters that live in volcano vents and hunt with no eyes and eat their young for fun or whatever the fuck. You ever heard of an anglerfish? Or a phantom anglerfish? Tell me that shit isn't right out of a Lovecraft story."
"A what story?"
"How am I the one who hasn’t graduated yet?"
Then later:
“Dude, Batman? Seriously?”
“He’s the world’s greatest detective!”
“He’s a greasy little weirdo. You only like him because of your whole…” Steve gestures at his tattoos.
“Whatever, Spiderfan.”
And later still:
"Okay, okay, okay. Fuck, marry, kill... Shit. Y’know this would really be easier in a town where so many people hadn’t died."
Steve grimaces at himself; expects Eddie to call him out. It’s too insensitive, too soon.
Eddie just cracks a grin and suggests, "Fuck, marry, revive?"
They talk for a long time. Eddie's kind of charming when he's not being a dick. A nice smile, deep laugh lines. Steve can almost see why the kids are so obsessed with him. He's never met someone so animated; feels like he's talking to a Saturday morning cartoon. The conversation mellows out after a while, and he doesn't realize he's dozed off until Eddie shakes him awake.
"Hey, man," he says, voice just above a whisper. "I'm going to bed. You're welcome to crash on the couch, but, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “I mean, your back is probably gonna hate you for it."
Steve rubs his fists against his eyelids and blinks himself awake. Feels jittery and weird, yanked out of the start of a bad dream. When he looks up he sees that he’s got his shoes up on the couch; and there’s dried drool on his chin, and all at once he feels embarrassed, off-balance and panicked like he missed the last step down a steep flight of stairs. Of course he's overstayed his welcome. He's being fucking rude. "My bad," he mutters as he jumps up off the couch. Stands up way too fast, makes his vision tilt and swirl. "I'll get out of your hair."
Eddie reaches for his arm. "Dude,” he says, “you're fine. You can stay if you want.”
Steve moves out of his hold. “Nah, get some sleep; I’ll see ya around.”
Eddie frowns at him, a little furrow between his brows, and somehow Steve feels like he’s in the wrong, like Eddie isn’t the one who just kicked him out.
Like maybe Steve’s just running away for a second time in one night. Always back and away, this guy.
Who's the fucking coward now?
part 11
y'all know the drill, tagging whoever commented on yesterday's installment provided your tumblr settings let me <;3 @thealwithnoname @violetsteve @manda-panda-monium @stuftzombie @bronwenmarie @aliea82 @slowandsteddie @acedorerryn @anne-bennett-cosplayer @ahsokatanoss @steveshairspray @hallucinatedjosten @estrellami-1 @ppunkpuppyy @stevesbipanic @silver-snaffles @yourmom-isgay @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @zombiecreatures @im-a-disgrace-to-humanity @faery-god @hotluncheddie @runninriot @a-little-unsteddie @teatimeeverybody @newtstabber @pearynice @hellion-child @cuips-not-cute @steddieas-shegoes @steves-strapcollection @loguine-linguine @griefabyss69
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model!steve and voice actor!eddie
part 2 here | ao3 link here
Eddie chose a career in voice acting to avoid shit like this.
Forced socializing. Schmoozing with hotshot directors who are used to everyone kissing their ass until their lips bleed. And Eddie doesn’t do that shit. 
… Okay yeah sure, Eddie kisses asses. But only in the literal, consensual kind of way. Usually after a few mediocre dinner dates, at least.
But this particular fuckhole of a director is insisting that Eddie attends the production shoot of the commercial that he’ll be narrating for. Which is weird - that’s not how this process typically goes. Eddie gets the script and records it in his studio. Easy peasy.
“I do things a little differently with my projects.” The director sneers into the phone’s speaker. Eddie silently gags at the oozing amounts of ego on this guy. “I want to immerse you into my vision.”
Ew. Eddie would rather immerse himself into a nap, but whatever. A job is a job.
“Understood.” Eddie agrees with minimal teeth-clenching. “I’ll be on set shortly.”
The phone clicks dead with nothing but a chuckle from the guy. No ‘goodbye,’ no ‘thank you.’ Rude… but that’s kind of an industry standard, so why did Eddie expect anything different?
He folds the script into his back pocket, throws on a shirt that screams ‘Los Angeles disaster gay,’ and makes his way to the studio lot.
Fucking yay. 
Upon arrival, the director immediately escorts Eddie into the green room. Rambles on about needing him to meet the lead model for this commercial.
“Isn’t he just posing with the product?” Eddie lets his snarkiness run loose with that question, knows it right away.
Luckily, the guy is too busy snapping at a crew member to notice. “You’ll be voicing his character’s inner narrations.”
“Right.”
“And I want your tone to be seamless with the energy that he’s giving in this shoot. Got it?”
“Loud and clear.” Mostly loud.
The director swings open the door and reveals maybe the most cosmically beautiful person that Eddie has ever seen.
“Eddie, this is Steve.” The director says. “Steve, this is Eddie.”
Models are beautiful people, that’s the goddamn gig. Makeup, no makeup. Photoshop, no photoshop. They just look better than the general population and society accepts that as a fact.
But Eddie is a grubby little voice actor that burrows himself up in his boxy apartment for days. Very little sunlight, very little human interaction, and a shit ton of takeout.
Long story short, he doesn’t get out much. So this? Seeing a biblically hot heartthrob in the flesh? With his own two eyes? It’s knocking him into deep space. Sending him into an astral projection without sticking a tablet on his tongue first.
“Nice to meet you, man.” Steve holds out his hand while someone brushes more powder onto his shiny, glowy skin. God, that’s the best damn skin Eddie has ever seen. Powder be damned, Steve doesn’t need it’s chalky finish.
Eddie shakes himself out of this spell, takes Steve’s hand like he’s somehow worthy of touching him. “Yeah, you too.”
Lame. So lame. On a scale of one to Star Wars prequels, his response is the CGI in Attack of the Clones. ‘Yeah, you too?’ Ugh, what a dumbass.
The director tells them to get acquainted and to be on set in ten minutes. Ten minutes. Eddie has to be convincingly normal for ten whole minutes. Pfft, that’s laughable, but he’ll give it a shot.
“That guy’s a total asshat.” Steve grumbles.
Oh. Eddie could smother him in kisses for saying that. Lick Steve clean of all that stupid powder and probably die of talc poisoning. Death By Licking a Model is one hell of a way to go.
“Yeah.” Find some new words, Munson. “Major asshat. But he happens to be paying my bills this month, so technically, he’s my favorite major asshat.”
“Oh, same.” Steve laughs. It’s fucking glorious too. Eddie kind of wishes he had brought his microphone so that he could capture such a wonderful sound with high quality recording software. Is that creepy? Maybe he should dial it back. 
... As if. This guy’s hair is sculpted with effortless perfection and his shoulder blades could slice through a French baguette. No way Eddie can dial it back or keep it together.
“So you’re doing the voice work on the commercial, right?” Steve asks.
‘Yup.” Eddie shoves both hands into his pockets. “Indeed I am.” 
Okay, that was borderline Yoda. Get a grip.
Steve seems unfazed though. “That’s cool. Can’t wait to hear what you come up with.”
“Thanks.” Eddie smiles warmly. Nerves mellowing out. “And I can’t wait to see you in action out there.”
“Hope I can give you some good inspiration.” And Steve winks, legit winks at Eddie. Does it like it’s normal too, like he winks at everybody. He probably winks at nuns just to see if he can get them to consider conversion.
Eddie is so hopeless. Fucking tragic at this point.
They walk into the studio and are greeted by a somber, archaic set design. There’s a massive throne in the middle that is draped with fur. 
It’s… tacky. That’s the nicest adjective Eddie has to describe it. Tacky bullshit.
“I thought this was for a cologne ad.” Eddie says, eyeing the snowy backdrop.
Steve nods. “It is.”
“So what’s with the secondhand Game of Thrones set?”
“Mr. Asshat thinks this is his cinematic debut.”
Eddie snorts. Loves that he already has inside jokes with this beautiful, beautiful creature. “Someone should tell Mr. Asshat that this is visual plagiarism.”
“Nah.” Steve runs his hand over the tacky fur piece. Smirks to himself as he speaks. “I say we let him suffer.”
Eddie’s legs wobble. “Damn, you’re hot.”
He sounds ridiculously uncool, so breathy and gone. But Steve shrugs in a non-pitying kind of way, so maybe Eddie's uncoolness is excused. Or expected.
While the camera and lighting crew finalize their positions, Steve takes off his robe, revealing his costume.
Torn, muddied pants. Ripped and clawed to shreds. A billowy white top that’s completely unbuttoned. Un-laced? Eddie’s not entirely sure about the mechanics - just knows that Steve’s chest is out, that’s all he can focus on.
There’s a dented crown that the stylist places next to the throne, right at Steve’s feet. It’s shimmery yet tarnished, catches the light in a kaleidoscope effect.
The product is called The Fallen King, so deductive reasoning tells Eddie that Steve is meant to be the physical embodiment of this scent. He recalls something in the script about his title being slandered by promiscuity and forbidden love. Apparently they’ve bottled up that smell into a cologne. 
Do people really want to smell like a dethroned monarch? That’s a thing? Huh.
Just to make the sexual torture even more unbearable, Eddie gets to spectate alongside Mr. Asshat himself. Which also means that Eddie almost has a center view of Steve’s performance.
Cause that’s exactly what he’s giving. A performance. A full display production of his body, his face. His whole godlike essence. 
It’s unfair how fucked Eddie is from watching Steve pose. He can hold the oddest positions without budging a single tendon. So still. Durable. Strong.
Every last thought in Eddie’s head is impure from that observation. He wants to wrap his fingers around Steve’s muscles until he finally moves, twitches. Eddie wants to watch as Steve’s pretty lips part, falling open with sighs. See how long it takes for those sighs to turn into moans.
Steve slumps back into the throne, legs spread obscenely far apart. His gaze droops low and dark, practically eye-fucking the camera. It’s crazy how jealous Eddie is of that stupid inanimate object. The things he would do to get eye-fucked by that golden sex god up there…
His internal porno gets interrupted by a new pose. A wicked one. Steve is on his knees now, looking up into the camera lens. He sinks into the dreamiest expression. Looks dazed, all spaced-out and helpless. Eddie kneads at the growing heat in his pants with the heel of his palm. Hopes it’s not fucking obvious that he’s so horned up right now.
The director clears his throat and yells over the camera’s constant shuttering. “Can you tilt your head back, Steve?”
And Steve does. So obedient, so exceptional at his job. His head rolls back on his neck, shoulders sagging with the shift of weight.
Eddie is chewing the inside of his cheek, nearly ready to take the horny loss and go jack off in his car. Steve is in the most ideal position now, totally vulnerable. Eddie could fuck him so good like that, let Steve melt into his touch. He’d treat him like treasure, spoil him with dick and praise. Eddie would catch him if his legs give out. Would lick Steve’s kiss-bitten lips until the swelling goes down.
God, Eddie is so sick in the head for conjuring up x-rated scenes like this. In public, surrounded by strangers. Literally on the clock. He seriously needs to get his head checked for having such a whorish imagination.
The shoot ends shortly after that last pose, the one that rocked Eddie’s world. He closes his eyes for a minute, takes a few deep breaths. Tries to inhale some goddamn decency.
“How was it?” Steve heads his way, snaking his arms back into the bathrobe.
Eddie blinks hard. “It was… you were…” And the words stop. Nothing else comes out, his throat is strangled and bare.
Steve gives a soft laugh, nudges Eddie’s arm with his elbow. “Guess you do better when there’s a script in front of you, huh?”
Oh. So he’s pretty and darkly playful? This is too good, too delicious.
Eddie wets his bottom lip, recovers quickly. “I do better when there’s not an earthbound angel in my presence.”
“Wow.” Steve raises both eyebrows. “That’s quite the compliment.”
“Oh come on - you must get compliments all the time.”
“Not like that one though.��
“No?”
Steve takes a step into Eddie’s space. “Definitely not.”
They just stare after that - mostly because it’s Eddie’s turn to speak but words are so secondary when there’s this much beauty to behold. Gazing becomes his top priority.
And before the conversation can lead to an exchange of last names or phone numbers, Steve is rushed off by his agent. Maybe his publicist. Maybe his mom, Eddie has no fucking clue. Just someone taking away his shiny new toy. He sort of feels like reenacting that scene in Cast Away when the volleyball drifts into the ocean. Be dramatic as all hell about this ending.
Eddie doesn’t actually jack off in his car, although he really wants to. No, he decides to use all of his adrenaline and pent-up hormones for the voice recording. It gives his vocals this strained, chesty sound. Sinful and corrupt. Cracking with emotion in certain spots, spiking the volume in all the right ways.
It might be too much, a little bit too suggestive for a lousy cologne advertisement.
But as he listens back, Eddie can’t help but picture Steve. Imagining snapshots of him from every angle, especially the unspeakable ones. The recording barely sounds like a script anymore. It almost sounds like Eddie whispering the lines directly into Steve’s ear. A dirty secret between them.
This is it, he thinks. Sends the audio file to his sound mixer without a second read-through, without a retake. This might be the best voiceover Eddie Munson has ever done.
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sisgotdemons · 1 year
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Is it bad I just wanna suck Joel off with the highest chance of someone coming in on us? Just like, imagine it, ugh
Birthday Boy
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Pairing || Joel Miller x Female!Reader
Summary || It's his day, of course you'd treat him well today.
Word Count || 1,227
Contents & Warnings || Fluff & Smut — NSFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, explicit content/language, pet names (baby, hon/honey, sweetheart, good girl), oral (male receiving), teasing, face/throat fucking, spit/saliva, cum swallowing, getting caught, established relationship, ONE spank, 2 mentions of the word Daddy (said by Joel)
Disclaimer || This is my first ever fic, I'm sorry if it's not super good. I promise whatever comes next will be better!
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It was Joel's birthday and you invited Tommy over to celebrate with you and Sarah, forcing him to stay home for the day. It's not that he hated to celebrate his day, he was usually busy with work and came home late.
"How old are you again, old man" you hear from the living room, followed by a chuckle from Tommy.
"If you think 28 is old, I'm scared about what you think in 20 years, hon'," you say walking back in the living room with two bowls of popcorn, placing them on the coffee table and sitting right next to your birthday boy.
"Thank you, sweetheart," Joel says while wrapping an arm around you and placing a peck on your temple. Your relationship with Joel has been amazing for the past 2 years. When thinking back about it, you've got thank Sarah and her boldness to get her father into the dating scene. Who's daughter would slip her own dad's number to the local dinner waitress? Only in the Miller household, that's for sure.
"Movie in? What we watching again?," Tommy leans over his niece on the floor, grabbing a beer set there only a few minutes ago, Sarah replies, "Men in Black 2." as she wipes down the liquid ring caused by the beer bottle. "Learn to use a coaster next time, please"
"Ok ok, just play the damn thing. I wanna see if this is better then the original," he said before taking a swig of beer. You all sit comfortably, Tommy and Sarah huddled together on the floor and you and Joel cuddling together. You look up at him, admiring his facial features, wondering how he didn't notice his own beauty. He feels your stares and looks down at you and places his forehead against yours before placing a hand on your thigh and facing back to the screen.
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There's about a quarter left of the movie now. Sarah had fallen asleep against Tommy, who's starting to feel the effects of the couple of beers. "I'm heading up, want me to take this one too?," he says looking up at the couple on the couch, "I'll tuck her in and whatever."
"Yeah that's fine Tommy, thank you," you say while smiling at the two on the floor, watching him pick up the sleeping teen, struggling for a second, then walking up the steps. Soft groans and a "Shh, it's fine, just me" can be heard faintly going up the steps.
You and Joel are left alone on the couch and the sequel playing in front of you. Placing a hand on his lap, you lean up and kiss his jaw. "Did you have a good birthday, my love?"
Joel chuckled and pulled you onto his lap, hands placed on your hips, "Of course I did, I always enjoy the quality time we spend, together as a family," he then leans forwards towards your ear whispering, "and when we're alone," followed by a playful smack on your ass.
"Uh, you nasty old man," you jokingly gasped out, lightly hitting Joel's chest. He let out a hearty laugh, both hands now on your ass, "Well this 'old man' loves you and everything you do, baby."
You place your hands on his chest, rubbing softly against the button down he wore. You sit in silence for awhile until you break it.
“Do you want me to suck your dick?”
Your words almost gave him whiplash, eyes blinking furiously as he had a confused and intriguing expression on his face.
“Right now?”
“Yeah dummy, right now.”
“Where did this come from, pretty girl?” His lips turned up in a smirk at the thought of you sucking him off right here on the couch.
“Maybe I'm just in the mood to suck your dick. So do you want me to or not?," you say smirking.
“Fuck, you know I could never resist your offer, baby.” His hand reaches up to your mouth, thumb caressing your lips, thinking about them wrapped around him, making his cock twitch. You reach down and grabbed his covered bulge and palmed him in your hand. The idea of sucking him off had his cock hardened.
“What about Sarah and Tommy, sweetheart? What if they come back down?”
“Well, you need to be my eyes and ears, old man, because I’ll be too busy with your pretty dick in my mouth.”
He groaned in anticipation when you got up and made yourself comfortable on your knees, peering up at him through your thick lashes. Quickly, you pulled his jeans and boxers down, his hard dick springing into view, making you lick your hungry lips.
His hand petting your head lovingly gave you the encouragement you needed to have at him.
You licked his tip, collecting the bead of pre-cum that was forming on it. The feeling of your tongue on him and the risk of getting caught had him groan out.
He pushed your head on his cock, becoming slightly impatient. He wanted to feel your wet and tight mouth rubbing against him. When he was in your throat, he groaned out in satisfaction, his eyes closing in bliss.
You sucked him off like your life depended on it, slurping and moaning around his cock. Your mouth and hand worked together to bring him towards the edge. You released his length for a moment with a pop and spat on him, watching your saliva trickle down his heavy cock, making you hungry for more.
"Fuck baby, you're doing so damn good. Sucking Daddy's cock so good," he says hand gripping your hair, encouraging you to take him deeper once again.
You took him all the way to the back of your throat again, making your eyes water. The light gagging made him shiver on the spot. You pushed through the slight discomfort, wanting to make him feel as good as possible.
He fucked your mouth hard, saliva dripping down your chin with each force of his hips. “So pretty and messy for me, baby.” He was in awe as he watched you take each inch of him. He was a little over average size, yet was thick enough to make your jaw hurt in the best ways.
“Ah, fuck,” he leaned his head back while shutting his eyes tight, “I'm gonna come.”
A thrust or two more, and he was shooting his hot cum down your throat, some coming out from the sides of your mouth. You continued to bob your head on him until he was done spilling every single drop.
“Show me,” he moaned, tugging you off of his softening dick. You showed him your empty mouth, tongue stuck out with no trace left of him in your mouth.
"Such a good girl for me. Knows exactly how to treat her Daddy," he groans while taking his free hand and rubbing your cheek, causing you to lean into his touch.
"Open that pretty mouth again for me, my love." You follow his orders opening your mouth allowing him to spit in your empty cavity and without being told to, you swallow happily.
"Hey lovebirds, next time ya'll are havin' fun, invite me yeah?" You look up in the direction of the stairs, hearing the other male voice in the house chuckle. "If you don't, just keep it down next time."
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closedownregulus · 1 month
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Prompt: Feb 14th - Lips | 1183 words | @jegulus-microfic part two , three and four :)
Barty Crouch is an idiot. The first time James came to this conclusion he was only 11 years old and Barty was refusing to give him back his football cause “football is not for losers, weirdo”, since then, the thought crosses his mind from time to time – Barty Crouch is an idiot. Not only an idiot, but also stupid, not only fucking stupid, but also deadass ugly, not only ugly, he is also an arrogant piece of shit, not only that, he’s also a- argh, James could go on and on about all of Barty Crouch’s flaws, he could go for hours, days, damn, even weeks if someone gave him the time of day to do so. Honestly, he can’t think of one good thing to say about the guy, nonetheless, Regulus’ been kissing him senseless for the past 7 minutes – not that James is counting or anything – seeming fucking dead set on finding Barty’s hidden qualities, if he has any, in the inside of the boy's mouth. Not that James cares that his best friend’s baby brother has been snogging the most annoying man to ever walk earth for 7 minutes and 36 fucking seconds, like they´re stuck in a game of 7 minutes in heaven or something, or, more accurately to James, 7 minutes and 49 seconds in the deepest pit of hell – not that he’s counting (whatever).
Part of him, the hopeful part, is kind of holding on to the idea that this is some weird kind of practical joke Regulus is playing on Barty, he knows James' football story, maybe that’s the way he’s found to revenge him, making Barty fall in love with him and then leaving the guy tormented by the memory of a kiss with a boy he’ll never be able to have playing in loop in his head. Part of him, the protective part, hates that fucking Barty Crouch has even the memory of a kiss to play in loop in his head, part of him wants to yank it off. Part of him, ugh, part of him is scared that Regulus is not some boy Barty can’t have. Part of him – the possessive, petty and kinda insane part – hates that it’s Barty instead of James, who has known Regulus for years, he’d know what to do to make him feel good, he’s sure he’d figure out the right buttons to push in a matter of seconds. Instead, it’s another person in what should be his place, touching Regulus in places James never will, running his tongue over his lips and tasting Regulus in ways that James will never be able to – he hates to think about the sounds that he’s dragging out of Regulus, sounds that he’s getting to hear, swallow, save for later. Fuck. James might kill the fucking guy.
It’s not like James wants to be in Barty’s place - or whatever, it’s more of a protective big brother's best friend thing, he’d rather kill himself than actually kiss Sirius’ baby brother, it’s literally the most disgusting thought that could ever cross his mind ever, literally. Which, if he’s being totally honest, it does from time, but it only causes him to experience the deepest feeling of disgust, he can literally feel his stomach doing weird loops and stuff, which can only be translated to pure and utter repulse, literally. It’s not like it’s a recurring thing or anything, it’s just that he’s a fucking 17-year-old, of course the idea of kissing people he’s always hanging out with is gonna come to him out of fucking nowhere. And like, Regulus does have this freakish pink lips that look really soft and it's kinda hard to not stare at them when he's been going on and on for hours about some book he's recently read, specially when he keeps biting his lower lip every five minutes before saying the next sentence. Not that the thought crosses his mind in a weird, out of ordinary, creepy constancy or anything, really. It's just, you know, your ordinary 17 year old boy next door normal amount of thinking about kissing your best friend’s brother – which he doesn’t by the away, just, rarely, sometimes, in a daily basis, rarely.
The point is, James is Sirius’ best friend, and Regulus is Sirius’ baby brother, James remember him as a toddler, with his big grey eyes and messy dark hair all over the place, so of course he’s gonna be concerned about Regulus’ well being and not want him to snog some dumbass just cause he found the free time to do so. He wants Regulus to be with someone that is worthy of him, not that James can think of anyone that managed to meet the criteria so far, or that ever will. Well, if he stops to think about it, in an ideal world Regulus would grow old alone and a virgin, but is that really so bad? James will visit him everyday and they’ll play videogames and do star wars marathons. Fuck it. He’ll even listen to Regulus talk about his pretentious books and let him put his depressing emo music, he already does that all the time anyway, he might even sing some of the lyrics that he’s already learned from having to listen to it every time they hang out. Well, and if from time to time Regulus happens to feel kinda alone and horny, James would even be ok to helping him out with that, you know, in the sole interest of keeping him away from losers. If that’s what it takes to save Sirius from having to endure life as the brother in law of some dumb, ugly idiot, James doesn’t mind sacrificing himself for his best friend, call him a fucking altruist if you will.
James bets Barty Crouch has never touched a single episode of Star Wars, or a book in that matter, maybe he can’t even read anything with more than fifty pages or pay attention to any movie that's longer than one hour. Also, he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’ll be able to appreciate Regulus’ music and try to actually understand and connect with the lyrics, which is the most important part to Regulus, he’ll probably try and change subjects every time Regulus tries to explain his interpretation. Basically, James is pretty sure they don’t even have anything in common to talk about, they won’t even be able to have a proper conversation! What are they gonna do? Just kiss the whole time they’re together? Every single minute without stopping so they can avoid awkward silence breaks? Ha.
The thought makes James want to instantly puke.
He hates this party, but he doesn’t want to, actually, he can’t, leave Regulus here with this idiot to do to him whatever the hell he pleases out of James sight. Fuck. He doesn’t even want to think about that. He hates absolutely everything that’s happening right now, but, most of all, he hates Barty Crouch. The reason? Barty Crouch is an idiot.
And he stole James’ football.
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effortandmore · 1 year
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you, after all | knj x reader (18+)
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summary: your break up hadn't been angry or contentious. he wanted to go, you never asked him to stay. it was simple, really. but when namjoon shows back up after three years, things don't seem so simple anymore
pairing: namjoon x f!reader
rating: explicit (18+ please)
genre: exes to lovers, smut, fluff (because of who i am as a person)
warnings: smut, a little swearing, here are the specific smut tags: kissing, penetrative sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, maybe a whisper of a hand job, namjoon has a big dick (i had to)... it's really pretty soft—they're just in love without saying so
word count: 6.8k
a/n: i haven't been able to write the things i need to write (sorry jin and yoongi), so here i am with some namjoon fluff & smut. thank you, as always, to @ugh-yoongi who is helpful and kind with reading these things. apologies for the banner quality; idk how to make it look nice on tumblr. this is posted to ao3 here if you like to read fics there.
There’s this thing about awkward silences—they’re not inherently awkward because of the absence of sound, they’re awkward precisely because you become acutely aware of every little sound around you that isn’t the one you were expecting or wanting to hear. 
The tap of his heel against the floor, muted by the thin cork flooring and then enhanced again by the way the fabric of his jeans whooshes when he jiggles his knee. The almost white-noise din of the other conversations around you, loud enough that you can pick out words but not meaning. The tinkling of silverware and chopsticks on ceramic and glass as people (including you) swallow things they think to say down with some glass noodles or spoonfuls of soup. 
No, you decide. Awkward silences are anything but quiet, they’re terrifyingly fucking loud. 
“So…” you finally start, “are you going to tell me what you’re actually doing here?” 
Namjoon looks up from his food at you as you speak, his eyes wide like they get when he’s been startled out of some (probably depressing) train of thought, eyebrows raised in crescents that sit like shadows above the rim of his glasses. Noodles trail out of his lips and hang there, resting on his chopsticks, waiting for him to act. 
It’s a perfect visual representation of the pause you feel in your whole body waiting for him to respond. Maybe somehow you are like a noodle, you think. 
You try not to laugh at the thought because you know it will send him back into some sort of overthinking spiral of dismal self-worth. You know he’ll think you’re laughing at him. Sometimes, back then, you were. But not usually.
(And he’s not the only one prone to existential crises. 
Perhaps that’s why you two had always gotten on so well. You’ve had plenty of time to think about how the two of you started and stopped, and being aligned in this sort of… well, thoughtfulness is maybe a generous way to put it… being alike in that way a little bit probably drew you together as much as it split you apart. One overthinker is enough for any relationship. Two is… two is probably one too many). 
With a slurp, he sits up and sets his chopsticks down. He’s still regarding you, his eyes haven’t left your face, you’re pretty sure. But now, it’s with the careful consideration he’s known amongst your friends for, not the surprise you clocked on him a moment prior. 
He’s still fidgeting. You can feel the vibrations of his legs when they brush the underside of the table because he’s too tall to keep his limbs to himself and too polite to stretch them out in a violation (would it really be? You’re not sure) of your space. For a moment, you think it’s out of character, and then you start to recall every difficult conversation you’ve ever had with this man in front of you. The way he would twist up his face into a scowl almost involuntarily, the pulling on his hair, the crumpling up of whatever paper was in reach, the peeling of countless labels off of beer bottles… No, you decide, the fidgeting is perfectly in sync with what you know of Kim Namjoon when he thinks he’s going to say something someone doesn’t want to hear (and also when someone’s telling him something he doesn’t). 
If you didn’t know him as well, you’d think he was stalling. Or unsure of himself. And he might be those things to some degree, but this version of him, you’re sure, is trying to figure out how to say what he wants to say in a way that you’ll accept. 
The problem is, you’ve been broken up for almost three years. You’re not sure what he could say that would even affect you like that any more. 
So, this is all a little frightening, this awkward loud silence between the two of you. 
You point the blunt end of a chopstick at him. “Joon, just spit it out. We haven’t seen each other in ages, I don’t want to waste this watching you think.” 
At that, he grins, and at least some of what you loved about him rears its head. He’s gorgeous when he’s happy—it’s contagious, too. His dimples appear, his cheeks push up into his eyes and his lips spread so wide they almost cover the span of his face. He’s really, truly beautiful like this, and when you see it now for a split second, you’re reminded of how much you used to love making him smile, how much pride you took in being the one who could almost always make him laugh. 
“Sorry,” he mutters as his grin turns from bright to sheepish. “You know how I can be.” 
That, you certainly do. 
“Well, you said you wanted to catch up, and we’ve done that, so now are you gonna tell me what you’re doing back here?” 
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, eyes dropping down to his bowl.
“Uh-oh.” You mean it to tease, not to be cruel, but his face falls a little anyway. You suppose it’s two sides of the same coin—being able to make him laugh and having enough influence to disappoint him with your words… they’re essentially the same thing and you know it. “Sorry,” you add, tapping his foot under the table with yours. “I was just teasing… Trying to make this less weird, I guess.” 
“It was never weird with us, was it?” He’s asking you, for what you’re not sure. Reassurance? Absolution? 
“No,” you reply softly. “It was a lot of things with us, but it was never weird.” 
And it wasn’t. Not when you fought about stupid shit late-night in the kitchen of your crappy apartment. Not when he took off to the city to do “big things” after uni and you just sort of… let him go. Not when your friends “didn’t take sides” but took careful measures to not invite you to the same parties, and not when he called you earlier today, totally out of the blue, telling you he was around and he wanted to see you. 
In order, it was frustrating, disappointing, lonely, and surprising, but none of it was weird. Not weird standing in his empty living room, leaning against a stack of his moving boxes and watching him pack the last of his belongings into a duffel. Not weird to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you as he fucked you into the mattress that last night before he left, whispering that he loved you and needed you. Not weird after, when you spilled tears on his chest and told him you were scared for what life would be like without him while he ran fingertips up and down your spine and reassured you that no matter what, you were going to have an incredible life. 
It wasn’t weird when the next morning, he promised you’d always be friends. 
It wasn’t weird when you both eventually stopped texting. 
It wasn’t weird when he never came back. 
But now he’s here, sitting in front of you in the same grungy noodle shop you used to have your cheap college date nights at, and things are absolutely, inarguably weird. 
Namjoon’s staring at you, still hasn’t answered your question, when the server comes with your check. He snags it before you can argue and gives you a distracted sort-of-grin when he gets up to find the cashier. 
Everything about this is so familiar and different at the same time. In your past life with Namjoon, he’d never just leave the table to pay with noodles left in his bowl, he’d never forget his manners and ignore asking whether or not you were ready to go. But him getting distracted by his own thoughts is on brand… So is the way he knocks over the cashier’s pencil cup when he tries to return the pen he used to sign the receipt. The most familiar thing is the glance he throws your way when he does it, rolling his eyes affectionately when he sees you stifling a laugh. 
It makes your stomach tumble. 
There isn’t a discussion when you leave the noodle shop, thank god. No asking if it’s okay if he walks with you, no awkward first date bullshit. Which of course there isn’t, you remind your nervous system, because this isn’t a date and it’s not a first anything really. First time you’ve seen him in a while maybe, but even that feeling’s been fading since you saw him through the window of the restaurant, sitting alone (waiting for you with his knee bouncing) at your usual table a couple hours prior. 
“Why do you think we call it a pencil cup?” he asks quietly. You can barely hear him over the car that happens to pass as he speaks. 
“Huh?” 
“We always call it a pencil cup, but everyone keeps pens in them, you know?” 
You smile softly in spite of yourself. “I don’t know, Joon-ah.” It’s a nickname you haven’t used or thought of in a long time. It feels too affectionate for what you are to each other now (you feel a little too affectionate toward him for what you are now, so you suppose it fits), but he doesn’t seem to notice, leaving you thankful for the universe’s small favors. “Humans are quirky. Language is worse,” you finish. 
He hums in response. “You’re right. You’re always right,” he agrees. 
Suddenly he stills, footsteps halting as he grabs your hand. The surprise you feel absolutely accounts (you hope) for the stupid swoop of your stomach; not the first one you’ve felt since the sun went down. “Can we?” he says, tugging on your hand like a ridiculously strong kid. 
It takes a second for you to realize what he means, but when you do, you readily agree. “Of course we can.” You move first, pulling him behind you, and it’s not lost on you when you look over your shoulder that he looks happier than you think you’ve seen him maybe ever, and that you’re still holding hands. 
You hop up onto the metal platform, letting him go, and he grabs one of the bars and starts to pull it behind him as he jogs. Your world literally spins. Arms out, you tilt your head back and puff out a long breath. It’s cold enough that you can see the smoky trail of it float above you, tendrils of steam looking like they’re curling around the stars. 
With a thud, Namjoon lands across from you on the merry-go-round, sitting to face you, legs sprawled out in front of him. You sit, too, and the metal wheel spins a little more slowly with each revolution until it’s barely moving millimeters, all of the momentum from Namjoon’s effort petering out. 
It’s weird, you think, that staring at him across from you, it still feels like the ground is moving. 
“I left.” He breaks the silence with a simple statement and you’re not sure what he expects you to say in return, so you just nod. “But I don’t know why you let me.” 
He doesn’t look at you when he says the last part, his head tilts off to the side and he leans it against one of the cold, metal railings. If he was anyone else, you’d think he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But you know him, and you know he rarely says things he doesn’t mean. 
The first response in your chest feels like anger. He left you after all. He walked away. Of course you let him, what the fuck else were you supposed to do? Beg him to stay? You were basically kids. You still are. He had opportunities, you had a sick mom… it wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to stay. 
And then there was this: the insecure part of you didn’t want to give him the opportunity to tell you he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. That you weren’t worth it. 
Maybe you should have taken that chance. You’ve learned a lot since then. Grown up and gotten more confident, surely. Made new friends, had other partners. “Lovers,” as Taehyung likes to call them (just to see you roll your eyes at him in response). 
He keeps talking before you can let the angry thoughts have a voice. “I love being here,” he says softly, still not looking at you. “I love how you can see the stars, I love that the air smells better. I love the sea and the way it makes you feel small…” he sighs before he continues, “but I’ve been back for a week and I didn’t love any of it as much as I love this right now.” His voice gets quieter with each word. You barely hear him tack on, “with you.” You might even be imagining it, he’s that quiet. 
It almost makes you sick to not know what he’s getting at, to wish he would just be straight with you. All of this nostalgia… what amounts to a recreation of all your college dates… It’s just so much. 
“Are you pregnant?” 
“What?” Namjoon’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his skull. 
You let yourself laugh when you respond. “I don’t know! This just feels like the lead up to something big, you know? You’re pregnant, you have cancer, you’re moving to another country…” You trail off and then sit up straight, letting yourself get a little more serious. “What’s all this about? It feels like you have big news or… to be honest, it kind of feels like a date, Joon-ah.” 
“Feels like a date good or feels like a date bad?” he asks. 
“Feels like a date confusing,” you answer pointedly. “I don’t even know what you’re doing in town.” 
“Can I walk you home?” 
“That’s not an answer.” 
He stands then, and reaches a hand out to you to help you up. You let him even though you don’t need it, and he pulls you into a hug. Tight against his chest, things feel a little less confusing and this seaside town feels a little more like home than it has in a really long time. It’s distressing how right it feels to be close to him like this, how he smells just like he always has, how soft his stupid sweater is under your cheek. You do everything you can not to nuzzle against him in a complete violation of any boundaries that both of you might have. It’s all you want to do though, and that’s disconcerting in and of itself.
“Yeah,” you mumble into his collar. “You can walk me home.” 
You give him some grace as you walk, not repeating yourself for the millionth time with your request to know just exactly what he thinks he’s doing crashing back into your life with a half day’s notice. Then it occurs to you that he’s leading you home, which is fine except… you’re not sure how he seems to know where you live. 
“Joon? How do you know where we’re going?”
“Huh?” He gives you a distracted glance like he didn’t quite intake your question.
“My apartment, how do you know where it is?”
“Oh…” His cheeks flush the prettiest rose color. “Ah… you were at that art show in the city a few nights ago, right when I got to town, and Tae invited everyone over. We’d been drinking and the bar was closing and he said you wouldn’t be there…” He gives you a pained sort of smile. “He said you wouldn’t mind. Said you’d be staying with friends.” 
The idea that your ex was in your apartment without you knowing it is… well, it should be infuriating. But it’s not. It’s more like you want to know what he thought, if he liked it. If it felt like the you that he knew or a new version of you. If it felt familiar and different at the same time the way he does to you right now. 
“So… you’ve been in our apartment then…” It’s not a question, but Namjoon answers anyway, rushing the words out. 
“No! No.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. We got there and I… It felt like sneaking around and I couldn’t do that to you. I went back to Hoseok’s and crashed on his couch.” 
“Oh… okay.” You can’t figure out why you’re almost disappointed. “You can see it now. If you want. If that’s something you’d be interested in, you know…” The words spill out in a rambly jumble. 
Namjoon stops to consider you, head tilted like he’s trying to listen to words you’re not saying. He must find whatever he’s looking for, because he responds quickly. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” 
“Okay.” You nod but don’t move. 
“This is it, right?” 
And it is, indeed. You’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk in front of your own building, too distracted by whatever this thing is with the two of you to notice where you are. 
“Yeah, yeah. Come on up.” You punch the door code in and hold the door for him, bowing a little and giving an exaggerated gesture for him to enter to lighten the mood. 
Taehyung, the world's most interesting roommate, is working an overnight shift, so you know he’s not home, but you pray he hasn’t left anything strange out in the living room. You’ve walked into your apartment to find it perfectly spotless except for a trumpet and a dildo sitting side-by-side on the coffee table before, and though you’ve never really discussed it for obvious reasons, you’re fairly confident it won’t happen again. But not one hundred percent. 
“Tae’s working tonight,” you explain for some unknown reason as you unlock your door. It’s not like Namjoon is some third date here to fuck you for the first time, so it doesn’t matter if Tae’s there or not and he probably knows your roommate (his friend, too) is working, anyway. 
“I heard,” he mumbles behind you. 
To your extraordinary relief, nothing odd or personal is strewn around the living room or the kitchen, so you say a silent prayer of gratitude and slide your shoes off, motioning for Namjoon to do the same. 
“This is it,” you say, in your most uncreative moment of the night. “It’s nicer than the last place you saw me living,” you joke. It is, though. Much nicer. Having Tae to split the costs helps, and your art has actually been selling for the past couple of years, so that’s afforded you a little more than the old studio with a leaky shower and what was probably mold around the windows. 
“Mmm,” he murmurs as he looks around the open space. “It was nice ‘cos it was yours. It felt like you. But this does, too.”
“Water?” you offer. 
“Sure, thanks.” 
You fill up two glasses from the pitcher in the fridge and pad back into the living room where Namjoon is looking at the art on one of your walls. It’s a combination of your paintings and Tae’s photographs that the two of you thought complemented one another. 
“Your art.” 
“Yes…?”
“No…” Joon shakes his head and sets his water down on your coffee table. “Your art. It’s why I came back. That's why I’m here.” 
“Oh,” you squeak. It’s not what you expected—you didn’t expect an answer to your question, and even if you’d hypothetically received one, ‘your art’ wasn’t what you’d thought it would be. “I don’t think I understand. You want to buy one or something? You can just have a painting, Joon-ah... Friends and family discount. You didn’t have to come here for that.” 
He frowns and shakes his head again before he carefully takes your water glass and sets it on the table next to his. Then he reaches for your hand, and when you offer it to him, he guides you to your own sofa to sit. 
This time, sitting too close like you were in the noodle shop, you’re the one who’s nervous. Something’s up with him, and you’re not connecting the dots. 
“I saw your show. The solo one. Congratulations,” he says. His smile is warm like his hand that’s still wrapped around yours and it feels like you could maybe let your nerves settle a little bit. 
“Thanks. It was a lot of work, but worth it. I’m still a little surprised at how well it was received.” 
“I’m not.” He says it with conviction, and you love it. The hint of praise laced with his belief in you has always been a driver of your confidence; you don’t love that you need the external validation, but it’s nice, regardless.
“It reminded me of home,” he continues. “Made me sick for it. Like I couldn’t stand to be away from it for another minute. So, I told my work I needed some time off, and I came home.” 
“Oh… Okay. Well, I’m glad you felt something… I hope being home has been what you wanted.” 
“You don’t get it,” he says, frustrated. “I haven’t been home, not really. Not until tonight.” 
“Joon-ah…” 
“Please? Can I get this out?” 
And there are so many things to feel, you’re not even sure where to begin, so you just listen. It’s not easy to ignore the feeling of being on edge, the idea that you think you know where he’s headed with this. Since you’ve never even let yourself consider it (you’ve really not let yourself think about him much since he left. Certainly not recently), you have no idea what to think. So you focus on him instead; the tendons that run from his hands up his forearms that you used to love to trace with your fingertips, the way he’s filled out some since you last saw him—his chest and shoulders are broader, his jeans hug his thighs tighter than you remember… He looks good. Great, even. Everything you remember but a little bit more. Like he’s become the person he was always meant to be.
“I’ve dated a lot of people since I left,” he starts. And maybe this isn’t going where you thought it was. You scoff involuntarily, and he rolls his eyes at you. “Can you just listen to me?” he asks. 
You nod. “Sorry.” 
“Not at first. I missed you. I couldn’t figure out why you never… I don’t know… Tried to talk me out of it, never asked me to stay. I thought it meant that maybe you didn’t love me the way I loved you. After a while, a few months maybe, Yoongi told me I was depressing to be around, that I should try and make friends, meet people. He reminded me that I was the one who left, not you. And he was right.”
“I remember,” you say. It comes out a little harsher than you’d intended, but maybe not ever letting yourself think too much about him (especially about him leaving) has left you with some unresolved feelings you weren’t totally aware of. Namjoon’s jaw tightens, but other than that, he doesn’t react. Maybe he knows he deserves you being a little upset. Things ended oddly fine between the two of you, it was amicable, but if you’d let yourself feel everything back then, it might not have been that way. 
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice softer now. “I needed to go, though. You know I did.” He looks at you, waiting for you to give him some reassurance you think, so you squeeze his hand. 
“Yeah, you did, Joon-ah. It’s okay.” 
His fingertips trace patterns across your wrist and you can almost feel his body get looser when you give the small peace offering. “So,” he says, “I tried. I met people, I dated people, I moved to new apartments with new roommates to new parts of the city. I tried to get that feeling back. Not to… I don’t know. Not to replace you, but to feel like I was home. But nothing worked. Nobody worked. And then I saw your show.” 
“Oh…” It’s not much, but it’s the only thing you can think to say as he pulls you closer to him on the couch and runs a thumb across your cheekbone. It’s so much, it’s such a private thing for him to touch you like you're something breakable. Like you’re his, still. It’s making you short-circuit. 
“Home,” he says in a whisper. “I needed to come home.” 
“Home.” You repeat it like he’s taken all the words you used to know and pulled them out of your head to scatter on the floor in a mess. 
His lips are on yours before you have time to process, and you hear a whimper that you quickly realize must have come from your own throat as he kisses you more tentatively than you ever remember him kissing you before. You know this is him testing the waters, giving you time to decide if you want this—sort of—and maybe this is a one-night nostalgia thing for him, or maybe this is what forgiveness tastes like, and maybe it’s a terrible idea, but Namjoon’s lips on yours feel like home to you, too, and you don’t want to talk yourself out of something that feels so fucking right. You didn’t even let yourself remember that you missed him until now, and your chest aches with something like longing even though he’s here, he’s real, he’s kissing you. 
Kiss back, you remember suddenly. So you do. A slightly shaking hand moves to his thigh as you let him slip his tongue between your lips and lick into your mouth slowly. He’s firmer than you remember when you squeeze over his jeans and tilt your head to give him a little bit better access. The kiss, which started out so sweet, soon turns into something else entirely, and before you know it, you’re out of breath and letting out another whine when his hand drops from your cheek to around your waist and he tugs you even closer to him. You can feel him smile against your mouth when you pause to breathe.  
“Is this okay?” he asks, cheeks flushed, dimples out, and hair mussed. He looks like a dream. 
He looks like he’s yours again, and you want to let yourself have this, even if it’s temporary. 
“Yeah.” You nod too furiously to even look remotely cool or in control of the situation, and he laughs. It’s not like he looks much better off with his swollen lips and the stars in his eyes. “Bedroom.” You’re up and pulling him up with you before he can argue, practically dragging him behind you past Tae’s room and the bathroom to yours at the end of the hall. 
You move into your room and barely get the door closed before you’re being pushed back up against it, Namjoon moving his mouth down your neck, over your pulse point– all his attention focused on seeing what might make you shiver and whine. So much hasn’t changed. 
It’s odd, you think, as he finds the perfect spot, to have to learn this all over with someone. Does he remember all your places and all the things you like? Will he still be patient like he used to be, content to watch you get worked up because of his touch before he lets you focus on him? Will he have new things that make him moan, are there new things he likes that he learned from someone else? All these questions float through your head as Namjoon slowly slips his hands under your shirt and pulls it over your head. 
With your back against the wall, Namjoon drops to his knees in front of you and carefully unbuttons your jeans, slipping them down your legs with your underwear, groaning and face flushing when he finally gets you undressed. 
“You… are… incredible,” he mutters against your skin in between leaving hot, wet kisses across your pelvic bone. “I’ve missed you so much,” he adds as he hooks one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder. His breath is hot on your skin and it’s like you can feel it everywhere—he’s barely even touching you and every nerve ending in your body is responding, wanting more. 
As he brings his tongue to your clit, you let your head fall back against the door with a soft thud. He was always so good at this, he still is. His stubble brushes against you and makes shivers run up your spine. He’d probably not shaved that morning—you wonder if he did on purpose, remembering how you used to brush your cheek along his chin and tell him you liked it, how it made you feel soft and delicate when he wasn’t. 
His tongue works you over in long strokes, dipping inside on occasion and you hear him practically whine when he really tastes you. There’s never been anything hotter, you decide, than his deep voice so fucked out and turned on because of you. If you could get off on sound alone for the rest of your life, that might be the one you’d pick.  
When he finally slides a finger inside you, you moan—you’re so much louder than you’d meant to be, louder than you have been for anyone in so long, but he knows you. Knows your body, knows just how fast to move his tongue, how deeply you like to feel him inside you.
Namjoon’s lips form into a smile against you as he pauses, asking in a whisper, “Can I make you do that again?” before curling his finger inside you and taking your clit back between his lips. 
“Oh, fuck…” you whine. And yes, the answer is definitely yes. “Keep going,” you say as he fucks into you, giving you space to roll your hips away from the door and into his face. 
It doesn’t take much longer for you to come—Namjoon puts a large hand to your waist and helps support you as you tremble around him and your knee buckles. With a lot of effort, you ignore the quiet, private voice in the back of your mind that tells you that you don’t deserve this—that you shouldn’t be doing this, that you’ll get hurt again. Finally, your shaking subsides, and he moves your leg off of his shoulder and to the ground, keeping a grasp on you to help you stay upright. 
“You’re… still very good at that,” you say breathily. 
“Thank you. I’m pretty good at a lot of things, I think,” he says with a wink as he stands. 
You love when he’s cheeky like this, confident in a way that you remember being one of his best traits. Like he knows exactly what he’s capable of. It’s the first time you’ve seen him like this tonight and it makes you ache for things you don’t think you can have, for the past. He’s suddenly close again, so fucking close, and you can smell yourself on his lips and you can feel that he’s hard in his jeans. He leans in, even closer, bringing his lips to yours but not doing anything with them, and running a single fingertip across your jaw to hold your face in place—no place to look except at him, square in the eyes.
“Are there things you’re still good at?” 
Oh, holy shit. 
And you’d remained upright this whole time, but fuck if your knees aren’t ready to give in now. You swallow audibly and struggle to form an answer in your post-orgasmic haze, turned on by the nostalgia and the way he’s half-whispering, half-rasping. The intimate way he speaks to you  makes you almost drip again with desire.
“Well, if you’re not going to tell me, I guess I’ll find out for myself,” he says. Namjoon grabs your hand and squeezes, then leads you to your own bed. “Do you want me to find out? Do you want… me?” 
It should be something you have to think about longer, should be more of a consideration. But it isn’t at all. Your head is bobbing a ‘yes’ of its own accord and you’re slowly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling his sweater off before you really realize you’re doing it, before you can think about what it might mean in the morning. Before he slips out of his pants, he pulls a condom out of his wallet in the pocket and tosses it on the bed. 
The simple action has you a little nervous now, like suddenly this is real, and this is Namjoon, the actual love of your fucking life who left you, and he must see it on your face as you stand next to the bed, naked, facing one another, and unmoving. 
“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Yeah… I’m nervous. It’s been so long and it’s… you.”
Namjoon cups your cheek and brings his lips softly to yours. His other arm snakes around your waist and pulls your body into his—skin to skin everywhere, and it feels so good. His body really is different than you remember: firmer, broader, bigger, and you like it. It’s different, but just as good, you decide. Familiar and different at the same time, just like everything else about him. When he breaks the kiss, he finally speaks.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” 
“I do,” you say resolutely, convincing him and yourself at the same time. You bend over to grab the condom and feel his hands on your ass, so you stay, dropping to your elbows on the mattress, remembering how he’s always appreciated the view from that angle. “Do you still like it this way, Joon-ah?” you ask as you push your hips back toward him a little, leaning into the familiar to calm any lingering nerves.
And instead of answering, Namjoon slides his hands up your back and down your arms, pulling you up at the elbows and pressing your back into his chest. “Yes,” he replies. “But not this time. I want to see you, I want to know I’m taking care of you. I want to remember.” 
He starts kissing you then, lips on your neck, across your shoulders, hands wrapped around you—one teasing at your nipples, one firm around your waist. You do feel taken care of, and it’s nice, you decide, to be with him again. This part hasn’t changed. You meant what you said—he’s really good at this.
Eventually, you move to the bed, and you become a little more brave, letting yourself explore his body. As you lay facing each other, you run your fingers along the ridges of the muscles in his abdomen, stroke his cheekbones, let one arm snake around his ribs and then fall to his ass. He really is firm all over, and you find yourself more attracted to that than you’d anticipated. You murmur appreciations into his skin, telling him he’s worked hard, that he looks incredible, that you want to take your time and appreciate everything he’s tried to build. 
Namjoon watches you as you test the waters, carefully mapping the ridges and planes until you take his length in your palm and start stroking him. The first time he breaks eye contact with you is when you bring your other hand down and palm his balls, softly squeezing as his eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a long, low moan. 
Maybe things aren’t so different than you remember, after all. 
You touch and kiss and whisper until you know he’s been hard long enough and you’ve been stalling long enough, and his hand makes lazy circles over your clit, no problem getting you wet again. Namjoon rolls the condom on and pulls your leg up over his hip. He’s careful in a manner that’s completely him (but you’re no longer used to from your recent hookups) as he slowly pushes into you. And you’ve been in a lot of… positions in the last few years, but nothing quite this intimate: chests pressed together, arms wrapped around each other, noses touching, and Namjoon so deep inside you, moving so, so slowly. You’re almost not moving at all, and you had no idea something like that could feel so fucking good. 
It’s slow and sweet, and he kisses and caresses you, and you realize that this is was what people are talking about when they talk about the difference between making love and fucking. 
Namjoon is quiet, quieter than you remember, but the look on his face is reverent, like he can’t believe you’re letting him do this, like he can’t believe you’re real. And you know how he feels, and you want to reassure him and whisper how much you care about him and how you think you could still love him, but it’s all too much for the moment. So, instead, you just let out soft moans of approval when he rolls his hips in just the right way and otherwise try to focus on him and the way he’s making you feel, cock buried in you, better than anything has been since the night before he left all those years ago.
Your second peak comes steadily and seems to last a while as Namjoon whispers how beautiful you look and how lucky he is. The praise has you clenching around him and pulling his climax out of him, too. 
You stay intertwined as your breathing slows, kissing and smiling with pink cheeks and tired limbs. When you’re sure you can move, you slowly push back from him and roll off the side of the bed, grabbing his undershirt. “You mind?” you ask, holding it up. “I thought I’d grab water and if there’s anything else you want…” 
“Sounds great,” Namjoon replies, a sleepy smile on his face, obvious in his preening over you wearing his clothes again. 
You try not to let yourself think too much about what just happened as you retrieve your water glasses and fill them up again. You find your phone on the counter, next to Namjoon’s, and you shoot a quick text to Tae telling him you brought someone home and you don’t know if they’ll still be there in the morning. You don’t want your roommate to be surprised by a visitor. But you know if Namjoon’s still there when he gets home, Tae will definitely be surprised. 
When you pad back to your bedroom and click the door shut behind you, you realize Namjoon’s already fallen asleep, snoring softly. He looks ridiculous on top of your sheet with the duvet kicked down to the end of the bed, his big cock soft against his big thigh and his hair sticking up in fifty different directions all over your pillow. His lips have fallen open to let his stupid snores out, and you have never been more endeared to anyone in your life. 
Like a thunderbolt, it comes suddenly, the realization that you think you probably never stopped loving this man. 
You set the water down on your nightstand and crawl into bed next to him, careful not to wake him up, even though unless something’s changed, you know he’s a fairly deep sleeper. You pull the duvet up over both of you and settle into your pillow, thoughts of unresolved and maybe unrequited feelings still clouding your mind. 
He wakes up enough to roll over and sling an arm around you, possessive in a way you like. You miss being his, you miss the quiet way he loved you before. All folded up love notes and kind gestures and small gifts for no reason. You almost let yourself tear up thinking about how big your love for him used to feel—maybe still does. 
You’re fully spiraling, deciding this was probably a massive mistake, when Namjoon strokes his thumb over your stomach and nuzzles into the back of your neck. 
“Baby? You awake?” he mumbles, half-asleep. 
And fuck, you’ve missed the casual endearment from him. “Yeah.” 
“Do you want me to go?” he asks. 
And you know three years ago, if you would have said it, it wouldn’t have mattered. That’s the real truth of it. Because if you’d asked him to stay then, he wouldn’t have, and he would have been making the right choice to leave, anyway. So letting him go without putting up a fight was easier on both of you. It was the right decision then to not ask him to stay. 
But now? Now, after tonight, you know things aren’t the same as back then. Some of them, yes. But not the ones that matter, not the ones you’re thinking about when you reply. 
“No, Joon-ah… I want you to stay this time.”
You feel him smile against your shoulder and pull you tighter into him. Neither of you says anything more, and it’s only a few minutes before he starts his snuffling snores into your hair again. It feels nice, you think as you finally start to drift off. It feels like home.  
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louissolovely · 5 months
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ੈ♡ DATING MATT HC’S!! ⋆。˚
summary- Matt dating fem reader
warnings- none I don’t think
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✩DATES I feel like dates for Matt consist of food and literally doing anything together 😭 (very simple guy) you guys could be sitting at the kitchen counter or in his car eating Taco Bell and laughing from scrolling through TikTok and bro will go home thinking you guys just had the most romantic date ever. It’s honestly super cute because he never gets bored of you and just being there with you makes him feel happy. (Cue nothing by Bruno mars☝🏽)
✩COMPLIMENTS bro is the rizzler idc what you or yo mamma says. He knows exactly what has you kicking and giggling and what makes you bust out laughing. Especially when guys come up to you and say something corny, he can tell how hard your trying to keep in your laugh to not hurt the poor guys feelings which makes him want to laugh even more. It’s honestly adorable when he compliments you because it’s literally out of nowhere. Which is why it makes your heart flutter every time because how genuine it is. “Wait when did you get your nails done? They look so good baby let me see” and he takes your hand SHOOT ME NOW OMG
✩LOVE LANGUAGE is 100% quality time. He’s always trying to invite you places and when you simply cannot show up he feels like you most literally never want to speak to him again. You’ve never felt so terrible. You always make it up to him tho which makes him feel a tiny bit better. Most of the time tho he understands but still tries to throw in a slight joke cause why not. “You’re not coming? Well just say you want to break up damn.” You never find it funny😭. He’s always trying to get you into every vlog and car video. He just wants to be in your presence 24/7 and you don’t mind not one bit. Unless you do then you’re literally lying but wtv. He also feels like he needs you to be there in case he really needs you. If he’s getting jumped by his brothers and losing an argument he’s 100% sure he’s correct about (the horror and betrayal on his face when you tell him he’s wrong) or if he’s scared to do something on his own and needs you to help or simply do it for him. He’s just so boyfriend ugh I can’t do it.
✩KISSING omfg I’ve been waiting for this moment. FOREHEAD AND SHOULDER KISSES BRO. You can tell this has been on my mind for a while. He’s just so sweet with it too he’ll just grab you face and plant a cute ass kiss on your forehead ughhhhhhh I hate this man. Or if he’s comforting you and your face is in his neck and he’s rubbing your back and he places kisses on your shoulder. Bonus points if you’re sitting on his lap.
✩ANNOYING THINGS HE DOES I feel like he can be your favorite person and your worst enemy at the same time. He definitely just randomly jabs you in the side with his finger. Bro idk if this has ever happened to you guys but that shit doesn’t fucking tickle it HURTS SO BAD. And he’ll just keep doing it whenever for whatever. At the most random times too like it’ll be dead silent and he just jabs you in the ribs with the straightest face while your body just gives the most dramatic reaction. He doesn’t care how much you hate it actually he’ll keep on😭. It makes you laugh most of the time and you’ll complain but sometimes your just not in the mood and you get so annoyed and give the most attitude cause what is he doing..he looks at you with furrowed brows “what is wrong with you??” And start just attacking you and jabbing you everywhere possible and you are hurting. You’re trying to yell and be mad but it turns into laughing and now you’re just stuck like that. Sorry
That’s it I’m going to bed but Matt is tloml just needed this to be cleared🫶🏽
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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years
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...
#ok so if i wanna do a phd in the uk im prob gonna have to try for some scholarships#so now im stuck staring at the stupid very competitive scholarship listings#and like i mean ill go for it i guess but there is no fucking way im gonna get then#bc the 2 thst would cover the whole thing are either fulbright or the one specific to the institution. which is an prestigious uni so like#also super competitive. and then i look at what they want and of course they want leadership qualities#and i just. im like god. someone else deserves this more than me#im an awkward anxious person. i could say that im trying my best to walk toward a place where i could me a leader#that could be my angle. like overcoming my stupid dyslexic brain and inability to be a human#and like. going to the uk was part of what forced me outta my shell and kinda changed my whole life#so i mean. i guess that's something#but like i just feel horribly embarrassed when they ask for like community outreach or whatever bc im like hhh i go to the lab at weird#times so i dont have to interface with ppl. i have nothing to contribute to society. sorry for taking ur time. goodbye#but ugh i might as well go for it i guess. it just feels real bad to have to present ur merits as a person like thst when u dont have much#to put on the table. i mean ive got my school stuff. ive done things. but does any of that have any value other#than occuping my brain? idk#sigh... i need to find more labs. and im meeting with a guy Wednesday. hopefully thst goes well. then i dont have to think abt this...#unrelated
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fear-is-truth · 5 months
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‘𝑪𝑨𝑼𝑺𝑬 𝑰’𝑴 𝒀𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑱𝑨𝒁𝒁 𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹, 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝒀𝑶𝑼’𝑹𝑬 𝑴𝒀 𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹 — kai anderson
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✧. headcanon tags: fem! reader. mention of murder. ꒰ dating kai anderson headcanons ꒱ ⨾
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kai enjoys reading in his free time, (when he’s not plotting world domination)
his favourites are by machiavelli, tolstoy, nietzsche and shakespeare. he often quotes them in fucked up situations.
“good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”
like when he tortured RJ with a nail gun, he quoted hamlet. that part killed me.)
so he expects you to read too so he can carry an intelligent conversation with you. quality time, like a two-person book club.
after all, the future mother of his messiah baby can’t be an ‘uneducated hoe’.
you should be grateful that at least he doesn’t demand you to hand in a five-page book report every week (yet).
x
super possessive and gets jealous very easily. if a cult member dared to look in your direction, well, too bad for them.
kai is very creative when it comes to punishments. in the cruelest, most horrific ways imaginable.
tolerant of pda. in public, he allows you to hold onto his arm. don’t expect him to reciprocate though, he doesn’t want to be regarded as a simp.
if he catches other men checking you out, he’ll put an arm around your waist or squeeze your ass in a possessive way. glaring daggers to remind those bastards that he owns you.
at home, he displays affection in the most subtle of ways: a hand on the small of your back, his chin resting on your shoulder as he inspects whatever food you’re cooking for him.
while watching cult documentaries together on the couch, his arms casually resting on the backrest, hand grazing against your shoulder.
idly playing with a strand of your hair during commercials.
you have each other’s initials tattooed on the inner side of your pinky fingers.
he took you to his dead parents’ bedroom and introduced you to his mother.
he lets you help dyeing/cutting his hair. only you and winter are allowed with that special‘privilege’.
x
dates with him always feel like they’re completely random and impromptu.
(that’s what he wants you to think. what would his followers think if they found out the divine ruler spends time planning out dates for his girlfriend?)
“get dressed. we’re leaving in five minutes.” is code for “i’m taking you out on a date but don’t you dare make a big deal out of it.”
if he gives you ten or fifteen minutes to prepare, it means he’s taking you somewhere upscale so you better look nice.
his eyes always give that slight flicker of approval when he sees you wearing that dress he loves seeing you in.
(already imagining that dress on the bedroom floor.)
“do i look okay in this dress?”
“i’d fuck you in it,”
“…”
x
kai is good at reading people, pinpointing their weaknesses and using them to his advantage. though with you, it's done in a less malicious manner. don’t get me wrong, he’s still controlling as hell, but it's his twisted way of showing care for you.
he remembers everything that you’ve ever told him about yourself. literally everything.
even though he generally appears to be disinterested or zoned out when you’re talking, he’s silently cataloging every piece of information about you in his head. for later use.
he plays dumb. pretends to know little about you, in hopes to extract more info.
but then he accidentally let slip the fact that remembers the name of your bitchy grade school teacher, whom you once mentioned ages ago.
“ugh, that old lady in the checkout line reminded me of-”
“your 3rd grade bitch teacher. mrs davenport.”
“Well yeah.. wait, how’d you even know-”
and he’s staring back at you with a blank expression like: ‘duh. you told me, stupid.’
x
winter is your number-one shipper.
you always manage to bring out the old kai. the brother she grew up with : sweet, awkward, and funny. those were fleeting moments, but better than nothing.
and she’s grateful that someone can actually put up with her screwed-up brother, so she’s constantly in dread that one day he’ll push too far and you’ll leave.
winter knows that kai cares a great deal about you, more than he’s ever willing to admit.
x
during fights, he can’t bring himself to yell at you for too long when you’re crying.
he’s witnessed the way his shitbag father had treated his mother. so he just stands there, jaw clenched, fists balled as he tries to control himself.
most of the time, he leaves the room quickly, for the both of you to calm down. which is probably for best.
on rare occasions, when winter is absolutely livid at his assholery and the way he treated you, he finally realises that he had went too far, so he comes looking for you, feeling a bit.. guilty.
when he sees your tear-stained face, he sighs, mumbles something like:
“ugh.. can’t believe you’re still crying.. c’mere.”
then he outstretches his arms to you, kiss the top of your head and holds tightly to you, as you sniffle into his chest.
that is when you know that he is truly sorry without saying the actual words.
that small gesture is the kai anderson equivalent of begging on his knees for your forgiveness.
it’s just that his ego won’t allow him to apologize like a normal person. so he makes up by being sweeter to you the rest of the day.
because if there’s anything that scares him more than bruising his ego, it’s the possibility of losing you.
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 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.
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missjashin · 1 year
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Steve spending the night at Eddie’s because his parents are home and they’ve been arguing so he doesn’t really wanna be at home. Didn’t go to Robin because her parents might not let him stay the night and also Robin has work tomorrow and Steve doesn’t. The odd case of them not having shift together.
So he ends up with Eddie and in the morning he is having breakfast with Eddie and Wayne and they discuss their plans for the day. Eddie and Wayne have some plans for the day. You know, to spend some quality family time maybe? Or maybe they have just some errands to run, stuff to figure out because of all the shit that went down during spring break.. Whatever, they have plans for the day and Steve.. doesn’t want to intrude any more than he already is so he is not going with them. Even when they say he can come too.
And it’s summer time so the kids are busy with whatever the teens are busy with. And Steve loves them dearly and loves spending time with them but he tries to give them space and not smother them with his worrying so yeah he can’t spend the day with them either. They’ll come to him if they need him.. He could always go bother Robin at work but going to your work place on your free day because you have nothing better to do sounds a little sad.. So maybe he’ll just have to suck it up and go back home then.
But then Eddie offers that he could stay. You know he doesn’t have to leave just because Wayne and Eddie do. Like he could stay, it’s fine. They’ll be back by 6 or so and they could have dinner together then? And since Steve really really really doesn’t want to go home right now he accepts (after asking about thousand times if it’s really okay tho).
So soon he is left alone with a “Feel free to educate yourself with my music collection while we’re gone” and see you laters. Steve didn’t really have any plans for today and he kinda left in a hurry too so he didn’t bring much stuff with him but oh well he’ll figure something out.
He starts collecting the breakfast dishes and well he could wash them. He has the time and it would be just nice little gesture since the Munsons let him stay and all. And then it just makes sense to wipe the counters and the table after that. Like who would wash the dishes and then just leave crumbs all over the place? Oh. And I guess he just got some of those crumbs to the floor now. Well it’s just a quick little sweep. Could vacuum the whole place now too since he started. But first he needs to declutter a bit because goddamn Eddie why are your clothes and books just everywhere. Might as well do some laundry while he’s at it.
When Eddie and Wayne come back home around 6pm the place they’re in for a quite a shock. Not only is the place spotless but they’re greeted with the smell of food as well. “Oh you’re back! I’m making dinner, it’s just about done” Steve welcomes them enthusiastically but start to doubt himself a little after seeing the surprised faces. “I.. hope that’s okay”
Only then Steve realizes he may have got little carried away with his cleaning spree. Like maybe cleaning the windows was a tad bit too much.. Ugh he so hopes they’re not too weirded out.. Honestly he didn’t even realize he basically spent all day doing household chores that and it’s not even his own house. He glad the Munsons don’t comment on it too much tho, other than “you didn’t have to” and slightly awkward thank yous.
They start eating and now they drown Steve in compliments. (“Wow this is so good, what brand is this?” “Uhm.. it’s not a-.. I made it” “…Like from scratch?!” “Yeah..” “Holy shit dude this is seriously so fucking delicious” “Language. But he is right son, this is fucking delicious”)
At some point during dinner Wayne makes a comment about it starting to rain and Steve lets out a shocked gasp “my laundry!” and rushes out to collect it from outside where he hung it to dry. Wayne asks amusedly if Steve is a housewife or something, just ready to crack little jokes there but then spots the dopey smile on his nephew’s face, gaze still lingering in the doorway where Steve run off to. He smiles knowingly at Eddie when he finally looks back at him, now starting to blush and trying to stammer some sort of reply.
Steve comes back in and they finish dinner and hang out a bit together until Steve and Eddie go to Eddie’s room. Steve again apologizes because he got so carried away and hope he didn’t cross any lines. Eddie little amusedly asks if Steve really thinks they’d be mad at him for tidying up the place? Just helping them out a little so they can relax? Like in all seriousness, after all that shit show that happened during spring, Wayne could use a little break and just relax.
(“And you couldn’t?” “Well sure I could, but in this case he needs it more. If you haven’t noticed I’m not much of help in the cleaning department” “Oh yeah, I’ve noticed” “Hey!” “What? You asked!”)
Eddie then asks if Steve “educated himself” with the music. Steve tells to educate him himself. Eddie takes that as a challenge.
Steve spends the other night.
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Text
That poor, unfortunate, sweet child...
Can you guys tell just how much I like Octavinelle yet
ALSO ALSO was anyone gonna tell me that Flotsam and Jetsam had their own songs in the broadway version of The Little Mermaid or was I just supposed to find out from this cover?
Warning(s): tweels are over-protective/possessive, Azul is a yandere, forced kissing, mentioned fighting and injuries, reader is gn but the term 'merman' is used to refer to them, I'm writing this super late at night again so the quality might not be great
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You would do anything to get Jade and Floyd to stop bothering you.
And, well... you did do anything.
You signed your name upon the golden contract scroll.
"Ah, thank you, (Y/N). I assure you, all your problems will be solved very soon."
"...Azul, why do my legs hurt?" You asked, immediately assuming he had something to do with it.
"It's simple. In order for you to get something..." He smiled. "I must take something in return!"
You fell to your knees, screaming out in pain. It it felt like... like someone was stabbing your legs... or like they were melting...
"Does it really hurt that bad?" Azul asked. "Well... I do suppose that'd be rather painful for you... do quiet down, though, we wouldn't want to scare away the other patrons."
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!" You yelled.
"I simply did what I had to in order to get Jade and Floyd to leave you alone."
That was weeks ago.
What was Azul's solution to the twins bothering you? His solution was... to turn you into a merman. Probably the worst solution he could've thought of, in your opinion.
Well, Jade and Floyd did bother you less now that you were one of them, but still, this sucks.
You were allowed to swim in the stupid little fish tank at Octavinelle's stupid little business and all the stupid little customers find your stupid little new body super cool leading Azul to get more people to agree to his stupid little deals, ugh, you hated it.
Floyd taught you how to use your tail properly, which was nice of him, but it didn't change the fact that he was really fucking annoying.
You didn't want to be here.
Jade and Floyd would wrap their freakishly long tails around you in, I don't know, I guess some kind of hug?
"Poor child." Floyd whispered to you.
"Poor, sweet child." Jade added.
"Aaaahhh, you're not happy with your situation, are you...?"
"How sad."
"How traaagic."
"But (Y/N), don't you know?"
"This is what's best for you!"
"Now that you're here, in the water, a part of our world, we know that you are safe every hour of the day while we're away at school."
"Yeeeah... we were worried for you, just so worried, when you were going to classes! And now that you don't, we don't have to feel so scaaaared for you, ehe~!"
"This is the best solution."
'For you, maybe.' You thought. You wanted to say it out loud, but, well... you don't see that turning out well for you.
But, what the three of you didn't know was that someone else had his myopic eyes on you.
Every day Azul saw you in that new body of yours, he found himself becoming more and more attracted to you.
It was vexing, how beautiful you were. Everything about you. Your fins, your tail's colouration, even the parts of you that didn't change during your transformation somehow was more attractive to him now.
What was different? Was it just that you were now the same species as him? Is that the only reason? No, it's more than that, it HAS to be more than that! Is it... jealousy? Is the only reason he likes you so much because Jade and Floyd like you so much?
Well, whatever the reason, Azul was forced to admit that he was falling in love with you.
"I'll let them have their fun." Azul said to himself, chuckling as he looked into the tank. The twins were too busy smothering you to notice him, and even if they did, there's a thick layer of glass between him and them, they wouldn't be able to hear what he was saying. "I'll let them play with (Y/N) a while longer. But, their time is running out. Long before (Y/N)'s theirs, they will be mine. I'm sure of it."
"Um... Housewarden A-Ashengrotto...?" Some random Octavinelle student asked. "You, uh... not to interrupt your plotting... but, there are some clients waiting for you."
"Ah yes, tell them I'll be right there."
"Yes, Housewarden!" The nameless student ran off.
"(Y/N)... you poor, unfortunate soul. We'll be together soon." He kissed his finger and pressed it to the glass.
Things haven't been getting worse, which is good, but that doesn't mean it's been getting any better.
You've been getting more used to this half-fish body. And it was kinda cool, in a way... you gotta look for the good things in life, you know?
You were just relaxing, wondering if you would ever get to turn back to normal. Then, you heard something enter the water, and the water became... cloudy...?
Oh. Oh, this is ink, isn't it.
"(Y/N), you have to promise not to make fun of me, ok?" You heard a voice that was absolutely Azul ask. Great, this is exactly what you needed.
Wait... maybe it is exactly what you needed! Maybe you can convince him to tear up the contract!
"Why would I make fun of you, Azul?" You asked in a sweet tone. "You're so amazing, there's nothing to make fun of you for!"
"Oh...! Well I... t-that's very kind of you, (Y/N)." Azul said, sounding nervous in a romantic way (don't come for me I couldn't find a word). "Every passing day, every time I see you... I find myself falling deeper in love with you."
The inky cloud disippated, and you saw Azul in his octopus form. And you had one thing you needed to ask.
"Why aren't you wearing your glasses?"
"As an octopus, I have speacial muscles in my eyes that help me overcome my near-sightedness." Azul explained. "Naturally, when in human form, I don't have those muscles and thus need glasses."
"Azul... you like me, don't you...?" You asked.
"Ah-! Yes, I-I suppose that's true..." Azul looked away from you, a blue blush spreading across his face.
'Well, if you do like me, then..." You leaned forwards. "Rip up the contract."
"Mmm... no, I can't do that, (Y/N)..." Azul said, sounding troubled. "That contract is protecting you. You know how... protective... Jade and Floyd are of you. If things were to go back to normal..." He shuddered at the thought.
"What? People would die?" You jokingly asked.
"Well... yes." Azul said. "I'm almost sure that's exactly what would happen."
"Oh."
"Yep."
"But-"
"You'd be much safer with me." Azul stared directly at you. "Wouldn't you agree? I could get Jade and Floyd to agree to a contract where the terms include never being anywhere near you! wouldn't that be perfect? It would, wouldn't it? (Y/N), don't you agree? Don't you agree?!"
"Wha-? G-get your tentacles off me!" You yelled.
"(Y/N), let's make a new deal, why don't we~?" Azul asked, leaning in close as he wrapped his tentacles around you. "I'll give you your legs back..." He whispered. "All you need to do is love me."
Before you could say anything else, two people (or rather, two morays) dove into the water.
Oh, this can't be good.
"What do you think you're doing, Azul?"
"You think you can just try and steal Shrimpy away from us?"
"We won't allow it."
"They're ours."
Azul decided to choose a very risky move. He kissed you. He kissed you directly on the lips, passionately, nearly making out with you. As some sort of power play, maybe? You're not sure why he did it, truthfully.
The aftermath of that was obviously a fight between the trio.
Azul did manage to get out of the water and escape within an inch of his life.
"(Y/N), he didn't hurt you too badly, did he?" Jade asked.
"He didn't hurt me at all!" You insisted.
"He didn't try to force you into a deal, did he?" Floyd asked.
"N-no! No! He didn't! Why would he?" You asked, hoping they wouldn't realize you were lying. That contract Azul mentioned... you can go back to normal, if only you love him! And... and he can make sure the twins never bother you again.
Quite the tempting deal.
"Well alright then!" Floyd smiled almost too widely. "I'm gonna go make sure Azul isn't too injured. All things considered, we need someone to run the Lounge... it'd be so booooooooring running it."
"Yes, agreed. Speaking of injuries, I should go visit the infirmary." Jade said, before turning to you. "(Y/N), you'll be ok on your own, right?"
"O-of course I will! You know me!"
"Alright then! Later Shrimpy!"
"See you soon, (Y/N)."
To be honest, you don't care what you have to do for it to happen, you just want your life to go back to normal.
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anjelicawrites · 1 year
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Keep reading
Paring: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader
Synopsis: Aemond is being a little shit, his lady wife is done with him. Fill for the prompt “Ugh,baby, I cant- please…” from this prompt list. 
Warnings: blowjob. Wife is older than Aemond but her age is not stated. If you are a minor kindly fuck off. Smut is still going to be here for you to read, but I will not go to prison. Thanks! :)
Aemond is usually extremely mature, most of the time he acts too old for his age; in comparison you, who are older than him, but have always had a bubbly and cheerful disposition, appear to be younger. 
Even behind closed doors your husband acts older than the twenty years old lad that he is. During the first period of your wedding, which had been obviously orchestrated by your two families, he was shy and aloof while you tried your best to make him feel welcomed, even though you didn't know if you would be able to manage a life with him since your engagement had been short and you had met him only once without a real chance to speak with him.
Aemond had been nothing but a gentleman during the whole marriage ceremony and made love to you slowly and gently, a bit clumsily as well, since neither of you had an idea of what you were doing. Even then, when your noses were a hindrance during your kisses, elbows flying everywhere and what? you get cramps during sex?  he didn't laugh. He managed to keep a stern face, while you tried not to giggle and ruin whatever mood you two had managed to create. 
After weeks of painfully slow acquaintance (Aemond’s stiffness didn’t help), you had reached the conclusion that Aemond was a young man with a cunning intelligence, a big heart and a thick wall between himself and the world around him to protect himself from the courtly life of King's Landing. But you liked him and understood that he needed time to show his true colors and decided to give him the space and time. 
He thought your brain worked in mysterious ways, not in the chauvinist sense that women are too different from men to understand, but meaning that he couldn’t always get the twists and turns your mind did to get to a conclusion. That kept him on his toes, but fascinated him at the same time. Your sharp tongue and painfully bright mind made him think his mother had wisely chosen him a good match. Your interest in history gave him something to talk about: he had been afraid you two had nothing in common and was paralyzed by the idea of having to endure a life made of social events and no communication behind closed doors.
He had quickly realized you were trustworthy and loyal, ready to put an united front when in court, all qualities not so easy to find in any daughter of the houses of the Seven Kingdoms. 
You would randomly tell him things about yourself, facts that any other lady would never confess, even under duress but you, in your frank and honest ways, didn’t mind sharing with him, like the fact you had almost ran away with the circus when you were a wee lass and your parents had kept you under strict lock and key up until your wedding day. 
"Would you still go, given the chance?" He had asked you, not surprised by your confession
You told him the truth, that you are too old to pull that kind of stunt, but who knows, if you’ll ever get bored of being a princess, you might just decide to try again. His response was an amused “Hmm” and the request not to do such a thing, or he’d have to send an army after yours truly. You promised you’ll leave him clues, little crumbs for Vhagar to follow. Aemond laughed briefly, surprising you. It is after conversations like this one, that he had let his guard down for you, slowly slowly and gently gently, letting you in, permitting you to discover sides of him he had thought long dead.  
Are you straying from your line of thought? Probably. What were you saying? Ah yes, Aemond is far too mature for his age but sometimes he manages to act like the annoying young man he had never had the chance to be, like he is doing now. 
 It's a slow night. The two of you had dinner alone in your rooms and just the fact that you two didn't have to deal with the political intricacies for a night, had put Aemond in a good mood. Sitting by the fire to read your respective books made him relax; granted, he hasn't lost the broom in his back you are sure he had swallowed when he was a wee lad, but for his standards Aemond is relaxed: he has lost the eyepatch after the servants left for the night, his shirt is partially unbuttoned and his legs are splayed open. The problem is the history book he is reading from; to be more precise, the author Aemond loves and you despise with all your heart. 
Aemond knows this; you have spent more than one night debating about the conceited asshole, your husband defending him and you stating your criticism eloquently and vehemently (Aemond might have started falling for you because of your brilliance. He is not admitting this to himself, so shush!). But tonight your husband thinks it is funny to read random passages out loud, while you are trying to concentrate on your book. 
As previously stated, when Aemond is in a good mood, sometimes he lets his annoying teenager self surface, and the little shit just loves to get a rise out of you; tonight the young asshole even expects you to grumble and go on a tirade, but you are in a pecurial mood yourself tonight. 
Your lord husband wants to read out loud disturbing you? He'll do that to his heart's content. 
You close your book delicately and rise to your feet. Aemond notices your movements without really seeing them. To his trained eye you are not a threat, you are his lady wife who is going to stroke the flames and then go back to her plush armchair; his brain doesn't register you kneeling between his splayed legs until your hands are on his breeches and your are opening the latches. 
"Keep reading" you say freeing his cock
 "What are you doing?" His left hand grabs the armrest while he adjusts himself on the armchair, a hiss escaping his mouth the moment you lazily stroke his cock. 
 "What does it look like, husband of mine? For someone so smart, sometimes you are as dense as a wall of brick" you say and lick the head. 
 Aemond hisses again and his hips move on their own accord, but you stop the movement with a firm hand on his hips
 “Here’s the rules - you say while lightly caressing his cock with the tip of a finger - you keep reading, I keep pleasuring you. You stop, I stop” 
 The black of the iris has already devoured the lilac and his breath is shorter than before. Oh, the power you have on the man who rides the bigger dragon in the Seven Kingdoms: you are not really stroking his cock and he is already painfully hard and ready to go.
 From the way his jaw sets, you know he has accepted your challenge, but his hands are shaking on the leather cover of the book. He tries to school his voice as your hand wraps firmly around his cock and your tongue darts to lick the tip. 
With a firm movement you position his cock so that you can start licking from the base up, long strokes using the flat of your tongue, again and again, until you decide to slowly, oh so slowly, take him into your mouth: you want him to feel every inch of his cock being sucked and worshiped. You can hear him reading on, his voice still controlled but some moans are definitely there and you redouble your efforts sucking your cheeks in to create more friction. This seems to do the trick as he grabs the book tight and lets out a long moan of pleasure, and doesn’t continue with the task, so you stop and stare innocently at him who is bent over, eye closed and breath short. You delicately push him backwards, until is back is again against the plush chair, the way he stares at you would make another person run away in terror, you just laugh in his face and grip his balls gently
 “I’ll make you pay for this” he spits out
“I don’t think your beloved author has written this - you smile and give his head quick kitten lick - you brought this upon yourself, valzȳrys”.
 Aemond grits his teeth and starts again, but this time his voice is not as controlled as before, it breaks with every stroke of your hand and every lick of your tongue. You eye him from your position and you see the white-knuckle hold he has on the old tome and decide to finish him off. You slowly gather him again in your mouth, cheeks hollowing, until he meets the back of your throat; you keep him there, trying to control your gag reflex as he struggles to read on. When he seems to have gained a bit of command over himself, you swallow him down and he screams, his torso smacking violently against the seatback as you keep him there, massaging his shaft with your throat.
You have almost ran out of air when you hear him beg
 “Ugh,baby, I cant- please…” as you release his cock and he comes violently all over your face.
 The book lies long forgotten on the floor as he tries to regain his strength; you stare at him, licking away as much of his seed as your tongue can find. 
 “You shouldn’t have done that” he says as he tries to grab at you, but he is still so fazed that he slips on the floor and you easily straddle him, your hand around his throat, squeezing delicately
“You were saying?” you whisper against his lips as you feel his cock trying valiantly to react.
 Aemond puts one hand in your hair to push you down to his lips, to kiss you passionately.
 This was supposed to be a quiet night in, let’s all say goodbye to that.
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