#18+ pidge

[heynhay]

*sigh* voltron misc drawings

[bosspigeon]

pretty.... pretty boy...

[jesseisstuckinside]

Today is a Great and Terrible Day, to be treated with sorrow and disgust. In the past few hours, while the stars spin north of my head, I had come to realize something truly devastating. I misplaced my pigeon folder. Hours (30 minutes) of searching by hand before sending my troops (file explorer) to scan high and low over the land (D drive) and sea (C drive) to no avail. I am in mourning (lookin' at pictures of pigeons) and attempting to piece back together what I lost (savin' pictures of pigeons in a new folder).

[kidge-planet]

Kidge headcanon 18:

Colleen really think that Pidge "choosed" the best husband she could have ever choosed.

at first, when she met Keith, She sure never thought he would be a serious man... In fact, she had heard Iverson saying that he was a trouble maker.

She never thought of him as a potential son in law before she noticed how Katie was spending ALL of her free time in the Atlas with him and that she was giving him soft eyes. HECK, she even fell asleep with him in the training room, curled up against him...

Colleen thought that eventually, It'll pass her... She always thought that her smart Katie would have ended up with a doctor or something like that and Keith wasn't any of that.

But when she saw that Katie, after month, would still call him every days, that they would meet often or even that he was sending her gifts across space, she understood that eventually, something more serious was going on.

Colleen gets to know Keith better and to really appreciate him. She discovered so many aspects about him! He was helpfull, caring, polite and nice but yet pretty serious from time to time. He was also smarter than she thought, after all...

Then Katie told her that they had been together for a while now. Colleen internally knew it.. She was glad, she, after all these years, kind of trusted Keith.

Then marriage, Baby, yadayada....

Keith and Pidge would drop their first son at the Holt's when they had to work 'til late, and, at the end of the day, the first one to end their shift would have to go get their son. Keith would come and OMG, Colleen would be amazed of how he talks to that little boy. "such a good father..." She would internally think. She also noticed that Kayden ( first son) would always be happy to see his father, she concluded that Keith was a good father and that he was REALLY taking carre of his son and caring about him. She had to see him being a great dad a few times.

She is so happy that her daughter found someone has amazing as Keith.

(Forgot to say that she was a lil worried at first because of the "half galra" part. She was scared for the baby but also because she would think about the fact that galrans are fighters with instincs... eventually, Keith proved her wrong.)

Idk if what I wrote is correct bc im TIIIIRED so pleas, if you notice anything wrong/weird, tell me ! :)))))

[iloveboysinred]

Hiiii how are you ??

Hope your okay, would it be possible to have a lil smuty keith x afab reader fic, at the episode where they go to the pool that allura told them about (I don't remember wich episode it was), and like he gets all flustered from seing reader in her bikini, and a lil jealous cus lance tries flirting with reader.

Ofc take ur time, and I hope you rest well !!!!<3<3

Rendezvous | [Keith Kogane]

mdni 18+ content | Keith Kogane x afab! reader

cw; explicit sexual content, p in v sex, jealous Keith, rough sex, mean Keith, spanking, semi-public sex, orgasm denial, not really canon adjacent.

hi! I'm doing okay, it took a lot of will (and spliffs) to write this since writers block and lack of motivation has been whooping my ssssaa. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

masterlist

Landing on a tropical planet for a temporary break was like a dream come true for you and the other paladins. The warm, humid climate almost made it feel like you were all back home on a regular sunny day. The whole crew had decided to spend their break time differently, fully taking advantage of the few hours of peace, savoring every second of paradise before you were up and running around space again.

Shiro had decided to take the productive route, opting to spend his time strengthening his bond with the black lion, deeming it absolutely necessary after the recent battle against Zarkon, where he almost took complete control of the vessel. Pidge and Hunk spent there's in the kitchen, no doubt creating new recipes with the food items collected on weekly supply hauls from local planets. Allura had been in her room all day, playing games like dress up and hide n' seek with her mice, the castle walls echoing her laughter while Coran made some maintenance repairs to the castle.

You, Keith and Lance had mutually agreed to share the pool, the rising temperature of the castle prompting you to finally wear your bikini. It was a simple but sexy red once piece, the panty accentuating the curve of your hips and the connecting top snuggly holding your breasts in place.

Keith shamelessly eyed you down as soon as he saw you, his face slightly flushing at the sight of your exposed skin. It was fun, seeing him so flustered-- especially knowing he had seen it all before. You played coy, bending over in front of him to pick up something you had "dropped" and adjusting your breasts in the bikini top over and over again, making sure he caught the way they settled back in to place, knowing exactly what was going through his mind, his hungry gaze making it all the more obvious.

You knew you took it too far, though, when you began to play around with Lance. The two of you splashed at each other, swimming around the pool competitively. Lance's natural affinity to water made it hard to keep up. He swam circles around you, calling out flirty little comments as he doused you in water whenever he got the chance. Keith remained in rigid silence, watching the both of you interact with a furrow in his brow. You could tell he was irked, his expression twisting into one you knew well the closer you got to Lance. He was Jealous. Brazenly so.

It was that same jealousy that had you where you were now-- bent over in the pool storage room, your hands gripping onto the wire shelf in front of you. The shelf rattled against the wall from the movement of your bodies, Keith rocking you back and fourth on his dick. The grip he had on your hips was bruising, his fingers digging into your skin as he fucked into you, his teeth grit tight, trying hard to keep his groans of pleasure concealed. You had less self control, your moans and whines for more echoing through the room, all shame and fear of getting caught out the window the second he entered you. He pressed his chest to your back, the bikini you had been wearing discarded and forgotten somewhere in the room, leaving your body completely open to his touch. He huffed and groaned into your ear, his hands leaving your hips to roam up and down your body, coming up to knead and fondle your breasts, squeezing them roughly while he thrust into you.

"Keith s-slow down" you gasped, the breath barley able to escape your lungs, your mouth hanging open in ecstasy when his fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles over the bud and effectively putting a pause to your pleas. "Slow down, baby?" he grunted, his voice a deep rasp in your ear, sounding nothing like the gentle lover you knew so well. "I thought this was what you wanted" he pulled you closer to his body, grinding his hips into your ass, the tip of his dick pressing into you deep. The vicious pace of his hips combined with the euphoric stimulation on your clit was starting to make your vision blur. "Parading around that asshole in that tight, fucking bikini." he sunk his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, making you cry out. "You think he could fuck you better than me? huh?" his hips snapped into you, hitting your sweet spot with abandon, the obscene squelching of your pussy made you flustered, the erotic noises made you cover your face from his view as your body fell apart beneath him.

He took in a breath, delivering a stinging swat to your ass when you didn't speak. "What, you don't hear me talking to you?" he sneered, smirking in satisfaction as you trembled beneath him, your quivering pussy gushing from your still building arousal. His hands came down to your ass, kneading the fat in his hands to soothe the sting. "C'mon baby, tell me what I wanna hear" he panted against your ear, his hips never ceasing their assault, the thick head of his dick abusing your sweet spot over and over and over. "A-ah, ah! no, k-keith no" you answered, your words fading from coherency to mindless broken words and babbles, your brain foggy from the pleasure buzzing up and down your veins. "mmmh, good girl" you felt him smile against the nape of your neck, grabbing your chin to swing your face around, leaving a bruising kiss against your swollen lips. You whined into his mouth feeling your body begin to tense, your swollen clit pulsing from the continuous stimulation from his fingers.

Right when you were on the brink of your high, your body contorting in pleasure from your impending orgasm--he pulled out of you quicker than you could blink. You whipped around to look at him in shock, eyes glossy with unshed tears. He acted oblivious, casually tucking his still hard dick away into his swim trunks. You watched him in silent outrage as he picked up the forgotten bikini, setting it down on the shelf in front of you.

"Keith, you can't be fucking serious" you gasped, your boyfriend giving you a sheepish shrug in response, "What, can't take what you dish out?" you scowled at him, frustration shooting up your spine at his snarky remark, your legs shakily holding you up as you struggled to slip the bikini back on. Keith chuckled, pressing one last needy kiss to your lips. "I think I'll head back to my room..I've had enough swimming for today" he whispered against your lips, his words holding a double meaning, an invitation. He pulled away from you, rendering you breathless as he walked out the door, leaving you no choice left but to follow, pouncing on him as soon as you reached his quarters.

[alienboy51]

i feel like people forget when shiro went on the kerberos mission, he was in space for a year. i was trying to figure out when shiro and keith met because i wanted to know how long they've known each other. i saw a couple people saying something like... keith and shiro had only known each other for a year or two before shiro left?? which??? HEY??? MAKES ZERO SENSE??? maybe i'm beating a dead horse but i haven't been in the fandom since 2019 so sue me. i've decided shiro and keith knew each other for at least four years? i was previously under the impression keith and shiro met when keith was 12, but that... wouldn't make much sense. it would put shiro at 19, and i doubt that's old enough for him to be a senior officer or whatever he was. it was high ranking, i know that much. evidently the garrison doesn't accept kids under 15, maybe meaning pidge had to lie about her age to get in? although in the paladin's handbook that came out after season 2, it was stated she was 15. anyway, shiro and keith have a 7 year age gap, because as stated in the previously mentioned handbook, shiro was 25 as of season 2, and keith was 18. this means that in the flashback episode at the beginning of season 7, shiro had to have been at least 20 and that would place keith at 14 or 15. i doubt there's anyone who cares about this, but i couldn't find any information online and i was frankly scared to look very deeply for fear of finding sheith posts. 😟

[blazewatergem]

I gotta chime in here :D

Mostly that A - I absolutely agree. Indulgent fiction is exactly that, indulgent. Do whatever you want, it’s there to make you happy.

B - My fam and I literally watched The Meg 2: The Trench :’D absolute blast, I have come up with some theories on how the lizard dogs could do it. It’s a stretch, but, let’s be real. I’m known for those XD

SO my excuse why they can do it(outside of, as dear Pidge said, Rule of Cool/Fun) is they’re potentially a different subspecies.

Reasoning being the ones we see in the start are, obviously, in the tropics. They’re on an island, and when we see them dive - they stick reasonable close to shore. Look, that T-Rex was still on the sandbar when it got one. That’s close to land, and therefore we’ll call these the Land Lizards.

I think the ones in the Trench may have adapted to deep water, yes, but kept land features do to being closely related. Pressure adaptation can be written as being part of a diving species, and legs can even be claimed to cling to the ocean floor. Like moon walking! Keeping them from drifting up and into waiting predators mouths :’D

Obviously, everything I’ve written is also just in fun. I personally enjoy playing mad scientist with monster movies. It’s my way of fun y’know? 🥰

10/10 movie, and 10/10 a believer of Rule of Cool/Fun. Thanks for coming to my TED talk

Very firm believer and defender of "indulgent fiction doesn't have to be realistic or acknowledge any of the downsides of what would happen if this played out in real life because this isn't real life, it's an imaginary world"

[the-californicationist]

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 10 --- Ending)

THURSDAY — 10:24PM: 18 hours until the wedding

As Johnny popped open the door to the distillery’s main hall, his grip on your hand tightened. It felt as if he was holding onto you in a strong current, working as hard as he could to keep you from slipping away. Yet, wave after wave of anxiety and fear crashed between you, trying its best to pull you apart. He was having none of it, and as you wilted, seeing everyone’s faces staring at you in the hall, he strengthened, all but carrying you along with him, ready to face whatever music was behind that black, wooden portal. 

He walked in front of you, shielding you from whatever terror waited for you just around the corner of the short corridor. Then, as he rounded it, confronting the crowd, you heard a raucous, jeering applause. The guests at the rehearsal dinner were whooping and clapping, carrying on about the most important (and embarrassing) moment of your life, smiling and laughing at you and your protector. 

But, you didn’t care about the crowd. You were scanning it for Pidge. Your eyes moved along the wall of faces, frantically searching for her. Then, pushing between Price and Gaz, there she was, coming towards you with Hamish not far behind. 

The rest of the guests turned back to their business, still sharing laughs and comments to each other about your impromptu display of affection, but no one followed Pidge into the hallway to spy on you further. 

When she saw your face, hers changed. It had been blank, emotionless, and cold. But, now, it was something as far from that as could be. You watched bright, fat tears fill the bottom lashes in her eyes, and her hand went to cover the grimace on her mouth. 

Johnny shoved you behind him, blocking you from his sister’s supposed wrath, but you spoke around him,

“I’m so sorry, Pidge. I…” you sniffled as you looked up at her, fighting back your own sobs and trying to speak, “I tried so hard to stay away. Please, believe me.”

“Aye,” Johnny interrupted, straightening himself up pridefully, “She did, Pigeon. It was my fault.”

Pidge’s face twisted into an angry snarl, and she spun around as if to walk away, then she turned back to him. You thought she might slap him right across his mouth, and you weren’t positive, but you thought you could feel Johnny tensing up in front of you, bracing for it as he protected you. 

Her face was displaying every emotion. It was pure chaos, and your heart ached to know that you had been the catalyst for it. But, as soon as she realized what she wanted to feel, she committed to reaching out for him, and she wrapped him in her arms, crying into his chest. He held her, letting her tears soak into his shirt. 

“I kent so, you wee fuckin’ weapon,” she told him, her voice ragged and muffled by his body. You could barely understand her, “I spent all these years kennin’ she was the one who’d change your daft mind. I kent you’d love her, Johnny-boy, but I didnae want you to.”

His voice was strained as he asked her,

“Why, Pidge? Didnae you want me to be happy?”

“I wanted you to be yourself. The old you. The one who wanted to be home with us, with your family. You let me think you hated to be with me! You would leave and then, you’d go off with…” Her eyes darted to you as if to apologize for what she was about to say, “Whatever hen was the bloody closest. I didnae ken what to think.”

It took Johnny a moment to answer her. You were standing off to the side now, and he looked straight at you as he spoke, as if he was using you for fortification,

“I wasnae well, Brigette. It’s been right hard on me sometimes. I’d come back, and I’d get angry, just like da used to. I remember holding you at night when he’d get in that way, and you tried to hide your keenin’ but I heard you… and I didnae want that man back in your bloody house. So, I’d crash on couches ‘til I could come ‘round.”

Johnny sighed, listening to Pidge’s cries subside as she heard his words, and he went on,

“It was easier to spend a night here or a night there, enough time to be able to excuse away the bad dreams and the anger, but not enough to overstay my welcome. But, I missed out on a lot of time with you, and I ken I’ll never get it back. I dinnae want to miss any more of it.”

“Why the lassies, then? If all you needed was a safe space to be, you could’ve —”

Johnny smiled, shrugging,

“Any time of night, they’d always say yes. Even if I just crashed on the sofa. I may or may not’ve enjoyed the reputation a wee bit more than I should’ve done.”

Johnny’s soft grin turned on you, and he brought your hand up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles as if to apologize to you. 

“And he didn’t sleep with Cherise,” you interjected. 

Pidge looked at you and then back to her brother as if waiting for him to confirm. He shrugged, dragging a tired hand down his face. Johnny laughed,

“Just a wee bit o’ flirtin’, to be honest.”

She smacked him on his chest, hard. He winced and laughed some more. 

“Why didnae you tell me?” Her question was directed at both of you, and you could tell she expected a truthful answer. So, you plucked up the courage and told her, 

“I couldn’t lose you, Pidge. You’re the only real family I have, and I couldn’t bear it if you hated me for breaking your rules about dating your brother.”

You waited for her response, and it seemed like she was trying to find the words. She dug deep within herself to choose them, and every moment that went by, you prayed that they would at least be kind, that you would at least have a chance. 

While she was locked in thought, Johnny’s hand gripped yours, sealing your palms together, and pulled you into him, clutching you to his side in the cramped quarters of the hallway. Both of you were staring at his sister, two prisoners awaiting judgment. 

Hamish stood beside her, his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him and let out a ragged breath, grabbing your free hand in hers,

“I didnae want you to end up like our ma. When she got sick…”

You squeezed her hand to help her hold back her tears,

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Pidge.”

“When she got sick, he wasnae there. He didnae watch her layin’ there in pain. While he was bleedin’ to death in bloody Sarajevo, she was on her second round of the chemo. And I never forgave him. Still havnae forgave him. And so, when Johnny-boy comes to me and tells me he’s joined the SAS? I just… in my mind, he just took da’s place. I know tha’s not fair. He’s his own man. 

But, then I watched you takin’ care of me after all tha’ mess. You were there for me, babe. And I couldnae bear it if he let you down in the way that da did our mam,” she laughed then, wiping old tears away, “And I tried so hard to keep him away. I’d cancel plans with you when he was home. I knew you were his. You were everything that my old Johnny loved. 

I thought he’d changed. I thought he’d lost himself to the desert. I thought he’d leave you, and then I’d lose you. And I couldnae lose you.”

“I’m so sorry, Pidge,” you told her. 

She pulled you away from Johnny and wrapped you in a long hug, 

“I’m sorry, too.”

“She is,” Johnny said, rubbing your back as Pidge hugged you. 

She pulled away to look up at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He cupped your chin in his huge hands, warming your neck with his soft grip. He stared into your eyes, looking at you as if there was nothing else to see, 

“She is everything that I love. She’s everything, Pidge.”

SATURDAY — 4:15AM: 1 hour after the wedding  

You could barely get your keys into the lock, as weak as he was making you with his kisses on your neck. Johnny had groped you in the car, he’d kissed you until you’d moaned in the elevator, and he’d all but chased you down the hallway, laughing and grinning like a fiend. 

“Johnny!” You gasped. 

“Hurry, lass. I cannae wait much longer,” he nuzzled your jaw.

You giggled again, pushing the door open and tumbling through it. He shut and locked it behind him, tossing your bag and jacket on the futon. Marlowe made herself scarce, still not used to seeing him in your house. 

He pushed you into the kitchen, kissing you up against the countertop, holding your face in his hands. 

“Are you my woman, thief? Tell me.”

“I am, Johnny. All yours. I’ll show you.”

You knelt on your kitchen floor, the glitter of your dress crinkling on the concrete. You smiled up at him, enjoying the concerned look on his face, and lifted the hem of his great kilt, tossing it over your head. He tried to stop you at first, 

"No, thief... you dinnae need to… oh, fuck.” 

You found his cock with your lips, kissing his shaft. He was twitching, already hardening, swelling against your mouth, fully uncovered beneath his sporran. The large fur pouch tapped you against the back of your head as you kissed him, but you didn’t care. You set your tongue on him like you were starving, licking him from base to tip, using your hands to massage his length and his balls. Your efforts seemed to change his mind because, now, he was begging you in a deep voice, 

“Don't... don't stop… please, mèirleach. God, your mouth…" 

Johnny was coming apart above you in a literal sense. You felt the sporran fall away from your head and watched it fall to the ground next to his feet with a loud clunk. The soft wool of his great kilt swished against the small of your back, bare as it was in your gown. It tickled you on his behalf, petting you as you bobbed your head, trying desperately to swallow his challenging length. 

He was tugging off his shirt now, and you watched the white cotton tail disappear up and out of his waistband as he yanked it from the belt. You lifted one of your hands and pushed it through the bottom of the pleated fabric, popping out of his belt, rubbing his abs from below as you sucked him. 

Johnny grabbed your exploring fingers in his, gripping you tight, panting in heavy gasps above you,

“Fuckin’ hell, thief. I’m gonna come like this.”

Then, through the fabric of the tartan, you felt his hand on the back of your head, cradling you, shaking like a leaf. You took a deep breath and tried to fit him in your throat. He gagged you, too thick for your throat to handle him, but you fought through it, relaxing into him, trying your best to shock him, to make him crest over his waves of pleasure. 

Johnny’s hand became heavy against your skull, and you knew you had him. You swallowed into his salty head, over and over, coaxing him to come, licking and sucking him like you were trying to get to his warm, melting core. 

“Please, mèirleach! I’m gonna… I cannae… please, please, please…”

He was crying out above you, shamelessly thrusting himself into your throat, unable to keep himself under control. You were drooling from your lips, and you felt it coating your chin. You let it happen, unwilling to be embarrassed, protected by the darkness of his kilt. You held onto his hand above his belt, and you let your other rub beneath his balls, teasing that forbidden space in between. 

As soon as you did, he let out a dark whine, ending it in a sharp shout, releasing his load into your mouth. You tasted him, felt his salty cream slide into your belly, sucking him clean as he finished. 

The cool air of the room hit your wet mouth and neck as he pulled his kilt over you, staring down at you with a ferocious, hungry look, mixed with the warmth of his pleasure and a bit of curious disbelief. He moved his hand back to your head, holding you in place by your hair, gentle enough but sure. Then, he gathered his tartan up in his other hand and used it to wipe your mouth for you, praising you as he did.

“Mo mèirleach, so good for me. So fuckin’ good.”

You stared up at him, admiring his body. The cape of his great kilt had fallen from his shoulder, and his shirt was gone, leaving him bare. All of his muscles were straining with his ragged breathing, working hard to hold him together, dancing under his flushed skin. You rose, kissing his hairy belly, licking over his navel, finding a nipple to suckle against, nipping at it with your teeth as gently as you could, watching him writhe. 

He was studying you now, as if he was seeing you for the first time, and he slipped one of his fingers beneath the strap of your dress, pulling it down your shoulder. It hung there, limply, and all that was left was its twin. He found that one next and tugged it down, watching as the dress cascaded away, revealing the nothing you’d worn underneath. 

Johnny shuddered, gasping in a short breath, staring at your body in the low light. His eyes burned into yours, and he commanded you in a new tone, one you’d not heard before,

“Get to the bed, lass. Now.”

He watched you back up the few steps that it took to reach your mattress, swaying your hips as you did, running your hands over your breasts, teasing yourself and him at the same time. 

Johnny was undressing as he followed you, lifting his shins to untie his ghillie brogues, ripping down the socks and letting his flashings fall out of them. Finally, he pulled out his sharp dagger, the sgian dubh, and let it fall to the counter with a loud bang. Lastly, he popped the boar-shaped buckle of his belt and the heavy kilt fell away, revealing his naked form to you. 

He looked like he weighed as much as a bull. His body was immense, and his hands covered too much of you when he wrapped them around your waist. He could reach, pinky to thumb, across the span of your belly, and he warmed you with his palms, molding you to him like smooth clay. 

Johnny lifted you, taking you by surprise, tossing you onto the bed so you landed on your back. You giggled, and then he shushed you, looming over you, kissing you, tasting himself there, sucking at your tongue and lips hungrily. His hands were kneading your breasts, plucking at your nipples and encouraging them to stiffen beneath his touch. Your giggles turned into soft whimpers, and you felt your pussy throbbing for him, soaking itself, eager for its missing piece.  

Between his kisses, he was whispering to you, chanting his mantra, the same one he’d said before, 

“You’re mine, mèirleach. You’re my woman. Say it.”

“I’m yours, mo chridhe…” You whined, feeling his thick fingers find your clit and discovering how wet you were. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” Johnny growled, sucking the delicate skin along your neck and collarbone, kissing you over and over, leaving a trail of them leading down to a strong latch on your nipple. He was using one of his fingers to press into your wetness, and when he felt the fire within you, he sighed involuntarily, shaking a bit from the sensation. 

“You’re soaked… Oh, fuck. You feel so warm.”

“Don’t stop, Johnny, please…” You cried to him, feeling your whole body tense, ready to come. 

He sat back on his heels, keeping your legs wrapped around his hips, using both hands to play you like a fiddle. And he made you sing for him, twisting his hand and curling his fingertips, stroking you in long, deep movements, pressing down into your hole to give you the sense of girth you’d soon be feeling for real. 

“Are you ready for my cock, mèirleach? Hard again for you already,” he pulled himself up and let his heavy rod rest on top of your clit, sliding himself back and forth through your wet folds. 

“Please… Fuck me, baby, please…” 

“Shh, shh, shh. I’ve got you, thief. I’ve got you. Give me those eyes. There… there you are. Oh, perfect girl. So damn perfect for me. This pussy was made for me; I’m sure of it. Do you ken how I’m sure?”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared at his body as he thrust his cock against your pussy lips, passing through them, making his cockhead glisten with your come. Then, he angled it down into you, and he let his head tease your hole, rubbing it in small circles, letting you feel every bit of his skin as it invaded your body. 

“Here’s how I ken…” He smiled down at you and thrust himself into you as slowly as he could. 

Inch after staggering inch was fed into your heat, stoking the furnace within your belly, warming him up from the inside out. He was holding his breath the entire way in, his face locked in a tight, furious agony. Then, when you felt his base stretch you further, he smiled, tossing his head back in bright, easy joy. 

Johnny looked back down at where you were joined and placed his hand on your belly, feeling himself inside of you, petting your soft skin. His eyes darted up to yours, watching you suffer from the pleasure he’d made,

“Perfect fit, mo mèirleach. Every bit of you. Your lips, your cheeks, your breasts… the way you read your poems to me. The way you love me. You’re everything to me, lass. I love you.”

You felt like you were having an out of body experience. You couldn’t stop your walls from pushing and pulling against his heavy rod, as hard as iron and smooth like velvet. He’d filled you tight, like a cork in champagne, and you were very nearly ready to burst, not yet recovered from your previous orgasm. 

“I love you, too, Johnny,” you begged him with your hips, grinding into him like you were riding him.

He played with your clit again, rubbing his thumb up and down its swollen length, feeling your lips as they stretched around him, making you cry out in all sorts of noises. Then, you watched as a burning mischief lit up his eyes, and that commander’s voice was back, 

“Spread your legs for me. Wide, just like that. Spread ‘em apart, lass. Let me see you. I wanna see that pink hole as it takes me like that. So fuckin’ good. Didnae ken it could be so bonnie…” 

Johnny started to thrust himself into you, good on his word, watching as he disappeared into your body. His head was rubbing against your most sensitive spot on the way out and tormenting your deepest parts on the way in. You were so full, you felt like you could burst. He tucked his hands into the crook of your knees and spread you just that much wider, making all of your nerves light up as he stretched your skin. 

“Johnny! Fuck…” You were fluttering around him, clenching against his dick, trying to control your body and failing. 

His voice was deep, and it resonated in the hollow of your chest, 

“Come on, thief. Come for me. Come. Come… fuck. That feels so good, bonnie girl.” 

The pale, fading moonlight morphed and changed as your orgasm flooded your mind. He was still talking at you, chanting sweet and savory nothings, praising you for nothing and everything, 

“I can feel your heart, mèirleach. It’s beatin’ against me.”

“Johnny…” You gasped, coming down from your high only to feel him slamming himself into you like a relentless piston. 

“Takin’ me so well, mo ghràdh. Perfect for me. Takin’ this cock like it was made for you.”

“Please, baby… I need you, mo chridhe. I need…” You weren’t sure what you need, but you prayed to him like a god, and you hoped he would know.

He fell over you, closing you into him, fitting you right to his chest, never breaking his incredible rhythm. He was kissing your mouth, letting the softest whimpers out of his throat as he did, whining for you. 

“Is that it, thief? Is that what you need? Is that… fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Each curse was a cry, and his voice was in pieces from it, broken and pleading. He was begging you, and every time he fucked his length into your belly, he would grunt like a beast, overcome with want. 

You returned with your own mantra, finding his ear with your lips and whispering a thousand yeses into it, locking your heels around his thick waist, feeling his muscles working hard for you against your inner thighs. 

“Tell me… tell me to come, mo ghràdh. Tell me when you…”

He was suffering inside of you, and you felt his whole body trembling with desire, ready to fill you at your command. 

You ran your hands through his mohawk, holding it at the base of his skull, and you whispered, releasing him,

“Come in me, baby. Come in me. Come in… oh, my God! Come…”

You held him close to you as he spent himself deep within your belly, filling you for the second time, screaming for you. Johnny clutched at you like you were a lifeline, holding you tight to him, even as he slowed, teasing his head inside of you, slipping through his own come as it mixed with yours. As he finally slid out of you, he was kissing you again, his lips loose and swollen, his tongue tasting you gently. 

“I love you,” you whispered between kisses. 

He looked like you had just sunk your knife between his ribs, aiming right for his heart, and all the air left his lungs, no longer needed. Johnny died and was reborn in your arms within half-seconds, little moments that only you could see. His smile was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen as he answered you, 

“I love you, thief.”

He left you for a moment to reach below the bed. Johnny came back up with his kilt in his hand, and he wrapped you in it, swirling his long tartan around your body, folding you in MacTavish dress blue. He pulled you into his lap as he leaned against your headboard, panting and trying to come back to reality. 

You played with his tags around your neck, basking in the warmth of his woolen cloak, letting your head rest against his neck, and your mind started to imagine how your name might look with MacTavish behind it. 

JULY

Johnny held your hand as the plane touched down, waking you up slowly. There was a soft ding and the captain’s voice came on overhead,

“Welcome to Iceland. If you want to adjust your watch, it is 1705. The weather in Keflavík is a bit overcast, and the temperature is 20 degrees Celsius. We wish you a pleasant stay, and we hope to see you again very soon. On behalf of all our crew, thank you for choosing British Airways as your airline today.”

Pidge leaned over you to talk to her brother, tightening her grip on Hamish’s hand as he sat to her right,

“I swear to Jesus and Mary, I thought I was gonna die! Did you book these tickets, Johnny-boy? I’m feelin’ faint.”

“It’s okay, darling,” Hamish soothed her, “We made it. It’s over.”

“Holy shite. I’m shakin’ like a wee leaf!” She gasped, fanning herself.

You made it out of the airport with only a little drama, and by the time you pulled into the hotel, you were starving. Johnny tipped the cabbie and guided you inside, wrapping his arm around you tightly. 

“So, thief,” he suggested, “Did you wanna grab a bite in the hot spring? They’ve got the swim-up bar.”

“Eager to see me in that bathing suit you bought for me, hm?” You answered knowingly. 

He blushed, grinning sinfully, 

“Aye…”

“As long as I get to eat, I’ll wear whatever you want, mo chridhe.”

He whistled low and even, shaking his head, 

“Dinnae make promises you cannae keep, woman.”

“Hey! MacTavish!”

A voice was shouting at you from across the lobby. Toting bags and already dressed in their summer gear, Price, Gaz, and Ghost headed over toward you.

“Hey! There you are,” Johnny greeted them, and there were warm hugs all around. 

“Well, c’mon,” Price grabbed you by the arm, “Lemme see it.”

You smiled at him, holding up your left hand, letting him get a long look at the huge amethyst that sat as the flower on the end of a circular, golden thistle-shaped ring. 

“Gorgeous,” Price smiled, shaking Johnny’s hand again, “We can’t wait for the wedding. If it’s anything like the last one, I know it’ll be a good time.”

You laughed with him, feeling Johnny’s soft lips in your hair as he leaned down to kiss you. He smiled at you, speaking to his captain, 

“Aye, I cannae hardly wait.”

Thank you so much to everyone who read, liked, commented, and reblogged this story! I truly hope you enjoyed it. If you did, you might consider checking out my Price/Reader 100k story, "Gunslinger", available on AO3.

If you need more Soap, be on the lookout for Chapter 2 of PornStar!Johnny, which is threatening to turn itself into a full fic if I don't watch out.

Thanks so much to my betas and to all my mutuals for your support and ideas!! I love hearing from y'all, so message me anytime.

UPDATE: Epilogue (Ch. 11)

[cruel-as-sin]

but one out of twenty isn’t so bad (is that so bad?) | logan howlett

↳ summary: set three months after the events of westchester and nine months before the movie logan, this story follows logan and a mysterious man he meets as they work to achieve their own goals and end up growing closer in the process

word count: tbd (ongoing)

song: normalcy | gigi perez

pairings: old man!logan x original character

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), SO much angst i’m warning you now, eventual fluff, eventual smut, slow burn (and i mean slow), canon-typical violence, any themes you see in the movie logan you can expect to find here, this story may not have a happy ending, read at your own risk

↳ a/n: i am so SO excited to start writing this fic you have no idea! i’ve been cooking this idea for months, so trust me this has been a looooong time coming. i will try to have updates out as fast as i can and keep you guys posted, but just know i am a college student with a very busy life and inspiration can be hard to come by. i hope you guys will enjoy this story as much as i do!

more specific information regarding tags/warnings, word count, music inspiration, pairings/characters, etc. can be found at the start of each chapter

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

There are no more mutants on Planet Earth.

That’s what the government will tell you, what you’ll see in the papers and learn in history classes for generations to come. People have beaten the subject of mutation into the ground- they’ve made podcasts about what powers they’d like to have, written articles about the societal consequences to treating anyone different as less than the rest of us, done scientific research on the short-lived ‘mutant phenomenon,’ studied the ruins of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, hypothesized about their evolution and extinction.

The world was left reeling in the aftermath of the incident in Westchester. Questions arose of limitations on powers, mutant control, the threat these otherworldly abilities might pose- the same old arguments, time and time again.

But none of it matters now. Charles Xavier is dead, the X-Men are gone, and there are no more mutants.

Well… almost.

Logan Howlett is one of the rare few that are left, a survivor of the last recorded ‘mutant disturbance.’ He has one goal in life- take care of an ailing Charles Xavier. That’s it. Nothing else matters to him anymore.

Rowan Hawthorne has spent years living life in the shadows, trying his best to keep the demons of his past at bay. He wants to settle into a quieter life, one that doesn’t involve so many things that could haunt him- but for now, he’s on a mission.

One is determined to uncover the truth behind his past, the other is intent on burying the past forever. When their worlds meet, they find themselves inexplicably bound together.

The world wants to bring them down. The question is, will they let it?

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

series masterlist

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ chapter one - the neighborhood keeps getting smaller [coming soon!]

tags: @flowersforbucky @gewrgia-black @atleastpleasetelephone @namikyento @r0ttedcherubim @logaenhowlett @th3mrskory @pidgeypidge-pidge @thinkinonsense

if anyone wishes to be added to or removed from the taglist for this series and/or any of my taglists, please let me know!

[mosscreeper-ao3]

I want more platonic Keith and Pidge content

Okay we talk about Pidge attaching herself to Shiro because she misses her dad and he’s the only Real Adult™️ other than Coran but what about her also attaching herself to Keith because he’s roughly the same age as Matt (I think Matt is supposed to be like 19? when he disappears and Keith is canon 18 at the start of the show)???

Keith is basically a feral cat Shiro plucked off the street personality wise so he’s irritated by it at first. She’ll follow him around and ask what he’s doing and he brushes her off. BUT! Matt went though a phase like that when he was like 16 and he got over it eventually. So she persists.

Keith finally comes around and after that she’s his little sister as far as he’s concerned.

Actually, just give me more Voltron found family content in general.

[kitmon]

Oh Yeah, That's Right | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Newly graduated, you and Eddie take a trip to Lover's Lake to celebrate.

Pairing: Eddie Munson (Stranger Things, 2022) x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Tags: smut (18+ only), porn with a lot of plot but I promise it's worth it, drug use (weed), skinny dipping, swimming while intoxicated (don't do this, you will die), sex out in the open, Eddie is kinda a perv but that's just his way of flirting with reader, unprotected sex, Eddie refers to reader as "Pigeon" or "Pidge," it's just a nickname

Author’s Note: I've had this fic in mind since last June and omg I'm so excited to share this! It definitely is a labor of love and something that I wanted to be really good, especially since it is my first smut piece for Eddie (which is wild considering I've loved him for an entire year already) but I am very very proud and I hope that you enjoy it just as much as I do. Also, a big thanks to my bestie @queenimmadolla for beta reading and leaving me the most hilarious notes ever, I love you! And with all that said, enjoy!

The crunch of gravel under your boots is ambient bliss to your ears. Accompanied by the soft ebb and flow of the lake’s tide, the sound of untouched nature; the crickets and the cicadas, the skittering of small paws and the flustered flutter of birds and nocturnal creatures of the night frightened by the stuttering of your breath, taken by the glittering sight of Lover’s Lake at twilight, all glowing with the beams of the moon. Water striders glide across the liquid black mirror, the ripples in the water look like they carry diamonds on the crests of their waves before simmering into smaller crystals that turn fluid and slip between the gaps in the pebbles to return to their home. 

Eddie cuts through the silence of your appreciation with the harsh slam of his door, causing your shoulders to tense and your head to turn to look over the hood at him, his lithe frame strutting towards you as the corner of his lips reach for the dips in his cheeks.

His voice is deep and lilting as he speaks to you, “Told you I knew a spot.”

“Lover’s Lake isn’t a ‘spot,’ anyone over 16 and horny knows about Lover’s Lake,” you retort, eyes remaining unimpressed as he sidles up beside you.

“Well, would you look at that?” He teases as he spreads his arms out and studies himself in front of you.

You giggle, pushing your fingers into his chest and sending him back a step as you ignore him, walking towards the edge of the water. Your boots give way under the clacking stones before you shift your weight, crouching down with your arm around your knees as you pick at what the tide brings in; the forgotten shell homes of gastropods, the algae that grounds itself to the heaviest rocks and sways with the movement of the water like blades of grass in the gusts of April. You submerge your hand into the water and wrap your fingers around the flattest stone you can find, the water teasing the hem of your sweater. 

As Eddie’s heavy, less than subtle steps approach you from behind, you stand with a bit of effort as your unpracticed joints groan, examining the grey, marbled layers of the rock before leaning back and launching it over the water before it plops once, twice, three times before sinking on its fourth splash. Eddie whistles low and your head turns to watch him, all haughty hip-jut and sass-laced hands over sides.

“Not bad, Pidge.” He leans down and doesn’t even study hard before snatching a rock. “Not bad at all,” he mumbles before tossing it with an imperceptible flick of his wrist. The soft-edged stone sails over the water, jumping in six skips, effortlessly beating out your measly three.

“Show off,” you chastise with an unbothered smile as you stock off to where the grit of the shore is lessened by the flatness of the rocks, sitting gracefully before falling to your back to watch the unperturbed night sky glisten with smatterings of light that twinkle and wink down at you. Eddie falls beside you, grunting as he attempts to make himself comfortable over the uneven terrain. You sigh through your nose and turn to look at him.

“Now what?” You question.

He looks down the length of himself, pursing his lips as he takes a minute to inspect the journey from his chest down to his crotch, before turning to meet your eyes, a playful glint in the dark abyss of his own, “Wasn’t kidding when I said I was horny.”

“Not gonna happen,” you smile, matching his mischief as you place your arms behind your head.

He pouts in faux disappointment before brightening again, “Well, darn, then it’s a good thing I brought this to pass the time.” 

He reaches his hand into the denim of his pocket, struggling against the tight fit before brandishing a crumpled joint that had been stuffed away inside. You sit up with him and laugh in your throat as you watch him clumsily try to straighten it back out. The pink muscle of his tongue peeks out past the seam of his lips as he rolls the joint over the meat of his thigh like he’s thinning out pasta. Once it’s decent enough to smoke he brings it to his lips and mumbles out around it, “Would you do me the honor?” 

“Why, of course I could, Sir Dumbass-ington,” you tease with a jaunty shake of your head before reaching into your pocket, digging through your miscellaneous trinkets of gum wrappers, a pocket knife, and chapstick, silver flashing with the white light of the moon once you procure the boxy Zippo. There are vulgar engravings along the side, a relic of your father’s time in Vietnam now used to light Edward’s crinkly joint. You flip open the lighter with a satisfying clink, your faces suddenly shrouded in yellow, carving out the hollows and defining the angles of your faces as you lean it towards him. He dips the end of it into the flame, tutting at it while the stark light draws your attention to the soft slant of his nose, the whetted cut of his cheekbones, the hollow of his cupid's bow all puckered out as he sucks at the cigarette. He huffs in a good breath and, with voice strained, he declares, “Fuck, that’s some good shit,” coughing at the end of it as he hits at his chest.

“Well, don’t go hogging it all,” you laugh, reaching for the jay which he passes to you without complaint. Pinched between soft-tipped fingers, eyes closed, you sip at it and let the warmth of oncoming inebriation roam without restraint, the smooth burn of your throat oddly soothing and a relaxant that tames the tense energy within your muscles. You release it, hiccuping a puff of smoke before pushing it out past your lips where it floats up in waves of nihonga-like wisps, curling and uncurling before being swept up by the breeze where it sprints through the needles of pine trees and over the unbothered surface of the lake.

He watches the way the tendrils float past your puckered lips, puffed out in a sensual ‘o’ before they’re consumed by a stupid grin that pushes against the fat of your cheeks and causes your eyes to squint, all too endearing as the last dregs of smoke seep from where they can through the gaps of your teeth. You giggle as you pass it back to him, trying but uncaring of your failure to hide it behind grunts of fake throat clearing. He smiles at you, your incompetent subtlety comical, childish amusement infectious. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks, eyeing the joint for a moment before bringing it to his lips for another deep hit.

“It’s just,” you cut yourself off with another stunted giggle, “I could be eating mushroom risotto in a clean, crimson booth, sipping on champagne while my good ol’ Papa raises his glass and nods his head at me and says,” you deepen your voice and make your features stony, squaring your shoulders and puffing your chest, “‘we’re so proud of you, sweetie’ before tipping his glass back to three ‘hip, hip, hoo-rah’s.” 

As you finish, you gently take the joint from him, savoring the image of the thick appendages cradling it between deft fingers as you bring it to your mouth and inhale, your shoulders rising with the movement, gathering like a frozen rubber band before slackening as the hashish thaws you free. You simper on the exhale, jolting with a few coughs through your nose as you try to cover your smile with your hand, the other examining the unironed creases in the rolling paper, “Instead, I’m smoking a squished joint in the dark, sitting on warm-ish gravel, with you.”

You bring your legs into you, tying your ankles together with the weight of your palm in your criss-crossed position as he settles the heels of his hands back into the rocks to prop himself up. You move into his space, leaning over him as you tilt your head to reach his level and emphasize your question, “Why is that?”

His lips are barely curled in a tempered smile as he takes his turn with the doobie, rolling his lips in to lick at them before clarifying for you, “‘Cause you love me,” a breath of hemp-tainted air, “duh.”

It’s laced with boyish charm, a sort of supercilious confidence that floats along the shreds of his exhaled fumes, the jab washing over him like dribbles of water gliding down the waxy feathers of a duck’s back, flicking his head and sending the droplets flying like diving hawks back into the water. It’s the kind of breezy personality that only draws you closer, impressed by his ability to pick up on the minute insinuations between each line of dialogue, enough to know that all you could ever want is to be near him.

“Oh yeah.” It's spoken as if you really did need the reminder as you smile that dopey smile, the fuzzy, assuaged feeling of the drug settling into that saturated calm in your chest as you finish with grin-impaired words, “that’s right.”

The roach is all but a barely-there nub anymore, leached at until the brown-grey paper and bud are dispersed in speckles of crumbly ash across the lake-beach. Your muddled mind, though preoccupied with your earlier thought of Eddie’s ringed fingers, registers the minimal amount left and compels you to pick it up between index and thumb. Eddie, just as stoned as you, gives easily, the joint falling into your dainty fingers just the same as you mumble, decisively, “I get the last hit.”

Despite having the joint in your hand, you move forward, one hand bracing you as you lean over his torso. His fingers hover around yours, not protective but seemingly as a product of his dazedness. He watches you, taking in the way your lashes brush the hill of your cheek as you close them, the slow-motion way your plush lips wrap around the paper, your cheeks hollowing as you suck. The embers at the end glow a violent crimson before crumbling to the rocks where they burn out into white ash. You hold the smoke in your mouth, your throat burning with the prolonged presence of the joint’s exhaust as you turn to face Eddie, eyes half lidded and mind running on autopilot. You don’t need to ask, he already understands, parting his lips for you as you close in, tilting your head before releasing the smoke into his mouth. You can feel the heat of his face radiating against your cheeks and lips, the tip of your nose brushing along the side of his own. Your lips are less than a centimeter apart, a hair’s width away from brushing as the smoke curls through the space left between you, catching in Eddie’s mouth. 

Once it all leaves you in a hot exhale, you flick the charred butt into the rocks and turn to flop onto your back, the rubble, though dense, cushions you with rounded edges and eroded stone faces, soft to the touch. You relax beside Eddie who does the same, laying back with his arms cushioning his head, having closed his mouth, exhaling the smoke through his nose like Smaug perched above his mountain of treasures. 

He hums, satisfied and made to feel all warm inside, the gentle sound of your exhale accompanying him before he asks, “Wanna play a game?”

That makes you smile; he couldn’t just enjoy the silence, it had to be filled with banter or grandiose speeches or ‘games’ but you decide to bite, amused by him always. 

“Depends,” you sigh, “what game?”

There’s an impish pause where, through the lapse in conversation, you can hear the smirk playing on his lips. 

“Truth or strip?” He turns his head towards you, and you follow, admiring the way his smile seems so uninhibited, roguish with his insinuation. You know it’s in poor taste to tease but you go on anyway.

“Mm,” you pretend to deliberate, pursing your lips from side to side, before giving in. “Okay.” 

His eyes light up with perverted hope, or more so astonishment at your agreement, mouth morphing from an awed slacken jaw to a lopsided grin. He moves to speak but you’re quick in intercepting him, “What do I get when I win?”

It’s back to astonishment, turning to lean on his forearm and gaze down at you, his eyebrows shooting up as he releases a disbelieving chuckle, “When you win?” 

“Mm-hmm.” Undeterred, you go on, trying on his haughty nature for a change, “What do I get?”

“Well, in the incredibly unlikely occurrence that you do win, I’ll…” 

He trails off, huffing a breath up that rouses his bangs, looking towards the sky for an answer strung somewhere in midnight thread, spelling it out for him behind the stars. He must find one there as he turns, benign grin aimed down at you that scrambles your chest with tender feelings that you force yourself to swallow down with a subtle bob of your throat and the added issue of a suddenly dry mouth.

“I’ll buy you that Cure album you’ve been wanting since August, even though the lead singer is a whiny little—”

You press your thumb over his lips, preventing him from finishing.

“I refuse to allow anymore of this Robert Smith slander,” you protest, removing your hand to tuck it back under your head. “You’re just jealous that he’s so attractive without even having to try,” you swoon.

“Careful,” he rolls his eyes at you, teasing, “don’t want any of that lipstick to ruin that pretty face of makeup you’ve got on.” He says this while trailing his index finger over the contour of your jaw, tickling your skin before you squinch up your face and rub your cheek to your shoulder to shoo him away.

“Ya know,” you roll over with a grunt to prop your head up on your hand while you lie on your side, “there’s something sexy about a man confident enough in his masculinity to wear lipstick.”

“Got any on you right now?” He asks, leaning closer, “Wanna test that theory?” He puckers his lips up and makes towards you. You waste no time in intercepting his tirade with your palm, lips connecting with gravel-roughened skin before you push his face away.

Dismissing the way he falls back to the ground dramatically, arms spread, and tongue lolled out as if your push was enough to seriously injure him, you redirect the conversation back to the initial topic.

“Okay, truth or strip,” you remind, mostly speaking to yourself and ruminating on the raunchiness of the idea, puffing a laugh out your nose as you wonder just what may have influenced it. “Seems like someone’s been taking a few too many trips behind the velvet curtain at Family Video but I’ll humor this,” you point a finger at him, raising your brows and lowering your chin as you eye him, “you’re lucky I’m stoned enough to play along.”

You start to hum out your first question before Eddie halts you, “Woah, woah, woah! We didn’t discuss what I’d be getting if I won.”

“Well, the reason we didn’t bring it up is because that’ll never happen,” you say, cheeky grin pushing against your cheeks as you press your finger to his chest where he glances down only to be met with your pointer finger flicking up against his nose. 

He wrinkles his nose before bringing his hand up to rub at it, sniffing when his thumb swipes at it, going on to insist with a nasally filter.

“Well, since you’re in a pandering mood, indulge me.”

“Okay, fine, I guess we can play pretend for a second,” you say with a minx-ish smile before flopping on your back again with an ‘oomph’ rattling up from your throat, dissolving into a hum as you play with your lips. You pull the puffy bottom one down with the tip of your finger before releasing it, the fat bouncing back into place before you speak.

“If you win, I’ll buy you a new pair of Reeboks.”

“What’s wrong with my Reeboks?” He asks incredulously, looking down the length of his body towards his scuffed, dirt-stained sneakers, the stitching all but frayed and loose, the soles uneven with wear. 

“You’ve needed new shoes since March, God knows what you got up to during spring break that you fucked ‘em up so bad.”

He ignores your suggestion and offers up his own, “That just won’t do, how about, instead...” 

He’s tilting his head to look down the length of your body, not lecherously though that wouldn’t be out of the question for Eddie, but almost as an excuse to hide the bashful tinge in his features.

“You let me take you out on a date? A real date. Not movie night but, like, dinner in that crimson booth you wanted with that fucking mushroom rice or whatever.”

“Risotto,” you correct him with an endeared smile.

“Risotto,” he nods.

The words don’t read as pushy, never pushy. Never entitled or expectant, just gleaming with that curious lift in the eyebrows and a hopeful shimmer in his smile. You mirror a similar girlish crinkle in the corner of your eyes, lips pulled at the edges as you speak, kind and gilded with the softest tone.

“Okay.” It’s so merciful that the vowels get swallowed by the click of the consonants.

Coming to an agreement, you sit up, shuffling a bit to sit with your knees brought up and secured with the linking of your hand over your wrist, Eddie following in the silent shift of bodies rattling grey and brown stones.

You sigh a breath through your nose that untenses your shoulders and relieves the pressure in your head a bit, bringing a lazy twitch of your lips as you ask, “Alright, who goes first?”

He flicks at a pebble on the ground, pouting out his bottom lip in thought as it skips in ‘tick, tick, ticks.’ 

“Rock, paper, scissors?” You nod and offer your fist, settled over the platter of your palm, Eddie doing the same before the barely audible pat of your hand against the other indicates a ‘one, two, three, shoot.’ He settles on rock, your gentle palm hovering in paper. You smile and gently drape it over his curled hand before he says, “Alright, fair and square, go ahead.”

You remove your hand as you tuck both under your bum before continuing in an unsure buzz, “Hmm, okay, the grossest place you’ve ever hooked up.”

He blows out a raspberry that trills his lips. “Easy! the men’s bathroom at The Hideout, second to last stall,” he gives easily, no hesitance, “Gotta try harder than that to win.”

It’s his turn and he squints down at the ground as he thinks before shooting his question, “Alright, most recent porn rental.”

You worry your lip, chewing at the corners and tearing at the chapped skin there. It feels too early to cave and for such an inconsequential question no less, but you know that if Eddie found out about the George Michael lookalike tape hidden between your box spring and your mattress right now, he would never, in a million years, ever let it go, so you figure you can spare a layer in favor of the never-ending humiliation you’d suffer.

You huff as you lean down to begin tugging at the laces of your boots but he tuts, “Shoes don’t count.” 

You scoff, “Since when?”

“We’ll be here forever if every unimportant article of clothing counts!” He explains with his arms spread at his side, dramatics on full display.

“You got a hot date sometime soon?” You counter with a lifted brow.

“Look, I’ll take mine off too so it’s fair,” he concedes, pulling at the laces of his ruined shoes. You sigh before continuing to pull your boots off, tossing them aside. You roll your socks off as well, tucking them inside your shoes so they don’t get lost in the dark.

Your toes flex, curling and extending without being encumbered, taking a moment to embrace the feeling under the pads of your feet, savoring the warmth that emanates from the erosion-softened stones. The rocks have been baked by the rays of the midday sun, cooling now that she’s hidden behind the jagged horizon of pine trees. Your fingers tease the hem of your sweater, ticking over the threads before you grip it and pull it over your head. Your modesty remains intact, though, by the white underlayer you wear. You spit your next question out with hardly any hesitation, “Last thing you masturbated to.”

He blanches under the white light of the moon, lips splitting apart. The momentary surprise on his face is colored by the flushing of his features and the attempted diversion of his throat clearing where he points his finger and eyes you with a look that reads ‘well, just you listen here…’ before it fizzles out as he decides against it. He compresses his lips, shaking his head and sighing as he starts to shrug both his vest and his leather jacket off, laying them over the rocks, the water creeping close to one of the splayed sleeves, teasing the faded and worn-out leather. Your lips curl, impressed for having got to him. 

It goes on like this for 20 minutes, invasive question after invasive question while garments continue to be strewn across the lakeside— belts undone with clinking clasps, buttons popped, shirts tossed to the side— until you’re both dressed only in your underwear. You’d think you’d both have the idea to be embarrassed being so exposed to the other but the both of you find it no different than when you go to the public pool dressed in bikini and swim shorts, though, to be fair, the fabric is much thinner than the nylon of your stringy swimwear and the way his milky skin glows under the celestial curtain of May is much different than when it burns in June. 

It’s Eddie’s turn as soon as he shucks off his black jeans, pale white chest and slender legs displayed with each clumsy wiggle of his feet. After nearly tripping twice over the denim, he grabs the garment and yanks them off from where they’re tangled with his toes, aggressively attempting to chuck them away but, with all his exertion, they flop to the floor with a pitiful ‘plop.’ You snort at his exaggerated display, laughing as he sits back down, leaning over on his elbow like a French muse lazed out on a chaise sofa; sultry, alluring, calling out like a siren with the way he exhibits the entire length of his body unabashedly. His breaths are heavy— that’s what draws your attention back to the present— mixed with his shared laughter as he trains his challenging gaze on you, all suppressed titterings hidden behind loose lips, aiming to get you on the same level as him; one item left. 

“Thought you were clever with that last one, hmm? Alright, what sounds do you make when you’re doing it?”

You laugh a choked, disbelieving noise at the audacity of the question, “You think you’re gonna pull a fast one on me, you perv?”

“Answer the question, why don’t you,” he implores, voice unconcerned with your accusation, that obnoxiously cocksure grin backing you into a corner. 

You narrow your eyes at him, scrunching your nose in petulant defiance before you falter in a histrionic groan of peevishness, rocking back while your legs are crisscross before leaning back forward to tell him, “I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction.”

What’s supposed to be stern becomes watered down with the way a smile is twisting your attempted snarl and Eddie remains just as calm as before, eyes becoming thin with the joy he gets from seeing you like this, all frisky and playfully mad at him. Oh, and half-naked, that makes him very happy.

You sigh, giving in to his hair-brained ploy as you reach back to undo the hook of your bra, fingers gliding over scratchy lace trimming and the creamy texture of the satin as you release the bond. The underwear falls limp over your chest, no longer supported and, as Eddie watches on, eyes vacantly focusing on the expanse of silken flesh beneath your collarbones as his tongue tempts the chapped skin of his lips, you stop yourself from sliding it the rest of the way over your arms. 

“Turn around,” you order, eyes stern.

“What?” He exclaims like someone has just committed a heinous wrong against him. “Come on! It’s just getting good.

“We never said anything about exposing ourselves,” you defend, maintaining your resolve. “Now turn around!” He grumbles but complies, scooting over the gravel until his back is to you and his hands are covering his eyes for good measure. He can hear the way the article flops to the floor as you toss it away, the atmospheric noise of your fidgeting and shifting is euphoric white sound to his ears as he imagines the way your ungainly arms and legs move with your undress. It’s a few more moments of shuffling before silence is restored.

“Okay,” it’s spoken with an underlying quiver, “You can look.”

He turns back to you with some awkward swiveling and finds you with your arms crossed over your chest, your knees brought up for extra coverage as your ankles cross over each other to protect his eyes from your area below. Your face is sheepish, lips twitching in anxious occupation as your eyes focus on your lacquered toenails to keep from finding his own stare.

His face morphs into, what was originally a giddied smile into a sympathetic gaze, features concerned with your sudden timidity. “We don’t have to keep playing, you know?” He tells you, more occupied with your comfort than any boyish fantasy.

“No, no, I’m okay, I swear.” You look up at him wide eyed before shaking your head to convey your fortitude. You straighten your back and take a breath to steady yourself, your once skittish expression softening as you lean closer to him and confide, “I trust you, Eddie.”

He beams at you, touched by your credence in him. “Not to mention, I totally need to smoke you in this game and crush that ego of yours.”

That amorous radiance at the center of his chest is smothered by your taunt and he rolls his eyes as he urges you to continue, “Yeah, yeah, now are you going to ask me a question or are you going to keep being a big sap?”

You giggle with your next query, “Okay, how big are you? Down there?” 

He grins at the question and raises his brows, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that curiosity killed the cat?”

You match his overdone eye roll before pressing him, “Just answer the question.”

He maintains his Cheshire-ish impression as he thinks on it before admitting, “A bit over six inches. Something like that.”

“Mmm,” you hum, a moderate expression relaxing over your features as you shoot him a level headed grin, “‘something like that?’”

“Don’t believe me?” He challenges, eyebrows shooting up in his bluff.

“Oh, I believe you,” you giggle at the tail end of your words before caving to your levity, laughing through your punchline, “believe that you’re full of shit!”

He acts mock-offended, choking on his words as he scoffs and sputters, placing a hand over his bare chest, “I have just about the right mind to lose on purpose and wipe that so-sure smile off your face.”

“Please do, that record will look absolutely lovely with the rest of my collection.”

“Hmm,” he twists his lips as he eyes you with a squinted stare, “unluckily for you, I’m of the least sound mind right now so the game’s still on, sweetheart.” It’s a dare spoken as he invades your space, so close that you can feel the heat of his words over your cheeks, his eyes darting to your lips with the endearment. Your smug exterior hardly falters as you counter, “And I still plan on winning.”

He leans back, licking the enamel of his canine as he lets his eyes rove over your nearly exposed figure before asking, “Your biggest insecurity.”

Your pleased act falls away at the question as you roll your lips in, scrunching up the side of your face in displeasure before you figure that the vulnerability of the answer is less of an expense than being fully exposed in the dead of night with your best friend.

“Maybe how much I need the attention and validation of others.” It looks like admitting that causes you physical pain as your face is contorted into all sorts of wincing motifs. 

“It’s embarrassing to have to say that out loud,” you whisper into your knees as you lean forward into them, the joints obstructing your lips as you go on. “Especially to you, ‘cause, like, nothing gets to you.”

“Hey, woah,” he stops you in your tracks at the inaccurate perception of him, “Who said nothing ever gets to me?”

You cock your head at him as you send him a look that asks ‘really?’

“C’mon, Pigeon, you know me better than that,” he encourages as he gently knocks your leg with his fist, rocking you with the impact. “That whole standing on tables and dungeon master shit, it’s just a front.”

You bite your lip at the admission, suddenly feeling inadequate with your assumption.

“I mean, yeah, most of it’s like one ear out the other but when it’s something real, that’s the kinda shit that hits deep.”

“You just seem so,” you struggle for the words, twisting your hands about before you find it, “Unbothered.”

“Yeah, well, I just do that to impress you,” he laughs at the ground, watching as his pointer finger twiddles with one of his discarded rings over the lining of his jacket.

You smile at his sudden demureness, leaning forward as best as you can with your legs folded up against you to capture his cheek in your hand and lift his gaze to you. He’s got that sudden starstruck look in his eyes, where they go all big and glassy and his beautifully full lips part as he stares up at you like you’ve emerged from the sky, twinkling in moondust and star particles.

“If you shed a tear once and a while when around me, I’d be even more impressed.” You rub your thumb over the thin, discolored skin under his eye, purple and green from lack of rest. The corner of his mouth ticks up as he moves to look down again at his set of jewelry, lengthy lashes kissing the very tops of his cheeks as a warm hue spottily decorates his skin. The movement displaces your hand before you bring it back around your legs, happy with your effect on him; capable of shutting up the biggest attention whore this side of the Mississippi.   

You disrupt the silence with your next question, “If you knew you were to go to sleep tonight and not wake up in the morning, what’s one thing you’d regret not saying?” 

His eyes glow as they flit up to you, taking away from his fiddling before that same reticent smile takes over and you’ve stupefied him once more. He laughs a breathy sound, a bit embarrassed, before he stands up and clears his throat.

“Alright, you know the deal,” his hands are on his hips, still maintaining that underlying sass, “turn around.” 

A giant grin overhauls your features, “I won?” 

“Yeah, you won.” His stare is soft and enamored as he gazes down at you, looking almost delighted to have lost if it meant he was able to see that precious stretch of your lips over your teeth and the choice twinkle in your eyes. “Now turn around.”

You giggle as you tuck your head into your knees, the sound carrying, though muffled, from where you’re burrowed. You can hear the way he balances from one foot to the other while he extricates himself from his final article of clothing, the rocks under his feet clicking with his distributed weight. You shriek as you feel him shoot his boxers at you, scrambling to toss them off of you while he tells you, “Open your eyes, butthead.”

Your tee-heeing filters off into throaty huffs once you’ve gotten the offending item off before looking back at him and falling into a fit all over again. You roll onto your back once you’ve seen him: both hands cupped over his groin to shield your eyes while he fosters a sheepish look over his face, lips curled in. 

You straighten, eyes squinted and smile beaming as you ask him through a mirth-induced rasp, “Can we get a little spin?” You twirl your finger with your request, leaning back on one arm while the other stays wrapped around your chest. He kisses his teeth, huffing through his nose before obliging you, shuffling on his feet to do a full round. That only serves in starting you up again, the sight of his protectively clenched ass sending you into another frenzy of uncontrolled witch-like cackles. 

“Oh, this is rich,” you sigh, wiping an imaginary tear of gaiety away before you settle back into relative calmness. “Well, now that you’ve been thoroughly humiliated, what now? I’ve still got a buzz going.”

His dismayed pout is replaced by a mischievous grin as he looks out to the dock, not all that far from where you’ve planted yourselves, looking back to you with an expression that nearly worries you with how wickedly no-good it is. Before you can even make out the first syllable of your interrogation, he’s booking it, sprinting along the shoreline, twisting his ankles with the way he slides over the insecure beach front. He’s whooping and hollering, screaming ‘aye, aye, aye, aye’ as his feet clomp over the landing before he jumps off the dock in a gangly flurry of limbs, hitting the surface in a crashing splash that manipulates the water that reaches out for your form, so near the waterside.

You gasp in your throat, hurrying to your feet and chasing after him, tripping once or twice over the rocks before you’re planting yourself at the edge of the dock. Leaning over on your hands and knees, you call for him in a voice that tries to maintain still, “Eddie?”

You give him a moment to reappear, eyes flicking over the water to catch sign of him. He doesn’t respond and an unrelenting tension tightens within your stomach as you grow worried, continuing to scan the water in attempts of deciphering his figure through the murky darkness of the lake. 

“Eddie!”

The water opens in front of you with his reappearance, but you barely have any time to feel relief as he leaps up, the feeling taken over by a looming dread as he grabs you by your biceps and pulls you over the edge. You squeal as you tumble to the water before the sound is swallowed whole once you’ve collided with the surface. It’s dark and near unnavigable and the only way you find the bottom is by flailing your legs, shooting yourself up once your feet are able to catch a boulder. You scramble to the surface, sputtering a choked breath between a brief coughing fit. Through the waterlogged fuzziness of your hearing, you can make out Eddie’s booming laugh. You push your sopping hair out of your eyes to regain your sight, though it’s also distorted by water droplets that cling to your lashes, and lunge at him with angry fists and a peeved growl. He’s too swift for you, though, as he snatches your wrists before they can make impact, but what you can’t do with your body you’ll do with your words.

“You ass! I thought you’d gotten hurt and– and you– urgh!” He’s still snickering at the way your cheeks puff out with your labored breathing and how your dampened hair has turned you into what resembles an unhappily drenched cat, but he tries to damper them at the sight of your flaming temper. 

“I’m sorry,” he attempts to apologize through the laughter, but you have none of it as you try to pull yourself from his hold, grunting as you yank your arms away from him, but he just ensnares you as he wraps his arms around your waist to keep you nearby. He tries to reason with you, his voice falling into a softer, more understanding tone once he acknowledges your distress, “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” 

He’s still smiling, looking down at your tetchy expression while a hand emerges from the water to brush your hair away from your face, petting you before coming back to hold your cheek in his massive hand. You ease with his touch and quit your huffing, though your eyes are still shadowed by the knitting of your brows, darting all across his face, so near and framed by brown, matted strands, made ebony by the lack of light, that stick in tangled swirls across the planes of his face. His bangs drip, disturbing his eyes as he blinks to keep the water out, the droplets landing over his nose and lips.

It’s then that you register the warmth of his hand between your shoulder blades, the heat of his sturdy chest against the plushness of your breasts, nipples pert and skin pebbled from the chill that ran through you from being dunked under. Even further, below that, where you’re still covered by now sopping cotton, you can feel the thick prod of something neat the junction where your vulva meets your thigh and your heart stutters, breath hitching and, suddenly, all you can do is look at Eddie with the same desperate expression he's giving you. His lips are parted, eyes clouded with lust as you take in the clumped length of his eyelashes that flutter with troubling water, the darkness of his brown irises, consumed by want and arousal, the beautiful slope of his nose as it catches the light of the moon, and the glossy plump pink of his lips that draws you closer. It’s all you can do to lean in at the same time he does and press your lips against his and, fuck, if this isn’t what they talk about in John Hughes movies then you don’t know what is. 

It just feels… right. Like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place or the final cassette needed to complete your favorite artist’s discography sliding against all the others on the shelf, leaving no gaps, slotting so perfectly together. You hum into his mouth, dragging your hands up to wrap around his neck, pulling away, not to exchange any words but to tilt your heads to the other side, deepening the smush of your lips. He can hardly contain his yearning as he does his best to bring himself as close to you as possible, nose digging into the softness of your cheek, teeth clipping the gummy flesh of your lips. His tongue begs your approval as it glides against the seam of your lips and you waste no time in allowing him entry, your muscles meeting in the middle, sliding against each other as you taste the herbal tang of weed on him though you’re unsure if there's any delineation between your taste and his as you suck at his bottom lip.

Eddie detaches from the mess of your kiss, saliva stringing between the two of you before it breaks, falling into the mix of water. He connects to the height of your cheek, placing a romantic kiss there that lasts what feels like forever as you sigh, closing your eyes as you take the wrist of the hand that he uses to hold you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever been lucky enough to touch. He starts trailing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw and neck, nipping at the delicate skin occasionally between his love-pecks, laving his tongue over them when you shiver against him.

“Eddie,” you keen in a needy cry, the syllables soft and aching as he holds you to him tight, never letting you dip below the surface as his fingers dimple your skin with his relentless grip as he grows excited. He separates from where he was lavishing your skin in kisses and soothing licks to mutter, “Fuck, I’ve wanted you for so long.” It sounds lost, like he’s not speaking entirely to you, almost talking to himself, like he can hardly believe he’s got you, right here, wanting him back. 

“Eddie.” You draw his attention as you thread your fingers into his dripping head of hair, begging, “I need you, Eddie.”

“Fuck, I got you, Pidge,” he pacifies, connecting your lips again, murmuring into your mouth, “‘M always gonna take care of you.” 

You cry against him as his hands drift lower to your thighs where he urges you up, hiking your body higher and dragging you against his chest as he carries you, beginning to find purchase on the algae-slick rocks to bring the two of you to shore. He lays you down over his jacket and vest, supporting your head as he rests you there, protecting your back from the gravel, unconcerned with the safety of the treated hide as your more than damp skin connects with the lining and soaks it through. 

He’s clumsy, all adolescent vigor and enthusiasm, swallowing every sound you give him, complimenting every curve of your body with the hollow of his palm, tracing the contours of your figure with the calloused pads of his fingers. You’re no better, dragging him closer by the roots of his mane, scratching along the muscle and bone of his back, breathing wanton noises and arching into the divots of his form. When he leaves your mouth, you breathily whimper, feeling his amused chuckle rumble against the tender skin of your neck as he pays the planes of your body all the attention they could ever hope for. 

He licks the protrusion of your clavicle, kisses the notch between the bones before lifting himself with his arms and takes in the luscious sight of you; skin dewy, gathered droplets glowing pearly like the diamond stars above, lips swollen and spit-shined thanks to him, breasts heaving with the exertion of your lungs. His hand lifts to bring it over your stomach, dragging his thumb from your navel up between the line made by your ribs before he takes your breast into his palm and massages it. His eyes are foggy, unable to focus on anything other than the way the fat and tissue bulge through the gaps in his fingers. He’s brought back by the touch of your fingers ghosting over his cheek and brushing back a clump of hair, tucking it behind his ear. 

His eyes lift to yours, catching sight of your adoring smile made real by the way he worships you, touching you like you’re art. The corners of his lips lift in a sheepish grin, made embarrassed by the way he's been caught.

“So much for looking away.”

That has you throwing your head back, releasing such a sweet peel of laughter that forces Eddie to lay a kiss between the valley of your breasts, chuckling along with you, before taking you by surprise when he latches his mouth to your nipple. It makes your laughter blend with an approving gasp and a resulting groan, your fingers encouraging him with scratches to his scalp, the sensation making him moan over the skin, providing delicious vibrations that have you releasing gorgeous sounds, encouraging you to roll your still-clothed hips against his thick, hot, hard-on. You’re glad he bestows you with enough mercy as to not have you eat your words because he definitely is something like that. 

With a particular flick of your pelvis, the cushy head of his cock catches on your folds through the scratchy material of your underwear and he releases you with a pop, head tipping up as his eyes snap shut and he releases a stuttering breath.

You bring his head down for a kiss, soothing the scrunched nature of his expression before he separates with a huff, burying his head into the crook of your neck while he hugs your body close to him, asking, begging, “I need to be inside you.”

The desperation is enough to have you responding, just as wrecked, “Please, Eddie.”

He untangles himself at your go-ahead, leaning back on his haunches as he takes your legs and admires the way the soaked fabric of your underwear clings to your puffy lips, the white of the material leaving nothing to be imagined. He traces over the hem of the leg opening with his thumb, your coarse hair peeking out and tickling the pad of his finger before he brings it to slide through your folds over the cotton. You jolt and whine as he travels from your seeping hole up to your aching clit, rubbing it in caressing circles before he takes your legs and lifts them, closing them together and placing them over his shoulder so he can drag the garment over the length of your legs. He savors the way it guides his eyes over your perfect skin, all that’s been exposed and what hasn’t before he drags them over your feet, where you kick them off. He chuckles at your fervor before taking the item and tossing it away. He kisses the muscle of your calf, eyes still locked on yours before he takes your legs and spreads them once more. At the sight of your exposed cunt, all glittery and soaked, he releases a low groan, leaning down to lay a kiss just above your thatch of hair.

You arch your lower back to present yourself to him and remind him of what you’ve been begging for, mewling in an insistent, pettish way. He straightens a bit, leaning forward on his left arm as he gathers his ruddy and leaking length into his hand and pumps it once and then twice before rubbing the weeping head through your slick.

“Don’t worry, baby, m’gonna treat you so good,” he assures.

With his promise made, the head of his cock presses into you and you squeak. The sound falls into a satisfied groan, melding with the heavy grunt Eddie releases at the breach. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight," he rushes out, "and damn warm, too, holy shit.”

He leans over you again, elbows supporting his weight, and with his shift, his cock buries deeper within you, making you cry out as he nudges against your sensitive velvet walls, the thick veins catching against your nerves and making your body sing.

Given a moment for both of you to catch your breath, Eddie starts to rock into your wet heat, slow gentle thrusts matching the rhythm of the lake as the incoming waves lick at his knees. They’re yawning and slow, pitching both of your bodies with each snap of his hips against yours. Your arousal coats him and leaks out with each retreat of his hips, your creamy release raveling your mess of hair and squelching with each kiss of your pelvic bones. 

Your noises mingle together in high pitched keens and deep, gravelly groans and curses. You hug him tight, bodies mashed together as your arms hug him from under, nails fighting to keep him close to you as they scrape along his skin and leave glowing irritated markings where they pass while your legs lock at the ankles over his ass to keep his hips from venturing too far from your own. 

His head hangs low above your chest, watching as he exits and enters in and out of you, listening to the wet slap that disappears with the gentle crash and retreat of the waves. His bangs, still clumped with moisture, tease the skin of your breasts, dragging up and down with each of his thrusts, the chill droplets of water that dangle like crystal beads from the ends causing a rash of goosebumps to spread. His breathing is heavy, panting and gulping thick as he moves with you, fucked out on your pussy and the salt of your skin on his tongue when he kisses your chest. You watch as the muscles of his shoulders sway with him, his pale, near translucent skin, speckled with beads of water that you can't help but lean down and lick, kissing, biting every inch of skin you can reach, falling back once he ruts forward and prods at that spot that has your belly tightening and your cunt clamping over him.

“Shit, Eddie,” you gasp, the sound muffled to your own ears, taken over by the chirp of crickets and cooing owls, the croak of sleeping frogs that burrow in muddied soil and fall to rest, their heartbeats slowing with the chill of the earth. The head of his cock keeps tapping against that patch of nerves that has your body shaking and you plead with him, through the way you tighten your legs around his slender hips, to move faster and to hit harder. He understands your subtle request and delivers you firmer, quickened thrusts that have each one of your nerve endings chiming like a silver bell, feeling surrounded by his adoration of you with each kick of his hips that has you ringing in ‘ah, ah, ah’s.

He falls over you, unable to hold himself up anymore while also craving the complete touch of your skin as he winds his arms around your waist and presses his cheek to yours. His hold on you forces you still against him and intensifies the reach of his cock, his dick ramming into you and making your voice jump with each of his pounding thrusts.

The sound of him leaving and then sliding right back home, the clapping of skin on skin is lost to the night while your ramblings of how good he feels and how much you care for him, every word is captured just as every peck against your skin is memorized in a fizzing prickle against your flesh and every sigh and grunt is cataloged in the back of your mind; this is how he sounds, this is the rate of his breathing, this is how he loves.

The thought overwhelms you in a way that excites your senses, suddenly hyper aware of all of the little details: the smell of his cheap cologne invading your nostrils in an intoxicating burn, the feel of his hair, coated in product, made crunchy with hairspray and tickling your cheeks and your lips, the way he fucks into you in the softest, most adoring way. It’s the way he holds you and the way that he protects you, the way that he breaths your name like they’re the most essential set of syllables he’ll ever utter that makes you feel so good that you think you can cry and it’s the prick of your tear ducts and the sniffle caught in your throat that ensures it.

The way he’s moving inside you, you’re tumbling to that glowing end, breathing growing tighter, and Eddie can feel it. He can feel it in the way your skin is hot to the touch despite the late spring temperature and the way your cunt squeezes and chokes his cock every time he drives it back into you.  

“I’m so close,” you whisper into his ear, voice trembling, and he growls, the aggressive noise dissolving into a whimper as he lifts his head to look down at you. His eyes are lidded and the weight of his bottom lip hangs as he readies a strained response that gets caught in his throat.

He notices, then, the streaks along your cheeks, illuminated like liquid silver against your skin and his eyebrows grow taut as he reaches to hold your face and wipe at the water there. “You okay, Pidge?”

His thrusts begin to slow, afraid he may have hurt you, but you refuse to allow that, tightening your legs and securing your arms over his shoulders as you call for him to continue.

“No, no, don’t stop, please.” He returns to his set pace, and you moan for him in a blissed-out haze, turning to kiss his palm over every line, pecking the swirled pads of his fingertips and loving the feel of the grooves against your lips. 

“I’m okay, swear, Eddie," you gasp, head tilting back as you get lost in the heavenly sensation of his cockhead snatching against your walls. "Just feels so good.” You look up at him with sultry eyes that implore him to keep fucking into you and the sight of you all puppy-eyed has his abdomen clenching and his breath catching.

“Fuck,” he chokes.

You whine at the wrecked crack and desperation that laces his voice, reaching your hand up to pull his head down and kiss him, muffling your cries into his mouth as his groans echo within yours. His thrusts grow erratic and unmeasured, and you thrill at his increased speed, breath hitching with the way his thumb travels down your body to rub speedy circles into your clit, each flick causing fireworks to erupt behind your eyelids.

You flinch as you cum, the warmth in your stomach releasing in a white-hot wave of pleasure that has you shaking with the force of it, crying Eddie’s name as it springs like a bound coil finally allowed to relax. With the spasming of your pussy he has to pry himself away from you and pull out, fisting his cock in hurried tugs until he spills all over your stomach, painting your soft skin in streaks of his release.

You hum at the feeling of his warm cum coating you, finding it comforting as you draw him closer, cooing at him and holding his face in your hands as he finishes in stuttering waves before he falls over you, careful not to crush you under his weight. You find the smear of his finish between you not unpleasant and neither does he it seems as he negates it and releases a contented sigh with his head buried into the furnace of your neck, wrapping his arms under you to hug you tight.

You smile at his affection, nuzzling your nose into the side of his head, sighing with him before he admits, slightly slurred, “Fuck, you’re so fucking good.”

His profession has you cradling his head closer and squishing your nose deeper into his forest of hair, smiling like an idiot as you only chuckle in return.

You smile, kissing his head, before murmuring into his locks, “Not so bad yourself.”

You can feel his smile against your neck before he kisses it, and you giggle at his tranquil display of satisfaction.

“But don’t think I’ve forgotten; you still owe me Head on the Door,” you remind while sniffing up the leftover snot in your nose and wiping at your eyes with the heels of your palms. He extricates his face out of his little hovel and looks down at you with that troublesome glimmer in his eyes.

“I mean, may be a little hard, I’ll have to take down the whole door, but I’ll give it a try.”

“Eddie!” You chastise as he barks a booming laugh that has his stomach rumbling against your own. 

“Aw, c’mon, I thought my overpowering sex appeal would wipe that weirdo from your thoughts completely!” He groans in faux disappointment.

You giggle at his theatrics, “Nope, you better count your days because as soon as Robert Smith accepts me as his second wife, your bags are packed.”

He whines as he lays his head beside yours, cheek pressed to the scratchy denim as he moans, “You’re so mean to me.”

You pet his drying hair over his shoulder before pecking a kiss to his mouth, “It’s only ‘cause I love you.”

He hums a brief laugh, “Oh yeah, that’s right.”

[vld-aftermath-zine]

Why are Shaladin ships not allowed? Keith, Hunk, and Lance are/become adults in the canon show. Keith is 19, Hunk is 18, and Lance turns 18 somewhere halfway through the show. Plus, there are very few people who actually genuinely ship Shiro and what'shisname Curtis.

While the paladins are all legal adults by the end of the series, it would be incredibly weird for Shiro to get together with any of them the second they became legal adults. Shiro met them all while they were minors (Keith most likely being around 15ish upon meeting Shiro pre canon, Pidge being 15 and Lance and Hunk being 17 at the start of the series, and while Allura has no confirmed age it seems to be implied that she’s a teenager) and setting him up with any of them once they become legal reinforces gross behaviours. 

As for the Curtis comment, there are other adult characters Shiro can be paired with if you don’t enjoy shurtis (people have specifically showed interest in Shiro being paired with Matt and Adam). Although, even if there weren’t any adults he could be paired with, Shiro doesn’t need to be shipped with anybody within the zine. Especially not characters who were barely old enough to graduate highschool. 

From this point on I would like to request everyone to refrain from asking about Shaladin ships as the topic makes me extremely uncomfortable. Thank you.

[galracreature]

I cant be the only person who's uncomfortable w sh//att right

(This post got really long so I'm putting it under a cut)

it's heavily implied that Matt is around the same age as the paladins- at the oldest, he'd be only a year older than Keith since he was allowed on Kerberos, which would have made him 18- even then there's also real world precedent for teenagers being astronauts (that one girl comes to mind- Alyssa Carson, who graduated from the academy at age 16) so who's to say he isn't the same age as Keith? That'd make him 17 at the time of kerberos.

for crying out loud he has baby fat during kerberos!!!

hell, during the scene where Shiro saves him from fighting in the arena?

we get a good close up and we can see that he definitely has that baby fat!!

compare this to how he looks when pidge finds him, which is probably around 2 years post-kerberos;

his face is thinner and more defined, and his eyes aren't as wide and round; he's grown since he was on kerberos.

Hell, Keith goes through the same thing!! At the beginning of the series he's barely 18 and has a more youthful appearance-

once he's out of the quantum abyss (I hate the timeskip but it's useful for the purposes of this post);

His face is thinner, he's visibly older, and his eyes are even shaped slightly differently to help communicate the fact that he's aged.

Ive seen some people say that the Garrison is a college type program, but let me counter that: there's such thing as high school level career tech programs. In fact, I go to one for culinary arts! It's junior and senior year, the latter of which I'm in right now.

Its not too far fetched to think the Garrison might be similar, and could even start at the beginning of high school and extend several years out of high school as well.

In conclusion, Matt is absolutely not anywhere close to Shiro's age, there's just no way. I've even seen people depict him as the same age as Shiro, which just does not!! Compute!!

(Ship name censored because people searching for content of the ship probably don't wanna see my post abt how I don't like it)

edit: hey nobody harass anybody over this post please. i wanted to post my opinion and the fact that i personally believe that the show has evidence to suggest that matt is way younger than people portray him as/think he is. this is not an invitation to go out and harass people. what the hell

[nerdy-nook]

Giving My Favorite Characters Weed: Voltron Edition

VLD is obviously set in the future, so let's just say weed is legal. You can get it if you're 18 and have a medical card or are 21 without a med card.

Shiro

Refuses to smoke because it's bad for your lungs.

"The only thing humans should be breathing in is oxygen"

He uses gummies though.

Got his med card when he was 18 to help with the chronic pain brought on by his disability.

The Garrison is ok with weed as long as the user has a medical card, no matter the age.

Probably prefers the body high edibles give because it's a break from the constant pain.

Used to get super blasted with Matt. Shiro would be trying to have a deep conversation with him but Matt's too geeked to understand anything that's happening.

Keith

Definitely smoked underaged, this kid was in the foster care system.

Doesn't like to get too high because it makes him feel out of control.

Has a soft spot for music when he's high. He'd get the music blaring as loud as he wanted in his cabin and let himself get taken away by the sound.

Joints are his favorite way to smoke.

First tried it when he was 15. He caught one of the older kids at the group home smoking it, he offered Keith a couple of hits so he'd keep quiet. (Not that he would've told anyway).

Introduced James to weed.

Prefers to smoke alone, though he does like to hang out with Shiro when he's high.

He likes the introspective thoughts he gets while high and likes to look inward and do some self-reflection.

Lance

Social smoker!

No literally, he only does it when other people are doing it.

Tried it for the first time at a family get-together when he was 16. His cousin let him try some saying "I'd rather you do it in the house than on the street."

Gets the giggles. Seriously he laughs at everything.

Likes to go for walks while high, as soon as the joint hits his lips he's on the move.

Lance doesn't like to smoke alone because he gets way too into his head. He starts to worry about what people think of him, if his friends are really his friends, etc.

Hunk

Have you ever seen a food creation so wild that you think "Ok, whoever came up with this had to have had the munchies."

Yeah, that's Hunk.

His brain just goes wild with different ideas for recipes when he's stoned. He has a notebook for it!

Does not move after smoking. His tolerance is superrrr low so it only takes a little bit for him to be lying on the floor unmoving.

"Hunk? You good buddy?"

*Hunk, lying sprawled out like a starfish* "mmmm great!"

Lance is running around and wants to go for a walk and Hunk is just like wtf.

Only started when Lance proposed a group smoke sesh. (edibles for Shiro)

Pidge

Did NOT smoke underage, her mom would've killed her.

She gets so creative. Give this girl a nice Sativa and she's off working on projects, furiously scribbling ideas in her notebook.

Found Matt's old stash when she was younger, and had no idea what it was. She asked Matt why he had a bag full of loose-leaf tea. (Ik she's a genius but come on, this girl had no idea about anything drug-related).

LOVES to game after a nice big hit. Any game will do as long as she's with her buddies.

Gets really into the growing process. She ends up experimenting with different strains and cross-breeding.

Not to mention she likes to make her own edibles, and she gets really into the science behind it. Testing how different strains feel and experimenting with different flavors.

[klance-headcanons-official]

I think it’s so funny that people think the paladins would fight fair. Like.. no?? No! Those are kids trying to survive. 14-17/18 years olds. They probably bite, kick, and scratch tf out of their enemies

Especially pidge

- Vee 💜

Pidge and Keith absolutely. Those kids are fucking feral.

Lance probably tries to use his weapon as much as possible but ends up throwing hands

[autisticlancemcclain]

ask and you shall receive, @rottenseaweed my dear!!! julance drawing prompts for all my artist friends:

1. baby lance based on this image:

2. lance trying to do the cool wall lean and smirk to flirt with someone except he misses the wall and falls

3. lance and pidge furious and snarling at each other, fully ready to kill each other, so shiro separates them and starts giving them shit and they look at each other and start laughing bc they are asshole younger siblings who can’t take getting yelled at seriously

4. lance, leaning on hunk’s back as he rambles, and hunk completely focused on his work but reaching back to pat him on the head occasionally

5. coran fucking LAUNCHING lance into the pool

6. lance, visibly wearing something sparkly and pink that is Not His, terrorized expression on his face as he sprints away from allura who has murder written all over his face and is chasing him at top speeds

7. lance very carefully making charm bracelets for everyone

8. lance smiling softly as he pulls a blanket up over a couch-sleeping shiro

9. lance standing in front of like an easel or something with garbage memes on them, face very prim and instructional, holding a pointer and very clearly lecturing about meme culture to a wide-eyed, frantically note-taking allura

10. lance climbing kitchen cabinets to get something while hunk shouts at him in panic

11. lance absolutely kicking ass with a bow in this way from this video, if you’re into animation

12. lance standing with his hands on his hips, lecturing somebody about something, while hunk stands behind him with a photo of mrs mcclain whom he is imitating exactly without realising

13. lance braiding keith’s hair with like a million cutesy barrettes and charms and shit and just blabbing and keith is like fire truck red like truly glowing and lance is just completely overjoyed to be “fixing his mullet” and the rest of the team is losing their mind laughing at them

14. lance giving finger guns and winking at rebel matt who raises an eyebrow in amusement and pidge is mortified on his behalf

15. lance zooming around a moon, full armour and everything, picking up a thousand rocks and bringing them for shiro to hold bc they’re on a recon mission and shiro is watching this nerd boy in amusement (he is also geeking out about the rocks he’s just embarrassed about it)

16. veronica judo flipping lance upon their reunion on earth

17. lance, tongue out in concentration, knitting tiny little mouse sweaters

18. lance giving hunk a big ol’ cheek smooch bc he’s obnoxious (hunk pretends to be annoyed but is clearly holding back a smile)

18. coran and lance, faces both streaked with tears, hugging each other really tightly

19. keith really excitedly showing lance all the caves he explored when he was following blue’s trail and lance just staring at him, totally and completely whipped

20. pidge holding lance in a chokehold as he bites her. there are hearts around them bc they are both having literally so much fun even though they won’t admit it under pain of death

21. lance in daisy dukes and a cowboy hat, leaning against kaltenecker

22. lance, armour scuffed back from a rescue mission, teaching a bunch of scared alien children how to make friendship bracelets

23. lance and keith, on their honeymoon, faces half-obscured by the glare of the sun, grinning at the camera in front of the grand canyon (like this pic of my parents):

24. lance wearing a “i flexed so hard the sleeves ripped off” but the sleeves are very clearly still on. in fact the shirt is long-sleeved

25. preteen lance, beaming so wide his eyes squeeze shut, pink braces on his teeth

26. young lance, like maybe six or seven, missing four front teeth, giant satisfied smile on his face, at the beach (wearing shark swim trunks obviously) and holding a sea shell bigger than his entire head

27. tiny lance sitting on his brother’s shoulders, laughing, rest of his smiling family around him

28. a mirror of the food fight scene except it’s cake that the whole team (including the alteans!) are covered in, with a cake that says “happy birthday dorkbrain” absolutely destroyed with like clear imprints of people scooping up handfuls to throw

29. lance, in the backdrop of space, limp and unconscious, with both red and blue rushing towards him with protective snarls

30. lance hugging an alien scorpion the size of like a fucking horse, tears streaming down his face as if he’s looking at a particularly adorable kitten

31. the entire team except lance (he’s on a mission or smth) gathered in the common room, lounging on the couches. someone says “man i miss lance” and everyone is immediately like “oh my god me too i was waiting for someone to say it” “RIGHT ME TOO” “castle just isn’t the same without him” “seriously i’m so bored where is he when you need to bother him” etc etc

honestly i might do more of these dm me if u can come up with alliteration for a day of the week and i’ll post drawing prompts weekly