#Like who just goes around thinking about napkins

[password-door-lock]

Can you tell us your hyper-specific RFA wedding headcanons? Specifically the one about napkins, I am sososo curious

Yes, I can; thanks for asking! RFA wedding napkin preference headcanons under the cut!

Zen doesn’t really care about what kind of napkins the two of you have at your wedding— he’s much more concerned with big-picture things like the rings, the vows, the ceremony, and the first dance, not to mention securing venues and vendors, etc. He probably won’t come into the planning process with any strong opinions about the napkins, and if you tell him that you want something specific, he’ll defer to you on this matter. However, if you also don’t really care about napkins, and you ask him to take matters into his own hands? His priority would be to create something memorable to make you smile. I think he’d google search “romantic napkin folding,” which (at least from my experience) would yield a lot of tutorials on how to fold pink and red cloth napkins into a heart shape. I don’t think either one of you is interested in spending the afternoon before your wedding folding napkins, though, so I’m sure he’d delegate this task to someone else and take you to the spa instead. That being said, he would absolutely go out of his way to fold your napkin (even if that means scheduling some extra time to swing by the reception venue on his literal wedding day while you’re busy getting ready) and of course he’d be sure to unfold it on your lap once the two of you are seated. 

Yoosung has a lot of very specific fantasies about lot of different things (if some of the phone calls on his route are anything to go on) I think he probably has a lot of ideas for his wedding— some of them, he came up with before he even met you, and some of them really solidified as the two of you started planning for the big day in earnest. He wants cream-colored cloth napkins in a pocket fold (exactly what it sounds like; the napkin is folded so that it’s shaped like a pocket) with cute little cards in them— each guest would receive a personalized message from the both of you thanking them for coming to the wedding. It’s a very sweet touch, and it gives the two of you an opportunity to sit down together and think about how grateful you are for all the people you have in your life. He might get a little emotional ordering the cards and seeing your names written together on them for the first time. I think he’d invite the whole RFA to come over and fold the napkins the day before the wedding, but since the little notes are a surprise for your guests, the two of you might have to put together place settings later on your own. Of course, he has a special note for you, and you have a special note for him, but those will stay secret until you’re sitting down for dinner for the first time as a married couple. 

Jaehee knows a lot about napkins— and so do you! By the time the two of you get married, you’ve been running a coffee shop together for a WHILE. In fact, you’ve already had a conversation like this before when you decided what kind of napkins to purchase for the shop. Both of you are intimately familiar with the best kinds of paper napkins, what you can get in bulk, and even how many your guests might use over the course of your event, which would take a lot of guesswork out of the equation and free up more time for other parts of the planning process. You may even be able to get a discount with vendors that you know and trust, especially if you have a good relationship with them already. Of course, industrial napkins don’t necessarily look very nice, but Jaehee has a plan for that! She’ll order custom napkin dispensers (like the ones they have in restaurants) displaying your engagement photo as a special surprise! She’s already thinking about all the places she could put them after the wedding— maybe it might even be cute to get photo-display napkin holders for the coffee shop! Even if you end up wanting cloth napkins in the wedding colors or something along those lines, I think the restaurant-style dispensers are a really personal nod to the business the two of you run together. 

Jumin has probably never used a paper napkin in his life, and he’s not about to start at his wedding— especially since it’s likely to be a very tasteful event all around. He would opt for a fan fold, where the napkin is folded over several times and placed into an empty wine glass/water goblet. It would look elegant and draw attention to the glasses, which I’m sure would be very high quality and pretty to look at. I think he would probably leave the folding to a professional, because neither one of you needs any more stress in the days before what I can only imagine would be a very high-profile wedding. As far as the designs on the napkins go, I think they would probably be custom-made and embroidered with the silhouette of a cat alongside a motif that’s important to you in gold and/or silver— the color scheme would probably depend on what you prefer, as it would have to be coordinated with the wedding colors/your outfit and jewelry. I think it would be very important to Jumin that the wedding decor reflects both of your personalities while still being very luxurious. The two of you will also probably be sure to have the napkins washed and returned to you after the wedding so that you can use them for special occasions as you build your life together. 

Saeyoung has a strong preference for paper napkins for a lot of reasons. First of all, the two of you are probably planning to have a cotton candy machine, a chocolate fountain, and fifteen other food stations with a wide variety of dishes of varying messiness, and the reception is most likely to be a very dynamic environment with a lot of dancing and other fun activities. People will be on the move and might lose track of their napkins and need a replacement, or they might need to use more than one napkin at a time. Plus, it would be easier to find paper napkins with fun prints like cats dancing in space, math equations, and/or whatever patterns you happen to be into at the moment. You two have such a playful relationship, and this would be one very simple way to incorporate that playfulness into your wedding decor, which I think would be eclectic all around. Maybe there would be different napkin prints at every food station or every table! All that being said, the environment is very important to both of you, so the napkins you choose would be compostable and recycled (as would any other paper goods you use for food packaging), and there would be clearly-labeled places to dispose of them near every garbage can. And once he learns that biodegradable spaceship napkins exist, Saeyoung will make sure that there are never boring, plain napkins in the bunker again!

V may be an artist, but I don’t think he would put very much importance on the aesthetics of your wedding napkins. While I do think he would favor cloth over paper for simplicity and appearance, I think the deciding factor would ultimately be that he sees folding napkins by hand as much more personal than simply ordering paper napkins in bulk. It’s an opportunity to spend time alone with you the day before the wedding, going through a calming and repetitive motion while you reflect on the years you’ve been together and touch base about your feelings going into the marriage. I think he’d like something simple like a triangle fold, especially because it would be easy for the two of you to have a conversation and relax together while you’re folding. If you have your heart set on another way to fold them, he’d be open to it, because what’s most important to him is getting to spend that quality time together before the hectic last-minute stage of wedding planning. The color scheme would be highly dependent on your tastes, but I think he would prefer a solid color to a pattern or print. As he’s putting his napkin in his lap at the reception, he’ll smile a little at the memory of folding them with you. 

GE Saeran sees nearly every moment as an opportunity to share his love and gratitude, and it goes without saying that he would keep this mindset at your wedding. He’d be open to a variety of ideas, and obviously if you have a strong preference for a certain type of napkin, he would hear you out. But if left to his own devices? He’d choose something simple but meaningful, like a plain white cloth napkin, rolled. Instead of a napkin ring, I think he’d want to use a ribbon in your favorite color with a lily of the valley tucked into it. That’s right, even the napkins would be deeply meaningful, and both of you would probably get a little emotional just talking about them, let alone actually seeing them in front of you on your wedding day. If the reception is small and intimate enough, he might even use flowers from his own garden, though if you’re expecting a lot of guests, he would need to enlist the florist (who he’s had on speed dial since the moment the contract was signed). He’d probably plan to put everything together by himself, but obviously the moment you see him taking out spools of ribbon, unfolded napkins, and bushels of flowers, you’ll ask if you can help him, and the two of you will make an afternoon of it. Because the flowers are fresh, this would likely need to be done day-of, but that’s fine: Saeran doesn’t really care that it might violate tradition for y'all to see each other on your wedding day, especially since as far as he’s concerned, the two of you have been married in your hearts since the day you left Magenta.

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1796

"Y/n! You came!" Marlene exclaims, her eyes widening with surprise. Her usually confident demeanor melts into a mixture of shock and delight. Dorcas, sitting next to her, sends you a bright smile when she notices you. Lily practically flies off her barstool to give you a hug.

"You seem surprised." You giggle as you pull away from the hug you just shared with Lily. Noting the genuine astonishment on Marlene's face, you take in the lively atmosphere of the pub, which is buzzing with conversations and laughter, typical for a Friday night. You can't remember the last time you went out with the girls; it's been ages.

"Well, I mean, yeah, a little." Marlene admits, shifting slightly on her barstool. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and glances around, almost as if she’s trying to ensure that you’re really there.

"Why's that?" You ask, flagging the bartender down for a drink. The bartender, a tall guy with a friendly smile, nods at you in acknowledgment as he finishes serving another customer.

"You haven't been out with us in ages." She replies, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. Her eyes search yours, looking for an explanation.

"I've been busy, you know that." You say, smiling softly. The pub is so loud that Marlene's sigh goes unnoticed by you.

"With James." Marlene says blankly. Dorcas sends her a look of caution. Your eyebrows furrow, and you look over at her in confusion and surprise.

"Um, yeah, of course. Who else?" You ask, sending her an odd look. It's been clear since school days that you and James were close, so you aren't sure why she seems annoyed by this.

"Don’t you think you’re spending a lot of time with him?" Marlene asks, bringing her drink up to her lips and looking at you over the rim.

"With James? I’ve always spent a lot of time with James." You laugh, though you're starting to feel like Marlene is about to interrogate you. You love her, but she never holds back from stating her opinion, and sometimes that puts you on edge. You prefer to avoid confrontation at all costs. The lively chatter and clinking of glasses around you only add to your growing discomfort.

"It's true!" Lily chimes in, trying to diffuse the brewing tension. She broke up with James because everything for him always came back to you. Not that you knew that.

Marlene raises an eyebrow, clearly displeased with your answer. "I know, but lately it’s felt... more intense." She admits, her voice lowering as if she doesn't want everyone in the pub to overhear.

Dorcas, who has been silently observing, finally speaks up. "What Marlene means is that we miss you. It feels like we barely see you anymore, and when we do, it’s usually with James." You and Marlene remain silent, merely staring at each other blankly.

Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest, and your voice takes on a challenging edge. "Intense? What do you mean by that?" Dorcas and Lily exchange uneasy glances. Girls' night was not supposed to go this way.

Marlene raises an eyebrow, clearly incredulous. "He’s got Henry now."

A waiter sets your drink on a napkin in front of you, and you offer a quick, grateful smile. When you turn back to Marlene, your smile has vanished. "And how does that affect anything?" You ask.

“It changes everything,” Marlene says sharply. “You’re playing house with James. That isn’t your responsibility. If James wants that, he needs to find a girlfriend.”

You scoff, “I’m his best friend. Of course, it’s my job to help him out.”

“But you’re not just helping him,” Marlene counters. “You’re practically Henry’s mum.” You stand there, rigid. “Look, I want the best for you. Spending your twenties raising another woman’s child isn’t how you should be spending them.”

Your head jerks back as if struck, and you pull your lips tight. “She gave up her rights. Henry is James' son. If James doesn’t want me to help, he can tell me himself.” You sling your bag over your shoulder and down your drink. “And did you ever consider that this is how I want to spend my twenties? Being a part of their lives means everything to me. I’m sorry if you haven’t found someone you feel so strongly about.”

You're so upset that you don't even notice you've just confessed your feelings for James out loud for the first time.

By the time you reach James’ place, it's well past midnight. The streets are quiet, and the only sounds are the occasional distant car and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Given that it's a Friday night, there's a strong possibility he’s already in bed, but you’re willing to take that risk. You know he might be asleep, but the thought of waiting until morning is unbearable.

It takes a second for him to open the door, but when he does he squints at you and glances back at the street in horror, “Did you walk-”

You interrupt, a bit impatiently, “You would tell me if you didn’t want me to help with Henry as much as I do, right?”

James studies you closely. Your hair is tousled by the breeze, and you’re huddled tightly into your jacket against the chill. The sight tugs at his heart, making him want to gather you close and warm you himself. He reaches out and gently pulls you inside, closing and locking the door behind you as you slip off your coat and shoes and place them in their rightful place.

When you look up, James stands there with his arms crossed, a concerned frown on his face. “Well?” you prompt. James sighs, clearly grappling with how to respond.

“Of course I would,” he says softly. “I’ve always appreciated your help. I’ve never once considered asking you not to help me.”

You hesitate, glancing at the three pairs of boots lined up by the door—James’s, yours, and Henry’s. “And you really don’t think I’m trying to be Henry’s mum?” you ask, your voice quiet and edged with tension. James follows your gaze to the boots, his expression neutral. He doesn’t reply immediately, simply looking back and forth between the boots and you.

“He calls you his mum.” James says finally, and your heart feels like it stops. The room seems to shrink around you as tears spring to your eyes without warning. You raise a hand to cover your mouth, afraid that a cry might slip out uncontrollably.

Your voice is barely a whisper, “He does?”

James nods, his gaze steady but gentle. “He has for a while now. But I asked him to keep it between us because I didn’t want to overwhelm you.” The soft light from the hallway lamp casts a warm glow on his face, and the quiet of the room feels heavy with the weight of his words. If you weren’t so overwhelmed with emotion, you might have noticed that he took your advice to turn off the overhead lights and use a lamp instead.

A tear slowly traces its way down your cheek, and James catches sight of it instantly. His expression softens with concern. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.” You say gently.

There’s a pause between you both. You struggle to keep yourself composed, while James fights the urge to reach out to you. Neither of you is succeeding.

“Y/n,” James says, stepping closer with a hesitant expression. “You can tell me to forget it if this sounds strange, but—” He trails off, his gaze dropping to the floor as he nervously fiddles with his glasses. The soft hum of the heater fills the silence. “I don’t think you’re trying to be Henry’s mum. I think you already are.”

Your gaze snaps up to him, tears streaming freely down your face and leaving damp trails on your cheeks. “James, you can’t just say that. When you get a girlfriend and it gets serious—”

“Darling,” he interrupts gently, his hand coming to rest reassuringly on your arm. “Why do you think I haven’t gotten myself a girlfriend after all these years? Henry’s about to turn four.”

You sniffle, “I—I don’t know. I just thought you were waiting for the right person, someone who would be a good fit for both you and Henry.”

“I have been.” He says, stepping closer until you’re nearly chest to chest. His gaze locks with yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. The soft light from the lamp casts a gentle glow on his face, accentuating the earnestness and vulnerability in his eyes. Your stomach tightens at the sight of the tenderness in his gaze—eyes soft and honeyed.

“Jamie—” you whisper, but your voice trails off as you feel his hand settle on your hip, pulling you gently against him. Your heart pounds so fiercely that you’re sure he can feel it if he presses any closer. The space between you seems to shrink, the air thick with unspoken feelings.

“What, darling?” He murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath as he leans in. His lips, pink and slightly parted, are just inches from yours. The warm, intimate proximity makes you ache to close the gap and kiss him, yet a flicker of doubt makes you hesitate, wondering if you’re misreading the depth of the moment.

You barely have time to process your doubts before James leans in and presses his lips against yours. The kiss starts off tentatively, allowing you the space to pull away if you need to. But you rise onto your toes and slip your right hand into his soft curls, guiding him closer with a gentle pull. The deep, passionate groan he releases sends a rush of warmth through you, making your head spin.

His fingers find yours, and he intertwines them with a reassuring grip. He slowly walks you backward until your back meets the cool surface of the door.  The texture of the wood presses against your shoulders and the small of your back. Your bodies are pressed closely together, and your hands remain intertwined, resting next to your head on the door.

The kiss grows more intense with each moment. Your lips part, and James licks into your mouth, his tongue moving with an urgency that’s both surprising and exhilarating. His left hand comes up to hold your jaw, his thumb pressing into your cheek, holding you steady as he continues to kiss you. The soft whimpers and moans that slip past your lips are pathetic.

When he finally rests his forehead against yours, sending you a breathless, knowing smile, it becomes clear that you’re completely done for.

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

[postracehair]

paying attention

max verstappen x reader | 1.7k

a minor accident on a night out forces you to call the one guy you're not sure about. will a hospital waiting room clear things up between you?

cw: enemiesish-to-lovers, some blood (from charles), drunkenness (from charles), a hospital

a/n: first time here. let's see how this goes. __

The club is loud, crowded, and sweaty. You are tired, sober, and searching the sea of people for a certain silhouette. 

"He's not here." Oscar grins at you and takes a sip of his drink, eyebrows wiggling. "Max," he says. 

You frown. 

"I'm not --"

"Sure, you're not," he says. 

You're not entirely certain how you got here -- a club in the middle of Monaco with some of the most famous and wealthy guys in the world. An invite from a friend of a friend one time became two times became you rubbing elbows with the likes of Oscar Piastri and Charles Leclerc and...

Max Verstappen. Who is not here. Which is good, because --

"Why do you hate him, by the way?" Oscar asks. You huff. 

This would be much more bearable if you had a drink in your hand. "I don't." 

Oscar smirks at you. "It's that time he spilled a gin and tonic on you, I bet. You were so mad, I thought he was going to --"

The Australian keeps talking but you stop listening. Your heart beats in time with the thumping music. 

It's not that you hate Max. That would be exaggerating. You just don't know what to make of him. The times he's been out when you're there he's...fine. He makes sure everyone gets on the list, he buys people drinks, and he dances. But you've never really talked to him and maybe you're a little intimidated. Or maybe Oscar is right -- he did spill a drink on you. He probably apologized, but you were too pissed and embarrassed to remember. 

It sounds silly when you think about it now. 

"--just last week, he was saying that he thinks you --"

"Oh, shit!"

"No, Charles, don't!"

"Fuck --"

You and Oscar whirl around to see Charles pressing a rapidly reddening napkin to his palm.  

"Fuck's sake," you mutter. "What happened?"

The glass crunching under your shoes as you head over answers your question. 

"Whoops," Charles says, shrugging. His eyes are glassy and cheeks pink and you know before you lift the napkin that he needs stitches. 

"We're going to the hospital," you say. You think through the logistics -- can you get him there without calling an ambulance? You're not certain where the nearest emergency room is, nor if you can avoid the paparazzi. 

"Call Max," he protests, seeing your mind spinning even through his drunken haze, but you ignore him. 

"Now, Charles." You tug on his sleeve. "Keep this arm up."

It's clear that you're the most sober one here, so you tell the group you're taking him. Hardly anyone notices. Maybe they're all drunk or they just trust you with the Prince of Monaco. Who is being very annoying as you pull him out of the club and into the warm night.

"Call Max," he says again. 

"I heard you, Charles," you say. "We don't need to call him, I'll just call a car--"

"Nooo," he whines. "Just call Max. He'll take us." He shoves his phone at you and holds his injured hand high in the air like you told him to. 

Max will... probably answer. It's summer break and Charles seems to think he's at home. On his sim, or streaming, or whatever really rich guys do at home on a Friday night in Monaco. 

Before you can overthink it, you press the name on Charles's phone and hold it to your ear.

He picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, man," Max says. 

"Um, hey." There's a pause, and then Max says your name. 

"Why do you have Charles's phone?"

You look over at your friend who is examining his poorly bandaged hand. "Du, du, du, du, Max Verstappen," he hums. 

"Can you come get us? Charles cut himself on a glass and needs to get stitches."

"He -- what?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's late --"

"Where are you?" It sounds like he's moving around, keys jangling, a door closing.

"I can call a car, but he told me to call you --"

"Where are you?"

You tell him the club name and he hums. "Be there in 10. Don't leave."

"We're not going anywhere," you huff, but he's already hung up.

"Told you," Charles says, knocking his shoulder with yours. You roll your eyes and push his elbow back in the air. 

Max pulls up in a sleek four-door car in way less than 10 minutes. Charles happily gets in the back before you can say otherwise and you only hesitate for a second before sliding into the passenger seat. 

"Don't bleed on the leather, man," Max says, stepping on the gas as soon as your door is closed. The car hums under you and the streets of Monaco start to fly by. "And put your seatbelt on." 

"It's not that bad," Charles whines. "She's worrying too much."

You huff. Max slows to a stop at a red light.

"Hey," he says. It takes a second to register that he's speaking to you. You finally look at him and find his brow furrowed, jaw tight, almost as if he's actually worried. Maybe he is, even if it's just a cut. Or maybe he really is afraid Charles will get blood on the seat.

"Hi," you say. He looks amused for a second then flicks his hand at your waist. 

"Seatbelt applies to you, too."

"Oh," you breathe. "Sorry." Your brain does something funny -- for a second, you imagine Max reaching over you to grab the belt and pull it across your torso, clicking it tight at your hip. 

You blink the image away, cheeks hot, and buckle it yourself. 

"Thank you," Max says before he steps on the gas again. 

Charles rambles in the backseat about something and Max humors him while you swallow down whatever the hell the sudden tightness in your chest is. What an inconvenient time to realize you might have a crush.

There's little to no traffic and you make it to the hospital quickly. Max drops you both at the doors and Charles is stumbling his way through them before you can say thank you. You swallow the unfamiliar taste of disappointment at no longer being in Max's company and get Charles situated.

The waiting room is nice, obviously, but empty. You can hear the hum of the overhead lights beneath the faint classical music playing from somewhere and smell whatever bleach they use to keep this place clean. 

"Hospitals are so depressing." 

You straighten in your chair and turn to see Max. You let yourself look. Green hoodie, sweatpants that look soft and expensive, and sneakers.

"I thought you'd go home," you say. He shrugs and flops into the chair next to yours, rubbing a hand over his face. 

"You'll both need a ride when he's done." 

God, he looks tired. "Sorry."

Max leans forward, elbows on his knees, and turns his face to you. "For what?"

"Calling, I guess." His hair is a mess and you tuck your hands under your thighs so you don't reach for it. God, what is happening to you? "I bet you were busy."

He laughs and it's so unexpected that you laugh, too. "I don't think I'd call cleaning litter boxes busy."

"Well, still," you press. "Thank you."

Max's jaw works like he's chewing on something, eyes on your face. You try very hard not to squirm in your seat. "I think you don't like me very much," he finally says. 

"I -- what --," you sputter. He leans back in his chair with a smirk. "Why?" you manage to say.

"We don't speak," he says. "You avoid me when we're out, you didn't even call me from your phone--"

"I don't have your phone number," you mutter. 

"And it's fine if you don't," he continues. "I just want to know if I'm right."

He looks unbothered, eyes bright and jaw relaxed but his knee is bouncing. You realize that he's been paying as much attention to you as you have to him. You've been watching each other.

"No," you say, softly. "You're wrong."

His knee stills. "So why the distance?"

You sigh. God, this is not how you expected the night to go. You think back to what Oscar said in the club, to Charles demanding you call Max. Maybe this is something everyone else has seen but you. I thought you didn't like me, you don't say. I thought you didn't even care.

Something about the quiet, empty waiting room and the fluorescents and Max's tone when he told you to put on your seatbelt make you want to be honest.

"I think you're intimidating," you confess. A glance at his face reveals that you've managed to surprise him. His eyes are wide and is he...blushing? "And one time you spilled a drink on me."

That gets him to laugh. 

"Oh, god," he huffs. "That was not very well done of me." He looks at his hands, then back at you. "I owe you one."

"A drink? You didn't spill my drink," you remind him. "You spilled yours on me."

"Ehh," he says, waving his hand in the air. "Details."

Is Max Verstappen asking to buy you a drink? Your stomach erupts in butterflies. Who knew you'd be so affected by this man?

Before you can reply, Charles shoves the ward doors open and calls your name.

"Stop flirting," he says, holding up his bandaged hand with a grin. "Time to go home."

Max glances at you and rolls his eyes but his cheeks are still pink. He stands with a huff, digging his keys out of his pocket. 

Charles, still drunk, clearly, rambles about the stitches and how nice the doctors were as you walk to the car. Max sticks to your side.

"Hey," he says. "Give me your phone."

"Why?" you ask, even as you hand it over to him. His thumbs tap on the screen. 

"Now you can tell me when you're free for that drink." 

He passes it back to you and you see that he's added his number. 

"Are you guys even listening to me?" Charles whines.

"Okay, Max," you say softly. 

He grins at you. 

"Oh my goooood," Charles says. "Come on."

"We hear you, mate," Max says. "Let's go home."

[gn4bnahc]

Swim

Pairing: Felix x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Friends to lovers

CW:Unprotected sex, pool sex, fingering, masturbating, hard thoughts. Idk if theres more

Masterlist

This is just Fiction!

It was your friends birthday Vienn, she invited you and the rest of the friend group to celebrate and have a sleepover.

Felix lives near you, so he picked you up with his car and you guys went together to Vienn’s house. You both arrive at her house and greet your other friends.

You, Felix and your other friends went inside her house. Vienn says, “Theres not enough rooms, so there will be two people in each room”. Felix looks at you, “Wanna share a room?”, “Yeah sure”, you say as he helps you with your bags.

“Woah this room is bigger than my living room”, you say as Felix chuckles. You lay on the bed, “So soft, I’m exhausted, that trip took like 3 hours”, you sigh, “Y/n let’s go downstairs we need to help Vienn decorate”, Felix says as you pout and close your eyes, “Come on, Im so tired”, you say as Felix picks you up in a bridal style. Felix goes downstairs while carrying you. Your friends look at you and Felix, one shouts “wooo just get married already”.

You and Felix were always shipped and teased by your friends, they titled both of you “Friends with benefits”, you both can’t even complain about it because it was kinda true.

Few hours later

You guys went to go swimming, Felix couldn’t take his eyes of you, your bikini was a bit sheer, so your nipples was kinda see through, your round breasts, your ass, all Felix could think about was grabbing your breasts and squeezing it, mark every part of your body, and fuck you right there, right now.

Vienn called all of you to drink, all of you went to the table near the pool, you helped Vienn get the beer from the fridge. "I have to go to the bathroom to uhh... pee", Felix says as he runs to the bathroom, but the truth is he's not actually gonna pee, he's gonna take care of his boner.

Felix goes in the bathroom and quickly took off his swimming trunks, sat down the toilet, started stroking his cock, he took out his phone and looked at your picture while masturbating, this wasn’t his first time doing this, he does it so much he lost count. He strokes his dick faster, moaning out your name. He finally cums, he grabs a napkin to wipe himself.

He goes back to the table “Where did you go?”, “I uhh just took care of something”.

Few hours later

Everyone is drunk except you and Felix, Vienn helps the others go back to their rooms, some of them are crying some of them were really tipsy, bumping into so many things.

“Wanna go for a swim?”, he says while you take off your towel that is wrapped around you, he takes your hand, guiding you towards the pool.

“Woah the water is really cold”, you say while caressing both of your arms. Both of you lean against the wall, “The stars are so pretty… like you”, you look at him “Can I kiss you?” he says as you smile at him, “Are you drunk?”, “Nah… Im just inlove”, you chuckled, you suddenly smash your lips on his, he takes both of your legs and carries you, he goes down to your neck, sucking it, leaving a mark. You moan as he slowly unties the strings of your bikini, “Am I the only one whos gonna be naked here?”, you say in between the kiss, he takes off his trunks. He puts two fingers inside your cunt, making it go in and out of you, “Lixxie… please…”, “Please what?”, “Pleasee fuck mee”, he takes out his fingers, without a warning he goes inside your wet cunt. He starts out slowly, “Please… Lixxie… faster… harder”, you say while whimpering. He goes faster, hitting your g-spot everytime. “Shit… Im so close… Fuckk…Y/n”, he starts to kiss you roughly, theres nothing you can do but moan and cry out loud. “Gonna…cuum”, “Lixxie, please fill me up”, he cums inside you, making sure every drop of it is deep inside. Both of you are panting heavily and really sweaty, “Round two?”, he says while tucking a strand of your hair at the back of your ear, “Our room”.

Both of you get out the water still naked, leaving your bikini and his trunks, he carries and kisses you while going upstairs, “Lixxie that tickles”, you giggle.

He lays you on the bed and kisses you, going down to your neck, licking it. “They might here us though…”, “They’re drunk anyways, they won’t know”.

[dilfcho]

too deep

office worker!nanami x fem!reader wc: 1.2k warnings: bff!gojo, nanami humps his hand to a pic of u, he cums in his pants, MDNI!

gojo is not someone nanami enjoyed the company of.

everyone knew this, especially gojo. aside from meetings and short, work-related texts, nanami avoided conversation with him at all times and mastered the art of tuning him out. gojo didn’t care, he would talk to a wall if he wanted to.

nanami leaned against the counter in the breakroom while gojo went off about any and everything. the weather, his lucky socks going missing, burning his toast this morning, the usual. that was until, he brought up you.

this was the first time nanami regretted not listening to his frustrating coworker, and it will probably be the last. all he caught from the jumble of words gojo was spewing was “best friend” before getting a full-brightness phone screen shoved in his face. it was a picture of you, gojo’s so-called best friend, on the beach with him. you posed in a large sweatshirt, the only bottoms being stringy bikini ones. the sun beats down on your skin while gojo shielded your eyes so you could smile properly. his other hand rested high on your torso, nearing your breast, but you didn’t seem to mind.

nanami’s face falters when his eyes finally uncross. he swallows his saliva but it goes down the wrong pipe, and gojo notices.

“what was that?” gojo pulls his phone away from his face and tilts his head in confusion.

he clears his throat, “what was what?”

“you made a face. was it about her?” gojo raises his phone again and points at you on the screen.

“you’re being annoying. no." he attempts to lean back so he was further from him, but he was already caged in.

“holy shit, it is. you think she’s pretty.” gojo laughs in his face while reaching behind him for a napkin. he pulls a pen from his pocket and scribbles something down.

before nanami can swat his hand away, he shoves it in his suit jacket and pats it.

“she knows about you already. she’s single.”

-

when nanami finally steps through the front door of his home, the first thing he does is slip his shoes and suit jacket off and plop himself on the couch. one person can only take so much of gojo's incessant rambling. when he shimmies off his jacket, he feels something crumple in the lining.

fishing through the pockets of his coat, nanami finds the napkin.

on it is your phone number, and unexpectedly, a username. it’s simple, it sounds like it’s just your first and last name. it’s pretty.

the coat in his hand is tossed beside him on the couch, long forgotten once he starts mentally drafting a text to you. his fingers hover over the keyboard, hitting the backspace button more than actual letters. the message he’d typed and retyped one-too-many times stared back at him as imaginary scenarios swirled in his head.

what if you don’t respond? he’ll just look desperate. he doesn’t do things like this. he doesn't know how to.

but what if you do? what if you reply, and plan a date? what if it goes well and you go on another, and another, and another? one of those dates could be to the beach, and he’ll be the one placing his hands too high (or low) on your body.

he sends a simple hello, and a clarification of who's texting you.

heat flushes his face over nothing and he takes a deep breath. he thinks back to the other thing gojo scribbled on the napkin, a username. almost on autopilot, nanami pulls up your profile and is clicking through your photos, being careful not to double tap at 2:23 a.m.

in one, you pose at dinner with a sheepish smile. your eyes aren’t focused on the camera, instead taking interest in the person holding it. he taps once to see if anyone is tagged, and thankfully, it’s only the irritating person that gave him your number. he scrolls lower and lands on a photo of you in bed.

it’s a screenshot from your laptop. you lay on your side in a loose lounge top, your head propped up by your hand. your shirt is a little lopsided, maybe from shifting around. the longer he drinks in your figure, the more he notices. he wonders if it was cold in the room, because through the thin-looking fabric your nipples poke out ever so slightly. there’s a thin sliver of your hip on the far right of the photo. did your shorts ride up? are you even wearing shorts? nanami doesn’t have time to dwell on that, he has something else to worry about.

calloused fingers run through his tousled blond hair. his face felt hot, and it was spreading down his neck. his palm falls to the back of his neck to rub it, maybe to rub away the filth he felt too. he trails lower, right below his collarbone to tug at the folded collar of his dress shirt. the hand that still held his phone scrolls a few photos down until he hits a familiar one. he hasn’t seen it before, but he recognizes something. the pattern on skimpy bikini you show off in this photo are identical to the one that peeked out from under your sweatshirt in the photo gojo showed him. it must've been taken on the same day. does he really get to see you like this all the time?

one final time, the two fingers that tugged on the sleek collar of his shirt skip over his torso and fall straight to the crotch of his slacks. the erection you’ve caused is beyond embarrassing, the outline too easy to make out. his palm rubs over his clothed bulge and he lets out a hiss. the tips of his fingers don’t near his button and zipper because in his mind it’s less pathetic if he keeps all his clothes on. in his mind, he didn’t actually touch himself to a picture of you for way too long, he didn’t wipe a dribble of drool from the corner of his mouth, and his cum definitely didn’t leak through in his pants over the thought of you.

he doesn’t even get a chance to catch his breath because a loud ding brings him out of his daze. the phone that he never let go of was still open on your photo, although this time the heart under your post was red. another ding rings out and he sees a message from an unsaved number hang over your picture.

he’s fucked.

nanami wipes his sticky palm on the fabric that stretches over his muscular thigh and sits up straight. he taps the notification and feels his heart drop to his ass.

hi nanami! i’m so happy he gave u my number

i see he gave u my @ too haha

he pinches the bridge of his nose and falls right back into his previous position, resting his head on the back of the sofa. you know. you know that he was stalking you in the middle of the night and now you’re laughing at him.

I’m sorry. It was an accident. I’ll be more careful next time.

he presses the blue arrow and wallows in his embarrassment. he wasn’t thinking straight. he should’ve replied in the morning. instead, he should be changing his pants. or maybe dreaming of you. of course, the universe doesn’t even allow him to regret his actions. his phone buzzes.

oh, there’s a next time?

-

mlist

[kingconia]

Hello I js read ur MC who takes inspriration from the protag of their stories and if you're still taking requests, is it possible to do a part 2 for it?

A/N: You are welcome. I pondered a little about the continuation of this concept, and figured out that Leona & Vil had the most potential for the second part, since I left a cliffhanger in their stories. Others seemed quite cliche or obvious—Riddle has a crush, he can easily deal with, and same goes for Malleus, Azul & Idia. I hope, you don't mind.

The first part can be found here. Obviously, read it first for the context.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR & VIL SCHOENHEIT WITH THE READER, WHO IS INSPIRED BY THE PROTAGONIST OF THEIR STORIES.

Leona Kingscholar. 💛

— Leona is bad at admitting aloud that he made a mistake, but it doesn't necessarily mean he has no realisation of it. He knows, he hurt you. That is obvious;

— He starts paying more attention to you in the school, since he hasn't figured out how to fix your relationship yet. And that is when he notices that... You are actually not as cheerful as he remembered you to be? Most of the time, you sit away from other students of Savanaclaw?

— When he asks Ruggie about that, he shrugs. He tells Leona that you were always like this, and they even call you ”the sombre heir” among themselves, since you are not quite fun to have around. Leona is surprised. You were so different with him...

— In the end, Leona simply decides to speak with you honestly. He has this feeling that you will accept him either way. You always did before. But, oh, seems like he is not on your good side anymore, isn't he?

•

”Oi, kittie, watcha doin'?” Leona plops in front of you, putting his elbows on the table.

He is nervous, he will not lie about. It is the first time he feels such an overcoming anxiety before someone alive, and that is strange. It is just you, after all. Right?

”Dunno,” you answer slowly, putting a slice of meat in your mouth. ”Thinking about my family, who died so yours could take our throne away. You, Leona?”

Well, you definitely are not planning to forgive him so easily.

Leona shifts uncomfortably as he tries to catch your gaze. Without a luck.

”I accept my fault,” he murmurs quietly, hardly audible. ”And if anything, I understand your pain. I, too—”

A sudden laugh from your lips makes him stop in the tracks. As you wipe your mouth with the napkin, you smile suddenly. And when you raise your eyes on him, Leona almost flinches. Because there is nothing kind or gentle in these orbs now. Instead, they are cold. They are cold, and at the same time, they are awfully mad.

”What would you know about it, golden boy?” Your voice shift in a condescending tone as you shake your head slightly. ”Kings like your brother, Leona, they have honour. And princes like you or your little nephew have a bravery and heart. But people like me, Leona, the fallen ones, we only have rage. So, excuse me, but I don't think we are at the same page, kittie.”

You are hissing your last words, hand coming to grab Leona by his chin, tip of claws scratching his skin. He wants to back away, he intends too, but he is suddenly strangely fascinated by you. Intimidated, even.

”If you want to apologise, Leona, then do it properly. With falling on your knees, at least,” your fangs flash in a carnivorous smirk. ”And until then, have your dreams. Sweet or not—we will see in which mood I am going to be today.”

Leona gulps as he watches you leaving, eyes fixated on your back.

Perhaps you ignored his existence until now, willing to forget his rudeness. But now, it seemed, he lost the last pieces of your mercy.

...And he needs to figure out how to have your forgiveness really quick.

Vil Schoenheit. 💜

— Vil is not surprised when headmaster warns him, that someone from his dorm attempts to take away his housewarden title. He already knows who it is, and he is not surprised to see your face, when he enters the main hall;

— He had a bad week already: his hair products worked awfully, your number of followers outnumbered his own, and Neige practically took the role that was his in the very last moment. It is only logical that in the same week you attempt to take his title;

— And, of course, you succeed. The poison you created can be only worth of the Pomefiore housewarden, and no one can deny that. Even Vil. In fact, he always acknowledged your brains and wilt, so of anything, he feels it is fair win;

— What makes him stop frozen, though, is the person you want to see as your vice. Originally, Vil thought that you will take Rook—he is quite aware of his attraction towards you—but then... You chose him? Why? Why would you do that?

•

”Well,” Vil says, when the two of your are left in the room alone, and there is no need to act as you were friends anymore. ”What else are you planning to do with me? You are the housewarden—you won. Why making me your vice?”

You turn on your heels to face him, a big and shiny smile plastered on your face as you step closer to him.

”Don't be so mean, Vil-sama. Why do you act as if I hate you? I don't,” you put yours hands on chair handles he is sitting at, invading his personal space gracefully. ”I cannot hate a person, who helped me to understand what my signature spell is.”

Vil furrows, pressing his back to the chair more firmly, not trusting you coming close to him. Yet, it hardly changes anything—the tips of your noses are practically touching.

”I apologise, but I cannot recall such a thing.”

He had never helped you with anything in your life. Now, Vil is ashamed that he didn't.

He remembers your first day in the dorm. How you clinged to his side, with stars shining in your eyes, asking him about this and that. How you attempted to befriend him. How you only originally started to speak with Rook to understand him better.

Vil failed the little student of his.

And the person in front of him didn't want his acceptance now.

”How come?” Your hands are suddenly on his head, fingers wrapped around his favourite diadem, taking it off slowly. ”After all, you were the first beast I spoke with.”

He flinches, and you carefully kiss him on the cheek before putting the diadem on your own hair. It looks nice.

Vil hates that.

”I miss the kid you were,” he murmurs against his best judgement.

You hum.

”Bear the monster you created, instead.”

You left him on the vice position so it could be a remind for his mistake. For his cruelty. For his arrogance. He realises it now. You don't need to do anything special to hurt him, if he does it to himself, working under your command on the daily basis, seeing you shine, when he burns out.

You are beautiful, Vil accepts that. Your revenge is a charming one, too.

”I heard Neige got that role?” You ask suddenly, when he reaches doors, unwilling to turn back. ”Such a shame. Something must happened.”

He grits his teeth.

Vil hates himself for making you like this. Yet, he can't help but feel proud. Whatever he created you as—you would take what is yours, with blood and sweat. He can admire that about you. And deep inside, Vil thinks you do that, too. Deep inside you enjoy it as much as you hate it.

”Yes. Something.”

After all, there is truly nothing Vil can do, but accept his defeat.

The king is dead. Long life to you.

A/N: Based on protagonists or not—they had some darkness in theirselves as well; just as Simba was quite ruthless, when the situation required of it, in many interpretations of the tale, Snow-white learned how to be cruel, too. I think it is enamoring how these said protagonists can be just as their villains, especially if they were growing up around them in one way or another.

[rukkiya]

forget me not

(kaeya x reader)

he promises to take you out to dinner, but he never shows.

“Would you like to place an order now hon?” The waitress asks softly, making you look from your empty wine glass up to her soft eyes.

“Ah, if I can order another glass of wine that would be nice! I’m still waiting,” you look outside the big window next to you, seeing the sky much darker than when you first sat. “I’m sure he’ll arrive soon.” You turn back to her smiling, repeating the same thing for the fourth time for the past two hours trying to convince yourself more than her that he’ll show up. He always does.

“Of course, I’ll be back with the bottle in just a minute.” She nods, turning to get you more of what you requested.

You don’t remember the last time you drank, heck you don’t even drink much to begin with but it’s all you can do to kill time. You don’t want to eat without him and spoil your appetite, he will show up soon.

You know he’s busy, he’s the Captain of the Knights so it’s expected. When he proposes the idea of going out you couldn’t hide your excitement. Anything to do with Kaeya was your favorite.

You arrived at the restaurant the time he told you to be there, at 7pm. The clock reads 9:30 now but it’s ok, it’s understandable. He’s the captain of the Knights after all.

The lights surrounding the small restaurant eliminates the busy nightlife in Mondstadt. You eye the people who are passing by, smiling at the elderly people who walk with their significant others, the parents holding their children’s hands as their laughter fills the air. But your eye catches something from afar.

The familiar head of blue hair among the people walking by. Your stomach erupts with butterflies seeing him finally. Walking down the stairs to the main shopping area in Mondstadt. But as he inches closer you see he isn’t alone. He’s walking with someone, no. He’s holding onto someone who’s leaning on him.

Your eyes squint a bit, trying to see if what you’re seeing is correct. But you see him smiling with the woman next to him mixed in with everything else and your heart goes heavy.

You see his smile much clearer now that they both are closer, he has his arm hooked around hers, almost as if he is holding her upright to keep her from stumbling and she’s giggling at him, eyes wide looking up at him leaning into him as much as she can.

The two walk past the restaurant and down towards Diluc’s tavern, Kaeya didn’t even glance at the restaurant you were currently sitting in waiting for him. Not once, he kept his eyes on the girl the whole time.

You reach for your pocket watch with a heavy hand and flip it open, seeing the time 9:45 pm. Almost three hours, three whole hours and he’s with someone else. He forgot.

You quickly finish the last of your wine and blink. Did he actually forget?

You wave your waitress down when she passes you, making her stop.

“Actually, can I purchase a whole bottle of wine please?” You ask her and she nods, her smile falling a bit at your expression. Your eyes look glossy.

He promised you a night out after so long. You’ve both been so busy with work this sounded so nice but it was too much to ask for apparently. He had more important matters.

Diluc makes his way down the street to his tavern and spots you sitting alone in the restaurant. Glass of wine in hand and solemn look on your face.

His eyebrows furrow. “Why are they out alone right now?” He thinks.

Part of him wants to stop and check in, but part of him knows to not get into people's business. He doesn’t want to sadden you further by making you talk about it. But if he makes another run in a while and still sees you in there, he'll stop by.

Diluc pushes the door to his tavern open, his eyes fall on Kaeya and Amber helping a woman who is belching into a bag, Amber is rubbing her back and Kaeya is holding napkins for her. This makes Dilucs mouth from the line. ”What's going on?” he thinks.

“I got her from here. I’ll take them Barbara just in case.” Amber helps the woman up to her feet and walks to the door, Diluc holds it open for them.

“Thank you, I'll make sure to check in with Albedo and Jean tomorrow.” Kayea waves her off, eye falling on an unamused looking Diluc.

“Your plus one got sick?” Diluc speaks up, making Kaeya’s smile drop.

“Not my plus one, a subordinate.” Kaeya answers flatly, not even laughing at such a dumb joke.

“Why bring one of your knights here?” Diluc asks, taking his coat off, rolling up his sleeves.

“They were exposed to a potion in Albedo’s lab, he suggested bringing them here. He said grape juice might help sober them up, where else would I go to get it when you sell the best.” Kaeya shrugs, making Diluc hum.

“You’re not drinking?” Diluc raises a brow at Kaeya when he realizes there’s no alcohol in front of the captain.

“Nope, I already feel like I’m forgetting something, if I drink I really won’t remember. I’d rather not.” Kaeya sighs, a looking out the window.

“I saw y/n on the way here.” Diluc brings you up, at the sound of your name Kaeya looks at Diluc again his eye brightens. His focus now is on what Diluc has to say.

“My darling? Did you talk to them? What are they doing out this late?” Kaeya smiles, though he’s confused. You’re never out this late.

“They were in the new restaurant down the street, they were drinking.” Diluc clears his throat at the last part.

Kaeya tilts his head. “Alone? What do you mean by drinking?” Kaeya asks

“They had a glass of wine in their hand, they were sitting alone at-

Kaeya tries to think of why you’d be out so late, you don’t have any appointments this late. You didn't tell him you were meeting anyone. His eye catches the calendar behind Diluc and feels his heart drop when he notices the date.

“What time is it?” Kaeya cuts Diluc off.

Diluc pulls out his pocket watch and sighs. “Just hit 10pm” he shows Kaeya and sees the color drain from his face.

“Oh no.” Kaeya stands up in a flash. Before Diluc can question him he’s out the door.

His legs don’t stop. It’s so dark out and you’re alone. How long have you been waiting?

Kaeya sees the restaurant come into view and sprints faster, throwing the door open the instant his hand makes contact with the knob.

The restaurant goes quiet, the few customers and waiters in there stare at the Captain who seems to be out of breath.

He ignores the stares, his eye scanning the vicinity for one person and one person only.

But it's strange, you're not here. He walks further to the back and sees an empty table with a coat that looks familiar.

He sees a waitress clearing empty wine bottles from it, quickly making his way to your coat.

“Excuse me,” Kaeya greets the older waitress and she smiles at him.

“Hell- Captain Kaeya hello! What brings you here?” the waitress smiles.

“I'm looking for someone. Do you know if the person that was sitting here left?” He asks, seeing the waitress’ smile drop a bit.

“Why yes. They were here for a while but they left not too long ago. They had drank a lot of wine and ordered no food. I offered to walk them home since they seemed a bit off balance but they said it was ok. I realized they left their coat a bit too late. I had gone out to tell them but they were already gone.” She explains, feeling sorry for you.

Kaeya feels his chest tighten.

“Thank you. If you don't mind, can I take the coat with me? I'd like to give it to them myself.” Kaeya asks.

“Why of course how sweet of you.” the waitress nods her head, gesturing with her hands for him to take it.

“Thank you.” He quickly thanks the waitress before turning around.

“Wait.” She calls out, making him turn around.

“If I can bother you to check on them right now, I'm worried. If you do stop over there please take this.” she walks past him to the front counter, grabbing a bag.

“I had intended to give this to them since they didn't eat the whole time. They refused, however.” The waitress hands Kaeya the bag of food and he nods.

“Of course, I was planning on stopping by. Thank you for your concern."He thanks her, turning to leave the restaurant. The waitress can see how uneasy Kaeya was from his face, she knows that you were waiting for him all along. When you got up to leave, in your drunken state you told her to tell Kaeya you went home and not to worry.

Kaeya steps out and the cold night air hits him. Did you walk home without your coat? It's freezing. Kayea feels even worse.

His legs walk at such a fast pace, not daring to slow down.

Did you make it home safe? Are you ok? Why did you leave alone?

He starts to run, almost sprint. His mind is racing with the worst.

He turns the corner to your house and stops in his tracks. He sees you. However, you’re not inside the house. You're sitting on the porch leaning on the wall. It's freezing.

His legs move fast again. He drops to his knees when he makes it to you. Grabbing hold of your arms to wake you.

You're freezing to the touch.

“Darling? Hey.” he shakes you a bit and you stir from your sleep, blinking your eyes.

“-ts so cold.” you whisper.

In seconds you feel a coat draping over your shoulders, then a soft fabric around your neck.

Your vision clears and your eyes make out who's in front of you.

Your eyes immediately begin to burn.

“Hey hey, love I’m so sorry please don't cry. I promise I didn’t mean to forget my love, things just happened and it slipped my mind.” He pulls you in when he sees your eyes glossy. His own eyes start to burn.

“Archons, why are you sleeping outside? Do you understand how dangerous that is?” He questions, pulling back a bit seeing you now refusing to look at him.

“I-it was so embarrassing. I sat there while so many people walked in and out. I saw you with someone else and it looked like you were having fun. I was a-alone for hours. I left the restaurant and I left my k-key in the coat of my jacket.” You feel your lip tremble a bit, you’re trying your absolute hardest to not cry but he’s standing right in front of you looking so guilty it hurts.

“That person you saw with me was a subordinate, I wasn’t doing anything else with them while I was out. I was ordered to take them to the tavern to get grape juice to get rid of the effects from a potion they had gotten exposed to. Love, please.” He explains, tone serious as his hands run up and down your shoulders, making you feel warm again.

“It wasn’t my intention.” His whispers, hand coming up under your chin making you look at him.

“Never ever walk home alone again. Not in this state.” He pleads, face full of concern, his eye scanning you making your own eyes burn more.

You notice his white scarf is gone then look down, realizing that’s what he put around you when he found you here.

“I just wanted to s-spend time with you.” You hiccup tears now freely falling down.

He leans in, kissing your cheek, then your other one, up to your forehead, your nose, your chin and stops in front of your lips. You feel his warm breath fan over you and you relax at his simple touch.

“My love, please don’t cry.” His eyes close and he takes a deep breath. He was so worried but you're in front of him, you’re safe with him.

“You have me, I’ll spend as much time as you want until my time is due I promise.” He leans back abit, opening his eye taking you in.

You look tired, you drank and you never do. He put you in this state and it pains him.

“You promise? You promise me i-I’m not thinking the worst, that you still want me and you’ll stay with me?” You ask.

Kaeya doesn’t respond, he leans in, placing a soft kiss on your lips. Hands holding you softly as he gives you another one, and another and another until you're out of breath.

“I swear to the archons above that I want nothing more than to call you mine alway and forever if you’ll allow me.” He pulls back, thumbs wiping any remaining tears that threaten to spill from your eyes.

And they do, more spill out. Having your doubts and feeling insecure gets to you often but Kaeya is so patient, so understanding. Him assuring you, being here right now, apologizing proves he meant no wrong. And you believe him, you trust him. You know he wouldn’t do that now, him being here proves so.

“Darling, let’s get you inside, it's freezing.” He stands, holding his hand out to help you to your feet. Placing his hand on the small of your back when you wobble.

“I’ll explain everything better, in full detail of what happened today once you're inside, once you eat, I promise love.” He assures you still holding onto you, not wanting to let go just yet. You nod, holding his hand abit tighter as he unlocks the door to your shared house, ushering you to walk in first. Seeing him this worried, him running here when he realized he forgot. He found you and immediately checked on you. You have doubts often, but seeing him right here cleared any doubts about today. You will listen to what he has to say and believe him because he’s here that’s all that matters right now. Kaeya is here, he’s yours and you won’t doubt him. Not when he looks at you with such loving eyes and holds you so gently, not when he cares so much. He’s here and that’s all that matters now, but most importantly Kaeya didn’t forget.

_________________

author’s note: hiiii lovelies!!! :D it’s been ages since I’ve posted UGH IVE MISSED WRITING SM! :( I’m sorry for the small hiatus. I wasn’t ok but it’s better now, I notice when I feel the most hurt or pain I write the most it helps me convey what I feel and I love writing, you all giving feedback and enjoying them makes me love writing too! I hope you enjoy, I hope you’re taking care and all in good health MWAHHHH IVE MISSES YOU ALL SO MUCH!^~^<33! (ALSO THIS ISNT EDITED so sorry for any errors!)

[sukuslutx]

Do it for me.

Feat. Toji Fushiguro, female reader

TW. Smut, filming, sexual content

WC: 2k

note | this used to be a fic I did for another character two years back but it didnt really feel like it fitted it anymore so I felt the need to change and tweak certain things and make it about Toji instead. Hope yall enjoy!

It was a quiet night. You were sitting in the dining room across the man who you wished was something more than just a late-night call. Moments like these were rare though, since both of you agreed that this would be just something casual, no strings attached, so more intimate moments were nothing but a hopeless dream. ‘’It’s easier for us both, don’t ya think?’’, you remembered his words that night when you agreed to this. You bit down on your bottom lip recalling it, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sudden shift in the atmosphere. He of course didn’t.

''I've been thinking-'', Toji spoke to you in a steady tone

''Do tell me'', you spoke back with just the same one as you were munching on the food you prepared for the two of you.

''I was thinking we should film a sex tape'', you immediately choked a little on the food you were chewing as you instantly started coughing out. Your cheeks turned crimson red and Toji just smirked in your direction knowing he managed to catch you off guard and fluster you.

''Don't say such things while I’m fucking eating Toji'', you took a napkin to clean around your mouth.

''So, I didn't hear a no... so, is that a yes?'', Toji's tone hopeful, you could see he was getting excited.

''Why do we even need to do that?'', you spoke back finally after cleaning yourself. You would be lying if the idea didn't excite you and turn you on in a way but you would not show that just off the bat.

‘’Think it’s hot, we could even sell it for some quick money, but if you don’t wanna, no pressure''

There was no response from your side so Toji was just about to drop the idea as he didn't want to pressure you to do something you're not aboard with.

''Okay-'', you spoke lowly.

A big smirk was tugging on his face while the look in his eyes was deeply lustful. He jumped out of his seat as he headed to you and picked you up.

''Toji put me the fuck down- I am quite capable of walking by myself'', you screamed at him as you squirmed in his hold

''No can-do princess'', he chuckled making his way to your shared bedroom. He lets you down on the bed as he goes to set up a camera. You expected the moment the light turned red he will join you in bed but instead he sat down on the chair next to the camera, setting it up at just the perfect angle.

''Strip for me'', his tone was lower and the words he spoke were like an order which you immediately obeyed.

Your hands moved slowly to your top as you started unbuttoning it. The silk shirt gently sliding down your shoulders and off of you. You threw it somewhere across the room, it didn't matter. Your hands moved to your breast which were still covered with a bra as you gently squeezed them, looking at your boyfriend straight in the eyes instead of the camera.

''Ah-ah princess, eyes on the camera'', he smirked at you his hand moving to palm the evident tent forming in his pants. Oh, he was already hard.

You turned your head from him to the camera as you continued to take your clothes off. Your pants coming off next along your panties. You soon after unclasped your bra and threw it at him which he catches straight away.

''Now show that pretty pussy for the camera baby and touch yourself just as you do when I am away'', you felt yourself turn completely red, how did he-, you remembered you promised him that you wouldn't touch yourself and him telling you he is the only one allowed to make you cum, yet on some nights you just couldn't help it.

''Oh? You seem surprised princess. You know I have my way in finding out everything'', he smirked at you. ''But- I'll leave the punishment for later, now show me how you touched yourself, how you touched what belongs to me'', you bit down on your bottom lip. You let your hands roam across your body. One hand making its way to squeeze your breast again and the other trailing lover to your clit as you gently circled it.

Toji hummed pleased with the sight in front of him. Your fingers then made their way to your awaiting hole as you gathered the slick and soon after pushed them between your folds. There was something exciting with him sitting there and just observing you, you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. You started letting out low moans as you worked your fingers, but you needed him, there was no way you could reach your high like this without him.

''N-need you-'', you spoke through moans. He moved his eyes from your pussy to look at your face. ''Hm? What did you say? Speak up.'', he started to tease

''D-daddy. I- I need you inside me'', you somehow manage to mutter out. You could see the proud smirk flashing right at you as he stood up from the armchair and headed towards, the light on the camera still flashing red. He took off his shirt and threw it in some corner of the room.

''Take my pants off for me'', he was standing next to the bed looking down on you. You crawled to the edge of the bed as you quickly moved your hands towards his belt as to unbuckle it for him. He slapped your hands away instantly.

''With your mouth''

You looked up at him doe-eyed as you decided to not test your luck and just obey. You somehow managed to unbuckle his belt and pull the zipper down with your teeth while in the process never taking your eyes off him. Oh, how he enjoyed the sight, if it were even possible he was turned on even more by each second. Suddenly you felt him grip your hair and pull your head up so you were looking at him.

''Should we try anal tonight baby?'', he spoke with faux sympathy.

You shook your head no to his question. ''I don't think I can handle that'', you spoke back. Toji tilted his head with a pout on his face. ''Open your mouth'', again it was an order and you obediently did so. Two of his fingers were shoved to the back of your throat. ''Hmm I trained you well''

''Turn around, ass up'', he spoke to you as you immediately did what he said and you could feel him distance himself from the bed as he was about to go and take something. Not long after you could feel his presence again behind you.

''My bitch has the best ass ever'', he said, rubbing your ass right before you felt a sharp sting from an object coming in contact with your skin.

''Fuck-'' you screamed out as you immediately pulled a pillow to muffle your scream.

''Count-'', he spoke to you before his belt came into contact with your already reddening skin again

''TWO-'', you cried out.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

You were counting out, barely holding your composure. The pain was overwhelming but the pleasure was overtaking your body.

''Whose pussy is this?'', Toji inquired before giving you another slap

You mumbled some curses at him not replying to his question, your head still buried in the pillow.

He gripped on your hair as he pulled you back to his chest

''I can’t hear you slut so ill repeat again, who does this pussy belong to?'', a harsh hit of his belt lands on your already bruised ass

''fuck, is yours-'' – you screamed out, tears forming on your waterline. He loosens the grip on your hair as your head gets shoved back into the pillow.

He let his belt down as he moved back to you one hand finding its place on your hip as he moved his cock to your awaiting hole with the other hand. He thrusted his dick fully inside of you as you let a loud gasp. ''Ahh-'' you screamed out loudly. It didn't matter how much time the two of you fucked, you could never be able to actually adjust to his size and that made his ego fly out of the roof. He gripped your chin harshly as he pulled you against his chest. He was pumping in and out of you mercilessly. Your moans were getting louder and louder by each passing second

''You like that hmm? Like it when I fuck you like a cheap whore?'', his pace was just getting faster and his thrusts were harder. It seems as if his main goal was to pound you until you went dumb. From all of the pleasure you couldn't even manage to form a single sentence.

''What's the matter baby? Already going dumb on me? It’s too early.'', nothing but faux sympathy yet again leaving his lips. He pulled out of you as you slumped down completely on the bed. You believe you already came twice in that short period of time but this was far from done.

''We're not done yet'', he took you in his arms as he sat down on the edge of the bed. ''Look at that mirror'', he pulled you on his lap and turned you around to face the mirror.

''You're going to ride me now until you make me cum and while you're doing that your eyes should be on that mirror so you can see how much of a whore you are for me 'kay?'', he patted your head as he brushed off the tears that were staining your cheeks. Soon after he harshly slams you down on his thick cock. You started moving yourself up and down on his dick, trying your absolute best to keep your eyes on the mirror as he said. You could not handle any more of his punishments, it was already enough as it was. He let your sloppy attempts go on for a while but he was growing impatient.

''Is my little slut too tired to ride daddy's big cock?'', he cooed. ''N-no...'' you tried to speak back to him, trying your best to increase the pace of your bouncing on his cock and pleasing him as you failed terribly.

With his patience just at the limit he grabs your hips as he slams you down hard and starts bouncing you on his cock by himself. Your tongue falling out of your mouth as a little drool formed on the side of it.

''I'll need to train you more then baby- you're gonna be daddy's perfect cocksleeve one day'', he kissed your forehead as he kept the same pace. ‘’Stop Toji, fuck- feels weird.’’, you tried squirming in his hold trying to get away but he kept a firm hold on you as he kept going. You felt something uncoil and the next moment you squirted all over his dick some landing on the mirror across from you. ‘’Holy shit, that’s a fucking first’’, he let out a laugh impressed at how much of a whore you were for him tonight, he tipped you over the edge. He could feel himself getting closer and closer, that sight he just experienced engraved in his brain already. With a few harder thrusts into your sloppy cunt he emptied himself inside of you. Your whole body felt numb as you fell backwards onto his chest. He slowly pulled out of you, laying you down on the bed next to him. ‘My pretty girl-'' he ran his hand through your hair as he hummed. ''You did so fucking well for me’’. You just hummed back at him with not much energy left in your body to even respond, as you dozed off. You’ll leave the recurring thoughts of having something more with this man than just casual sex for another day.

[greynatomy]

unexpected

katie mccabe x reader

this was requested from wp

kinda made caitlin as the ‘bad guy’ but it’s for the plot

i also updated my rules for requesting and added the footballer who i’ll take requests for

———

Another day, another training done for the Arsenal women’s team. Katie sat on the sidelines, catching her breath and winding down from the scrimmage. As she’s drinking from her bottle, a shadow casts over her.

“Hi, Katie.”

“Caitlin.” She acknowledges the Australian.

“Uh, well, I was wondering if you wanted to try this restaurant I found last week?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. They have really amazing food. So?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll tell the team.”

“No, wait.” She tries to clear up her intentions, but Katie already walked away. “Great.”

Two hours later, the whole team had met at ‘Sapori’ and waited at the front of the building for everyone to show up.

“Hey.”

Looking to her left, she see’s Caitlin shuffling closer to her.

“Hi.”

“This is a really great restaurant. The ambiance is amazing so I’m glad you’re here to try it out.” Caitlin breaks the moment of awkwardness.

Katie’s lips form a tight smile. “Yeah, I’ve only heard great things.”

“Alright, let’s head in.” They heard Leah say as everyone that could make it has finally shown up.

It took a while for everyone to figure out where ghey want to sit, but they made it work. Katie took her place at one end of the table, Caitlin taking place on her left side.

Conversations were flowing freely, everyone with a smile on their face. Katie was chatting it up with Beth and Viv when she feels a hand delicately going up and down her arm, making her flinch her arm away.

“What’re you doin’?” Katie snaps, eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry, just wanted your attention.” Caitlin frowns.

“Okay.” She slowly nods. “Just don’t do that again.”

The food came out soon after, everyone hungry and diggin in.

“Sorry, excuse me? We didn’t order these.” Leah spoke up when extra dishes were placed on the table. Katie didn’t care, she dug into all that she could reach.

“These are just some dishes that the owner would like you all to try.”

“Well, please thank her for us.”

Everyone was in their own little groups talking about anything and everything at the same time. A couple of moments go by when Katie feels small hands on her thighs. Looking down she sees a little girl who seems to try and get onto her lap. So what does she do? she helps the girl up, getting her comfortable on her lap and wrapping an arm around her.

Said child, once content on Katie’s lap, grabs the fork and starts eating the food in front of her. Katie occasionally wipes her mouth with a napkin, the child unbothered by it.

Too occupied in helping the kid eat, she doesn’t see the looks on her friends’ faces. The group silently observes Katie and the kid, seeing how comfortable they are with each other.

The kid turns in Katie’s lap, hands going on both cheeks pulling her close. Katie thinks she’s going for a kiss so she leans down, except instead of a kiss, the gnocchi that was once in the kid’s mouth, was now in Katie’s.

“Ugh, Em! Not again.” She spits it out, wiping her mouth after. All Emmy does is laugh and goes back to eating. A couple of throats can be heard clearing, making Katie look up to see all her friends staring at her. “What?”

“What do you mean ‘what?’ You’ve got a child on your lap.”

“Ye’ and?”

“Who’s child is that?”

“Completely hers.” A voice speaks up before Katie could answer. “She’s a menace and gets it from her mammy.”

“Mamma! Io mangio!”

“I can see! You’ve got sauce all over your face.” You wipe her face with a napkin. “How are you guys enjoying everything?” You ask the group.

“Oh, it’s amazing! Best thing I’ve ever eaten!” Beth exclaims.

“Who are you?” Caitlin asks.

“I am the owner of Sapori, Y/N McCabe. So nice to meet all of you. And yes, I know the last name isn’t Italian, but I just so happened to fall for an Irish.”

“Oi! Don’t make it seem like that’s a bad thing.”

“Oi!” Emmy echos.

“Wait!” Kyra says very loudly. “McCabe? So does that mean Katie’s your—”

“—Wife? Yes, unfortunately.”

“You’re beeing cheeky. Stop it.” She boops your nose.

You start to pick up some of the empty plates, giving everyone a smile.

“Hey, hey, hey! What’re you doin’?”

“I’m gonna take these back?”

“You’re not allowed to carry anything!”

“Katie, babe. I’m pregnant, not crippled. Plus, I’m barely even showing.”

“Aww, you’re pregnant?” Kyra goes to touch your stomach, but her hand gets smacked away by Katie.

“Katie! Be nice. And yes, I am.”

As the rest of the team fusses over Emmy and your belly, Caitlin decides to speak to Katie.

“So, you’re married?”

“Yup.”

“Why’d you make it seem like you were interested in me.” Katie didn’t know if she was being serious or not, but started laughing out loud.

“I don’t know what you’re on about mate. Probably just a figment of your imagination.”

[muffinsin]

The Cassandra or Daniela part of this one:

https://www.tumblr.com/muffinsin/738600593576411136/hello-good-morningafternoonnight-the-anon?source=share

🙇🫂🙏

^prompt of the referenced post

100%!!!👀 This is Cassandra’s part🙌 Thanks for the reminder, hon! :)

Y’all might’ve noticed the banner! I’ve decided to try adding to my posts with it, showing who it will be about (In this case, the 3 sisters). Lemme know what ya think? :) More posts will follow!

Aside from this, you might’ve noticed there’s a new Masterlist, and a new Pinned Post! ;)

Masterlists

You grit your teeth as you notice Cassandra enter the room. It seems, not a single day goes by you’re spared seeing here.

Now, to be quite truthful, you don’t mind seeing her in the slightest. In fact, each time you do, she fuels your fantasies and motivates you, in a way. Motivates you to finish your work in record time to retreat to your room, nice and warm, and most of all; solitary. No other maidens to disturb you.

There, you can replay all moments you’ve seen her, low groans and moans passing your lips as you stroke your cock to alternative ways the day could have gone.

While Cassandra can turn you on like no other, getting you hard and bothered within seconds of being within her proximity, the woman is easily the biggest brat you have ever witnessed.

She’s spoiled and bothersome, playful and bratty in all her ways. She creates more messes than you could ever clean, all while cackling in delight and shooting her bratty smile at you. Her fingers playfully waving you goodbye, her tongue licking across her lips.

She’s fully aware of what a nuisance she is being, and if she was not quite literally one of your employers, her mother technically being the one to have employed you, you would have easily put her back in her place.

Yes, Cassandra turns you on like no other. But she frustrates you like no other, too.

You yearn to grab her by the hair and neck and yank her along, to put her naughty mouth to good use and smear her lips across your cock, to strike the ass she so teasingly shows off when she bends over to inspect whatever mess she’s just made.

You want nothing more than to release these frustrations, to grab her and take her, as rough as you want. You know, the little brat- the little omega- can handle it. It seems, just because you’re the only alpha around and all others lack such a status, she has forgotten herself.

You want nothing more than to remind her of her place. Want nothing than to claim the tempting omega for herself, train and break her into behaving, love and care for her despite the frustration she causes.

You want her to be yours, your very own stress doll, your very own toy, your very own omega.

It only sounds fair to you, given she causes you the most stress of all the residents in the castle.

It seems, today is no different.

You automatically grip the sponge in your hand a little harder, watching her enter the room. Your work is nearly done, with the windows having been cleaned, the vases, statues and shields on the walls polished, the table cleaned of dishes and equipped with napkins, the chairs tucked to it.

Only the floor is left, and only the small bit you’re working on still sports blood.

That is, until she arrived, of course.

Cassandra comes with a body in tow. A deer, maybe? It’s so bloody, you can barely make out what it is. But fury rises on you as she drags it across the clean floor and carpet.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”, she hums, her eyes gleaming. You know, the little brat enjoys making your work even harder than it has to be.

Still, you keep your head down. You figure ignoring her might help. No brat wants to be ignored, and Cassandra certainly shares this want.

You only grit your teeth and grip the sponge tightly, scrubbing harder than necessary when she drags the lump of flesh not only all the way across the room, but also dumps it in the middle of the made table.

“I think Mother’s going to be pretty impressed”, she giggles, poking the dead thing.

Almost done, you’re sure.

You’re sure she’s nearly gone.

Just don’t give in.

Don’t give her attention.

Then, the brat does something she hasn’t done before.

You gasp as her heel connects with your bucket of dirty water, sending it across the floor and carpet.

Something in you snaps. She just ruined hours of your work!

“You stupid little brat!”, you cuss, relishing in her loud gasp when you stand from the ground and grab her wrist.

She’s snarling angrily as you yank her to you, her golden eyes widening when your hand comes up and grabs her jaw so tight you hear her wince.

“How dare you! You serva-Ngnnn!-“

Cassandra gasps when you tug her face forwards again, so her eyes meet yours directly and she is tugged right to your chest. She feels your warm breath on her face, whereas you feel hers.

It seems, only this close does she smell your scent when she inhales. Her eyes widen, even her lazy eye opening up some more at her realisation.

It seems, the unlucky (or lucky, really) brat found herself the only alpha among the staff and decided to mess with her.

“No, how dare you”, you hiss. She growls as you turn her, your movements fast and your hands rough as you spin her and squeeze her jaw. She’s made to look at the mess she’s caused, her eyes wide and heart beating wildly.

Never has anyone dared put her in her place or even snap back at her. Cassandra can’t help the warmth on her cheeks and the annoyingly sticky wetness between her legs.

It seems though, she isn’t the only one.

Behind her, just below your torso, she feels the large bulge in your uniform press right against her lower back. If you didn’t hold her jaw this tight, her tongue would have darted out to wet dry lips again.

“You see what you’ve done? What you always do, you stupid little brat?!”, you cuss. Your cock aches painfully this close up to her. She smells, despite her nature, wonderfully, her perfume rich and blood even more so.

This close up, you too smell the tempting omega.

Cassandra squirms at your words. She’s never been degraded, never been treated this rough. Never did she think it would be this arousing. Never did she think she would finally get a reaction from you.

Letting go of her jaw, you move your hand to her hair and hood and yank.

“AH!”, she yells, her eyes furious. With her head tipped back and her back arched, her ass pressed perfectly against your bulge.

“Ah, so we do have a voice”, you tease, certainly not oblivious to her shocked silence.

“I don’t think so”, you huff, grabbing the woman’s strong, but petite wrists when you see her claw-like nails digging past the glove. You’ve had just about enough of her.

“You’re stupid!”, she eventually snaps back, her hips rolling, her ass rubbing your bulge just perfectly.

You grit your teeth in anger. Briefly, you think about shoving her down and making her take you down her throat. Alas, she has not quite earned this.

Despite both of your words, it becomes increasingly more obvious that you share a common fantasy, a common want.

You tug her harder against you, grinding your hips forth against her moving ones. A sweet gasp is your only answer and you tighten the first holding her hair and hood.

“Do you want this, little omega?”, you coo. She’s snarling angrily at the lack of respect you show her. It’s almost cute, given her position. Tightening your grip on her hair, you thrust forwards at the thought of burying yourself deep inside of her. You’re sure, an uptight little brat like her must feel good, and you’re so painfully tense.

“Give it to me, stupid servant!”, she snaps back. Then, when a yank of her arms and hair reminds her of her place again, her tone drops to a more seductive voice.

“I know you’ve been thinking about it. I have, too. Do you really want to pass up on this fun opportunity?”, she hums. You can’t deny the ache in your balls and the bubbly feeling in your stomach at her words.

Still, you’re not going to allow a bratty, spoiled, little omega to get the better of you.

“As tough as you act, Lady Cassandra”, you sneer, the title spoken with of mockery than respect, “, you’re still just a little omega. And if I don’t claim you now, you will come whimpering to me when your heat makes it unbearable to live without my cum”

Your words hit her hard, a gasp pulled from her as she realises their true meaning. Now that she knows of your status, her inner omega will too. No more heat seasons will go by when she doesn’t think of you, doesn’t yearn for you. She’s found her alpha, as annoyingly dominant and firm as you are.

Still, she can’t deny how good this feels, to be dominated at last, outsmarted and manhandled, scolded and put in her place.

She thinks for a moment, then, at last, tips her head slightly to the side.

You nearly gasp as you watch her slowly bear her neck to you. It seems, your little brat is ready to be yours.

As unbothered as you’d like to act, you can’t. Immediately you lean down to lick across the sensitive piece of skin, her gasps and whimpers only fuelling you.

Your teeth drag against her softly, not yet enough to dig in, not yet enough to taste, not yet enough to claim.

She gasps in surprise when you let go of her hair and push her to the bloodied floor instead.

“Strip, now, little omega. Or I might lose my patience and hold onto what a little brat you are”

You strip out of your blouse easily, the pants of your uniform and your bra still keeping her from seeing what she wants.

Cassandra’s back is turned to you, her hair held carefully in her hands. You scoff, rolling your eyes a little at her.

A brat through and through, yet, you don’t deny her this sweet treatment she’s asking for. You take the strings of her corset and untie them quickly, tugging it from her greedily. With it out of the way, you can finally take the dress from her.

Cassandra moans as she is pulled to you and maneuvered. She feels your hands exploring her body harshly, groping and squeezing while you undress her, betraying your want for her. Never has she been this wet.

Your patience runs thin, yet your need for revenge, to let out your frustrations and put the best in her place wins out. With her dress off you easily yank her bra open and tug her with her.

You pull out one of the chairs at the table and sit, pulling her with you. Despite her underwear, you feel how wet she is, feel as this wetness smears against your thigh.

Your heart beats fast and your cock twitches in your pants, as though eager to reach her. You want nothing more than to bury yourself inside of her, to hump and take her hard and rough against the table, hard thrusts for every bit of frustration she made you feel. A perfect stress doll.

Alas, you calm yourself. You know she is yours, and you intend not to rush yourself. The little omega has no other alpha to take care of her, and even Cassandra hasn’t even spared a thought to other maidens since she laid her eyes on you. You intend to take your time with your brat.

You turn her, your hands holding onto her slim hips. With only a black thong on her, you notice just how thick and soft her ass really is.

Again, you feel yourself throb and ache and tighten your grip on her.

“Bend over”, you hum. A sly smirk forms on her lips.

“Make me”, she whispers, her giggles replaced but a surprised squeak when you push at her back and grip her thighs.

She’s bent perfectly for you, her ass on top of your lap, her hands and fingers digging into the bloodied carpet as if to stop her face from being smudged against it.

Her legs are at your sides, her heels hooked at the back of the chair to keep her in place.

“Hey! What are you doing!”, she snaps when you grip the thong and pull, yet again keeping her in place just as you like it. You tsk at her, then, at last, raise your right hand.

The first slap to her ass goes to her right cheek, loud and hard enough to make her shriek and for the sound to fill the otherwise quiet room.

Another spank follows, and another. Her back is arched perfectly for you, her bottom perfectly in place for you.

She’s fuming below you, her face bright red despite her pale skin, as her ass is slowly adapting the same shade.

Still, despite her bratty complains and pathetic protests about how she does not need a spanking and she will tear you in two, you hear her breathless moans.

Each slap to her ass only makes her moan louder.

Another follows,

and another.

Cassandra moans loudly by the seventh one. Her ass would, if you didn’t hold the thong tightly, buck off your lap. Alas, she’s perfectly in place for you, moaning and whimpering with each spank rightfully delivered to her ass.

You smirk a little at a harder one, right to her sitting spot, that brings forth a louder moan.

Is your little omega a masochist, too? You know of her sadistic side, yet are thrilled to find out about this part of her. You suspect she will enjoy what you have yet in store for her.

“You feel this?”, you hum, your palm coming down to cup her burning cheek. It’s bright red and heating up, even warmer under your throbbing palm.

“This, is because you’ve been such an unbearable brat to me”, you hiss. Cassandra whimpers with every slap that follows, her pale skin turned pink, then to a deep red shade.

She’s whimpering pitifully with each smack to her ass, yet when your fingers move lower and you drag your middle finger through her slit, you find it utterly soaked.

Her slick wetness sticks not only to her pussy but is smeared all the way to her thighs and across your lap, messing the fine uniform you are to wear.

It seems, even when disciplined Cassandra is prone to making a mess. How fitting.

“Have you learned your lesson?”, you ask, your hand reaching down to rub yourself through the pants. You’re painfully hard. You need release. It seems, Casssndra feels the same, her chin messy with drool, her clit aching and pussy yearning for your touch. She’s never felt this way outside of a heat season, never thought she could be made this desperate.

She nods, fast, before speaking when she finds her voice again “Yes, Miss”, she breathes out. Your cock twitches at her words. You wonder what sweet names to address you by you could lure from her.

You let go of her panties and chuckle when they snap back against her red cheeks, then guide her lower half off you. Immediately, she turns to you, her eyes hungry, and desperate.

You aren’t about to deny her or yourself.

Spreading your legs, it’s her turn to play servant and follow a silent command.

Her hands immediately shoot to your zipper, yet a whimper comes from her when you grip her wrists yet again.

“Watch the nails, got it?”, you hum, eying the sharp, claw-like nails painted a deep black. You know if she wanted, she could easily end you with them alone. You know, despite being yours, despite being a massive brat, she is a predator. You just can’t bring yourself to care today, not after the frustration she has made you feel yet again.

Spanking her, it helped, to release your strength and torment her back. Now all you wish to do is to take her hard, over and over and over again until she’s pumped full and the tenseness of your muscles loosens up.

She nods obediently, her eyes set on the bulge presented to her. Immediately when you release her your belt is undone and your pants are tugged off. You help her take off your boxers and moan when, at last, your cock slaps back against your thigh.

She wastes no time at all, shooting forwards and taking you in her mouth. You groan, your hand at the back of her head.

This is how most night fantasies went for you, with the brat shut up by your dick, her ungrateful mouth occupied.

You hold her hair in a tight grip, shivering when her moans around you bring you pleasure. Then, you tug.

She moans and whimpers as she is suddenly made to take the entirety of your cock down her throat, her eyes watering when she is held against you.

Dark golden, teary eyes look up at you, her nose smudged against your lower stomach, her throat bulged, her choker now unbearably tight on her.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think you would cum from this alone.

She squirms and whines, all this shut down when you sling your thigh across her shoulder and keep her in place. With her this close to you, she has no choice but to breathe in your scent, the scent she has been chasing since she has picked it up. Only now she knows it belongs to an alpha rather than a beta, most common among maidens at the castle.

For a moment longer, she manages to breathe through her nose. Then, a laugh of sadistic humor and a vile thought overtakes you.

“Sssshh”, you hum, your free hand snaking down. Her eyes widen when your index finger and thumb shut her nose. Immediately, she begins to gag trying to breathe though her mouth.

You laugh and moan, the hole that is her mouth and throat becoming even tighter. You feel precum drip from you and into her throat, smearing against the back of it where your tip is.

The poor thing is drooling and gagging between your legs. Golden eyes snap open when you release her nose again and she breathes through it. You allow her to pull back, your eyes wide and your cock twitching as it comes out soaked in spit and precum.

“That’s it, that’s how a brat like you ought to look”, you coo. Her light makeup is smeared, her chin and lips slick with drool. She reeks of you, or at the very least, her face does. You moan as she leans forwards and takes you back inside her mouth.

And yet, you aren’t entirely heartless.

You allow the beautiful brunette some release, at least, coming in the form of your leg. With her lips and tongue working around your cock, her legs part and she humps your leg desperately, her wet pussy and uselessly soaked thong smearing against you over and over again.

You know, it won’t get the needy thing off, but it’s enough to give her a taste of what’s waiting for her should she misbehave in the future.

You groan as she licks and sucks, bobs her head and hungrily drinks every sip of precum that drips from you.

You’re still holding onto her hair, yet allow her room to move on her own this time.

In this moment she looks so sweetly obedient, so perfectly trained with her red ass cheeks and wet chin, the puddle of drool underneath it on the floor and the submissive display of her desperate humps against your leg.

You feel pride, having taken and tamed her, claimed your precious omega, the one occupying your thoughts for months, the one frustrating and teasing you, but inspiring you all the same. The one you have been after but denied yourself purely due to her status, yours at last. And yours wholly, soon.

“A-aah, yes, fuck yes”, you groan. She’s taking you deep, her own pussy creating wet squirting noises as it rubs along your leg. You groan at the thought of being inside of her already.

Not wanting to spoil her too much and growing entirely too impatient, you pull her back, her face even more messed than before, her lips parted as she pants. You spot lines of precum on her tongue before she swallows them down.

Obedient, good.

“Up”, you command, humming when she for once simply obeys without opening her mouth again. Cassandra gasps when you grab onto her upper arm again, yet again tugging her along when she takes far too long to follow.

She giggles as you brush the dead lump of bloodied meat off the table, yet her golden eyes widen and she shrieks when you turn her way. Clearly, not all of her bad behavior has been fucked from her, the giggles enough to remind you just how much joy she gets from ruining your work.

Cassandra gasps when she’s bent over the table, her fingers fisting the bloodied napkins. Yet another thing you so carefully laid out, of course.

“Nonono, please!”, she gasps, anticipating the smack to her ass just a mere moment before it comes.

You spread her legs and deliver another just between them, your hardened cock twitching as she cries out and the wet, juicy pussy in front of you turns light pink.

You line yourself up with it, your wet tip pushing the juicy pussy lips aside. She gasps when the head pushes inside.

In a castle full of women, you aren’t surprised she isn’t all that used to taking dick. Still, the little brat has this rough treatment coming.

Cassandra gasps again when you grab her hips, then shrieks when you push yourself fully inside in one go. You feel her stretch around you, feel as you tear her open to get inside.

She’s moaning loudly, her fingernails leaving deep scratches in the wooden table. You couldn’t care less about that now though.

Cassandra groans as her hips are lifted and you begin thrusting, hard and fast like she has been teasing you for hours. She feels your balls slap against her, so full and thick, and feels as though wonderfully torn in two with each of your thrusts.

The table beneath her shakes as she’s sent forth and back with every thrust. She feels warm, wet and tight around you, her pussy milking what her mouth didn’t get from you.

She’s moaning and groaning, a mix of low and loud noises that will surely alert any staff member nearby. She’s taken harder than ever in her life before and she’s loving every second of it.

You feel the tension move from you the harder you thrust into her, her tight pussy taking the brutal pace of your cock perfectly.

You tug her back some more, groaning when the new position allows you to move even deeper inside.

“A-ahaah, yes, yes! Fuck! Mmmmm yes!”, she moans, her back arched for you yet again. Her legs feel shaky already, her whole body buzzing.

You wrap one arm around her stomach, chuckling dryly as you feel the slight bulge form at her lower stomach whenever you push fully inside of her.

Momentarily you watch her other hole, even tighter than her pussy looked, trembling and breathing with each thrust into her soaked hole. It looks almost innocent, and her gasp when you as much as brush your fingertip across it has your hips buck wildly.

Perhaps, another thing you will take from her later.

“Nmmnmn, yes, yes, oh yes!”, she moans, golden eyes fluttering shut as she feels her body wholly submit to you.

Her pussy squelches around you with every push in, her cute legs tremble. You know she’s close, and feel your own orgasm approaching at last.

Feeling her squeeze your cock does it for you, so that you can’t help but push yourself deep inside of her, pumping shot after shot of thick, warm cum inside of her.

Cassandra’s mewling at the foreign feeling, her chest heaving as she cups her own stomach, as though feeling you from the other side.

She relaxes against the table for a moment, then squeals in surprise when she’s pushed forwards again, her head shoved into the bloody tablecloth in the middle of the table.

Clearly, your omega is used the company of betas, sweet beings, yet hardly as enduring as alphas are.

In a split second you’re on top of her, your wet dick slapping against her pink ass cheeks.

You watch as some of her and your cum drools from her, slowly sliding down to her asshole before dripping down to the table below you.

“Ha-aah! Ah!”, she gasps as you flip her and lift her legs up.

It seems, your bratty omega will at last learn what mating is like.

“AH!”, she moans, throwing her head back when you slip yourself back inside of her, the new angle allowing you to push wholly inside.

Your thighs slap against hers with every thrust into her, creating a loud slapping noise you’re sure is not only contained to this room.

She’s moaning and whimpering again, slurring useless phrases you can’t make out.

When you slam down on her, she shrieks, squirming as you take your frustrations out on her full pussy. She’s moaning loudly, flinging her hands around as if trying to hold onto something.

And she does, unfortunately for her, as she grips onto your shoulder, loses her grip and slices her nails right into the skin.

You scream in pain, yet fear is not what you feel. Instead, anger rises in you, so that your thrusts pick up and your balls slap against her ass cheeks roughly.

She snarls as your hand shoots to her neck, strong fingers wrapping around her. She knows you aren’t trying to kill her, which is about the only thing sparing your life. Instead, her hands are restrained with your other hand, her lips parted as she uselessly gasps for breath.

You find, she looks beautiful like this, taking your wet cock and dripping cum down onto the table all the while squirming and gasping for breath you don’t yet grant her.

“Did I not tell you to mind your nails, brat?”, you snarl back at her. She attempts to growl for a moment, a tiny noise made that is cut off entirely when you squeeze harder.

In turn, you feel her pussy tighten around you. Clearly, your masochistic bunny is fond of choking, too. You hum a little, grinding your hips down as you cum again already.

She’s watching you, eyes barely able to stay open as she feels you fill her again.

“Are you gonna be good now? Or must I retrain you like a silly little brat, Cassandra?”, you grunt. When she nods quickly, you ease the pressure at her throat.

Two of your fingers there part, and in the next moment Cassandra already moans loudly when your teeth connect with her skin. For a moment, you taste the foul blood. Then, the sweetness of an omega, the perfection of yours.

She cums as you claim her, her hips bucking underneath you as you bite harder and harder.

“Ha-Ahhh- arder, yes!”, she manages to breathe out, her eyes closing as you lick over the mark left on her. Blood pools at her neck and drips to the side, yet when you take the tablecloth and drag it across her pristine, pale skin there is nothing but a white bite mark left.

She’s shaking below you, her pussy alternating between squeezing you and squeezing out bits of cum to run down her southern parts.

Alas, you are not yet done with your brat.

Cassandra clings to you when you rise from the table, her sharp nails carefully resting along your skin rather than inside of it.

She gasps when she’s slammed against the window, her skin breaking out into goosebumps at the cold surface.

“Fuck you”, she hisses playfully, a little smile accompanying her words. Like this, you find her to be cute, even.

You send her the same sick, playful smile back.

“You’ll live, brat”

You chuckle dryly as you adjust your grip on her, holding onto her hips instead and allowing her legs back to the ground.

Again, you feel as wetness occasionally drips from her as she breathes.

You lick across the mark left on her neck, the undeniable claim you’ve left on her.

Cassandra yelps as you grip her neck again, the yellow choker necklace digging into your palm. “Down, and finish what you’ve started”, you hum.

Again, her cheeks turn a pale pink shade as she lowers herself in front of you, her ass and backside turned to the window.

You exchange your grip for a first full of her hair, somewhat gently guiding her to where you want her.

With her belly full of your cum and her face ruined, her neck marked and every ounce of brattiness fucked from her, you can’t help the urge to keep your omega close to you. To nurture her after the intense workout you’ve put her through, to love and care for her as she is yours.

You have wanted Cassandra for ages, after all, and chuckle a little at the thought of not only having her, but also fulfilling your fantasy of taking your frustrations out on her.

As golden eyes meet yours, you send her a soft smile, chuckling when you get a shy one in return.

[hotluncheddie]

Honey Boy

wc: 1.3k | rated: M | tags: 1920s au, food as a love language, not cis flapper Eddie Munson 

˚⊹♡

Steve Harrington used to be the most eligible bachelor in all of New York City. Destined to take over his father’s nicotine empire, and make the family even richer. That was, until Steve Harrington got caught in an apartment fire. Clocked in the head by a steel beam while helping a young boy out. 

Steve Harrington can’t take over the business anymore, because sometimes his head hurts so bad he can’t seen. Sometimes it hurts so bad his legs don’t work. 

Now Steve Harrington is married to one Robin Buckley, socialite who writes poetry published under a mans name, and who comes from a good family. A solid flock; enough to get Harrington Sr to stop sniffing around proposals that might’ve made Steven useful to him again. 

But, you only had to enter their apartment once to see that their bedrooms were distinctly separate. Only had to watch them together in public for a moment to see their touching never went past friendly. 

No, now Steve Harrington lives on an allowance, goes to dinners once a month to show his face; coming back from them quieter, fog always lasting a few days. Doing so in order to, amongst other things, frequent a speakeasy on Saturday nights; hidden under a barbers shop in Harlem. 

And, now, this Steve Harrington, also, bakes. Pastries, cakes and desserts from across the pond. Anything, everything, the finest you can think of. 

And Eddie Munson, you see, knows all this about Steve Harrington. Knows all about this Steve Harrington, because, every weekend, Steve goes to the club, under the barber shop in Harlem, to take home one, particular, very special, girl. 

Him. 

‘No, slowly.’ Steve murmurs, holding the bite of pie just out of reach of Eddie’s lips. ‘Open.’ 

Eddie does. 

‘Hold it baby. Taste it, let it melt.’ He whispers, patting the corners of Eddie’s mouth with a napkin. Watching Eddie swallow, eyelashes fluttering, half for Steve’s sake and half because it just tastes so damn good. 

‘Don’t mess up my lipstick, s’not easy getting this dolled up.’ Eddie mumbles as Steve scoops up another mouthful, the fine porcelain and small fork held so gently in this large hands. 

Steve smiles, pausing, laying down the cutlery to cradle Eddie’s cheek in his palm and run a thumb under his kohl lined eye. ‘Never, you’re berries baby.’ He says, flashing his teeth. Lifting that fork again to feed him another slow bite. 

And this is all Steve asks for, really. The only time during the night where Steve requests Eddie does as he says. Otherwise, Eddie can do as he likes, orders Steve around hand and foot if he pleased, fuck him, not fuck him, get fucked, get blown. But not this part, this in between part. After a couple hours at the joint, with the good hooch, and a little dancing; Steve will eventually pull Eddie away. Away from the guys who want to get their hands up his beaded dress, who pull him in extra close for the slow dance, buy him a drink, light his cigarette unprompted. But everyone now knows that Saturdays are Steve’s night, Eddie might twirl and drink and bat his eyelashes at any sap he pleases; but he always walks out hand in hand with Harrington Jr. 

Following him back to Steve’s now familiar apartment, where Eddie can kick off his heels and lounge back on the velvet sofa. Where Steve will have baked something special in preparation, requesting to feed Eddie every bite slowly, so slowly. Until every morsel is gone. 

And Eddie lets him, is paid for it, handsomely. But they both know that, now, it’s got nothing to do with the money, not really. Eddie could go home with any number of rich clients on a Saturday night, multiple, and has done. But he doesn’t, not now. 

No, now, it’s only Steve. Every Saturday, like clockwork. 

No, it’s not all about the money, not for Eddie. And it maybe wasn’t ever, really, for Steve. 

The first time Eddie went home with him Steve had flushed, fluttered, almost too scared to touch him. Offering up chocolate covered strawberries and biting his lip raw when the juice dripped down Eddie’s chin. Then ate Eddie out until spit dripped down his thighs. 

Now his Steve has less reservation. Always seeking skin, seeking touch, begging to be able to give. 

And Eddie feasts on it. 

Starving. 

Once the desert is tucked away, fed, devoured, consumed. Poured, dripping ambrosia into his very centre. All of him now a little more padded thanks to Steve’s steady devotion; ribs not so visible, hips no longer concave and thighs that are just starting to brush together under dresses and between nylon. Once that’s done, now, Steve kneels, happy and satiated, content with having completed his only desire for the night. 

The rest, now, is up to Eddie. 

And Eddie wants to smoke, and pet Steve’s cheek where it rests between his legs, on his inner thigh. 

He blows smoke at Steve’s face, watches him inhale, eyelashes fluttering. 

He’s a funny man, this Steve of his. Eddie thinks he’s the bees knees, sweet as honey, pretty as cherry pie. 

‘Kids at the club talk about something called transcendence honey boy. You know anything about that?’ Eddie asks, scratching Steve’s scalp with long, painted nails.  

‘No.’ Steve says, eyes closed, leaning into the touch. 

‘Somethin’ about reaching a higher power, becoming more just through talkin’ and thinkin’ and bein’.’ 

‘Oh yeah?’ Steve says, listening, but the hand stroking slowly higher up Eddie’s calf says his mind is split in half. 

‘Mmhm, I think you might just be doing it, only with you it’s through eatin’.’ Eddie smirks, spreading his legs a little more. 

Steve looks up, glassy eyes getting clearer, he looks; affronted, confused, aroused. ‘I jus’ like seeing you looked after, seeing you warm and relaxed. Like seeing the way your eyes droop when you taste something good, the way you sit different in the chair, the way your legs shift and your cheeks blush. I just think food looks good on you baby.’ And Steve’s fingers slide up Eddie’s thigh, under the beaded silk of his dress, over the plush that sits over muscle. The weight, the width, the softness that’s been gained - gained by the offerings of Steve’s own hands. 

Eddie gasps softly as those hands squeeze his thighs, warm and pliant and greedy. 

‘Do you like that thought, doll? What did you call it?’ 

‘Transcendence.’ 

‘Yeah, you like it? Does it make you feel good sugar?’ He asks, eager. Always so eager. 

Eddie thinks maybe it does, thinks that maybe the way Steve does most things might just be the best feeling in the world. 

‘Take me to bed honey boy.’ 

Steve smiles, boyish and blinding and lifts Eddie up bridal style, making him cackle. Wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and biting at his earlobe, sticking a hand down his half unbuttoned dress shirt to grope at the hair and muscle. 

Never fails to make Eddie feel like a real dame this one. 

Which is still not always an easy task, even with how Eddie chooses to present himself, how he loves. What he does and how he does it. Still not easy. But when Steve lays Eddie’s down, removing clothes between bites and throaty giggles. Kissing and kissing. And kissing as he does. Eddie’s knees part easily and his fingers grip tousled brown hair and Steve opens him up, slick and wanting and hungry. 

And when Eddie is filled, enveloped in Steve’s warmth, the oven of his chest, baking Eddie alive. Eddie feels it again, maybe, that higher place. 

‘You’re my girl, you’re my girl.’ Steve will pant, hot and wet in Eddie’s ear. Chant it until it drips like honey through his bones. Taking Eddie there, ascending. Toes curled, moan breathy and needy and high, filled up something special, a girl who is. 

That’s when Eddie feels it, for the second time that night; divine, feminine, transcended. 

Loved. 

˚⊹♡

Taglist (& people who showed interest <3) : @pearynice @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @chickensinrainboots @cheesedoctor

@marvel-ous-m @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson @postmodernau @steddie-island

[syoddeye]

the lift

gaz x f!reader | 1.4k words cw: alcohol a/n: received a powerlifter x kyle prompt from an anon. i don't normally take requests, but i've been itching to write something sweet for him. influenced by a recent thing i wrote up about gaz flubbing a flirt. i'm a normie/casual weightlifter. apologies to actual powerlifters. 🏋️

“Fuck me running.”

“Sounds difficult.”

“Get a load of her.”

“Pick your jaw off the floor, and stop staring, lech.”

“You’d be no better if you just looked.”

Gaz rolls his eyes at Soap’s stupefied expression, watching him miss his mouth with his pint glass. Foam spills over onto his shirt, causing the Scot to jerk in his seat and stare at his own appendage in offense.

View must be good for Soap to make himself more of a fool than usual. Kyle adjusts his cap, turns his head to the side in a feigned stretch, and immediately clocks the distraction in question.

A woman in a backless top sits alone at the bar with something fruity in hand. No bra band in sight, no tan lines either. That’s not what glues his eyes to her, though. It’s the rippling muscle the cut of fabric shows off, defined and apparent as she lifts her glass to drink. It continues south, too, her thick thighs spilling over the narrow stool. She looks like she’d give Ghost a run for his money. Like she’d rip him in half like a phone book.

He needs to talk to her.

Kyle turns back to Soap, dabbing at himself with a fistful of napkins. He downs the rest of his beer and then stands.

“I’ll get us fresh drinks.”

Before the lout can breathe a word, he beelines to the bar. Only. When he gets there, it occurs to him he doesn’t know what to say. Any other pretty face, he’d toss out one of his corny but winning lines. Send over a drink. With her, her muscles more impressive up close and wholly focused on a women’s football match, he’s tongue-tied. And that doesn’t happen often. Must be the moon’s position or something.

He bides his time, staring through the screen like he’s watching, thinking of what to say. Avoids the bartender’s curious gaze.

Then, an elbow knocks his arm very gently.

“Fishlock’s a beast, right?”

Kyle’s head swivels, eyebrows to his hairline. The target of his ill-planned op glances between him and the television.

“Yeah,” he sputters out a second too late. “She’s…feisty.” He could break his glass over his head. Feisty? What was he, eighty years old?

To his delight, she laughs, and a rush of heat flares in his stomach at the sound.

“Understatement of the century.”

He chuckles in disbelief at his luck. She gives him another smile. Fuck, he is done for. 

“You want to join me? Had a friend cancel, and I hate watching alone.”

“I’d love to,” he says, dropping into the empty stool probably too quickly. Their knees touch, but she doesn’t pull away. He fixes his eyes on the screen after placing an order. He watches the Welsh battle the Ukrainians, absorbing as many names and numbers as possible. His phone burns a hole in his pocket, and he can’t help but wonder how soon he can excuse himself to the toilet to read ten articles on women’s football for a refresher.

When she chimes in with a comment or a jeer, he does his best to reciprocate. Using talents he’s cultivated for infiltration and interrogation to string along a conversation in which he has no business participating.

It goes swimmingly until—

“There y’are, thought I’d have to find a bloodhound.”

Soap.

Kyle shifts in his seat, leveling a stare he hopes both contain whatever bullshit Soap’s preparing to spew—heaps, judging by his awful smirk—and communicates an unsubtle do not fuck this up for me. 

“Who’s this?”

Kyle opens his mouth, apparently in preparation to insert his own foot. He hasn’t gotten around to the name bit yet. Too busy learning about women’s football in real time. He looks sidelong at his would-be companion, another soft smile coming to his rescue.

She introduces herself, and he tries not to tack on a silent Garrick at the end of it, just to feel how it sounds. Christ, beyond done for.

“Pleasure to meet you.” She says.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. Name’s John, and this is–”

“Kyle. Like he said. Pleasure’s mine.” He offers a hand without hesitation, grinning when she takes it. Nearly groans at the calluses on her palms and fingers. Didn’t know he was into that. He smirks inwardly. Hm. Learning several new things today, Gaz.

“Are you…also here to watch the match?” She asks, gaze flitting between them.

He stares hard at Soap again and witnesses the devil himself whispering into the Scot’s ear. It’s truly an act of divine intervention when the other man shakes his head.

“‘Fraid not. I’ve got to run along, but Garrick’s all yours tonight.” He winks unctuously, waggling a brow to really sell it. “If you don’t mind watchin’ him.”

She smirks and pats his knee. “I’m sure I can handle him.”

Soap looks downright rakish. “Oh, I bet you can. See you in the morn, Kyle.”

He’s torn in two: she’s touched his leg and Soap’s cheek about tomorrow. The idiot lives a door down. They’re both on for PT at 0500. Dickhead.

“He’s friendly.” She muses as they return to the match.

“Too friendly. Like a failed police dog.” He mutters.

“Hmm. Does that make him a bad soldier?”

It takes effort not to choke. Their career, generally speaking, isn’t a secret, only their activities. Still. “Smart guess.”

“Despite his creative haircut, you’re both decently cut and we’re, what, twenty minutes from a base? Plus,” she shrugs. “His tattoo. Giveaway. I would’ve said ‘reenactor wannabe’, but your reaction confirms it.”

Kyle’s tongue swipes behind his teeth. She gets better by the minute. “Yeah? And, uh, what do you do for work?” Something physical, he bets silently. Something that necessitates her kind of build or creates it. 

“I’m a tailor.”

Or…not at all.

He can’t stop himself from blurting out. “So the muscles are—“ He abruptly stops, fingers gripping his drink tightly. Sweet Freddie Mercury. Forget smashing a glass over his scalp, he’ll vault through the front door headfirst.

“Powerlifting,” she proudly shares, setting her cocktail down to flex. Her muscles jump beneath her skin, straining into a mesmerizing landscape of strength and power. “My main hobby. If I could make money off it, believe me, I would,” she swings her frame forward and twists, showing off her traps. “But I learned how to sew and alter clothes when I, uh, outgrew conventional sizes.” Disdain paints the word. “Everything I’m wearing I customized to fit me, and me specifically.”

“Genius.” he says simply, mind half-blank when she turns forward again, flexing her biceps and forearms toward her lap. So she’s good with her hands.

A fist uncurls, and a finger crooks up. His face lifts to a smug smile.

“Impressed?”

“Thoroughly.” He swallows.

Her eyes drag over him, slowly and methodically. Picking him apart like a piece of meat. He suppresses a shudder. Yet another thing he didn’t know he liked. 

“How much do you weigh?”

A simple enough question. One he’s asked every so often, especially in medical, in between formal physicals. Coming from her, however, it’s an invitation.

And it is.

Straight into her arms.

Half the pub’s watching when she hoists him parallel to the ground, overhead, and squats. For a brief moment, arms crossed over his chest and back rigid, he swears he hears The Time of My Life. When she returns him to solid ground, to the cheers and toasts from the small crowd, he might as well still be in the air. Heavenbound. Preparing to meet Peter.

Eventually, the atmosphere calms, and he finds himself thigh-to-thigh with his strongwoman. They watch the remainder of the match, chatting—mostly about sports and work, but a bit about the little things—he’s not too thick when she offhandedly mentions knowing the neighborhood well. That her place is a few streets over.

He needs to be back on base before sunrise. He tells her as much outside the bar after the Welsh suffer defeat in penalties. He can relate to the feeling, knowing Soap’s gonna give him hell and Price will ream him out if he’s hungover. 

“Kyle, you’re cute, but we’re not at the sleepover stage yet,” she teases, picking invisible dust off his shirt. “I can give you a lift when you’re ready to leave.”

Strong. Witty. Confident. Can absolutely rip him in half. There is nothing he doesn’t like about her. So, so fucked. 

He grins stupidly when she beckons with a finger, beginning to walk toward her place.

“Premium?” He jokes, following. “I don’t settle for anything less than top-tier car service.”

“Not that kind of lift,” She answers, looking over a sculpted shoulder. “Fireman or princess?”

Kyle almost stumbles.

“Yes.”

[jolalibrary]

9. breath of fresh air

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter nine of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.3k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: this one is called jo kicked her feet mid-writing and editing.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

Baby, where are you?

I’m coming now just needed to get some plants.

If you’re the forest on wheels coming towards me line up somewhere else.

Wow, that's mean, Morales.

I am. But also, that’s a fuck load of plants.

It is and we’re going to have so much fun naming them.

Surrounded by unopened boxes, and paint tins that are due to be put on the wall, you both sit cross-legged on the floor of your soon-to-be office floor.

It's hard to stop it, the smile which spreads across your lips. The scent of fast food flows from your ripped-open bag and his neatly opened one, as you watch him turn his cap backwards and dig a hand into the paper bag as he pulls out a sauce pot.

Of course, he still finds a second to glare at the plant behind you.

“It’s up for debate, but french fries might be the way to my soul.”

Dipping his own into the sauce, he smirks. “What’s the other contender?”

You, you think.

It's there, threaded inside of you. Sewn in now. Stitched so deep into you that he’ll be remembered forever, no matter what.

Meeting his eyes mid-chew, the word you reverbing around your skull. Echoing. Practically marking itself against any surface space it can in there.

“Your mouth.”

Choking, his hand is quick to cover his mouth, eyes alarmed, quickly filling with tears as he continues to hack. Sliding his drink towards him, across the floor of the project that brought him here today.

“You can’t…” he begins, taking another mouthful, “Do that to me.”

Smirking, you grab another handful of fries. “From the gleam in your eyes, I say you like it.”

“I am not gleaming.”

“No? Damn, I’m disappointed.”

Rolling his eyes, he nudges you with his foot—your eyes glancing at the dinosaur-covered socks for the twelfth time since he’s been here.

“Luca has good taste in socks.”

“You’re telling me,” he replies, “I also have Batman ones, some cartoon ones and ones with flowers on.”

Smiling, you continue to chew. “Which ones are your favourite.”

Scrunching up the paper your food came in, you throw it into the bag. Watching him take a final bite of his own as you smirk.

“It’s the flower ones, isn’t it?”

“Definitely the flower ones.”

Laughing, tongue peeking between your teeth, you lean back on your hands, legs outstretched. “Saving them for a special occasion?”

Nodding, he takes another slurp of his drink, feeling his eyes drag up and down your legs. “Thought I could wear them for when I woo you later on this week.”

“Yeah? You want to model your socks for me, Morales.”

“Dinner and a show I heard is the perfect date night.”

Wiping his hands on his napkin, he stares at you—clean hand on your ankle, massaging it.

“You keep doing that, and we won’t be building furniture.”

Groaning, he sighs. All deep, layered with confliction—until he whispers it: after. It’s low, practically dragged through the gravel of his voice by the time it reaches your ear. Heat spreading through your stomach, not able to tear your eyes from him, just thankful that he does when he goes to stand.

A moment of reprieve, a chance to collect yourself.

That is, until he stretches out his hand, sliding yours into it as he pulls you up to stand. For a moment, just paused—staring at him, a tuft of curls poking through under the rim of his hat.

“I told you how handsome you are,” you say, arms sliding around his neck, leaning close—just enough, to press your mouth to his. “Cause you are.”

Biting the edge of his lip, he smirks. “I’ve got a utility knife in my pocket.”

“Oh?”

Brows lifting, grinning, Frankie pulls you closer. “You into that?”

“On you? Fuck yeah.”

Your lips glide over his, tasting the salt from his fries and the onion from his burger. Not caring, not as you hold him close, keeping him flush, deepening it until he clutches your jaw, walking you both back, kicking a box.

“Fuck.”

Almost laughing, you smirk. “We should…”

Tongue swiping over his lip, Frankie nods. Gaze unmoving even as you step back, bending to tidy the wrappers and bags as you glance back periodically.

“What?”

Shaking his head, he shrugs one shoulder, eyes widening as he smiles. “Nothing. Jus’… hurry back.”

It leaves your lips breathlessly, the word sure. It flows through the air to him, before you leave the room, before giddiness swallows and smothers you up. A grin not easily wiped by your knee connecting with the cabinet as you skid into the kitchen. Dousing your hands in cold water, hoping the temperature will touch your cheeks and cool them.

Thinking of him waiting near the checkout—broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his worn

You do. Almost skidding in your kitchen when you throw the trash away, pausing at the sink to wash your hands, before you’re casually walking back. Doing so, just in time to see him slide that knife along the flat-pack furniture, unboxing the drawers—staring at them all crouched wearing a furrowed expression with an IKEA pencil behind his ear.

And you’re glad he doesn’t look up at the doorway, because it gives you a minute, to lean, head resting as your heart skips a step, feeling all large and full and full of happiness. A feeling, one surging up inside of you—full of lightness and truth—swirling around your breath and trying to form into words.

But, then he looks at you. Lifts his chin, the biggest brown eyes smoothing out to look at you—and you’re sure the words are going to rip out of your throat. Forced to greet the air, and burn themselves into it.

I really like you, Frankie.

I really, really do.

Each letter swallowed back, sight dropping to the knife he holds back—an act you’re apparently quite into from the way you feel the heat in your stomach, a little ripple of want starting to stir as you slowly edge your way into the room. Listening, hanging onto his words as he offers suggestions of how the two of you can do this.

It’s why it makes sense, at first, when he asks if you’d begin building the drawers while he begins the carcass. His toolbox he’d brought in with him opening, pulling various tools you’re not sure were listed on the instructions.

It continues to make sense until you realise you began constructing the drawer, incorrectly. A disappointed voice ebbing, beginning to nip. It breeds in doubt as you study the paper again, and again. Mouth opening and promptly shutting as you try to make heads or tails of what should be a very easy thing.

But that means confessing you’re about as hopeless at building as you are at the rest of the DIY project.

Peering at the instructions again, you try not to sigh. Try not to let a heavier exhale escape through your nostrils, and possibly showcase your growing anxiety-brewed annoyance.

Because you hope he’s not having you build drawers because it’s easier. Because he views you as this hopeless thing that can’t be taught. Even if, in some ways, that assumption would be correct. You just hope that it isn’t pity or any other negative connotation that has begun popping into your mind and bursting behind your eyes in sorrowful falling dark-hued confetti.

An increasing need to prove yourself rising, flooding you as though it wishes to drown you. Making it hard to swallow, never mind breathe—eyes glancing down as they begin to burn with worry, with annoyance and a lot of other emotions you’re struggling to handle—

“Hey,” he says, soothing—hand cupping your cheek as you're tilted up from diagrams to his eyes.

The ones that soothe, that calm—that feel like a safe place.

“Hi.”

Slowly smiling, he strokes your skin. A thing you’re not sure you’ll ever tire from. Not ever. Not as long as his eyes remain as kind and full of warmth.

“I was calling out for you.”

“I’m so—“

“Wondered,” he continues, interrupting, burying your apology before it meets land and plants itself, “If you wanted a go at helping me build this bit.”

Swallowing, both the emotions that remain fizzing and the worries, you smile. “You sure? I’m not… this isn’t something I’m good at.”

“That’s why I’m helping. To teach you, right?”

Nodding, you grin when his lips find your forehead, helping you up before grabbing something from his toolbox. If newer, shinier than the one you’d seen him using—a colour as close to the one you’d said was your favourite.

“Did you buy me a tool, Butterscotch?”

Scratching the back of his head, he tries not to blush. A thing you can tell from the way he averts his eyes, and pink creeps up his neck. “Yeah, it was nothing. Just thought it be easier for you to have your own.”

“My own… prodding device?”

Shaking his head, his eyes land on you. “It’s an electric screwdriver.”

“Of course it is, I was testing you.”

Snorting, he grabs a piece of wood, bringing it between the two of you. “I almost believe you.”

You think Harry would hire me even if I know absolutely nothing about hardware or tools?

To annoy me, most probably. You doing okay?

Not really.

They want more tweaks?

Yeah. I don’t mind making the changes, but wish they’d been more clear from the beginning. So I don’t feel like a failure.

You want me to call in half an hour? Can try and make you smile.

You make me smile effortlessly. But no, it’s okay. I’m going to enjoy a shower and have an early night. Sleep off my bad mood and rest my muscles from building all that furniture the other day.

You goof.

A goof who has your toolbox and her own electric tightener.

That will sound so wrong to anyone else.

Especially if I tell them it goes with my bedside power tools.

Are they what I think they are?

Maybe.

Fuck. Put thoughts in my head now.

Do I look hot?

Always. Will you message me in the morning?

Of course, baby. Try not to dream of me.

Impossible, baby.

Just got out of the movies, was able to eat half the popcorn tub before a jump scare made it mysteriously land on the floor.

Do butter-caked fingers have anything to do with it?

No. I believe the leading cause was a mean friend picking a movie that they knew would scare me. The jury is still out on whether I could have saved the popcorn if properly notified of the jump scares.

You both have fun though?

Yes, a lot. Even if I won’t sleep for a week. I’m excited to see you tomorrow. I’ve missed you.

You’ve missed me?

Try not to grin too much, Morales.

Too late for that, Rainy. I've missed you too.

I've missed butter-SCOTCH fingers.

Can tell me how much later, if you want?

Do you want to phone sex with me, Morales? I think I'd rather make you wait till tomorrow when I see you.

Now who's mean.

It’s hard to avoid the smile on your face, even in the fogged-up mirror. Water dripping down your neck, collecting in the towel wrapped around your chest as Frankie presses his lips to your hairline.

“You feelin' clean, baby?”

“I don't think what we just did in your shower could constitute as cleaning, Butterscotch.”

Smirking, skin radiating heat, Frankie tips your chin up, mouth sliding back over yours like he had done when the two of you had stepped under the shower. The intention innocent, until hungry eyes raked over bare skin.

"Robe's on the back of my bedroom door, baby," he whispers, leaving you to finish drying in his bathroom.

As though it’s normal, routine.

Your toothbrush beside his—the products you’d packed in your overnight bag on the side of the counter.

It's a thing that makes your teeth bite down on your lip and your fingers retraced the path he drew against the suds on your skin. Thinking about how the water fell down along his jaw, ran down between your bodies as he hiked your leg up—

You jump when a clatter pulls you to the present. Heart fluttering, body resting against the side of the basin as your breath dances with the steam. Even if he's rooms away, you hear him singing.

It travelling, calling to you.

A soundtrack to you re-dressing as you hang the used towel on the hook, sliding some clean clothes on, before padding out to wrap the robe around you and grab his t-shirt from the bed.

With each step to the kitchen, you're aware of how your body smells of his body wash. A scent you wish your skin only ever smells like now, if it can’t be his aftershave. Just so you could have a piece of him, a thing to go with the texts, phone calls and video chats when the two of you find moments in between the busy.

There's no need for that tonight, not as he’s cooking for you.

Shoulder resting against the door, you find yourself not wanting to announce your arrival. Just take in his frame, how his back is to you, allowing you to watch how his muscles flex along his bare back as he grabs a knife from a drawer.

“You know, if you posted this kind of video on your Instagram, I think you'd beat that one where you're showing people how to paint wood."

Glancing over his shoulder, you hold the top up. His face shifts into gratitude as he drops what's in his hand and takes it from you. Simple, a very nothing thing that his face seems to show the opposite of.

He fidgets uncomfortably, the shyest smile trying to appear. “Shut up.” 

“While you were very informative about preparing the wood before beginning in that video, I think I know how you got one hundred thousand views in a weekend.” 

Smirking, he folds his arms. “Because you watched it on repeat while you missed me?”

“No,” you grin, watching him run his tongue over his teeth to stop himself from smirking. “You like to do a little thot-shot.”

“A what-what?” 

Licking your lips, leaning against the wall, watching his fingers run up and down his bicep, arms still folded. “You wipe your face with the bottom of your t-shirt, Morales. Showing off your… physique.” 

“Mierda.” 

“You look very good. Had to watch it myself a few times, to be sure.”

His eyes dart away, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I mean it,” you add. “You look really good, Frankie.” 

Stepping forward, you kiss his cheek. The heat from it warms your lips as you try to hide your grin. Instead, pulling out a stool from under his island and sliding onto it, elbow on the worktop, you rest your chin. Watching him turn, facing back to the ingredients and pans.

That's when you spot it. The loose curl that has fallen over his forehead as he leans forward. It just hanging there. Slowly beginning to sway as he resumes chopping and slicing.

“What're you making me?”

“Special asado tacos.”

It’s hard to suppress the whimper in the back of your throat as your stomach rumbles, his chin lifting—brow raising as you try to clear your throat.

“Sounds delicious… what makes them special? Is it the chef?”

Smirking, he shakes his head. “It’s a family recipe. So, I hope I don’t fuck it up.”

“I doubt you could, right? It’s in your bones.”

Shrugging, he stares down at some paper—his pinky flattening it, before he brushes the chopped peppers into a pan and grabs something else.

“I don’t make it often.”

“How many times have you?”

Pausing, he doesn’t look up. Just stops his knife over the skin of the vegetable.

“Frankie. Is this the first time you’ve made it?”

“No,” he answers. Quickly, red rising up his neck. “It’s just… the first time I’ve made it for someone.”

Licking your lips, you smile—fingers outstretching over his counter, it cool under your touch. “Oh, you like me, like me.”

Smirking, he continues to chop and dice, shooting glances at you. “Maybe.”

“I think you do.”

The precision he cuts with makes you almost forget your teasing—your own name, even. The quickness of it, the perfect way they’re all cut. It’s enough to make your thighs press, a new competency unlocked it seemed—as though you were both collecting and becoming aware of them all at once.

Distantly, you hear your name. Briefly aware as you flick your gaze up, of the concern etched there—the sudden silence damning.

“Hm?”

Grinning, shaking his head as he slides the chopped food away. “I said, what makes you say that?”

Sighing, all deep—almost soothing, you smile. “Well, you named all my new plants with me.”

“I did do that.”

Nodding, you roll your lips as he uses his little finger to trace down the recipe in front of him.

“And you didn’t judge me for the fact they all needed a name.”

Casting a glance your way, he both frowns and smiles simultaneously. “Baby… I’d… I’d never.”

“I know,” you say, encased in confidence, sitting up straighter, “Because you like me.”

Shrugging, he begins moving around, collecting ingredients—the back of his hand brushing over his forehead. “Maybe you’re on to something.”

Humming, you shift on your stool—watching. Finding it hard not to keep your eyes on him, not as he moves around confidently, capably, sprinkling things in and adding pinches of others.

It isn’t until he seems more content, that things are doing what they’re supposed to, do you slip from the stool. Moving towards him, sliding between him and the worktop as your fingers brush over his cheek—an act so similar to the shower, before his hand slid between your thighs and made you struggle to stand.

“I like you too,” you whisper.

His eyebrows raise at the suggestion, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Is that so?” he asks. “Well, guess if we both like one another, that means I am allowed to ask something…”

Sucking in air through your teeth, you scrunch your nose. “I don't know, do you think you're allowed?”

Pinching your side softly, he smiles. “I wanted to ask... what we are, what are we?”

Narrowing your eyes, you roll your lips, fingers continuing to twist his curls around your nails. “What do you want me to be?”

Shrugging, he smiles—eyes slowly crinkling, all slow in the way they eventually narrow, mouth parting, basking you in human-made sunshine.

“You want me to be yours?”

He groans, it vibrating through you, hips rolling against his as he presses you to the counter. Body somehow humming, even after earlier.

“Want to be mine, Francisco?”

His hand grasps your hip more intently. “More than anything.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Nodding, you tug him closer too, bodies flush, little space between the two of you. “All yours.”

His nose slides against your cheek, before his forehead rests on yours. His eyes almost blend into one large brown oasis—almost.

“Now I’m your girlfriend, do I get extra privileges?”

Frowning, he steps to the side, stirring the cooking food—one hand on your hip, as though not wanting you to move.

“You know, show me how to use your power tools?”

Snorting, he rolls his eyes. “You say mine like others are different.”

Smirking, looking at him with the most innocent eyes you can fake, taking his hand in yours. “They’re different from mine.” Frowning, he stares for a second, seemingly baffled. “Mine aren’t used to build things, rather… make legs shake and make me cry out your name.”

You hear his swallow, as well as see it.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he lies, stirring again. “Jus... Y’just incredible.”

Picking up a piece of pepper, you smile—all wicked. “Oh, I know. And aren’t you lucky I’m yours?”

THEY'RE BACK, GOD I'VE MISSED THEM. next week, we enter a spicy chapter (muhaha) and a nice little announcement about them too.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[solxamber]

Could I request Trey's lover teaming up with Heartslabyul to throw him a suprise party? They make him a lot of sweets themed after him (green, clover and glasses) including a huge pinata cake filled with chocolates.

Birthday Party - Trey Clover x reader

I loved the ask its so cute <3 i hope you like it!

Trey’s been in Heartslabyul for years, so he knows when something’s off. But this? This was on a whole new level of off.

You’d been suspiciously avoiding him for a week. You, the one who usually clung to him like a koala whenever he had time to spare, were suddenly evasive, always sneaking glances at your phone or whispering with the other dorm members. Ace and Deuce would freeze whenever he entered a room, flashing him awkward smiles that were way too wide to be genuine. Even Cater, usually the laid-back goofball, was being overly...enthusiastic.

But the worst part? Riddle.

Riddle had been pacing, frowning harder than normal, and would mumble things like, "If this goes wrong, I don’t even want to think about the consequences."

Trey leaned back in his chair, biting his lip. This wasn’t normal. Sure, his initial thought was maybe they were planning something romantic, but the amount of actual, genuine fear in Riddle’s eyes ruled that out immediately.

Rubbing his temples, Trey muttered to himself, "It can’t be cheating... no, you're too honest for that. But... sabotage? An underground card game ring? Are they planning to overthrow the entire campus??”

The more he thought about it, the worse his theories got. Finally, he cornered Riddle in the library.

"Okay, spill," Trey said, blocking the aisle with his arms crossed. "What are you planning? Should I be getting worried?"

Riddle flinched, then looked at him with wide eyes, clearly panicking. "T-Trey! No need to worry. Nothing’s going on, absolutely nothing suspicious! It’s just... uh... a simple, very controlled... event. No danger to the school’s reputation!"

Trey narrowed his eyes. "What kind of event?"

"Nothing... explosive," Riddle said quickly, which only made Trey’s anxiety skyrocket.

Trey leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Riddle, buddy, if something bad happens to the school... I’ll have to bake so many apology cakes. Just tell me now."

Riddle visibly shuddered and stammered, “Trust me, Trey, it’s not that kind of event. I... I can’t say more. But everything is fine. Everything is fine.”

It was not fine.

So Trey spent the next day actively trying to investigate. He saw you sneaking into the kitchen with Floyd of all people, which was just asking for disaster. Deuce was lugging bags of what looked like sugar and flour across the courtyard, and Cater was setting up some sort of odd contraption outside the dorm. Even the first-years were helping, though they kept stumbling around, looking more stressed than usual.

At this point, Trey was pretty sure he’d need to call in an exterminator, a fire marshal, and possibly a therapist.

But then the day came.

After avoiding Trey like you were trying to evade the plague, you finally invited him to Heartslabyul's garden. And when he walked into the courtyard, a loud "SURPRISE!" erupted from behind a massive table covered in sweets.

The entire dorm was there, grinning like mad. And at the center of the table?

A massive, towering cake shaped like a giant clover—green icing, edible chocolate glasses perched on top, and a carefully piped message that read, "Happy Trey Day!"

Trey blinked. Once. Twice. He stared at the display. It took him a second to process everything, but then he realized—this was all for him. And suddenly, all the suspicion, all the stress melted away.

"We... we wanted to throw you a surprise party!" you exclaimed, looking so proud of yourself. "I know you’re always the one baking, so we thought it’d be nice for you to have a break. Plus, we made everything themed after you!"

There was a giant piñata cake on the side too, stuffed with chocolates and little sugar clovers, and even the cups and napkins had tiny green glasses printed on them.

Trey couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. "You did all this? For me?"

"Yeah!" Ace chimed in, grinning. "We thought you’d like it—well, I thought of the piñata cake idea. Pretty genius, huh?"

Riddle, who had been unusually quiet, looked at Trey with genuine relief. “I hope it meets your expectations. We didn’t want anything... dangerous, but well, there was that small incident with the frosting explosion. But everything’s under control now.”

Trey raised an eyebrow. “Frosting explosion?”

Cater nudged Riddle. “Don’t worry, it’s mostly cleaned up! No harm, no foul.”

Trey chuckled, feeling warmth flood his chest. He was surrounded by his chaotic friends—everyone with flour in their hair, frosting smudged on their faces—and you, standing next to the giant clover cake, looking as proud as could be.

"I love it," Trey said softly, pulling you into a hug. "I’m just... relieved the campus is still standing."

“Barely,” Deuce whispered to Ace, who elbowed him.

Trey laughed, shaking his head. “Seriously, thank you. This is incredible. I had no idea you were all planning something like this.”

Riddle let out a breath he’d clearly been holding for days. “I’m... glad. For a while, I thought we were on the brink of a catastrophe.”

Trey glanced over at the piñata cake, eyeing the large wooden stick leaning next to it. “We’re still hitting that thing with a bat, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, grinning up at him.

And so, surrounded by you, his friends, sweets, and chaos, Trey felt that familiar warmth—like baking the perfect pie, but sweeter. This was home.

Masterlist

[lovebugism]

first time having sex with eddie pleasepleaseplease

bug's blurb sleepover (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎)! 18+

The first time you and Eddie have sex, he gives you a paper ring.

It’s made of the delicate wrappings of a straw. He’d gotten it for his drink at the diner, ripped off the end of it, and blew it square in your face, then laughed when you tried to do the same to him.

You couldn’t get the trajectory quite right, though, and decided to count your losses.

When he retrieves the pieces of forlorn trash from your end of the table and twirls it around in his hand, you figure he’s just fiddling with it. That it’s some absentminded thing he’s doing because his mind is always so preoccupied with one thing or another. Then he reaches for your hand across the table and takes hold of your left hand. 

Your fingertips are ice-cold, he finds, from where they’d been clutching the ribbed glass of your milkshake. He holds onto them anyway, and slips the twisted piece of paper onto your fourth finger. It’s tied at the top like a ribbon with a large knot at the center like a ring. 

You don’t realize the sentiment in it at first. You think it’s some party trick, like tying a cherry stem with your tongue or making a paper crane out of a napkin. 

Then Eddie smiles at you, a big, dumb, and sparkling grin — “Let Henderson try to make fun of us now, sweetheart. It’s finally official.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. 

Eddie used to call you his wife as a joke. It started as a way to get free meals at fancy restaurants you couldn’t afford. Then he saw how it made you blush and he did it just to make you laugh. It became a habit he couldn’t break sometime thereafter. The rest of Hellfire teased him to no end about the whole thing.

But it’s official now, or so he says. And you know it’s not real, not entirely, but suddenly you’re sad that it isn’t. 

Eddie steals your milkshake and lifts the lip of the glass to his mouth rather than use the straw. He smears whipped cream all over the tip of his nose and his cupid’s bow. You realize you can’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The thought doesn’t scare you as much as you thought it would. And you know that you’re just a couple of kids who don’t know a single damn thing about the world, but you know that yours would be so empty without Eddie in it.

You keep the ring on the rest of your lunch and flaunt it like it’s the real thing. It may not be made of metal with a too big diamond at the center, but the sentiment feels the same.

He takes you back to the trailer a little while later. Eddie makes sure to tell you how pretty you look sitting in the passenger seat of his van while he goes a world over the speed limit. You scold him for not paying attention and he blames you for distracting him.

Wayne’s truck is gone from the drive when you get to Forest Hills. It’s the first time you’ve had the trailer to yourselves and the realization sends a sick feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach — an elation, an apprehension, a shiver of anticipation.

And things weren’t tense exactly, nothing between you and Eddie was ever tense, but it was a foreign edge of a different kind. Things were unusually charged, like, sexually. It was just the thought of having the place to yourselves, of what couples usually did when they were alone. It left the both of you silently stewing over whether or not to take advantage of it all.

But you manage to keep things fairly innocent despite the distant, lingering libido that purrs like a roused sleeping dragon in the backs of your mind. 

The post-lunch fatigue hits the both of you like a ton of bricks, and you peel off what little you’d put on for your short trip to the diner most innocently. In nothing but oversized t-shirts and less than sexy underwear, you crawl into his bed and slip off to sleep without thinking.

That, coincidentally, is when things bubbled over.

You wake first some hours later. The setting sun has started to coat Eddie’s bedroom in various shades of orange You rise only because of the way the boy shifts behind you, sliding his hips over your back and gripping your waist with his fingers only for them to go lax a moment or so later. 

He tangles himself with you and it’s all perfectly normal. Eddie tends to shift in his sleep and the only way he can ever be content, it seems, is when he’s holding you like a teddy bear.

What isn’t normal, though, is the very apparent erection nudging at your lower back. 

“Eds…” you murmur, voice still groggy and heavy with exhaustion despite your alarm.

The boy, still half asleep and unknowing of the brick in his pants, mumbles back a lazy “hm?” 

He shifts again as he becomes more aware of his surroundings. It isn’t until his sensitive cock brushes against you that he notices how alarmingly hard he’d gotten in his sleep. He tenses, utterly mortified, before he feels you rock back against him. 

It’s intentional this time, knowing, and it lessens his fear but certainly not his hunger.

You press yourself further into him and twist your neck to look over at him. With tired eyes and heavy mouths, he shifts over you and catches your lips in a kiss. It’s lazy and slow, simmering with a cozy warmth. It doesn’t take either of you very long to wake up.

He presses a hand to your shoulder and rolls you onto your back, propping himself on his elbows to rest his weight on top of you. In your adjustment, lies a five-second pause that manages to feel like a moment’s blink in time and an eternity all at once. It’s as blissful as it is terrifying, the moment just before the kiss, the feeling when you know it’s about to happen.

Your eyes dart between his darker ones in a silent question. Eddie answers it with a searing kiss.

His knuckles brush against your buzzing skin as he strips you from the top you wear. You lift your hips to remove your panties after, while he rises to remove his own shirt. He tugs it up and over his pale torso, spotted with patches of hair on his chest and belly and fading tattoos.

“This was bound to happen, huh?” he jokes with a grin.

You bite back your own wide smile that threatens to take over your mouth and watch with twinkling eyes as he maneuvers his boxers down his legs without standing up. His hard cock bounces to his stomach, grateful to have been released from its confines. It glows an angry red at the tip.

“Are you complaining?” you retort playfully as he leans back over you again — both of you fully naked, bare chest pressed to bare chest.

The ends of Eddie’s hair tickle your jaw as he shakes his head. “Hell, no I’m not complaining, sweetheart.”

Lust swallows the two of you whole and blankets the room in a heavy heat. It’s all tongue and teeth and scorching touches. You flip yourself over for him suddenly, pressing your face into his pillow, and leaving the rest of you perfectly on display for him. 

Eddie is all too happy to admire the view as he takes you. His eyes remained locked on your ass, trained on the way you swallow his cock and how you meet his unpracticed thrusts with ease and diligence. His nervous hands are nearly numb where they clutch the dip of your waist. 

You peek over your shoulder at him, a playful and eager glint in your eye. Your smile widens when one of his hands lifts to swat your outer thigh. 

He was no stranger to this position — doggy style. In fact, the few girls he had fucked before you, he’d taken this way. But none of them were girlfriends. They were one-night stands from The Hideout or girls who used him to pass the time. He never minded how impersonal it felt before now. Because even with his cock nestled within you, closer than he could possibly be to you, the distance still feels like too much.

The breathless moans you exhale into the pillow cease when his hips still.

“Could you—  Can you, uh… Can you roll over?” he stammers, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

As lame as he feels in his request, you comply without thinking. 

You feel empty when he pulls out of you, warm again when he gets you on your back and looms over you again. You don’t mind when he presses his weight into you. Instead, you pull him somehow closer, catching him by his jaw to pull him into a devouring kiss that has him chasing you back into the pillows.

Your legs hook around his waist, keeping him locked into you though you writhe something fierce beneath him. Your hips roll with each of his unhurried thrusts, exhaling heavily against his mouth every time he presses into you.

“Eddie…” you breathe through lusted pants. “Please. I need… Need more.”

He doesn’t know why you’re begging. He’s never denied you of anything before. He doesn’t plan on starting now. Eddie wants to give you everything you want all the time — even when he doesn’t exactly know how to.

He ruts his hips harder than he had been before, with a pace far quicker than the relaxed thrusts he’d been given you. And it becomes obvious how greatly he’d undermined his strength when his pelvis presses into you and drives you up the bed. The crown of your head meets the wall with a dull thunk that echoes through the quiet, golden room.

Eddie stills immediately, blanching and gaping in fear.

“Ow,” you whine lowly, then laugh at yourself and him and the situation entire. 

You let Eddie cradle the back of your head as his fingers dance through the strands of your hair, rubbing gently at the sore spot of your skull. “Not that much, Eds…”

It makes him feel like a fumbling virgin all over again.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, wincing for you. He presses a sheepish kiss to the tip of your nose, rubbing the buzzing skin of your waist with the hand not pillowing the crown of your head. 

You’re healed instantaneously by all of the softness of touch.

“It’s okay,” you promise with a distant smile. “I asked for it.”

After your assurance (and then some), Eddie gets back into the swing of things. Distantly, he’s still terrified of hurting you again, but he gets so drunk on the praises that spill so effortlessly from your mouth to care. 

Your honeyed words are entwined with moans of his name and fragile whimpers as you near your peak. It catapults Eddie to his own orgasm. When you come, you do it with your fingers wrapped in the umber strands of his wild hair. Your walls flutter and tighten around his cock and your hands tug at his curly strands, hard — it drags him down right along with you.

He tenses and stills against you, whining and whimpering with his eyes squeezed shut. He fights to keep himself from bucking too wildly against you while you milk him and moan his name like it’s some prayer. You drive him crazy without even trying, reduce him to a puddle of nothingness with ease.

He flops less than gracefully beside you all over again, pale chest heaving with uneven breaths and curls clinging to his sweating forehead. The two of you fight to catch your breath.

You’re not looking at him. Your eyes have long fluttered shut as you revel in the aftermath of your orgasm, feeling like you’re not all there. A lazy smile pulls at the corners of your mouth and you exhale sharply, stuttering breaths in the place of a laugh. 

He can’t take his eyes off of you. You look ethereal and filthy, a heavenly being and a succubus from hell. He’s amazed by you, confounded at how an angel like you could wind up in his bed like this, somehow more in love with you than he had been just minutes before.

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” he promises out of the blue, voice heavy and far away from himself. 

And Eddie so often speaks candidly. He’s honest to a fault, saying things he knows he probably shouldn’t — but that? That catches even him off guard. 

But you don’t seem all that surprised by his words. They make you laugh, actually, eyes squinting and nose crinkling when you finally peek over at him.

Eddie’s still too far gone to laugh with you, but the corners of his lips quirky slightly.

“I thought we already were.”

You lift your left hand to remind him of the ring he’d tied to your finger just hours ago. The paper has slackened around the joint. The knot isn’t as tight as it had been before, hanging loosely at the knuckle. The edges are frayed and ripping in some places. But it’s still there.

And when it tears completely, he’ll make you another. And another. And another.

Until he can replace it with the real thing.

[lucysarah-c]

I would like you very much to talk about the girlfriend effect on Levi's fashion

The man has zero sense on it it's actually hurt

The way I squealed when I read this ask. I was like that TikTok sound of “OH MY GOODNESSI LOVE THIS QUESTION! I THINK..!”

*Deep sigh* Anon, you're absolutely right; it's time we face the truth about Levi's sense of style – it's hideous. Have you witnessed those panels of him in the Uprising arc with a T-shirt on top of a long-sleeve shirt? I mean, seriously, it's like, "You're lucky I adore you, Levi…"

Now, let's establish some basics. We can't delve into the "girlfriend effect" without first acknowledging Levi's life as a man. I hate to break it to many of us, but Levi is, indeed, a man – raised by Kenny, no less. Levi values cleanliness and practicality. To sum up Levi's approach to broad topics: cheap, pragmatic, and straightforward. The only exceptions to this rule are tea and cleaning. Levi grew up in poverty, so he won't waste a single penny on face cream, even if you harass him. As an example, there's a "game" that was only available, I believe, in Japan, that had side stories, and Levi literally told Erwin he wasted too much money on "pointless" stuff like hair pomade…

Levi doesn't buy much furniture, treats for his body, clothes – anything, really. I'd even venture to say he might get some of his clothes from donations. He saves his money for tea… and tea sets.

And here's where the girlfriend comes into the picture. It starts subtly; she spends a night in his personal chambers and suggests bringing in new pillows, curtains, furniture, scented candles, and bathroom appliances for her stuff. Then the full transformation happens.

Levi, pale as ever, refuses to wear sunscreen like any man would. “I'm trying to look after you!" she would insist while running her hand through his face; he's not pleased. He hates the sticky feeling, but it's just the beginning. He pretends to dislike it, but he falls asleep so easily when his face is on her legs, and she's giving him a face massage with a full face glam, mask, and gua sha.

"You have to use it like this, against the hair movement, to create volume so your hair doesn't stick to your scalp," she says, applying molding wax to his hair to give it more volume. Skincare routine? Check. Lip balms? Check. Hairstyles? Check. Personal chambers now looking comfy and homey? Double-check.

And finally, the clothes. He's against it at first, always in uniform, so why bother? But she explains how proportions and colors can make him look taller, and he's tempted to tell her he doesn't care. However, her puppy eyes beg him to wear what she chose.

The result? Levi, who once dressed like a pre-teen from the 2000s, transforms into a model. The LOOKS? He goes out with the vets for a few beers on a day off, and MPs are turning around; even Erwin is surprised. He's supposed to be the high maintenance of the group, not Levi! This transformation becomes the main giveaway that Levi is dating. Glowing skin, glass-like complexion, perfectly cut and smooth hair with ideal volume.

The cherry on top? Suddenly, he's taking days off, going out more, and knows a lot about which restaurants are "not that bad," all while dressing like a Vogue cover.

The only disadvantage? Now he has his pockets full of lip glosses, napkins, hand cream, etc. Women's clothes don't have pockets. How is he supposed to explain to the MPs when they ask for a pen, and he pulls out a pink, glittery lip gloss from his pocket? Not everything is an upside.

I ADORED this question! I hope the answer is somehow what you had in mind! Thank you so so much for sending this.

I hope you and your loved ones are doing great today and stay safe!

Lots of love!

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