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always-just-red · 3 days

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Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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prettiestlovergirl · 7 months

Text

STARVING

tw: MDNI; fem!reader; ditzy, princess, kook! reader; oral (m. receiving); dacryphilia; dom! jj; praise kink; light spit swapping; semi-public; oral fixation! reader.

a/n: as an oral fixation girlie myself... i really made this for me lol. writing ✨heals✨. this is a shorter one n i might delete later, but for now.... enjoy, my lovelies! 𓆩♡𓆪

"you know, ma, i think you're a sugar addict." jj informed you, watching as you unwrapped and popped another jolly rancher into your mouth.

the two of you had been snuggled up on your living room couch together, watching this romantic movie you had practically begged him to watch with you.

you'd given him your best pout and batted your long lashes at him, he was in no position to turn you down. how could he tell you no when you'd asked him so nicely?

besides, as much as the movie uninterested him, it still gave him an excuse to hold and massage your tits under the shirt you'd stolen from him, and that was enough of a selling point in itself.

"nuh uh!" you pouted, shaking your head as you crumpled the wrapper up and tossed it back into the bag of jolly ranchers you had beside you.

"baby, you've got a giant half-empty bag of candy right beside you. you're an addict." he smirked, squeezing your boobs gently to make you shiver while you continued to pout.

"i am not! i just like to have things in my mouth." you explained, shaking your head and trying to turn back to the movie. jj's smirk only grew, you had no idea the door you'd just opened for yourself.

"oh yeah? that so?" he smirked, his hands slipping out from under your shirt and gliding down to your waist. "i can definitely give you something to put in your mouth."

"jayj, wait, i wanna watch the movie!" you whined, strawberry jolly rancher swirling around your mouth as he fixed you on his lap, your head still turned to try and focus on the tv.

he started pressing kisses to your neck, suddenly far more interested in you than he ever would have been in that movie. "c'mon, ma. just wanna help, give you something extra good to put in your mouth." he grinned.

you continued to pout, but it was really no use trying to fight it. jj was persistent and you were his little, eager to please princess. you'd do just about anything for him n sucking his cock during a movie? not the craziest thing he'd asked you to do.

"mmm, fine." you nodded, sighing with contentment when his lips pressed against an extra sweet spot along your neck. "but you owe me!" you reminded, turning your head and tapping your lip gloss covered lips for a kiss.

he chuckled but happily obliged you, groaning at your strawberry flavored saliva filling his senses. you made out like this for a while and when you eventually pulled away, you realized his skilled tongue had stolen your jolly rancher.

"hey!" you frowned, looking back at him as he started helping you get down onto your knees. he swirled the jolly rancher around his mouth, chuckling at your new little pout.

"so dramatic today, mamas. really gotta work on this attitude of yours." he tutted, shaking his head. "no! no, 'm sorry, i'll stop pouting." you stated quickly, your thighs still tender from the last time he worked on fixing your attitude.

"that's what i thought." he grinned, rubbing his thumb along your lower lip to smudge your lip gloss around your chin as you finally sat up.

you pulled his shorts n boxers down his legs, nuzzling yourself in between them as your hand wrapped around his already angry n swollen cock.

you held him at the base, lifting it up and kitten licked up the entire underside of his cock. jj groaned, his hands reaching down and bringing your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, so it'd stay out of your way.

you let your nails scrape over one of the larger veins as you licked over his leaking tip, the salty precum a delicious contrast to the sweetness of the jolly rancher flavoring that had lingered on your tongue.

you went on teasing for a while, but once his grip started to tighten around your hair, you finally relented. you slowly took more of him into your mouth, going until you started to gag.

you sucked and swirled your tongue around what fit into your mouth, your other hand rubbing and massaging everything that couldn't fit inside.

"mm, c'mon mamas, i know you can take more than that." he grunted, his eyes happily fixed on the view of your glossy lips wrapped around his cock.

you huffed dramatically, pretty eyes rolling, but you did just what he asked. you placed your hands on his thighs to steady yourself before forcing yourself to take more of him in.

you loudly gagged around his length, but you didn't stop. your eyes watered immensely, blurring your vision, but you didn't care. jj's groans and praises spurred you on.

he really just couldn't take his eyes off of you, you just looked so fucking perfect like this. as much as he loved burying his face between your thighs, nothing beat the view of your water eyes and drooled soaked mouth gagging on his cock.

"that's it, that's my perfect girl. fuck, yes." he moaned, closing his eyes and relishing in the loud, wet noises that blocked out the tv in the background.

you gagged and slurped up and down his cock, coating it entirely in your strawberry flavored saliva. his cock started to twitch in your mouth, signaling he was close, so you brought your hand up and started gently massaging his balls.

"fuck, ma, 'm gonna cum, where do you want it?" he grunted, biting his lip as his hand held your hair even tighter. you used your free hand to tap your lower lip.

he forced your head to stay down as he bucked his hips up against your mouth, fucking your face momentarily before he finally came down your throat, painting the inside of your mouth white.

you finally pulled off, panting and gasping for air, your tongue hanging out. as you pulled off, you left a glossy sheen all over his cock, making you giggle softly.

"can we restart the movie now?"

ᵈⁱᵛⁱᵈᵉʳ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᵇʸ @ᵐᵘʳᵘᶠᶠⁱⁿ

#☆lola writes !#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x you #obx smut #jj obx #outer banks #outerbanks smut #smut

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 years

Text

up in flames (steddie x fem!reader)

→ summary: when steve and eddie don't pay you enough attention one morning, you decide that today's a good day to be a brat.

→ warnings: strong language, threesome, oral smut (both f! and m! receiving), face fucking, smut (good old fashioned p in v), dom!steve, dom!eddie, breeding kink, unprotected sex, spanking, name calling (brat, slut, etc), mean!steddie, hair-pulling, mentions of spitting, edging, lots and lots of teasing, voyeurism (public teasing), cream pies, use of 'sir', polaroids taken of mentioned cream pies, overuse of nicknames (y'all should know me by now) MINORS DNI. 18+.

→ wc: 9.4k+

→ a/n: oh jesus. okay. so, first of all, shout out to @myosotisa for encouraging this catastrophe. second of all, i am not completely positive that that entire paragraph covers everything so if you find i missed something, please tell me! fair warning that this is the filthiest thing i have ever written, the longest smut i've ever indulged in, and that i've never written threesome. it's also not edited. any mistakes are between y'all, steddie, reader, and god. not me. my apologies if this is bad. this was just... incredibly self indulgent lol.

You’d brought it upon yourself, really.

It started that morning. You’d asked for ten more minutes with them, but they both had work and knew that ‘ten more minutes’ was never just ten minutes. So Steve got up and made breakfast, Eddie went to take a shower. You’d pouted like a child but nonetheless joined them at the table.

And maybe it wasn’t all your fault, because Steve had made pancakes. That was his first mistake, and Eddie is the one who you attempt to make pay for it.

Somewhere between morning softness fading and orange juice kisses, you’d gotten a swipe of syrup on your thumb. You play it up innocently at first, kitten-licking the sticky sweetness on your skin. Both Eddie and Steve had ignored any gentle kicks of your sock clad foot, not a single reaction when you’d press your toes into their calves beneath the table in a silent plea of pay attention to me, please. Neither man pays any mind to you, too engrossed in discussing what movie they might want to watch after work later that night, you take it a step further, letting your lips wrap around your entire thumb. Steve takes another bite of pancake, but he’s none-the-wiser. Fine. It was fine, because Eddie was the one sitting directly across from you, so you focused your efforts on him.

He always broke easier than Steve anyways.

Your toes press into his calf again, more harshly this time.

“I’m not watching fucking Empire Strikes Back again Ste-” he cuts off midsentence at your prodding, fork in the middle of digging into his pancakes. Steve was too busy gathering both yours and his dirty plates to notice.

Once Eddie’s eyes are on your mouth, you up the ante. The pad of your thumb presses down on your tongue as you slip your lips past the knuckle, hollowing your cheeks as you suck hard on your appendix before you slowly drag it out and make a point of tugging down on your bottom lip. You witness his pupil dilating in real time, entranced as your foot begins to trail higher up his leg. His chest heaves, and you know he’s recalling the moment from a few nights before, when you’d given him the same half-lidded eyes as the tip of him had hit the back of your throat and you gagged around him, teary eyed but eager to please him.

The clashing of dishes being set into the sink seems to break whatever spell you nearly had him under, just as your foot reaches his thigh.

He smacks your foot away, blinking quickly before a cruel grin takes over his face, “Cute.”

“What was that?” Steve calls from the kitchen, completely oblivious to the stare down currently occurring in your dining room.

Eddie raises his eyebrows, daring you to say something as you scowl, sitting up straight once more at his rejection.

“Nothin’!” he calls out, deliberately slow as he pushes his chair out and stands from the table, plate in hand. His steps are heavy as he rounds the table to where you sit with your arms crossed, eyes set forward, not bothering to spare him a glance. You were acting like a child, and you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. You were hot, you were bothered, and you were about to spend the day doomed to being riled up without reprieve.

As he passes you on his way to Steve and the kitchen, he leans down, voice low as he whispers into your ear, “Behave, sweetheart.”

You nearly scoff, but won’t give him the satisfaction.

Behave. As if you would do anything along those lines today.

—

The next mistake is made when Steve accepts your offer to bring him lunch to Family Video during his shift.

It was actually fairly empty for a Wednesday. When you enter the video store, there’s only one other customer perusing the aisles, Steve nowhere to be found as Robin greets you from the front counter. You send a small wave in her direction, lifting the bag you’d packed Steve’s lunch away into up as you passed her on your way to the backroom.

You were still frustrated. Terribly so. The few hours the boys had been out of the apartment, you’d tried to soothe the ache. You even went as far as to bring out one of your neglected vibrators. But the batteries were worn and nearing their end, and you couldn’t find where the boys had stashed away the new ones, so you’d ended up a petulant mess in the center of the king bed. You’d all but kicked out your legs and thrown fists into the down comforter you’d settled into the center of when the toy’s buzzing finally faded to near-nothing just as you’d felt yourself teeter on the edge of release.

It was at that moment you decided you would not be the only one suffering today.

Steve isn’t in the backroom, or the bathroom you check. You give up calling out his name after the third time before finally setting the bag onto the employee’s table and venturing back out into the front of the store. Robin was no longer at the counter, at one of the endcaps helping the only other customer, completely occupied.

That’s when you hear him, a muffled curse and sound of a few movies dropping in one of the back aisles. Your feet carry you towards the sound quickly, light on your feet as you sneak around a corner to find Steve glaring down at a stack of movies that had fallen off the shelves.

“I don’t think your Jedi mind trick is working,” you quip to make your presence known to him, taking slow and calculated steps towards him, “‘Fraid those wrinkles make become permanent if you keep staring at them like that, my love.”

Brown eyes flicker up to you, framed by dark lashes as the frown lines smooth out.

“Haha,” Steve deadpans as you stand in front of him, “Very funny.”

You keep up a demure act by pecking him on his lips in greeting, feeling the corners of his lips pull upwards.

“Oh, c’mon, you call that a hello kiss?” he whispers before he reaches out and settles an insistent hand on your waist, tugging you back in as he chases your lips with his own. His kiss is deeper, leaving more to be desired as it still remains fairly chaste.

Just the simple capture of your bottom lip between his has your eyes fluttering shut, a sigh escaping you.

You still make sure to pull away first, remembering the burn in your abdomen that had begun burning this morning, that had yet to be satiated, “Better?”

“Much,” he grins, eyes glancing down at your outfit, his hand traveling from your waist to the hem of the short sundress, “This is cute.”

Cute. The same demeaning word that Eddie had used on you that morning, the same dismissive tone as Steve rubs the thin fabric between his fingertips.

You had deliberately worn one of Steve’s favorite dresses on you. You had deliberately forgotten a bra.

You had deliberately gone without underwear.

“Cute?” you hum, scrunching your eyebrows, “Last time I wore this dress, if I recall correctly, you called me downright sinful-”

You cut off when you see that flash in his eyes, the same dilation of pupils, the same sudden heavy breathing you had witnessed in Eddie that morning. He was clearly recalling the last time you’d worn the dress – the way he’d bent you over the bed before ripping off your lace number underneath that night, coming in you until you were leaking him across the mattress, the way he’d taken polaroids of your abused pussy to share with Eddie when he had returned from his weekend trip.

Maybe Steve was just as easy to break as Eddie.

“Don’t,” he softly warns, voice husk and low. The fingers playing with the hem of the dress let go of it immediately, knuckles brushing your bare thigh.

“What?” you play it off nonchalantly, “I was just reminding you of-”

“Baby,” he’s practically begging you now. Big, brown eyes pleading before he glances over your shoulder, trying to gauge how far away Robin and the customer were currently from the two of you.

You bring your hand up to his chest, stepping forward and letting his hand now curl around the back of your thigh. You fiddle with the name tag on his work vest, “D’you think Eddie still has those photos? Maybe I should go home and take some new ones.”

It’s the final straw. You’ve pushed him farther than you did Eddie this morning, and the hand once delicately gripping your thigh is now on your neck, gripping your jaw firmly as he leans down to breathe into your ear.

“No, you shouldn’t,” his lips brush over the shell of your ear as your head begins to lull back, only making him tighten his grip as he keeps you pressed closely to him, “What you should do is go home and behave yourself.”

There it is again. That word, behave. A command, an order, a spillage of gasoline across your fire.

You light up at his words.

“Who’s going to stop me? Certainly not you. And certainly not Eddie.”

He lets go immediately, and takes several steps back. All contact between the two of you is lost. If you weren’t so irritated, so consumed by pent up desire, you might have whined. You might have reached back out or followed his steps back. With the distance, he looks down and can see your nipples straining against the chest of the dress.

His jaw locks, “I’ll call him.”

You wield the hammer proudly as you pound the final nail into your coffin, “Do it.”

You spin on your heel, leaving Family Video, with absolutely no intention of behaving.

—

You stop at the store on your way home. Which, to be fair, is your first mistake.

It doesn’t truly take that long to find the package of double A batteries, but even once they’re in your cart, you find yourself walking a few laps around the store to attempt to settle your racing heart and increasing ache. But even by the third lap, even as you get several curious glances from store employees and your thighs begin to ache from how quickly you’ve been walking circles, the pent-up energy persists.

You don’t care. You’re now better equipped, and you know where Steve keeps the polaroid camera and film at home.

But when you arrive at the apartment, plastic bag dangling loosely from your wrist, you completely miss the fact that Eddie’s van and Steve’s BMW are back in their respective parking spots. It doesn’t cross your mind that your boys might be home as you climb the stairs, as you fumble with your keys, as you shut the front door behind you with your hip.

They were smart about it. They left all the lights out except one.

You blindly fumble through the dark apartment, path set on the bedroom above all else. In your mind, you only had a few hours before they’d get home. The pressure of the time constraint was nearly anxiety-inducing until you stopped in the middle of the hallway, and immediately noticed the bedroom light is on. You rack your brain to try and remember if you’d left that light on, or if your hand had simply missed when you’d shot it out to flick the switch off your way out earlier.

Neither. It was neither scenario, and you realize it as you stand in the doorway and are met with an unexpected sight.

Steve is standing by the edge of the bed, arms crossed and face flat as he stares at you. He had been clearly awaiting your entrance. And his presence isn’t the one that strikes any regret or fear in your gut – that anticipation, the oh I fucked up moment, only arrives when you look to the bed and find Eddie sitting on the edge. He’s cleaned up already from the auto shop, arms and hands scrubbed of any grease. His work boots are still laced on his feet, coveralls have discarded to his waist and sleeves tied in a knot.

It’s not just his presence that startles you. It’s your second mistake that stares you straight in the face; Eddie is casually holding your vibrator, turning it over between his palms, not even glancing up at your entrance.

“You two are home early,” you squeak, and internally scorn yourself for the breaking in your tone.

Steve’s still upset about your visit to him at work. Plainly written across his face, he doesn’t even try to hide his displeasure that shines through as he glares at you.

“We are,” Eddie agrees, and a chill runs up your spine – his tone is airy, casual, light. And he looks anything but. “Wanted to surprise you, sweetheart. So you can imagine our disappointment when we came home to this-” he pauses and finally looks up at you, holding up the vibrator in a grandiose gesture, “-left out on the bed. Care to explain?”

He phrases it like a question. It’s not a question – it’s an opportunity to convince them to go easy on you.

A mutual mistake is made at that moment, on Eddie’s part and yours. He assumes you want a gentle night of affection and undivided attention – the fire in you wants anything but those things. The fire in you is seeking out bruises, marks that litter you for days, for the two men to reduce you to nothing more than a goddamn toy, just like the one that Eddie held in his hands.

“I had an issue,” you reply snarkily, sitting the bag down onto the ground now, “I took care of it. Any questions?”

Eddie’s fiddling with the toy immediately stops. You watch the way his palm cradles the sky blue silicone. You hadn’t even cleaned it after the failed usage; you’d assumed you’d be home before them, get right back into it and not be risking them finding it first.

“Oh,” Eddie’s lips split into a daunting grin, “I think I have a few, sweetheart.”

Steve hasn’t moved an inch, and continues to resemble a statue as Eddie stands up. He tosses the vibrator back to the center of the bed before he leans down and unlaces his boots. The seconds drag on as he takes his sweet time.

“What’s in the bag?” Steve breaks his silence in an even tone, each syllable impossibly stern.

You look down at the discarded plastic, the edge of the battery packaging peaking out. You shrug, “Batteries.”

“For what?”

“For my rocketship to Mars,” you snap sarcastically. His eyes darken and the downturn of his lips deepen. Eddie finishes unlacing his boots and slips them off, “The vibrator, of course. What else would I need them for?”

“Did you use it on yourself? The vibrator?” Eddie is maintaining a faux relaxed cadence. If you weren’t paying close attention to his words, or his actions, you’d assume he was simply asking you about your day.

You swallow hard. The first crack in your facade, “I sure as Hell tried.”

Eddie stands back up to his full height, kicking his boots out of the way. He doesn’t look at you this time – he looks at Steve, “You hear that, Stevie? She tried.”

You meet Steve’s gaze with your chin held high. Resilience, defiance, contumacy. It all seeps from you in waves. Your way of saying that the teasing wasn’t going to be enough, not this time.

Steve’s arms drop from his chest, “Tried,” he echoes Eddie, taking a step forward, making the flames lick up to your sternum, “Pathetic. Can’t even break the rules properly.”

He’s as stubborn as you are in the eye contact. Prideful, commanding, authoritative. His waves meet yours with ease, nearly enough to reach your fire, nearly enough to attempt to put out the flames.

But he doesn’t. As he and Eddie stand side by side, glowering at you with matching expressions, it only fans the flames. Only makes you burn brighter, ache worsening with each passing second.

“It’s a shame,” Eddie taunts, “All that trouble you went through, and you won’t even be cumming tonight.”

You smirk as you reach down and finally grab the batteries from the bedroom floor, “Oh? I won’t? That’s odd, because I actually had some pretty big plans with me, that toy, and these batter-”

You don’t have time to react before Eddie has crossed the room and snatched the package from your hands effortlessly.

“I’ll take those. Thank you, doll.”

He turns his back on you and Steve continues to watch you, watching your facade crumbling right before his eyes. Eddie wastes no time in tearing open the batteries before he grabs the vibrator, working open the compartment and shaking out the old ones only to be replaced with new ones.

“Strip,” Eddie commands with his back still turned to you. The smirk on your face has long since fallen, completely fading as your eyes widen. When he hears no movement from you, he tsked, “Do you need to be told twice, sweetheart?”

Steve’s anger, his indifference, has vanished along with your smirk. He raises one eyebrow in a challenge, a silent question of if you were willing to disobey them now that they were both here.

“No, sir,” you secede through gritted teeth. They’re not stupid – they can still feel the heat from your blaze, even as you follow instructions. Even as you behave.

Eddie doesn’t watch you, but Steve does. His eyes never leave you, following your hands as you reach down to the hem of your dress. It’s at this moment that you remember your choices from earlier – no bra, no underwear. You don’t have to catch Steve’s expression once you lift the dress off your body to know he’s swirling with disbelief and frustration immediately.

“Where the fuck is your underwear?” he demands, breaking completely. Eddie has placed the backing on the compartment, and hardly has time to turn and face the two of you before Steve is in front of you, toe-to-toe with you as you bite back a smile.

“I forgot,” you lie entirely too smugly.

“Forgot?” Steve scoffs, jaw flexing as his eyes trail down your neck, your collarbones, your peaked nipples. They glide a path all the way down your torso until they land on your exposed heat and the way you try to subtly squeeze your thighs together. “Bed, now.”

“I don’t recall Eddie telling me to-”

“Listen to him, sweetheart,” Eddie chides, effectively interrupting you, “I think you’ll find Stevie isn’t in a very giving mood tonight. Best to not press your luck.”

To both men’s astonishment, you listen. A flip switches at the mention of giving, at the promise of satiation to come. Within seconds, you’re laying on the bed as Eddie sidesteps, still clutching your blue vibrator.

“Flip over,” Steve demands, hand fiddling with his belt buckle as he approaches you.

You do as he asks of you, rolling onto your stomach, turning your cheek to continue to watch him fully remove his belt now. Your thighs press together harder now, watching a moment of pensive thought cross his face as he looks down at the belt in his grasp.

When he tosses it to the side, letting it hit the bedroom floor with a harsh thud, you count your lucky stars.

“Since you seemed so fond of remembering them earlier today,” Steve muses, his bare hand tracing over the exposed skin of your back, down your spine until his fingertips dance over the swell of your nude ass, “How many polaroids did we take for Eddie that weekend?”

He doesn’t need to elaborate what he’s referring to. You can’t see Eddie, but you hear him choke on a breath.

“Five,” you respond as your hands fist the comforter beneath you, heart beginning to pound from anticipation.

“Hm,” Steve fakes thoughtfulness, and you can see him turn his head in Eddie’s direction, “Five? Does that sound about right to you, Eds?”

Eddie must have been nodding, not verbally responding until he caught on that Steve wanted him to answer him out loud, “Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, “Y-Yeah. Fuck, yeah, it was five polaroids. Still got ‘em in my bedside drawer.”

Steve’s attention is back on yours in an instinct, hand retracting, “Here’s what’s going to happen, doll. Five polaroids, five hits. You’re going to count out loud. Do you understand?”

You’re as speechless as Eddie had been; you’ve never managed to get Steve this riled up. The roles were usually reversed – usually, it was Eddie being domineering, Eddie being cruel and reveling in your squirming.

“Answer me.”

You remember his hesitation with the belt – this time, you don’t hold back in blurting out, “I understand.”

“Good,” his warm touch returns to you, this time on the bend of your knee, trailing its way up to the back of your thigh, “Color?”

An ache pangs through your core, ringing out through the hollow of every bone in your body, “Green.”

There’s no more pause or teasing. Once the word is spoken, Steve’s hand is pulled back before coming down on your ass, the smack riveting off the walls of the bedroom. You can’t help the gasp that leaves you, feeling the hit straight in your center. For a moment, you can’t think straight, thoughts blurring together and disappearing into thin air.

“That’s odd,” you barely register the lifting of the pressure of Steve’s hand, “I could have swore I told her to count. Did I not tell her to count?”

“You did,” Eddie is no longer stuttering as he walks around Steve, entering your field of vision as he crouches beside the bed, leveling his head with yours, “She must not want to cum badly enough.”

There’s a spark in Eddie’s eyes you recognize, that you’re familiar with. This is how it normally is – Eddie, belittling you before completely wrecking you, all while wearing a boyish and an air of casualty.

“Don’t you want to be a good girl for Stevie?” Eddie taunts you with a whisper, as if Steve couldn’t clearly overhear his words.

“I do,” you sigh out, eyes glossy, “I do.”

“Then count,” he instructs while keeping his voice hushed. His grin falls ever so slightly, gaze hardening before he looks up to Steve and says in a normal voice, “Start over. She’ll count this time.”

Steve’s hand pulls back before landing another hard smack to you, this one stinging even more than the first time.

This time, as you gasp, you manage to let out a strangled, “One.”

He alternates sides. After each slap, you continue to count, voice growing higher in pitch each time, whines slipping out as you feel yourself grow wetter.

You don’t notice the stray tears leaking out of your eyes, falling to the comforter and forming a dark spot, until Eddie reaches out his thumb to swipe them away before the final spank.

“Look at you,” Eddie coos, “You’re a fucking mess, sweetheart, and we’re just getting started.”

Steve doesn’t land the final smack yet, instead choosing to smooth his palms over your reddening skin, massaging gently. Eddie’s freehand disappears from the edge of the bed, and even in your mind’s haze, you immediately know he’s palming himself for brief relief by the way he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Color?” Steve calls out once more, leaning down over you, letting his lips brush at the small of your back. An uneven line of kisses are placed all the way down to your sore ass. Your breathing stutters at the softness, a startling contrast to his palm.

“Still green,” you croak, making Eddie fight back a wide grin as his eyes flutter shut.

You go to shift your hips, seeking out your own relief, but Steve is quick to press his palm over your lower back, pinning you down to the mattress with minimal pressure, “Nuh uh, doll. I’m not done with you yet. One more.”

“Think you can do one more?” Eddie murmurs, the taunting edge still in his cadence.

You only nod. In any other scenario, the two boys would demand you use your words, but the movement appeases them tonight.

The final blow is no less searing than the first, Steve using just as much force against the cheek he’d originally begun with. You almost forget to whimper out the count of ‘five’ until Eddie’s tapping your cheek gently.

“Five,” you say as loudly as you can muster, opening your eyes that you hadn’t realized had closed.

Eddie is staring intently at you, all teasing demeanor having temporarily lifted, “And you’re sure your color is green?”

You can’t help but laugh at his genuine concern, the way his eyes manage to go soft even with his pupils so blown out. Steve is back to pressing kisses up your spine, carefully avoiding your backend now.

“‘M sure,” you promise him, words slightly muffled by the way your mouth is partially pressed into the mattress, “Look at you two. Going all soft on me.”

Eddie’s mouth quirks up immediately, reassured you’re fine.

“It’s just been a while,” Steve offers as his lips reach the nape of your neck, hands spreading over the back of your shoulders, “Munson’s gone too easy on you lately, hasn’t he?”

Eddie throws his head back in laughter at that, “Oh, yeah. I have, haven’t I?” that mocking tone twists your gut, a reminder that they’ve yet to extinguish the fire you’ve been burning with the entire day, “Got so soft on you that Harrington had to get mean.”

“You’ve both been mean,” you argue back, becoming restless once more. You hardly pay any mind to the throbbing of where Steve had just punished you, “All I wanted this morning was ten more minutes, and you both ignored me.”

Steve’s off of you fairly quickly as Eddie’s expression slowly morphs into something more carnal.

“All this attitude… because you didn’t get your way?” he slowly enunciates each word, rising slowly from his crouch as his eyes never leave you. He lets out a soft tut, “Flip her over for me, Stevie. I think I need to remind her of just how mean we can actually be.”

Before Eddie fully steps away from the bed, he grabs a pillow to pass to Steve. No words are exchanged between them as Steve manages to rearrange you onto your back, the soft pillow serving to protect your reddened backend while simultaneously lifting your hips.

You aren’t watching Steve, though. You’re captivated by Eddie as he smoothly removes his shirt, lean torso bared to you with a smattering of ink and taut muscles. Eddie isn’t quite the same lanky boy he once was – he’s grown into himself, into his body, and he’s far stronger than he looks.

“Enjoying the show, brat?” he hums in question as his hand drops to the handcuff buckle of his belt, fiddling without so much as looking down at it, training his darkened irises on the rapid rise and fall of your chest. “You know, I should put this belt to use on you for the way you’ve treated us today. I should tie your hands above your head, turn that vibrators of yours onto its highest setting, leave you writhing as it abuses that pretty little cunt while me and Steve go get some dinner. If I were really being mean, I would do those things, sweetheart. But I’m not feeling mean,” with each word, he steps closer to the bed, discarding his work overalls and socks along the way, before he’s crawling up the edge of the bed and slotting himself between your thighs. His touch is colder than Steve as he wraps a palm around one of your calves, sliding up and down as his rings press into your skin, “I’m actually feeling quite generous tonight, baby.”

“Please,” you beg, knees falling apart, trying to make more room to accommodate him. You nearly reach down, nearly grab him by his shoulders and pull him into where you want him most – where you need him most. “I’ll be good, I swear. I can be good, sir-”

“My, my,” he cuts you off, leaning his mouth against the soft side of your knee, lips parting as he knicks your skin between his teeth and makes you jump, excitement and thrill pumping through your veins with intense longing, “You’re being so polite, I knew you had it in you. Where exactly were these manners earlier, though, with Stevie… in public?”

At the mention of Steve, your head rolls to the side, finding him standing to the sidelines already completely undressed. His cock stands proudly against his lower abdomen, the tip an angry shade of pink, shining with precum as he slowly reaches down to grip himself around his base.

You let out a whine as his grip on himself remains still, him only saying, “You better answer him. Before his generosity runs out.”

Eddie bites your inner knee again before letting his lips drag up your inner thigh, breath hot on your skin, “Don’t be shy on us now. You certainly weren’t shy when you were talking such a big game in the middle of Family Video, of all places. What did you expect to happen, hm? Did you expect Steve to just take you to the backroom, to give you all you demanded without being deserving of it?”

“No, sir,” you breathe out. He hooks both of your legs over his shoulders, looking up with a devilish grin, eyes locked on target of your cunt.

“Tell Steve you’re sorry, sweetheart,” he insists, mouth growing closer to your center at an antagonizing pace.

Steve’s fist is now pumping his length, and you purse your lips into a pout as you make eye contact with him, “I’m sorry, Stevie.”

You receive a smack onto your exposed pussy from Eddie, his ring catching on your clit and causing you to let out a yelp.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you correct yourself, devolving into a moan when Eddie finally puts his mouth on you. It’s momentary, but enough to have your hands shooting down to grip the comforter at your side, balling it up tightly as your knuckles pale.

“Say,” Eddie pulls back, shimmering eyes meeting yours, “Be a doll and hold my hair back for me, yeah? I usually prefer to keep my hair out of my meals.”

You do as he asks, hands letting go of soft down material and tangling into messy curls, one hand digging into his roots while the other gathers the rest of his mane into a makeshift ponytail in your fist. His fingertips dig into your thighs greedily as he begins to devour, tongue working in quick swipes from your entrance to clit. You throw your head back, skull crushing into the mattress as your lips immediately begin to buck up into him. Your flames grow the highest yet, curling around your neck and up the back of your throat, releasing like smoke signals in gasps and sighs, heavy pants of Eddie’s name that only fuels him to grow more eager against you. You can feel the mattress shake from him rutting his hips in chase of his own release.

“Fuck,” you cry out over the sound of Eddie lapping and the quickening pace of Steve touching himself, “Jesus Christ. God, fuck, I-”

“Not God, not Jesus,” his voice rasps against your clit, pausing to purse his lips and suck sharply, “Just Eddie or sir will do just fine, baby.”

Steve sees the first sign of your orgasm creeping up on you – Eddie is lost in you, nose nudging against your clit as his tongue dives into your entrance, taking all you can give him.

“Don’t let her cum.”

Another curse falls from your lips, and your back arches further off the mattress, igniting pain on your backside from the burn left by Steve’s hand.

Eddie’s mouth stays pressed against you as his words send shockwaves up your spine, feeling his own pants as he replies, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You tug sharply with the hand tangled in his roots, Eddie groaning into you as Steve says, “She’s about to cum. Get your mouth off her, Munson.”

His words only spur you to clamp your thighs tightly against Eddie’s ears, as if you could block out the command. You were close. The closest you’d been all day, wound tightly and desperately for a release you’d been seeking since this morning.

Eddie was easy to break. You’d been right. For all the mean he was capable of, once he got his mouth on you, you were always sure to finish. He was a starving man, as needy as you as he would beckon you closer and closer to your edge. He got off just as clearly by your pleasure as you did.

He doesn’t listen to Steve. His tongue only plunges into you once more, and the coil in the center of your burning abdomen nearly snaps before Steve’s hand replaces the one that had been holding Eddie’s hair back. He tugs harshly, pulling the other boy’s mouth off of you in an instant.

The coil doesn’t snap. You nearly scream, your entire body aching fervently.

Eddie’s neck is bared to you as you glance down, hair still pulled taut by Steve’s grip as he licks his slick lips with a teasing grin. He catches your look of desperation and frustration, and one corner of his mouth turns the grin lopsided, “Told you, sweetheart. He’s feeling mean today, not me.”

“She’s been a brat. Brats don’t fucking cum,” Steve glares down at you, making you squirm, legs still hooked over Eddie’s shoulders.

You're dizzy from nearly coming to the fruition of your release, but still find a spark of snark somewhere deep in your chest as you lazily roll your eyes at Steve.

“Bite me, Steve.”

Eddie gives your thighs one last tight squeeze before your legs drop off of him as he moves to stand up beside Steve. He crawls backwards slowly, deliberately wiggling his brows on his flush face, “Mouthy, are we?”

“Far too mouthy,” Steve quips, letting go of Eddie’s hair finally. The curls brush his collarbones, falling in dark waves over his bare shoulders.

“Maybe you should put her mouth to better use, Stevie.”

They watch the breath get caught in your throat, the clench of your thighs as your eyes widen. Chest heaving. Pupils blown. You’re an image to be held right now by them, but they’re not going to tell you that – not yet.

“You’re right,” Steve muses. He’s hard, painfully so, as he moves to cup his balls, rolling the tension out of his shoulders, “Get her on her knees for me.”

Eddie helps you stand, taking the pillow that had been wedged beneath your hips and dropping it to the ground at Steve’s feet. Your knees still shake from your flames. You’re convinced they’ll burn you alive before the night is over, before your boys are done with you.

Your hands grasp onto Eddie’s forearms for a moment, steadying yourself.

“Hey,” he murmurs, a private moment between the two of you as he brings a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head up to look at him with devastating gentleness compared to the roughness they’ve shown you thus far. He’s smiling softly, no sign of cynical or cruelty as he tilts his head, “How you doin’? What’s your color?”

“Still green, Eds,” you insist, leaning into his touch.

“And what do you say if it starts to get to be too much?”

“Yellow.”

“And if you need to full stop, no questions asked?”

“Red.”

“Atta girl,” he praises, dimples protruding before he leans down to kiss you. He tastes of nicotine, of mint, of you. Your tongue chases after his own into his mouth, losing yourself momentarily in the way his fingers continue to cradle your chin as he movements remain patient, giving. A stark contrast to what you’re used to in the bedroom, but exactly what you expect from the boy outside of the bedroom.

“Any day now,” Steve sighs, reminding you two of his presence. You both pull back and Eddie drags his thumb over your bottom lip, tugging and mimicking the show you’d made with the syrup for him that morning.

“Sorry,” Eddie rasps out, eyes still on you, “Just couldn’t resist. You know me, always the giver.”

“Right,” Steve snorts, the tenseness of the moment momentarily lifted as Eddie moves you to your knees in front of Steve. “Because you were so giving to her last week when you spit in her mouth after she begged for a kiss.”

Eddie shrugs, fingers carding through your hair and pulling it back over your shoulders, “I have my days. Just like you, clearly.”

His touch leaves you as you come face to face with Steve’s dick now, lashes fluttering as you look up at the two men. Eddie is quick to remove his boxers, a wet patch having formed on the crotch of them.

It’s embarrassing, the way your mouth waters at the mere sight of the two of them. Steve is big – in girth, in length – and you know him to be a challenge, always leaving your jaw aching. But Eddie is smaller – still girthy, still perfectly fitted to hit the perfect angles inside of you when he drills you into the mattress – but simply less intimidating. Steve stands tall and proud, but Eddie’s dick curves ever so slightly to the right, a darker shade of pink on his tip that nearly perfectly matches his lips and your own blushing cheeks.

“Look at her,” Eddie coos, stepping out of the discarded boxers and coming around behind Steve, having to lean down to place his chin on Steve’s shoulder as his arms wrap around the boy’s waist loosely, “Already cock drunk, and all we’ve done is take off our clothes.”

Steve is the one smirking now as Eddie places a succession of kisses over his shoulder, up his neck, both men look at you intently. “She is, isn’t she?”

“Just pathetic,” Eddie goads. Steve nods in agreement immediately.

You don’t say a word as Steve grips himself again and Eddie lets go of him, side-stepping to become a spectator once more before Steve guides his tip to your lips, tapping expectantly.

“Not so mouthy anymore, are you, baby?” Steve teases you. You shake your head before you let your lips part, jaw slack as you open your mouth for Steve.

The weight of him on your tongue is heavy, and you give yourselves a moment to just savor it. This is what you had been wanting since this morning, what you’d been begging for the entire day.

By the way Steve’s head falls back with a moan, he’d spent the entire day longing for this just as much as you.

“Just like that,” he whines, hard exterior cracking as you begin to bob your head against him, taking your time as your tongue swirls around his tip. You breathe deeply through your nose, slow as you begin to swallow him down, taking him further and further down your throat until he hits the back of it and gags you. The restriction of your throat has him releasing a deep groan, pulling from his chest as his hand reaches down to find purchase in your hair. “Fuck, your mouth is so good for me, baby. So good.”

“So much better when she’s putting it to good use, right?” Eddie comments, and you can hear the schlick of his fist pumping himself, fluid movements with the flick of his wrist.

Steve hums in agreement, fingers tightening against your scalp as you take him further down, choking once more. Tears have sprung to your eyes as you finally pull back, gasping for breath as you pepper kisses across his tip and down the length, reaching his balls before you mouth at them. His hips buck without constraint.

You’ve caught you breath by the time you’re kissing up the opposite side, sucking his tip as harshly as Eddie had treated your clit, a throb ricocheting through you as his fans with your flames with every pant of your name. A chant, a prayer, an answer of forgiveness – your stunt at Family Video is long forgotten as you sit back on your heels and open your mouth wide, making it clear you want him to fuck your face.

His eyes shoot open and catches sight of you waiting patiently. When he doesn’t make the first move, you reach up and tug on him, one hand stroking him and the other placed against his thigh.

“Fuck my mouth, sir,” you beg of him, some of the lingering tears in your eyes still wetting your lashes, “Please.”

The please is all it takes. The way your voice cracks, the way your thighs clench as you whine. Steve wastes no time in placing both his hands on the back of your head, watching you intently.

Your hand starts to drop from his thigh, and he’s quick to grab it and place it back in its original position firmly.

“Two taps to slow down, three taps to stop. Understood?” You nod dumbly, and he pulls on a strand of hair, making you gasp.“Say it. Say you understand.”

“I understand. Two taps to slow down, three to stop.”

Once the words leave your mouth, your hand still on his thigh, he thrusts into your waiting mouth. There’s no mercy as his hips jerk towards you, immediately pressing down your throat and leaving you a drooling mess. Each thrust brings on a fresh wave of tears, leaving your cheeks wet as you let him use you for his own pleasure. Each time his tip taps the back of your throat, you feel your core begin to ache worse, shuffling your thighs to keep your balance as well as seek out friction. You let your eyes divert from watching the way Steve’s chest frantically heaves to Eddie, who’s eyes are half-shut, wrist still flicking lazily, moving to a slower pace than the force that Steve fucks your mouth with. You try to communicate with your eyes for him to come closer, but to no avail.

Finally, you tap Steve’s thigh twice, and his movements slow to nearly a stop, letting his dick drop from your tongue as you puff to catch your breath.

“Everything okay?” Steve immediately checks in on you, and you nod, focusing your attention.

“C’mere,” you plead with Eddie, holding out a hand. He’s quick to come to you, and in an instant, you replace his fist with your own after spitting into your palm.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie hisses, hips stuttering as you pick up his pace where he left off.

The boys share a look before you glance up to Steve.

“Sorry,” you smirk softly, “Eddie just looked a little lonely. Continue as you were.”

Steve’s thrusts are even more frantic now as his eyes dart between your eyes and your hand, tugging on Eddie’s dick to match the pace set by him. He tests it out, slowing his movements and immediately widening his eyes at the way your hand follows his guidance.

Eddie seems to realize this at the exact time, as they both moan out in sync.

Just as you realize how sore your throat is sure to be come tomorrow, the possibility of bruising on your mind, Steve’s breathing becomes more ragged, thrusts faltering while Eddie begins to whine incessantly.

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps out, finally thrusting to meet your fist, “Fucking- Holy shit, my God.”

“I’m going to cum,” Steve grunts out, abdomen contracting, “I- Fuck, baby. Fuck, take it. Just like that.”

His praises become incoherent as Eddie smacks your hand away from him, quickly guiding your now free-hand to play with Steve’s balls. That’s all it takes for Steve, a few ginger rolls and pinches against his heavy sack, before he’s cumming in rapid spurts down your throat. He presses you up against his pelvis, your nose buried in his pubic hair, as he groans and curses through his high. Eddie watches, wide-eyed, as you take it in stride, swallowing every drop that Steve offers to you.

“Well, shit,” he breathes out through his nose as you pull back from Steve, letting a string of spit trail from your chin to his softening dick, “That never gets fucking old.”

You laugh hoarsely, “Neat trick, huh?”

Steve helps you off of your knees gently before he moves to sit on the edge of the bed, Eddie still standing with his dick against his abs, pink tip more swollen than before.

You stand between Steve’s knees and lean down, letting one of your knuckles brush over his check before you push some of his stray hairs off of his forehead with care, “Have I proven I’m sorry yet, sir?”

He breathlessly chuckles, eyes shut in residual bliss, “Fuck you.”

You’re shocked when Eddie comes up behind you as you’re still bent over, and suddenly running his tip through your soaking folds. Steve leans forward to kiss you hard, catching the whine that spills out from your throat.

“I think we owe her an orgasm still, Stevie,” Eddie comments, hand wrapping around the front of you as he pulls you back from Steve, fingers flicking your nipples before his hand comes to rest around your throat. Your back is flush with his chest, he’s tucked between your thighs as your core flutters around nothing. “How’s that sound, sweetheart?”

Your hum is lost in your chest, your flames desperate to lick at Eddie’s wrists as you lean your head back on his shoulder and let his fingers give an experimental squeeze to your throat.

“Still too much of a cock drunk slut to answer me, I see,” Eddie tsks, kissing the back of your shoulder chastely, “That’s alright. I’m still in a giving mood, baby — Let me take care of you.”

Steve watches, silent and entranced, as you become pliable in Eddie’s hands. You put up no fight as presses you to get on your hands and knees on the bed, letting your knees slide further apart until you’ve sunk to the perfect height for Eddie to slip his dick between your slit once more, his tip catching your clit and making you jerk forward. His hands massage your ass, still red from Steve’s spankings, thumbs rubbing gentle circles and the cool and sticky rings managing to soothe the heat that radiates from you.

“Look at that,” Eddie nudges the tip of his cock against your entrance, “You’re already ready for me. She’s practically begging to be filled by me.”

“I am,” you agree, curling your fists into the sheets to prepare yourself, “Please fill me, Eddie. Please.”

He chuckles darkly, leaning forward as some of his weight lays along your back, whispering in your ear, “I wasn’t talking about you, slut. I was talking about that pretty pussy of yours.”

Without warning, Eddie sinks in. He was right — your walls stretch to welcome him, sucking him in tightly until he’s bottomed out, groaning huskily into your ear still.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he gasps with you, “This wet, just for us?”

You hear Steve make a weak noise off to the side of you two, and tilt your head to find him already half hard again, eyes focused on where Eddie fills you.

“Just for you,” you supply through whines that creep up on you, fry tile in your attempt to swallow them down, already clenching down on Eddie as you burn, “Only for my boys.”

Your eyes lock with Steve’s. He’s fully hard at the term of possessiveness.

Eddie finally begins to rock against you, lifting from your back, each snapping of his hips focused on nudging his tip deeper into you, hitting the spot that has your back arching as you cry out. He’s wasting no time, hardly being careful of your sore skin as his thighs meet the back of yours.

“God, you take me so well. Always take us so well, sweetheart,” Eddie rambles, mutterings of curses spilling from his lips as he reaches to hold your hips with a tight grip. Even if your throat wasn’t bruised, your hips surely would be.

Steve has begun to touch himself again, matching Eddie’s strokes to his own.

“So fucking tight,” Eddie groans out, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust that has you crying out, mind reeling as the burn that has scorned you all day threatens to spread. Coals in the pit of your stomach, turning your vision right and your body flush pink, “You want my cum sweetheart? Just like in those pretty photos?”

You clench around him, walls beginning to flutter as you chant an alternation of his name and Steve’s.

“You know what, Eddie? I think those photos are a bit dated by now, don’t you think? I think we need to take a new picture of our pretty little pussy,” Steve cuts in, tone uneven as he thrusts into his own fist.

You clench harder.

“Is that what you want, sweetheart?” Eddie’s hot chest is back against your back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with each rock of his hips. He’s impossibly deep — you’re sure if you were to press on your lower stomach, you’d feel him there. “Want me to fill you with all my cum like the fucking slut you are? Hm?”

It’s as if he was reading your mind, a hand trailing from your hips over where he is in fact bulging against your lower stomach. He lays his palm flat and applies pressure, and your mouth hangs open, unable to make a sound as your face screws up in pleasure, “Feel that? Feel how fucking deep I am in you right now?” he pauses, and thrusts even harder, knocking you down from your palms to your elbows, “I bet you’d like me to fill you with my cum, I bet you want me to put a fucking baby in you, sweetheart. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? God, I know you love that idea, squeezing me so tight.”

Steve groans out from beside the two of you again, chest red as he chases his second organs of the night. You’re too overwhelmed with your coil once more tightening to take in the sight.

“I bet you’d let us take turns, fucking babies into you, making you nice and round with our fucking kids. I bet your tits would get nice and pretty, big and sensitive, huh?” Eddie edges you on, noticing the way you’ve begun to rock back into him, still fluttering around him wildly with each of his words. His hand travels up to your chest and twists a nipple painfully, “Is that what you want, brat? You want us to breed you?”

“Yes,” you finally find your words, crying out, unable to chase your breath as everything inside you ignites, “Please breed me, p-please,” you stutter as tears begin to flow down your cheeks again, “I- Please let me cum. I’m gonna cum, please-”

The words you’ve been waiting for all day finally fall from Eddie’s lips, “Cum for me, baby.”

Your vision goes white as you burst into flames, face pressing fully into the mattress roughly as Eddie continues to pound into you, taking no time to slow down. Your ears ring, unable to hear a single soothing word either he or Steve coos at you through your release, only focused on how full you are of Eddie, the ache in your jaw from Steve, the burn of your ass from Steve’s palm. You’re sure you’ve screamed through it by the new scratchiness that settles with the residual ache in your throat.

When you finally come back to, the flames finally tamed as the embers and ash settle, Eddie is still rutting relentlessly into you, clearing chasing his own high now.

“Fuck,” he whines out, drawing the word out as his hips stutter, “G-Gonna cum, gonna fill you up so full of my cum, sweetheart, I-”

He cuts off, and you feel his warmth paint your walls as he bites onto your shoulder, hardly muffling the sinful noises coming from his mouth. For a moment, he relaxes his full weight on top of you before lifting at the sound of Steve’s whines.

He doesn’t pull out yet, beckoning to Steve as he sees the boy coming close to release. You’re still coming down, smoke still clearing from your head, hardly registering when Eddie leaves you empty, only for Steve to begin to pump himself over you. His cum mixes with Eddie’s as it leaks out of you, painting your puffy lips in both of them. His moans and groans sound as if they come from underwater.

You stay laying there, entire body trembling from exhaustion, entire upper body collapsed as Steve soothingly holds your hips.

“Stay up for us just one more second baby,” he kisses your temple, sickly sweet before you hear the shutter of a camera.

There’s a whirring of film being produced as your hips finally collapse and your feet brush the carpeted floor, body sagging in relief. You’re fully unaware of Steve and Eddie’s movements, unsure of which one retrieves the wet cloth to clean you off, which one gathers you up before pulling back the comforter and sheets to snuggly fit you into the center of the bed. You think it’s Steve that produces the glass of water, as he whispers ‘drink’ and encourages you to drain half the glass before each boy takes to laying on either side of you. You curl instinctually into Steve’s chest as Eddie presses his body carefully to the back of you, grabbing your hand and intertwining fingers before he begins to place kisses down your arm. Steve traces soothing circles over your thigh.

“You did so good for us, honey,” Steve murmurs as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “So good.”

Eddie leans back to look at your bare ass, catching sight of the handprints left welting, “Sheesh. Stevie really did a number on you, didn’t he, sweetheart?”

You whine pathetically in response, making both men chuckle.

“It isn’t that bad, is it?” Steve finally asks after a beat of silence, attempting to crane his neck to catch sight of the damage done.

“Nothing a little lotion and lovin’ can’t fix,” Eddie smiles, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before letting go of your hand, “My head, on the other hand, still hurts from you pulling my hair, dickhead.”

“You weren’t listening to me, asshole.”

With the flames dying down, all that’s left now is a warmth of unimaginable lengths, something to have and to hold as the two boys bicker from either side of you.

When silence begins to soothe over you three, when you can feel both Steve’s head beneath your chest and Eddie’s against your shoulders rising and falling evenly, you finally dare to whisper, “I’m sorry for being such a brat today.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, baby,” Steve mumbles, clearly on the verge of sleep as his fingers have slowed in their gentle dance over your thigh.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie agrees, mouth pressed to the nape of your neck, “You know we don’t mind. We’re always more than happy to put you back in your place.”

“We’re sorry for ignoring you this morning,” Steve continues on drearily, on the cusp of drifting out of consciousness, “You can have ten more minutes of every morning from now on, I swear. I… I can call… I can call out of work tomorrow, or just… go in late,” Steve’s words become increasingly slurred as he clearly starts to fall asleep mid sentence.

You can’t help but giggle into his chest, adoration flooding you for his snores that begin. “He’s definitely not going to call out tomorrow, is he?”

Eddie’s still awake behind you, each puff of his breath on your neck soothing you to follow Steve’s lead into unconsciousness. He brings a hand to your hip and pinches you lovingly, “Don’t worry, babe. I’m actually off work tomorrow. Maybe we can get up to some trouble, return the favor and take some polaroids for Stevie to have of his own.”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie x reader #steddie x you #steddie x reader smut #eddie munson smut #steve harrington smut #eddie munson x you #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x steve harrington x you #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #i have no excuse i'm sorry y'all #i don't remember the color of anything don't ask

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cryptidclaw · 2 years

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My new Clangen clan, Kittyclan, a year (12 moons) in!

I thought it would be fun to draw my clan every 12 moons or so! (though after these first 12 moons I prob wont draw every cat! this took forever...)

The backstory of this clan, is that they were all Kittypets who decided to run away and start their own clan in the woods!

More info on the clan so far below! v

My first starclan cat, Onetree, used to be a warrior, and then a med cat, in a old clan, but in her old age she was guided by starclan to the Twolegplace nearby. There at the twolegplace she was taken in by two twolegs, and was named Granny Cat. Her Housefolk had another cat, a kitten named Milky, and Granny knew once she met him that he would one day do something great. Milky would take a group of cats into the forest and create his own clan. Granny knew Starclan had guided her here to teach Milky of the clans and the skills of a warrior and so she tried her hardest to do just that, taking Milky in as her own.

After Granny Cat passed away Milky became determined to live in the forest that Granny had once lived in. Not only this, Milky decided he should create his own clan! He convinced several fellow kittypets to join him in his mission and he named their new clan Kittyclan for their kittypet roots. He took them into the woods to find a territory and camp and Starclan guided Milky to a gully in the woods, perfect for a camp, and the new clan knew that this would be their new home. That night after settling Milky received his 9 lives from starclan, and was given his Leader’s name, Milkystar!

Notable things that have happened so far:

Milkystar has already lost two lives?? He lost one to a border skirmish where Onyxpelt also died, and he lost another falling from a tree (tho I suspect he was very distracted that moon due to his mate announcing that he was expecting kits lol)

For some reason Milkystar and Sweetpea have little to no feelings about each other. They slightly like each other and slightly hate each other?? all the other cats og cats have at least a good amount of platonic like towards each other (except for Lint ig)! I guess their Leader and deputy relationship is like an awkward coworkers relationship lol.

Milkystar and Fredheart are mates! they both had the beginnings of romantic feelings for each other and I wanted kits so I got them together! Idk if this was a good decision however because their dislike bars towards eachother are starting to go up :/. Love hate romance. They are going to have kits tho!!

Fredheart and Sweetpea are BFFs for ever, they have such high platinic love bars! its kinda funny since Sweet does not care for Fred’s mate lol.

Poor Fluttershy lost her leg in a twoleg trap...

I got three new additions to the clan! Jessicapuddle, Onyxpelt and Splashmoth! Onyx almost immediately died in that border skirmish, but luckily that's the only death so far!

Jessicapuddle came out as a trans man and i think that’s hilarious bec this is one of the only times when i have seemingly got a female kittypet name on a female cat.

Splashmoth’s name kinda sounds like Smashmouth.... also I designed her to look kinda similar to Onetree/Granny bec they have the same personality traits, and spotted pelt pattern... maybe they r related, who knows. (I also like the idea that she eerily reminds Milky of Granny)

Lintheather has no friends??? like at all??? nobody has strong platonic feelings towards him at all!! its so sad... I feel like hes so lonely and kind of regretting joining the clan now :(

Beanzsong on the other hand is everyone’s favorite omg... he’s also very close with his mentor Sweetpea!

Creatureivy is also very close to her mentor Milkystar and i like to think that Milky treated her as his daughter since she was a kit at the start of the clan!

#cryptid plays clangen #Kittyclan #clangen #warrior cats #warrior cats design #clangen ocs #warriors oc #warriors ocs #oc design #warriors

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howdoyousleep3 · 6 months

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Rating: Explicit (E) Word Count: 4.7K Notable Tags: Dom/Sub AU, Heavy Power Imbalance, Non-Con (from characters other than Steve and in the past, no major detail), Daddy Kink, Age Difference, Sex Trafficking, Human Trafficking, Submissive Auction, Angst With a Happy Ending, Depressive Thoughts, Depressed Bucky Barnes, Slight Stockholm Syndrome, Crying, Subspace, Blowjob, Face Fucking, Orgasm Denial, Cock Cage, Size Kink, Size Difference A/N: This was originally supposed to be published in the last Kinktober I participated in under my Age Difference day. I've only read one story that was in the Dom/Sub AU and I was so taken with it, it's all I thought about as I wrote this. It's a universe where, kind of like Omegaverse, everyone has a designation of Dominant or Submissive. I didn't dive into it too heavily, but I left it totally up for my interpretation so...don't mind me lol. Compared to what I usually write, this one is kind of twisted and dark. Please read the tags and don't continue reading if it makes you uncomfy. ❤️

Read here on Ao3.

The lights in this room are much more dim than the ones in the showcase room they’ve just performed in. He feels the line of his shoulders relax at the sight, be it merely a smidgen, heart still hammering against his rib cage. His limbs continue to tremble unpleasantly, his head pounding, his hole wet and aching to the point of pain.

He is used to this happening when he’s used without completion, climax other than his own being robbed from him, when he isn’t used for his purpose. He does as they’ve trained him though— he ignores his tender emotions and his body’s biological signs of unfulfilled submission.

Bucky barely has half the mind to take in his surroundings, to lift his chin and glance around the room he’s quickly being shuffled into. It almost looks like a study, someone’s personal office or library. It’s deceivingly cozy with its maroon walls and moody lighting, a fireplace lit and in use on one end of the room, bookshelves lining the opposite wall. He’s slow to take in the bed in the center of the room, one that seems entirely out of place yet perfect in this setting, large and cloud-like and luxurious.

The exhaustive ache that Bucky feels deep down to the center of his being yearns to curl up in the center of that bed like a kitten, to not be roused for hours on end. Instead he’s ordered to his knees on the rug next to it, the command settling unpleasantly on the nape of his neck like they always do.

He looks down at himself, his nude and flushed form, eyes locking onto his hands bound and curled together in his lap, and he wonders how this is where he ended up in life.

“Listen to me,” the handler tells him, voice unharsh yet still grating, the command one he’s forced to listen to. Bucky’s never enjoyed his designation, has rarely ever been comfortable being a Sub, but these moments are the ones he hates the most. He despises not having a choice, has a special kind of hatred for being commanded against his will, his body listening before his mind can fight against it. But he’s quick to respond, quick to mumble, “Yes, Sir,” because that’s what they’ve spent the last three months training Bucky to do.

“You no longer belong to us,” the Dominant handler states without emotion, and even given the circumstances, relief kicks up into Bucky’s chest. “Your personal possessions are in this bag, your Dom will handle everything else once your bond is initiated. If it is initiated.” Bucky flinches. “You understand the reputation we hold here and the standards we’ve instilled in you, yes?”

Bucky bites out another, “Yes, Sir,” before the handler is done moving purposefully around the room, coming to stand in front of Bucky. He doesn’t raise his head, just as he’s been taught.

“Good. I advise you to keep those in mind once you leave this place. You haven’t been the easiest Sub to deal with, James. I’d hate for your Dom to send you back here because you did not meet expectations. He won you fair and square with the highest bid; don’t make him regret that.”

The severity of the situation Bucky’s been put in, the past few months, hits him in the solar plexus when he hears these words. He isn’t sure why his brain decides to catch up in this moment, why he decides to feel the weight of the past weeks here at the feet of his handler in the very last moment they’ll see each other, but he feels his chest constrict painfully. His hole aches in waves, mouth watering in preparation for what it thinks is coming, desperate, and Bucky bites back his whimper when he feels his dick wish to fill out.

He never gets what he wants, what he needs, is always left feeling unfulfilled and purposeless. They’ve had to increase his dosage of meds they give him each day as a result of how affected he has become from touch after touch leaving him emptier and emptier. A Sub shouldn’t live like this yet here he is, having been picked up off the streets and trained to be the best of the best on such evil touches.

He’s going to be so fucked up because of this place.

Having been put on display in every possible way in the performance room during his shining moment, he wonders if this is the last time he’ll feel so used and hollow. Will his new Dom continue to leave him feeling so empty? Will he make Bucky do things he doesn’t want to do, use him against his will, take advantage of him and his designation? He feels so low in this moment he can’t see anything but that happening, of being owned and living this life of misery. Surely Bucky won’t survive.

His handler doesn’t even say goodbye, doesn’t acknowledge Bucky as he leaves, and Bucky hates how much that hurts. He’s once again betrayed by his biological needs, betrayed by the intrinsic need to please and to obey, and even given the piss poor treatment they’ve put him through here, Bucky wishes his handler would leave him with more positive words, with the praise he so desperately craves.

When he hears the door close behind the Dom, he can’t help the whimper that bubbles up and out of his mouth.

His eyes don’t leave the floor because no one has told him he can raise his head, and even though he no longer belongs to this establishment, he can’t will his inner submissive to look up. Instead, his eyes lock onto the cage around his dick. He despises this thing. Before he was lured in with promises of a warm meal and an even warmer bed he had only heard of cock cages being utilized in either the most severe of relationships or for fun, no in between. He had never worn one until his training.

He hates it, has tried taking it off on his own multiple times before his harshest of training had set in. He hasn’t come once during his time here, can barely remember what his own climax feels like.

“Your pleasure no longer belongs to you, James. Your orgasms are not your own; they belong to your Dom.”

It’s ironic yet devastating to Bucky that all of this training, all of this pain, was pointless. Bucky could be a good Sub for someone, he knows it. He could give the right someone all of the things his training had brought out without the misery he’s gone through for these people. He could give his mind, body, and soul easily over to the right person. This line of thinking shifts into the only thing that brought him comfort each night; the only thing that helped him get the little sleep that he did—

His Daddy.

Well, hopefully his Daddy.

If he’s the perfect man for Bucky, he’ll be his Daddy.

And his knight in shining armor, this perfect Dom, his Daddy, would come one day to take him away from this hell. That’s what he dreamt about each night, that his Dom, strong enough for the both of them, big enough to easily cradle Bucky’s not entirely petite form close to his chest, would whisk him away from this place and give him everything he could ever need. His Dom that can teach him how to cook his favorite meals for him, his Dom that is patient, his Dom that is proud of Bucky. Every night when he needed comfort to sleep, this man would be the comfort Bucky needed to finally rest.

Bucky wonders what his Dom is going to be like, what he’s going to look like, but most of all Bucky wonders if he is going to like Bucky. Surely he is attracted to Bucky if he got into a bidding war with someone else for Bucky, if he paid damn near a million dollars for Bucky’s bond, for his life. There is a sliver of hope that the highest bidder’s intentions are pure.

Bucky is so exhausted, right down to the bone, that he doesn’t even startle when he hears the door to the room open once more. He doesn’t lift his head, as he’s been taught, but this time he does it because of the onslaught of nerves that wrack his body. This is it, this is his new Dom, the one he’ll have for life, the one whose bond will be initiated tonight. With one last unmated deep breath, Bucky sends a wish out into the universe for his Dom to be kind, for him to show Bucky the love he’s never been given in life, to love Bucky.

The sound of steady footsteps reach his ears at almost the same moment a sense of calm washes over Bucky’s being. It hits him in waves, drips down his spine like warm honey, a sensation so pleasurable his chest shakes with his caged sob. His nostrils fill with the scents of cinnamon and vanilla and a bonfire deep in the forest. His eyes well up with tears as he continues to look down at his hands, mind racing in disbelief at his body’s immediate reaction to his new Dom, a reaction he’s not experienced before.

Hope begins to seep into Bucky’s limbs as a pair of sleek, black boots come into view.

“James?”

Oh.

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until his next exhale comes out as a choked sob. Upon hearing that voice the hope in his body bursts, shatters, into something more fierce, something that has him responding with a quiet and thoughtless—

“Daddy?”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t let his eyes leave the floor, those expensive boots. He feels his hands tremble in his lap, can almost hear them do so. He isn’t given enough time to panic about addressing his new Dom by a title that wasn’t approved by him, wasn’t given permission to use, because his Dom is responding confidently.

“Look at me, please.”

Bucky’s eyelids flutter upon hearing the gentle command in such a soothing, rich voice, and he takes a deep and shaky breath before listening like a good boy…

And immediately begins sobbing in full.

It’s the faceless man from Bucky’s dreams, he’s sure of it. He has kind ocean eyes, an otherworldly physical presence. There’s experience etched into every part of his being, from his graying hair to the wrinkles around his eyes to the calmness that sweeps off of him in waves. He smiles down at Bucky and it makes him feel like he’s the most precious creature on the planet.

“Oh, my angel…”

This is the man that is going to save his life.

This is his Daddy.

With his eyesight now blurry because of his tears, he doesn’t see the hand coming down before it cups his chin. There’s a strength in this grip that Bucky knows will soothe him, hold him, love him for the rest of his life. A thumb swipes at his tears, wiping them from his cheek. He can’t remember the last time he felt such comfort from another human being. Even before he was forced into this facility, through all his sexual encounters, gentleness and softness were not things he experienced. He’s almost forgotten what it’s like, to feel a reassuring touch.

“James,” his Daddy reverently murmurs, stroking his thumb over Bucky’s trembling bottom lip. “Why are you crying, sweetheart?”

He swallows thickly, his eyes roving over his Daddy’s face, taking a few seconds to selfishly drink the older man in. His body reacts to its Dom’s presence like it knows its Daddy is finally here, its biological needs taking over all other needs, roaring to life within him. Bucky’s eyes fight to cross when he takes in the size of his Dom’s denim-clad thighs, how he fills out his cozy sweater. His Daddy’s so big. He wiggles his hips where he sits, chin in his Daddy’s big hand.

“I’ve just…I’ve…I’ve been waiting for you for so long,” is what Bucky ends up saying quietly, sniffling, and his Dom’s smile is slow and sweet, like he enjoys Bucky’s answer.

“I’ve been waiting for you forever, James.”

Those words feel like pure sunlight.

But Bucky shakes his head without thought, stops himself abruptly after two shakes. He’s reminded then of his handler’s words, that he was a difficult Sub. He can’t take the risk of being anything but the best Sub. He’s already afraid to lose his Daddy; he has to be good.

But his Dom has caught his defiance.

“What is it, James?”

“Nothing, Sir.”

His Dom doesn’t miss a beat.

“No, sweetheart— no lies, no holding back, no unspoken feelings. I always want to know what you are thinking, what your feelings are. So tell me, James. What is it?”

Christ. Bucky can’t help but sniffle again, unable to get his tears under control. His Dom is perfect.

“B-Bucky,” he mumbles. “I go by Bucky. I don’t…I don’t like James.”

His Dom’s smile is warm, his fingers that squeeze around Bucky’s chin reassuring. He repeats Bucky’s name, practicing it a few times, each one sending Bucky melting further into his head and surely into the floor.

“Of course, sweetheart— Bucky. My name is Steve,” he tells him, and Bucky’s insides warm with more of that sunlight Steve is bringing into his life.

Steve.

A strong name for a strong man, a name that belongs to a man that gently commands attention. It’s the perfect name, or so Bucky thinks.

“But you can call me Daddy, Bucky.’

That’s the best name, the perfect name.

Hands still tied together in his lap, dick still in its cage, Bucky turns his head and nuzzles his cheek into his new Daddy’s palm, the warmth and sheer size of it making him lightheaded. It takes him a moment to recognize that this is the beginnings of him going under, of finding that sweet space within. He’d gotten so used to being forced there, his designation being used against him to put him under, that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be sent there willingly.

His whimpers seem endless even to his own ears.

“Look at that,” Steve marvels from his place above Bucky, voice the most soothing of tones, a sensation in and of itself. He allows Bucky to nuzzle his cheek further into his palm, even as Bucky gives into the urge and desire to press kisses to his fingers. Such a forgiving Dom.

“I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you, that you’d be everything I’ve dreamt of having all to myself.”

Bucky sobs. The emotions that one sentence brings him is enough to beg Steve to not go any further. But Bucky is selfish, he is admittedly greedy. He’s been given nothing while being here, before this. He has continuously poured from a deserted and infinitely empty cup and has been given nothing when his heart, his mind, his body demands it, needs it, in order to survive.

“Your tears,” Steve murmurs, interjecting his own shared line of thinking. “Are they good or bad, Bucky? Please tell me.”

A request yet a command. A tender one. One Bucky must answer, is finally willing to answer. “Both,” is what he decides to admit.

“Both?”

He nods his head within Steve’s grip. “Yes, Daddy. Bad because…because I am sad for my past self. That I was never given a chance to be good and then said chance was forcefully taken away from me.” Before Steve can speak to those words, Bucky quickly continues. “But good because you’re here…you’re finally here. And I…I get to be so g-good for you.”

Steve’s exhale is heavy, laced with a sound of pleasure that settles over Bucky’s own shoulders and neck. Bucky’s dick strains against its cage, his mind slipping from himself further.

Steve sticks his thick thumb between Bucky’s lips and Bucky nearly sobs again, hiccuping around where he purses his mouth.

“You are extraordinary,” Steve tells him and Bucky truly believes it given his reverent tone. “The moment you stepped on stage, I knew it. I’ve been coming here for years. Did they tell you that? Years, Bucky. I’m their hardest client to please, the one they couldn’t wait to be rid of. Money is of no importance, my preferences vague. Kept telling them I’d know when to bid, when the right Sub would be coming home with me.”

Bucky sucks on Steve’s thumb harder, grateful to have something in his mouth as his Dom showers him with praise.

“They even told me they’d go out of their way to find someone that fit what I was looking for, that we could forgo an auction altogether. I told them no.”

His Daddy is so powerful.

Bucky slips further into his head.

“Never once did I question myself; I knew you were out there. And when you stepped onto that stage with those legs and that mouth and those eyes…oh, kitten— you were made for me.”

Bucky sways forward, head dizzy with need and relief curling together, tightly wound. Steve wraps his other fingers around Bucky’s chin, holding him steady.

“And you’re going to be the sweetest, most affectionate boy for me, aren’t you? This is everything we’ve both been waiting for, isn’t it?”

Bucky nods his head frantically, laps at Steve’s thumb and sucks it into the back of his mouth.

“You’re going to bring us so much joy through your submission, aren’t you? You’re going to bring us the purpose we’ve been craving. Together.”

Bucky doesn’t know how to communicate that his feelings are terribly overwhelming, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself because of it. The force of his emotions leave his body trembling where he kneels. If Steve’s thumb weren’t in his mouth his teeth would surely be clacking against one another with the force of his tremors. His head spins in less of the dizzy way he’s been experiencing these past weeks and more in a euphoric way he’s always dreamt it could.

His body already trusts its Daddy, leaning towards him and into his touch, loosening up further and further. The line in his shoulders softens, the tension in his thighs diminishes. Even with Steve’s thumb in his mouth, the tightness no longer residing in his jaw is obvious.

Even as Bucky spent his nights dreaming of this moment, weeping for this moment, he never imagined it could be this perfect.

But then Steve is reaching for his belt buckle with his other hand, the button on his black dress pants, and Bucky wonders if he is in fact dreaming.

“Let Daddy give you something else to suck on, sugar. You look like you need it,” Steve purrs, reaching into his now open dress pants and pulling out his cock. Weeping nearly as much as Bucky has been, Steve’s cock is impossibly thick and deliciously heavy. It has Bucky’s hips wiggling once more, his vision going blurry as he’s presented with his Daddy’s cock for the very first time. He can’t stop the onslaught of sniffles and weepy eyes as he reminds himself once more that he’s so goddamn lucky Steve waited for him.

He opens his mouth as soon as that cock is above him, letting Steve’s thumb pop from between his lips, whining as he does so. He can smell Steve from here, his warm scent with an added muskiness to it that has Bucky unabashedly groaning, tongue out.

And then Steve pulls his balls out too, and Bucky nearly asks to be pinched.

“Daddy…”

“Gimme a kiss, sweetheart. Let Daddy feel that precious mouth.”

The moment the fat head of Steve’s cock lands on his tongue, Bucky feels the closest thing to submissive bliss he’s ever felt. It’s euphoric. The taste of him, this Dom, his Daddy, blooms on his tongue, bursts through his being. The taste of his excitement, his precome, forces another ragged noise from Bucky as he sucks Steve further into his mouth, savoring every inch of him. Steve’s thunderous and drawn out groan feels like a climax to Bucky.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Steve exclaims through an exhale, Bucky barely tethered to the earth. “That’s it. Show Daddy how much you’ve missed him, show him how perfect you are.”

In the three months he’s been here, servicing a Dom has not once felt like this. In his time before this, his time on the streets and beyond, he’s never felt solid within his submissiveness. The stretch of his jaw, the hot slide of velvet wrapped steel on his tongue and down his throat, the feel of Steve’s large fingers sliding through his hair; it all brings him a sense of purpose he’s failed to receive all these years.

And he can’t help but sob around his mouthful.

“I knew it, I…fuck, I knew you were made for me, Bucky” Steve tells him, voice full of awe and dripping with lust. “I can’t wait to see how far you drop, how far I can push you. You’re gonna let Daddy push you, aren’t you? You’re gonna let him learn all about you?”

Bucky confirms Steve’s suspicions with another loud, garbled noise around his cock, one of obvious enthusiasm. He’s dropping hard now, wants to tell his Daddy he’s barely holding on, but then Steve’s hands are moving, holding Bucky’s head in place as he pulls his hips back.

Using Bucky.

What little headspace Bucky has left reserved for himself is used to marvel at how easily, how purposefully, it was for Steve to step into this role as his Daddy.

He’d give Steve the world.

He’ll give Steve whatever he wants, whenever he wants it, all the time.

This is his life’s purpose now, being used for his Daddy’s pleasure, serving his Daddy. Being owned by his Daddy.

He’s left with no choice but to cry.

Bucky opens up his throat as his eyes begin to close, leaning forward on his knees, letting Steve fuck his mouth. With an easy and sharp noise, Bucky immediately knows that Steve wants his eyes open and on him. He does just that, looking up at Steve as he sticks his tongue out obediently, moaning at the fullness of his mouth.

“That’s it, that’s a good boy,” Steve murmurs, voice melting down Bucky’s spine as Steve’s fingers dig into his hair. “You’re so good, you’re already so good for your Daddy. Look at you, look how much you love sucking on your Daddy’s cock. You perfect baby Sub.”

Bucky’s head grows fuzzier, his dick aching, his core aching. He slurps around Steve’s cock but it does nothing to slow the trail of spit dripping down his chin and sliding towards his neck. Steve is a dream, an absolute dream. Bucky needs a communicator, needs someone who will listen and who will talk to him, especially when it’s filthy. Bucky wants to be talked dirty to, wants to experience that side of sex, especially when it’s praise. Especially when it’s from Steve.

Without warning, Steve kicks his hips forward, a noise akin to a growl falling from his lips, his fingers tightening in Bucky’s hair. It’s a slip of his obvious control, his inner Dom breaking through, impatient. Bucky meets him full force with his own submission, moaning around his Daddy’s cock, showing him he can take it.

“Yeah, you know what that is, don’t you? Your Sub knows a Dom when he feels one, doesn’t he?”

Bucky’s whine is damn near desperate.

“You know how hard it is for your Dom not to take you right here on this fucking floor, sweetheart? Makes me feel feral, the way I want to make you mine. Mhmm, your Daddy doesn’t want that though. Your Daddy wants to take you home, take you away from this place forever. He wants to treat you right.”

Bucky swallows around his mouthful.

He can feel Steve’s groan all the way down here, down in his toes.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, sweetheart,” Steve tells him, his hands holding onto both sides of his face. He pulls his cock out of Bucky’s mouth just enough to where Bucky can only suckle on the tip of it given the restraint Steve has put him in. The connection of their eyes, the way Steve looks down at him, strikes a chord deep, deep within Bucky.

He whimpers as he suckles on the big, swollen head of his Daddy’s cock as he listens.

“I’m going to give you what you want. I’m going to give you my come, fill your pretty belly with it. I have a hunch that’s going to send you right under, which is perfect. You’re so perfect, angel.”

Bucky whimpers again.

“And then Daddy’s going to take you home. And when we get home, I’m going to give you a bath and play with your little body until you’re nice and loose and ready to take my big cock.”

Bucky whimpers again.

“And then I’m going to fuck your little hole until it sends you right back under, until you come all over my cock, until our bond snaps into place and we finally and officially belong to one another.”

Oh.

Bucky sniffles as he lets Steve use his mouth, tears trailing down his cheeks and mixing with the spit smeared on his chin. He wasn’t sure if the person who bought him would want to bond so quickly, if they’d want to bond at all. It’s been implied to him since he got here that he was too difficult of a Sub to become bonded. To hear that Steve wants to take him away from this dreadful place, to their home, in order to bond with him is a dream come true.

It’s what begins to send him under.

“That’s it, kitten,” Steve pants, fucking himself impossibly deep into Bucky’s mouth. “That’s it, baby. Oh, I can almost feel you slipping from me. Have you stolen my heart already? Have you tempted my bond already, Bucky?”

Bucky’s vision begins to grow fuzzy around the edges, his mind pulling in on itself, hypnotized by the drag of Steve’s cock in and out of his mouth. In and out, in and out, in and out. Blessedly not rough, but intense and all-consuming. His jaw nearly aches at the stretch of Steve’s girth and it’s—

It’s bliss.

Daddy’s hands in his hair, Daddy’s cock in his mouth, Daddy’s praise in his ear, Daddy’s eyes on his face, Daddy’s come on his tongue.

“Daddy.”

“You’re mine now, Bucky. No one is ever going to hurt you, never again. I’ll give you everything you could ever want as a Sub and as a boy. You’ll never wish for anything now that I’m your Daddy,” Steve tells him as he shoots off down Bucky’s throat, hands in Bucky’s hair, petting him as he pumps his hips.

His Daddy’s voice is steady and strong, full of promise and love. And as he kneels there at his Daddy’s feet with Steve’s warm come settling into his belly, his Daddy’s cock still in his slack mouth, Bucky finally, finally lets himself sink.

#stucky fic #steve rogers x bucky barnes #howdoyousleep #dark fic #dark smut #my writing #please please please read the tags my god #plz don't mind any errors

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 10 months

Note

Hi! *Waves like a weird-o*

You probably already know this, but I absolutely love your writing and you truly are so talented. Please never stop!! Even if you just write for yourself!!!

So I do have a mini request if you don't mind of course. Post-sex cramps? For female reader? Clone of your choice of course and any way you wanna write it; NSFW or NFW.

No rush of course!! Thank you!! ❤️

- Hales

And here is cat + kitten(s) for your troubles. And puppies if you like those better. And a snake if you like those too.

hiiii friend! *waves back like a weirdo* first of all, thank you so much?? for the kind words?? omg. I appreciate you so much—and the pictures of the baybiessssss! I love all of them, please give them snoot boops for me (if they're yours ofc). anyways, I hope this is somewhat in line with what you envisioned! I opted for the fluff/SFW route because I need that tonight lol enjoy! <3

Comforting Touches

Summary: Some HCs and blurbs about how the commander batch comforts you through some post-sex cramping.

Warnings: no actual sex described but still mature content so 18+, minors get outta here; f!reader, fluff, i guess hurt/comfort?, big strong stoic men being soft and loving

Word Count: 1.1k

dividers by @saradika and @dystopicjumpsuit

Cody

Like with many other things in his life, Cody is nothing if not thorough. Meticulous in the way that he picks you apart and puts you back together, painstaking in the image of self-confidence and dominance that he exudes when he’s intimate with you.

And just as attentive to your needs after he makes you finish several times. If you wince in pain from the cramps beginning to twist your insides, despite the many orgasms he’d given you, he’s all over that.

Tilts your head to the sides to check your vitals, gets you meds, and frowns when you try to shoo him off. “You’re not goin’ anywhere until you’re good, cyar’ika.”

More than anything, you’re just grateful to still be sitting on the edge of his bunk. Between the shakiness in your legs from the strain of having him buried inside you just a few minutes ago, and the pain tugging at your body, you have no energy to stand right now. Cody sighs, a furrow deepening between his brows; you can’t resist the impulse to smooth his skin with your thumb. You trace the outline of his scar when his expression doesn’t relax.

“Did I cause this?” he asks. Despite the way he tries to hide it, you can hear the concern underlying his words.

Sighing, you shrug with one shoulder. “Kinda. But it’s okay,” you hurry to assure him. “It’s, um, most often caused by...intense orgasm. Or just intense sex. Happens now and then.”

He blinks at you, your words clearly taking a moment to compute. Almost unbidden, a small groan escapes him. “O-Oh.”

“Mhm.” You clench your teeth as another wave of cramps knifes through you. “Worth it.”

He cups your face in one hand, the other resting on your bare thigh, kneading your soft flesh. “Good. Because I can’t promise I won’t be able to keep myself from making you cum like that again.”

His words are a promise, and you know Cody never breaks promises.

Wolffe

Listen I know we all think Wolffe is this hard-ass, mean dom (and he is) but he’s also very caring. Hard shell, gooey insides.

The minute you show signs of being in any kind of discomfort he’s right there, cradling you to his chest, smoothing his warm palms over your thighs, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple.

“Where’s it hurt, mesh’la?”

You curl in on yourself within Wolffe’s embrace, your body trying to wrap itself around the dull pain blossoming in your center. Though pleasure lingers in your limbs, this unfortunate side-effect of sex occasionally makes an appearance, particularly after a good romp with Wolffe. Normally it’s not so bad, but right now, you just want to squeeze into a ball and sleep until the cramping fades.

“M’sorry if I hurt you,” Wolffe rumbles in your ear, his voice soft and quiet. “I know I can be rough.”

“S’not that,” you say with a small smile. “Just...does this when it’s really good.”

“That seems counterintuitive.”

You bark a short laugh. “Tell that to whoever designed the female human body.”

Wolffe tucks your head under his chin and presses a large, warm hand over your tummy to act as an impromptu heating pad until the cramps dissipate, his lips pressing chaste, close-mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulders to help distract you. You hum in contentment, drawing lazy circles on his bare hip, relishing how his muscles flex under your touch.

Fox

If the cramps take a bit to set in, and you’re both already re-dressed and ready to go about your days, Fox will still immediately put his very busy schedule on hold to make sure you’re okay.

Gives you pain meds, extra water, and kisses you sweetly. “Why don’t you lay on the couch here for a bit until you feel better, sarad?”

If/when you protest, he simply gives you his best deadpan look—which is quite good, considering he’s perfected it through use on his men—and crosses his arms, cocking his hip.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly, the slight smile tugging at your lips vanishing into a twisted grimace at the next wave of cramping. Fox sighs and ushers you to the old, ratty couch he’d acquired for his office. He guides you to sitting down at the least, and nods in approval when you draw your legs up to your chest and hug your knees to put pressure on your center where the cramps are the worst.

When he goes to turn away, you reach out to snag his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Fox?”

“Hm?” He looks down at you, graying curls sweeping over his forehead.

“Sit with me?”

“Of course.” He graces you with a soft smile, retreats for just a moment to retrieve his datapad, and settles into the couch next to you. He rests one arm along the back of the couch; you snuggle into his warmth, grateful that he hasn’t yet put on the top half of his armor, and let your eyes drift shut, listening to the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his fingers over his datapad while he works. You’d be able to fall asleep there, in post-orgasmic near-bliss.

Rex

Rex realizes that something is amiss the moment that you don’t roll over to cuddle him after he returns from getting you a warm rag to clean off with.

When you simply groan your answer, the post-sex cramps clenching your insides a little more intensely than you’re used to, he’s instantly in Protective Partner Mode.

“I’ve got you, cyare.”

With strong, steady hands, Rex gently repositions you on the bed so that you’re lying on your front, before settling his knees to either side of your thighs. His thumbs, calloused and rough, rub slow, comforting circles along your spine, from your butt to your neck and back. Though he knows by now that he can’t do much in the way of helping your cramps aside from offering pain meds (which he retrieves as soon as he realizes what’s going on), he can offer you relaxation of other sorts.

His practiced hands work away all the knots and kinks in your back, urging your entire body into a state of bliss beyond the post-orgasm glow.

“How’s this, cyare?” he asks, voice quiet, contemplative.

“Feels s’good,” you mumble, face smushed into the sheets. “Thank you, Rex.”

“Always.” He leans over you to press a kiss to the side of your head. “I’d say that I’d stop doing whatever causes these cramps, but—”

“Don’t you dare,” you interrupt, playfully glaring out of the corner of your eyes. “You know damn well the orgasms you give are worth this discomfort.”

He preens just a little at that, and if he happens to give your butt a squeeze or two while resuming his massage, well, that’s his deal.

Ragu: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @lem-hhn @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @originalcollectionartistry

#commander cody x reader #commander wolffe x reader #commander fox x reader #captain rex x reader #rhiwrites #rhiplies #cody x reader #wolffe x reader #fox x reader #rex x reader #tcw x reader

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cz19y · 3 months

Text

CARS ! Part 2 [HCs]

BLLK × GN!Reader

[!] A.U. — Cat / Them as Cats ! . . . [ Part 1 ]

∆ Fluff, PLATONIC, NO ROMANCE, pet & owner dynamic, OOC[?], hint(no description or assumption) of depression[Bachira's part], mention of Nagi[Reo's part duh], no cat breed description because I'm lacking in cat knowledge, grammar & spelling errors[? NOT proofed]

FT.: Bachira Meguru & Mikage Reo

NOTE: Im SO sorry for the wait anon T.T — just came back from a trip and I'm tired as heck

NOTE2: kinda deleted the ask by accident, sorry :'0 (btw ty for the words, anon, I felt extremely appreciated frfr I luv u)

[ starting . . . ]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

BACHIRA ’s natural nature of lighting the room with his bright personality is something everybody adores.

But of course; you're his favorite after all.

This cat is CLINGY — is trailing behind you 90% of the time you're home. Type of cat to sit and wait for you at the door till you come from work.

He suffers from loneliness(lol I'm sorry I had to add this) and needs your presence urgently. Just being in the same room as the yellowish cat is more than enough for him.

So lonely you even caught him playing like there was another cat in the room. You're worried about him and it creeped you out because he meowed and purred at the empty space.

Purrs loudly often, affectionate and bold and specially not afraid of anything.

Being unafraid can be good and bad. Bachira is a pro at giving you heart attacks.

Jumps over the hot stoves multiple times, gets stuck in the most random places and somehow gets dangerous objects to fall exactly 1 cm away from him.

You swear Bachira is in his last life at this point because he also gets in big fights with some other cats.

You have to idea of how he’s so good at fighting, but judging by how he is; you assume it was when he was still a kitten.

According to his last owner; he grew up obsessed with playing with the soccer ball(still is). Your storage is full of several videos of Bachira playing around with the ball. It's so cute you just want to grab him and pamper him to death.

Vets? Hell nah. He's not a fan of it at all. Even tries to avoid you by disappearing. But go along with it for the sake of not worrying you.

It’s fun and hell at the same time giving him baths, he won't stay still and gets soap all over.

Fur; all over your house. Doesn't even bother to clean. That didn't come with him in the package.

Very active, takes half a century to make him sleep and half a century to wake the feline up..

Bachira loves being with other cats, specially with a certain brunette, and a pink-ish like and an oranged one.

Sleeps tangled in your sheets. And wakes up on the floor.

Bachira is a big fan of cuddling, it’s by your side any moment given.

Tries his best to lighten you up when you're down. But it's not the type of “energetic lighten up”, it's more like a sincere movement of just sitting by your side and being there while you have your moment of distress.

He's there when you sob your worries out, when you're melancholic among your sheets without moving much, having your tired eyes check your phone with apathy and turning it off with a sight, or when you're locked up in the bathroom for hours.

Well; he is too, a little goofy, but it always works on you.

He just wants to be there for you like you were there for him.

The amount of attention this cat needs from his loved ones is insatiable.

REO needs to be by your side at least 60% of his day.

The other 40% is either being active on his daily exercises, somehow working his brain out, taking care of himself, or being around the cat he brought from the streets…

Ah. Nagi, of course. The white cat is such an often guest you may as well just make a room for him.

Reo brought this gigantic cat up one day and it scared the hell out of you because every other cat made him lose interest. The purplish suddenly bringing someone up made your heart jump.

Both are really affectionate towards you(how cute) — although Reo acts a bit off all of the sudden sometimes… is he.. jealous of his own guest? Or is he jealous of his own owner? This cat switches up so many times you gave up trying to figure it out.

He is the most different of all cats. He has a way with everything and successful in earning the things he wants. Even able to act like other cats — you're surprised of how your fellow companion is.

Bro’s so unique Reo even likes vets… he really likes to take care of himself. Fur 10/10, cutted claws, pretty eyes, smart.. he even has his own diet…

He smells like rich. He prefers luxury items and treatment as well… Hope your salary is capable of handling that.

Doesn't function properly without you — he at least needs to be reassured you're still there for him.

Reo purrs happily when you recognize him.

Guests? Sure, he doesn't mind. As long as they don't touch him, he doesn't care about entertaining them a little.

Indifferent about being with other cats — he takes a popular position among them and often attracts other cats even… problem is that he gets bored easily.

Talking about bored; you have to be very specific for Reo to even like you 😭 or at least, full of surprises that will make him locked in you like Nagi did to him. But dw he loves you <3

Isn't the type to get into a fight. But the last time Reo did; you never saw him stubborn and irritated. It was all because of a black cat… you and Nagi glanced at each other as Reo stormed around.

It's either sleep in his own bed or sleep in your bed. He likes how your bed smells like you.

Morning with this cat is peaceful, might as well have your daily routine done along with him.

When Reo senses that sad aura around you, he is immediately on you. You cannot hide any type of worry around Reo. Not Reo — he knows you all too well, don't you dare hide anything from him, he feels sad if you do it.

He snuggles up to you when the night falls, and he will wake you up when the sun rises, he is there by you all the time.

You're his top priority, will abandon anything to make you feel alright.

#wrote this in one day im not okay #blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk bachira #bachira x reader #bllk reo #reo x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #bllk x gender neutral reader #zzzy:fic

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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 5 months

Note

Hey, I've been thinking about James with the reader who's super tall, and she's super insecure about it. Then one day one of James' friends mentions the reader's height, and then she feels bad

(sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language)

hii, sorry i took a while with this one; thanks so much for requesting! and no worries at all! your english is great, but it also wouldn't matter if it wasn't 🤪 even though it feels like it by now, it's not my first language either lol but isn't it just a lovely tool for us all to fantasize together 🫶 hope you like it! wasn't sure if you wanted the comfort after the angst, so i just wrote it in

pairing: James Potter x reader word count: 2.1k tags: angst, fluff, established relationship, insecure fem reader, not proofread sorry

You’re going out with James and the gang, and you’re excited for a fun night out. Until the dreaded dilemma you face every time you dress up: heels or no heels? You know from past experience that all your girlfriends will be wearing them. They range from Lily’s kitten heels to Marlene’s stilettos, but it’s always a little something for the special occasions.

The problem is: you’re tall. Very tall. Taller than all your friends with their heels on. When you wear them too, you look like a giant. You’re also taller than your boyfriend, James, but it doesn’t usually look that off… if you’re not wearing heels. When you do, you tower over him.

But you like the shoes, for some occasions. You’d like to just be able to wear them without its being a big deal. You’ve tried so many times to convince yourself that it isn’t, that you should just do whatever you want and care less what people think about you, but as soon as you’re out, they stare, and you feel awful.

You have a pair you think are really pretty but have literally never worn because of the significant height boost they give. You put them on, take them off, again and again, indecisive. After about the tenth time donning them, you look in the mirror and decide to go for it. What’s the worst that could happen? Short girls probably feels self-conscious about their height too, right? Everyone has something, you encourage yourself as you step out your door.

You’re all starting the night at a nearby pub where you all meet up. When James sees you, he lights up, giving you the warmest hug. His face nuzzles easily into the crook of your neck from the height difference then he kisses you adoringly. “Hello, gorgeous,” he grins. “You look especially beautiful tonight.” He’s always so cheesy. You always love it.

“Thanks, Jamie,” you blush back. “You too.”

“Well, I have to look nice to stand next to my girl, don’t I?” He stands tall next to you, posing, though he’s quite shorter than you. You roll your eyes smilingly at his antics and intertwine your arms. He squeezes your arm in his and leans up for a peck.

You’re all soon standing around a tall table as you catch up, having your first drinks and discussing where the night should take you. Mary brings up another nearby pub, cosier than this one, and Remus seconds the idea. Marlene boos dramatically and argues you can do that any other night. She suggests a rather rowdy club, and Sirius drumrolls the table in excitement.

“I like that idea,” he surprises no one in saying.

“I don’t know,” Mary pushes back. “Last time we were there, we got separated, and it was so crowded, it took ages for us to even find each other again.” “Easy fix tonight,” Sirius begins, grinning mischievously. “If we get separated, we all meet back up at Y/N. She’s like a homing beacon with those heels on! We’ll be able to see her over the crowds.” Your stomach plummets. Some of your friends are laughing, others not so much, but you, you are mortified. You feel clammy and frozen, like there’s suddenly a wide distance between you and everyone else. You want to just disappear, go home and not have to hang out with anyone ever.

Only Lily seems to notice your discomfort, impressive given you’re giving your very best efforts to hide it even though you feel absolute shit.

“He’s an idiot,” she whispers in your ear. “Don’t listen to him. You look great.” You turn to respond but are surprised to find trying to speak raises a knot in your throat. You can’t imagine how much more embarrassing it would be if you started crying at a stupid joke, so you just given her a strained smile and look down, trying to compose yourself.

Everyone else has been caught up in the conversation moving on, so it’s a little while before James turns to you, noticing your quiet, your downward gaze. “Y’alright, love?” he whispers, a hand coming to the small of your back.

“Fine.” You repeat the strained smile, hoping it’s getting more convincing with practice.

“Sure? You seem upset.” “‘M fine.” You don’t sound fine. “Thanks,” you add, trying to lighten the tone.

“Alright,” he says, though he doesn’t sound convinced. “So what do you feel like doing?” “I don’t know… Maybe something where we’re sitting?”

“Sitting?” he laughs, thinking you must be joking. When you cringe, he realizes you aren’t. “Oh, uh, why?” Then, looking like a cartoon lightbulb has just gone off above his head, he asks, “Are your shoes hurting your feet or something? I don’t understand how you lot wear those things.”

“No, I —“ you begin, but quickly realize that could be a good, believable, non-embarrassing — well, at least less embarrassing — excuse. “Um, yeah, a bit.”

“Oh, well we can find places to take breaks whenever you want. Don’t worry, I’ll go with you to sit as often as you like,” he smiles.

You just smile back, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. When he’s not looking, you crouch down a bit awkwardly to be the same height as your friends around you. You try to keep this up, but after a while, it’s hurting your back, so you fall in and out of the pose for as long as you can stand it.

The night goes on, a destination eventually decided upon, a compromise in the end. Most of your friends seem to be having a good time, but you have been quiet all night. You haven’t been able to shake the feelings of discomfort and self-consciousness that joke sparked in you. You just feel sad. Not to mention your back is killing you from constantly trying to look shorter.

“James, I think I want to go home,” you say into his ear. He turns to you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“What? So early? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m just not feeling so well.”

“D’you feel sick? Have you had too much?” he asks, lifting his drink. You shake your head. “Your feet hurt?” he guesses again.

“A little. Look, it’s fine; it’s not a big thing, I’m just tired, okay?” You’re tense and pained and just want to get out of here. You feel the tears welling back up, and you’re keen to leave before the waterworks. You give James a quick kiss, adding “Don’t worry! Have fun! I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” in an off, fake enthusiasm then bolt to the door.

As you leave, you’re walking so quickly that you bump into some random bloke.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he chortles then starts full out laughing with his mate next to him. You push past him.

You have no idea what he was laughing at. Maybe they had been laughing before you bumped into him. Maybe they were just completely pissed and needed no reason. But your already self-conscious brain immediately feels like they were laughing at you, at how much taller than them you were.

You can’t help it now and start softly crying as you walk a bit further down then lean against the wall. The ease on your back feels nice, but you wish you could just teleport home. You hide your face in your hands, not wanting people to see you crying.

So you don’t notice James approach you until you hear his worried, low voice.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?” He grabs your wrists ever so gently and, holding your hands to his chest with one hand, brings the other to wipe your tears. “Darling, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

You see how scared he is and know ugly scenarios are running through his mind. You want to reassure him quickly but you can’t get yourself together. The guilt of the real reason you’re so upset being stupid in comparison makes you feel even worse, and you sob as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, love, it’s alright,” he coos, holding you close and petting your hair. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” You step back a bit, wiping your face aggressively and shaking your head at yourself.

“It’s stupid, Jamie, really I’m fine,” you muffle.

“I just want to help you be okay. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” You look into his beautiful eyes, the worry in them shining through. You love him. You hate worrying him. And talking to him about anything always makes you feel better.

“I’m just too tall,” you confess. “What?” he seems genuinely lost.

“I’m too tall,” you repeat, more softly this time, looking at the floor in shame.

“Too tall? Baby, what’s brought this on?”

“It’s stupid, I know. I just, I can’t stop thinking about it since Sirius made that joke.”

“What joke?” “‘If we get separated, just look for the giant,’” you misquote sarcastically.

“Oh, darling. All night you’ve been upset? I’m so sorry I didn’t do something. I thought you were just a bit tired or something.” “I’m so embarrassed,” you whisper.

“You shouldn’t be,” James says, with more bite in his voice. “Really, you shouldn’t. Not at your height, not at your feelings. Fuck, baby, I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.” He pulls you into a warm hug as you shake your head. He just holds you a long time, till your breathing is even and slow again, then pulls back, keeping his arms around you.

“Hey,” James whispers. “Hey,” you whisper back.

“I hate seeing you sad,” he says through a comforting smile. It manages to make you smile subtly back at him. “My gorgeous girl.” He kisses your cheek, still moist with tears. “Baby, you’re so beautiful. You don’t have to look like everyone else.” “Thanks.”

“I mean it, Y/N. I think you’re ridiculously gorgeous. Tall, sure, but you’re just too perfect to be anything else. You’re majestic.” You scoff but laugh a bit at him.

“Majestic? I’m a mess most of the time.”

“You can be a mess and still look majestic. You do it all the time,” he says playfully. “You, my love, are like a queen.” You roll your eyes, but your face has softened. “You’re my queen,” he says more sweetly and kisses you.

“Thank you, Jamie. I’m sorry I was being stupid,” you voice your dark thought. “Sweetheart,” he chides lovingly. “That’s nothing to be sorry for. I just wish you’d told me earlier. You’re not even a little bit stupid. Only for suffering alone,” he jokes. “We all have things. I get self-conscious about not being tall enough for you to like me,” he confesses, looking nervous.

“I don’t like you, I love you.” He smiles at this.

“And I’ll never get used to my queen loving me back.” His tone is teasing again, still vulnerable but very him.

You both take a deep breath and, eyes meeting, just chuckle together for a moment. You shake off the intense emotions, the charged conversation. You sigh and hug him again, his body eager to receive you.

“What do you want to do, love?” His hand is caressing your back as he looks into your eyes. “We’ll do whatever you feel like.” You have to take a long time to consider it. You’d been so desperate to go home just moments ago, but now you’re unsure. You feel so much lighter and take your time thinking about what would make you happy, everyone else be damned.

“I want to dance. With you. And not crouch anymore,” you laugh. “My back is fucking killing me.”

“Crouching? Y/N, if I catch you crouching, I’m going to be very upset,” he teases. “You wanna dance? Let’s go dance, baby.” You nod, smiling.

“Just help me sneak to the toilets first. I’m sure I look a mess.” “You’re beautiful, but sounds good. Then we dance.” He kisses you. “And then, once you’ve danced all you want to dance, we’ll take you home, and I’ll give you the best massage you’ve ever gotten. Your feet and back are going to be grateful they’re sore.” You scoff lovingly and put your arm in his.

As you head back inside, you stand tall next to James, feeling like you’re floating, happy for now to be majestic mess.

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