#and pretty much anything that isn’t jeans or sweats

[can-a-tuna-fish]

When you realize/remember that a skirt has pockets It’s very important to announce it as loud as possible in the middle of the mall.

[wynnyfryd]

@messessentialist told me her friend called to rant about spotting an “upsettingly beautiful boy in a tj maxx” and i vomited 1200 words about it, enjoy

—

fic idea: chrissy and eddie work together at tj maxx. one afternoon a guy comes in who’s so hot that it kinda just pisses eddie off? bc like, who does this gorgeous asshole think he is??? coming in here and popping his hip at eddie’s counter, like, does he even know how uncomfortable it is to start chubbin’ up in skinny jeans?? that shit chafes!

so eddie gets all flustered and responds by getting an attitude with the guy because he has zero chill (and also because the dude’s iced coffee is sweating a ring all over eddie’s counter, and so help him if his manager gets on his ass one more time about keeping his station tidy—)

“did you need help finding anything else today?” eddie sneers. “coasters, perhaps?”

upsettingly hot guy looks confused for a second before he follows eddie’s pointed glance at the plastic starbucks cup leaving a cold puddle on the laminate, and then he sneers right back; adjusts the ray bans nestled in his perfect honey brown hair and looks eddie up and down — long, slow, one eyebrow lifting in subtle elitist disapproval.

“what?” he snorts, “hot topic wasn’t hiring?”

oh, fuck you very much!

so eddie’s all ‘nemesis acquired’ and holds the biggest grudge of all time. makes a sworn enemy and a boogeyman out of the guy, turns him into urban legend, starts blaming the Upsettingly Beautiful Man for every little thing that goes wrong in his life — at work, at home, at band practice; no place is safe from the dreaded UBM.

“he’s not a fucking cryptid!” gareth snaps one day at rehearsal, chucking a drumstick at eddie’s head. “just track him down and bone already so you can shut the hell up!”

“wouldn’t he just talk about him more after they have sex?” jeff wonders, to which gareth narrows his eyes and raises his second drumstick as a threat.

meanwhile, eddie’s cute coworker chrissy (who he’s become surprisingly good friends with, to the point of referring to her as his work wife) gets a girlfriend. robin’s sooooo pretty, and soooo nice, and sooooo tall, eddie, did you know how tall she is?

yes, chrissy, he’s supremely aware of a stranger’s five-foot-eight-and-a-half stature now, thank you.

“you have to meet her!” chrissy gushes, bouncing up onto her toes.

eddie hangs another shirt. “you have to chill.”

“hey!” she pouts, pixar princess cute. “you wouldn’t tell the sun to dull its shine, would you?”

“i mean, i would, but i doubt the giant ball of plasma cares what i want.”

“okay, whatever, eeyore.” she rolls her eyes but she physically can’t stop beaming even as she does it, and eddie finds himself melting under it — some sort of radiant area attack coming from the apples of this girl’s cheeks, he swears, because the next thing he knows he’s agreeing to go to rando new girlfriend’s housewarming party this weekend so he can meet her properly.

only he doesn’t get to meet her properly, because when he shows up to the party the two bedroom apartment is packed with people he’s never seen, and it’s loud as fuck in here and he’s sweating through his leather from the six flights of stairs he had to climb to reach the place, so he steps through a sliding door out to the balcony and lo and behold, if it isn’t Upsettingly Beautiful Man looking upsettingly beautiful — positively fucking divine, actually, the last wisps of fuchsia sunset catching the gold streaks in his hair and dotting the tip of his flawless nose. Seriously, does this dude have any flaws? A scar, a birthmark, an unsightly ingrown hair? Eddie can’t even see a single blackhead for fuck’s sake.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” the dude mutters, turning to look at him, and, “oh, my god, you again?”

“uh.”

“i’ve got a fucking coaster this time,” the guy says, lifting his solo cup and giving it a little shake to point out the cork round sitting underneath it, “so if that’s what you came out here to berate me for, then you’ll have to think of something else.”

“uh,” eddie says again, because he has no idea what brought this on but he’s pretty sure it has shit all to do with him, and pretty boy’s really working himself up now, arms moving in sharp gestures as he paces back and forth on the short balcony.

“not that it even matters if i didn’t have a coaster, because this is my house! i can do what i want with my own fucking stuff in my own fucking apartment, nance, i don’t— uh…”

pretty boy’s face blossoms rose petal red, a heavy blush creeping up his jawline as he catches himself mid rant and folds in on himself, crossing his arms over his chest with a sheepish expression.

eddie’s always had a thing for shepherding.

“i’m listening,” he says, popping a cigarette in his mouth and holding the pack out in offering. “if you care to vent.”

the guy — steve, eddie finds out — tells him all about his controlling ex-girlfriend as they work their way through two cigarettes each, the sun slipping away to reveal a full topaz moon, big and low and close, ripe citrus bending the branch of a tree. nance was a real piece of work by the sounds of it, and eddie feels like an absolute shit for the way he treated steve, who had apparently just gotten dumped the night before they met and had been out shopping for a “please take me back” present.

“like that was ever gonna work,” steve mumbles, ashing over the railing. “pathetic. anyway, sorry i was rude to you that day or whatever.”

“you weren’t.”

“nah, i was.” steve shifts his weight, knocks their shoulders together. “not that you didn’t deserve it.”

“yeahhhh,” eddie agrees, cringing at himself. “sorry.”

“all good. so what’s your story then, huh? who pissed in your cheerios that day?”

eddie blames the alcohol fumes wafting from steve’s cup — a justification that makes perfect sense and would totally hold up in a court of law — for what he says next.

“honestly? you.”

steve’s face is so cartoonishly offended that eddie busts out laughing, eyes crinkling, head thrown back.

“oh, so you’re just an asshole,” steve nods sagely. “first cute guy to flirt with me in six weeks is a lunatic. love that for me.”

“no, i—” eddie laughs, “okay, we’re coming back to how you think i’m cute, but i just meant, uh-”

oh, fuck it. eddie’s never been good at holding his cards close to the chest. more of a 52 pick up kinda guy, historically, and why change now?

“you were so gorgeous it, like, genuinely upset me for a second,” eddie admits, running his tongue over his lip. he stubs out his cigarette; turns to look right at steve. “like, uh, like cuteness aggression or some shit.”

steve mirrors his posture, leaning an elbow on the railing, nearly chest to chest. “so you are crazy,” he smiles.

“that’s correct.” eddie swallows.

steve moves in to close the gap. “good crazy?”

“fun crazy, so i’m told.”

“i’m gonna kiss you if that’s cool.”

“very”

the kiss tastes like ripe citrus

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

(C'mon, baby) light my fire

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 2

Prompt: Fireplace

Rated: T

Tags: Getting together; Flirting; Sexual tension; Eddie is a horny shit; He also has a competency kink

Eddie’s eyes are stinging.

There’s tears streaming down his cheeks and soot on his face and ash in his hair. He’s pretty damn sure he singed his bangs. He takes a desperate inhale, breath rattling in burning lungs, and blows out another stream of air. 

“C’mon,” he wheezes. “Shit, c’mon, please.”

The log crackles and gleams red-orange, and his heart soars- … and then it turns gray again. 

“Motherfucker!” Eddie swears, flopping down into the stupidly soft, white sheepskin rug. He probably got ash on that, too. 

He wastes a few seconds staring morosely at the dark fireplace. 

When Steve suggested this little retreat to his parents’ log cabin (of course the Harringtons own a private fucking log cabin, he doesn't know why he was even surprised), he thought he'd spend a relaxed few days. Chug a few beers, smoke a blunt or two, ogle Steve in his stupid, cozy sweaters while the firelight danced on his skin. Indulge his silly crush a little. 

And then the others all canceled. Something about Robin needing to take care of a sick aunt, and Nancy being offered an important internship, and Argyle and Jonathan… well, he isn't sure what they're up to. He stopped listening by the time Steve asked if he would be fine with it being just the two of them. 

Surely, this was a sign. The universe telling him to finally make a move. An opportunity too good to pass up on. 

So he agreed.

They drove out in the Beemer, Steve obnoxiously singing along to Wham and Eddie pretending he was anything but enamored by his smiling face against the backdrop of the snowy landscape flying by. They arrived and unpacked their stuff, and Steve insisted Eddie take the master bedroom, like the perfect sweetheart he is. Then, he took Eddie outside and made him sit down while he chopped firewood. 

Dear God, he chopped firewood. 

Eddie thinks the image of Steve swinging that ax, getting progressively more flushed and sweaty, breath fogging around him in the winter air, is gonna stay ingrained in his memory for the rest of his life. Not that he's complaining. 

When they came back inside, Steve excused himself to have a shower. And maybe it’s because an idiot, or maybe it’s because half of his brain was occupied watching the tiny bead of sweat clinging to the tendon on the side of Steve’s neck, but Eddie told him to take his time, he’d get the fireplace going in the meantime. In his mind’s eye, he was already picturing the two of them on the fuzzy sheepskin rug, huddled together under one of the knitted afghans. Laughing, talking, and munching on s’mores, soft music playing in the background. Slipping his hand into Steve’s, watching a whole different kind of blush spread on that handsome face as he leaned closer to finally, finally show him exactly how he feels. 

It sounded like a great fucking plan. 

Except for the part where he obviously can’t light a fire to save his goddamn life.

He’s just wondering if maybe he should call Wayne and ask for help when the bathroom door clicks shut behind him. 

“Oh hey,” Eddie rasps, voice all hoarse and scratchy from inhaling too much smoke, “Fire’s almost-” 

And then he freezes. 

Steve stares back at him, eyes wide with concern, brows almost disappearing under the swoop of his wet, disheveled fringe. He’s wearing the same light-wash jeans from earlier, and a towel around his shoulders. 

That’s all. 

“Eddie?” he asks. Like he’s surprised to see him here. Or maybe like he isn’t sure it’s him at all. He’s probably hard to recognize with all the soot on his face. “What are you- … What the hell happened?” 

“Nothing,” Eddie says. There’s tiny droplets of water hanging off the tips of Steve’s hair, running down his collarbone, catching in those glorious tufts of chest hair. He must be cold. Eddie should pull him down in front of the crackling flames, tell him he knows just the thing to warm him back up. Except he can’t get the goddamn fire lit. “Fire won’t start. Your wood must be soggy or something.” 

Steve’s eyebrows, impossibly, climb higher. His mouth twitches into a grin. 

“Hey now,” he says. “I didn't invite you here to have my wood insulted.”

Eddie thinks that maybe he should hurl himself into the fireplace, ignite the damn log with the force of his blush. While he’s still busy sputtering and wrecking his brain for a witty reply, Steve huffs a soft laugh and pads over on naked feet.

“Here, let me,” he says, snatching the pack of matches from Eddie’s limp fingers. He fiddles around for a bit - the specifics of what he does are admittedly lost on Eddie, who is too transfixed watching the way Steve’s ass strains against the confines of his jeans. Seconds later, the room is filled by the light of a small fire merrily crackling away. 

“Oh, fuck you,” Eddie wheezes, tugging a strand of hair in front of his face to hide behind. It’s littered in gray flakes of ash. Steve smiles and reaches out to brush them away. 

“One thing after the other,” he says, and maybe it's the heat of the fire, but Eddie imagines the blush makes a reappearance. “For now, how about you finally kiss me?” 

“I'd love to,” Eddie says. “Except I probably taste like charco- oooh, wait, whoa, hold on a sec, what the fuck do you mean?” 

“I mean,” Steve says, leaning closer and bracketing his hands on Eddie’s thighs, “that I went through all the trouble of arranging this, telling the others to stay away, putting on that little show with the ax … You'd think I deserve a reward, right?” 

More holiday drabbles

Turns out he was wrong, Eddie thinks as their lips brush and they topple down into the fuzzy rug. Someone has definitely been sending him signals - it just wasn't the universe. 

[m1ngkis]

Tag w/ Mingi and San (18+)

A/N: Been sitting on this idea for almost two weeks. Enjoy! No Minor Zone

TW: Manager!reader, idol!Sangi, unprotected sex, 3some, oral (fem and male receiving), pet names (baby, pretty) , dry humping,

Masterlist

The thought of Mingi and San taking turns snatching manager!reader’s soul together is doing something to me..

You’re blissfully unaware of why they need you in their hotel room so urgently. Claiming that they simply can’t fix whatever the problem is on their own.

Only to find that there is no problem and there is no emergency, they just can’t contain themselves anymore.

San swoops in first, sweet talking you and feeling his hands up your belly under your shirt. Mingi sitting on the edge of the bed, nursing a drink while you halfheartedly protest.

You know it’s unprofessional to be completely down with this but god, the little devil on your shoulder is screaming, “Do it for the plot!”

The words on your lips die as Mingi stands, taking his glass and holding it to your mouth.

“Open.” He whispers, holding your chin as he tilts the glass, burning liquid coating your throat. He hums as he watches you swallow it down, dragging his thumb across your lips to catch the remaining drops. “Good?”

“Yeah…” Your voice cracks in your whispering tone.

You try to focus over your overloaded senses. San’s cool hands groping your skin, his voice in your ear growling and deep. “Take this off.” He tells you but you can’t seem to move.

“Take it easy. She’s probably trying to make sense of all this.” Mingi scolds him, his own arms pulling you flush against his frame while he inspects your face.

“Fine, you go first then.” San yields with a smirk and you’re not sure what it means but you know you’re in for something.

Then without warning, Mingi lifts you, wrapping your legs around his waist while his hands keep you up. You squeal, your arms going around his neck instinctively.

“Oh my god! What is up with you two!?”

“There she is!” San shouts as he fills another glass with liquor and chugs it back.

“Just put me down, Mingi!”

The man shrugs, all but tossing you on the bed and hovering over you, his body caging yours against the mattress. “You smell good.” He mumbles as he presses his nose to your neck.

“I-“ You try to make words but they are lost as he starts to press his hips against your core. His erection contained in his jeans but you can feel it just fine.

“Shhh. Let us take care of you. We know we’re a lot to handle so just let us return the favor.” Mingi rolls his hips just right and you can feel the warmth start to pool in your belly.

“O-okay. Fine. Just do that again.” You whine, locking your legs around his waist.

“What? This?” He repeats the motion until you are gripping him like a vice, your hands tugging at his hair as your moans fill his ears. “You’re gonna cum just like this aren’t you? Barely even done anything yet..”

Mingi sucks his teeth at you but he doesn’t stop grinding against you until you cum, your body shaking as you break out in a sweat.

“Damn that was hot.”

Your eyes widen as you remember San is in fact still in the room and he just watched you cum without so much as undressing.

You peek around Mingi’s frame to see San leaning up against the wall opposite the bed. He sees your eyes and waves as he starts to make his way over.

“Look at you…so beautiful. Isn’t she?” He smiles.

“Mhmm.” Mingi hums as he pulls away from you. You can’t help but whine and tighten your grip on his clothes as he leaves, letting San take over once again.

“I bet you taste so good..” San kisses your cheek, his hands going to unbutton your pants and tugging them down your thighs. “Gonna let me taste you?”

Your head is nodding as he slips your pants away, your shirt tossed on your own accord seconds after.

His lips trace down your body until they reach your slick cunt. San wastes no time diving in, his tongue putting in work to get you cumming again.

Your hands find his hair with a moan as you tug, your eyes fluttering closed as pleasure coursed through your veins more intensely than before.

“Open your eyes.” You hear over the lewd sounds San is making.

You fight to open your eyes and are rewarded when they find Mingi posted up against the wall just as San was moments ago. His jeans unbuttoned and tugged down just enough to let his cock free as he strokes it slowly, up and down, keeping himself on edge as he watches you melt on San’s tongue.

He’s staring, his eyes not being able to decide which part of you to focus on but your eyes stay open, no matter how much you want to squeeze them shut as San sucks on your clit

“Ooohh god!” Your orgasm rams into you, frying every nerve in your body.

San locks his arms around your hips as you jerk up and inch away from him. He moans against you as he licks you up, every bit of your essence caught on his tongue.

“Just as good as I thought you’d be…” He murmurs and stands, making his way over to your flushed face.

The back of his hand brushes against your cheek, stroking the hot skin softly. “You ready?” He whispers.

“For what?”

He doesn’t answer, just smiles and kisses your lips.

You feel hands on your legs, lifting them up so Mingi can settle between them. The tip of his smacks your clit and San catches your moan on his lips.

Then you’re met with a burning stretch as Mingi attempts to push into you. You shout out, gripping San’s arms as your body tenses.

“Hey..hey, relax…it’s okay. You just gotta get used to him, baby.” San presses kisses to your cheeks as tears start to fall.

You shake your head at him, leaning up on your elbows to scold Mingi. “Fuck! It hurts!”

“I’m sorry, baby. I promise it won’t be too bad.” His thumb reaches down and rubs with clit, getting you to relax a bit around him.

“Maybe you just need a distraction, huh?”

You turn your head just in time to watch San pulls his shirt off, his pants and boxers following suit.

You feel the tension leave your bones and Mingi slips in easily, his hips flush against you.

“That’s my girl..” he whispers, leaning over to press a kiss to your chest as he starts to thrust.

You can’t help but lose your mind as his length hits just the right spot that makes you dizzy. Every drag of his cock against your walls is like a slice of heaven.

You close your eyes, your head in the clouds but San has other plans. “Come on, pretty. I’m not done with you yet.”

His hand is back on your cheek as his length bobs in front of your face.

You don’t hesitate, opening your mouth wide so he can have his way.

They feel like gods. Like they could have everything at the snap of their fingers. Ever since you were hired at the company the two have had their share of fights over you.

Only recently did they come together with this little plan of theirs.

“You feel amazing..” “Doing so good, baby.”

Your brain is so foggy, you can’t pin point who says what, they both have taken you over completely.

San cradles the back of your neck as he fucks your throat, his eyes squeezed shut as groans tumble from his lips. Mingi can’t tear his eyes away from your pussy, swallowing his length deliciously while he pistons into you.

“Ohh shit..shit. I’m gonna cum. You gonna let me fill you up, pretty?” Mingi’s hands are tight around your hips as his pace grows faster

You moan around San and feel him twitch in your mouth. “Ah- I think she said yes.” He laughs.

“Fuuuck yeah..” It doesn’t take long before he’s filling you up, every last drop being pumped deep inside you before he pulls out with a hiss.

“Move..move!” San slips out of your mouth and all but shoves Mingi away as he takes his spot. He wastes no time, pumping you full of his own cum with a strained groan.

The reality of what just happened doesn’t hit you until you are washed up and wearing Mingi’s sweatshirt while San heats something to eat.

Mingi chuckles as he watches the gears turn in your head. “Don’t worry, pretty. We’ll take care of you from now on.”

[pshaven]

hii I’m back 😋 jake has been bias wrecking me so bad lately. can I request makeup artist!reader practicing a new makeup look on him at home for enha’s comeback? he’s being a lil perv and ogling at her curves :,) it can lead to more if you like idc, you take the wheel!

💫 - thank you <3

anon i love you

cw! oral (m receiving), pervy jake, RAMBLY JAKE RAHHH

“are you sure you don’t have any scheduling today?” you ask jake as you prep your makeup on the table in front of the mirror, your back facing the boy in his designated chair. you learned some new tricks from another makeup artist a week ago, but had no one to practice on other than your mannequin but you desperately wanted to try it on a real person. 

“of course i don’t, or else i wouldn’t be here right now. my manager would be getting on my ass right now if i had skipped anything,” jake chuckles, watching you fondle and organize all your products in a neat order. you sigh before turning around, your hands reaching for his face as you cup his jaw, maneuvering his head around to get a good look at the lighting in the room. 

“thanks for doing this again, jake,” you say for the nth time since he walked into the room. he smiles as he lets you move his face around, “of course. i gave you my number for a reason, so you can call or text me whenever you need something.” you bite the inside of your cheek at his words, your hands leaving a lingering touch on his jaw before you fully turn around to grab some products to get to work. 

you can’t say being flirted with by jake of all idols you’ve worked with is the worst thing, because it isn’t. the only bad thing is that it’s hard to not reciprocate it, especially when he makes it so easy with the pretty boy face of his. 

but you underestimate jake, with you being blissfully unaware at the way he is shamelessly ogling your ass through your tight jean shorts that have him sucking in a breath. he’s thankful he wore loose sweats today, feeling his lower abdomen swirl with arousal especially when you cupped his face earlier. 

you quickly get to work on him, your non dominant hand cupping his jaw as you focus on his eye makeup. he’s doing his best to be subtle, he swears he is! but you make it so hard, your tits basically hovering by his face, just asking for him to suck sweetly on them. he’s extra fidgety today, much to your naiveness so you grip his jaw a bit tighter, thumb digging into the side of his cheek slightly that causes his lips to purse together. 

“stay still,” you mumble with a smile on your face, eyes still trained on his own to focus the shadow on the outer corner. he gives you a boyish grin, his hands surprising you when they touch your waist. 

“then you should tie me down,” he muses, expecting you to react like you always do— caught off guard and surprised as if he doesn’t hint anything suggestive when given the chance. 

but you open your mouth before thinking, too consumed with getting this new technique down on him. “didn’t know you were into kinky shit like that,” you snicker. now jake is caught off guard, his mouth goes slightly agape despite your hold on his jaw. you furrow your brows before shutting his mouth for him, your index finger tapping the side of his cheek. “now be a good boy ‘n shut up for me, okay?” 

what was his half hard cock in his sweats is now fully rock hard, the fingers on your waist twitching a bit from your words. you’ve always been good at ignoring his flirtatious attempts whenever you would do his makeup before performance and award shows. he would’ve gotten you alone sooner if he knew you would start acting up like this. 

you smile satisfyingly when the chatty boy in front of you finally shuts up, letting you work on his eyeliner in peace. “oh shit, sorry—“ you apologize when you drop one of your brushes from his hands and onto his lap, you immediately reaching for it without looking. your apology falls short when your hand brushes over something… particularly stiff that is way bigger than a makeup brush. 

his eyes meet yours sheepishly, your own darting back and forth between his lap and his face. but jake doesn’t apologize. why should he? you’re the one who got him like this in the first place, and he likes the saying don’t start what you can’t finish. 

like what you said earlier. it’s hard to say no to jake, with his stupidly handsome face, so how can you say no when he asks you to help him out? in the confines of your small makeup room, you’re in between his thighs on your knees, heavy cock in your hand while jake’s chest is heaving up and down. 

“spit on it,” he tells you, but with his hissed tone it’s more of a demand. you do what he says, straightening your back to hover over his cock and letting your drool drip down messily onto his length. “my god, you’re so hot. you have no idea—“ he gets cut off with a gasp when your mouth envelopes him, a sigh leaving your lips in doing so. 

he lost his words, his head thrown back as he throws his free arm over his mouth to muffle his moans. “y-y’know… every time you do my makeup- hahh- i get hard just thinking about you like this… down on your knees, taking my c-cock in your mouth,” he rambles, hips occasionally lifting off the chair as he gently thrusts. 

“i-i love it whenever you- um—“ he hisses when you go even deeper, letting your tongue run down the underside of his cock. “fuck! oh shhiit. l-love it when you do my l-lips… just wanna kiss you everytime- ah!” his moans get louder each time your throat contracts around him. the noises that leave his lips only encourage you more, his rambly praises leading you to reach your free hand down your thighs, rubbing your neglected clit. 

“you enjoying it that much?” he groans, catching a glimpse of your hand reaching down. “shit, if i knew you were like this i would’ve gotten you alone much sooner,” he mutters, entangling his hand in your hair and pulling you off his cock. you whine in protest, a thin string of spit connecting your lips with his cock still.

“awh-” he coos in fake sympathy, his hand that was in your hair now cupping your cheek as his thumb swipes around your lips in a weak attempt to clean up your messy spit. “don’t worry, next time you can spend all day sucking on my cock.. but now, let me see how wet that sloppy cunt is for me.” 

[whatdoidosatoru]

wanna be good

sam (stardew valley)/reader | ao3 sam makes a bet with sebastian that he can last two minutes in your mouth… he may have been overconfident wc: 1.5k cw: blow job, hand job, overstim, praise kink, sam is a good boy, a bit of cum play if you squint 18+ MDNI

it all started with a bet.

sam usually isn’t one to make bets he knows he’ll lose. not that he wins much, but at least he’s got enough self-preservation skills to avoid the situations he knows will end badly for him.

usually .

there are a lot of things to be said about sam, but one thing is certain – jodi didn’t raise a quitter. so when his stamina is brought into question – bet you can’t last two minutes in this one’s mouth, sebastian pointed at you, promptly chuckling as your mouth curled into a smirk – he jumps to defend himself. why of course he can last, he can last hours, all night even. okay, he’s not that delusional, but he is itching to prove sebastian wrong for once, to beat him at something . 

“fuck, don’t do that–” sam pants, his face is already reddened as he looks down at you. big mistake. huge, actually. he should’ve kept his eyes shut, because one glance at your face, your lips wrapped tightly around his cock and eyes wide as you look up at him from your seat on the floor between his knees, and he’s gone . your damn eyes, they flutter as if asking whatever he means by that, as if you don’t know what you’re doing to ruin him. “your t-tongue… that wasn’t p-part of the deal!” he groans, throwing his head back. why was he that much of an idiot, thinking he could last, it’s been ten fucking seconds, the very moment your damn tongue grazes his tip he starts bucking his hips up like a lunatic, immediately whimpering like a puppy when he feels your warm mouth close.

you stop teasing him, poor boy is nearly deceased with the way his sensitive cock twitches inside your mouth. you don’t actually have to do anything, it turns out, he’s overstimulating himself. twitching from the comfortable warmth surrounding his tender tip, then wincing when he accidentally touches your tongue or the inside of your cheek.

it’s adorable, really, he’s cursing like you’ve never heard him do before, gripping the cushions of the couch, throwing his head back, lifting his hips… the boy doesn’t know what to do with himself. you murmur something that could be interpreted as are you alright but as you vibrate his leaking cock, sam whines, lifting his hips and nearly making you choke on him.

“ a-aaah i’msosorrysosorryshit fuck …” he tries to help, he really does, but in holding your face with his warm hands he only makes it worse for himself. “fuck!” he twitches again, the sight is too much for him, the way your eyes fill with tears when you gag on his cock, the way you look up at him trying to reassure him you’re okay, the way his hands feel your soft skin… his lips part and let out a guttural moan, spilling his load into your mouth. “i’m… i’msorryfuck… ” his hips thrust upwards a few more times, slowing down as he stops cumming, breathing heavily and softly whispering his deepest, most sincere apologies.

you’re left with little choice but to swallow his load, gently cleaning up his tip before opening your mouth and letting his still hard cock out. 

it’s such a pretty sight, he looks like he’s done ten rounds in a ring, sweat glistening on his neck as his throat bobbed with the heaviness of his gulps.

“sam…” you start, not moving from the floor, but placing your palm on his thigh, rubbing slow circles over his jeans while he lifts his head with great effort, looking at you with that blissed out face, rosy cheeks and parted lips.

“fuck… i’m so sorry, i thought i could–”

“oh shut up, stop apologizing.” you interrupt him, shaking your head. “you did okay,” you lie, “i won’t tell anyone it’s only been–” checking your watch, you can’t help but chuckle, “one minute.”

with a groan, he drops his head back again, disappointed in his skill, thinking he’s going to be teased relentlessly about this, especially after he’s talked such a big game at the saloon earlier today.

“i’m so done for…” he complains, rubbing his palms over his face.

“i won’t tell, promise.” you chew on your lip for a moment, looking down to appreciate his girthy cock, still hard… and dangerously close to your lips again. “we can try again.”

your words strike like lightning into his spine, making him snap his head forward like you’ve grown a second head or turned completely purple.

“a-again?” he stutters, blinking rapidly as if clearing his head from the first orgasm.

“i’ll go easy on you, maybe we can start a little different, hm?” carefully, you wrap your hand around his girth, observing as he sharply inhales, and start slowly stroking him. “maybe with my hand first, yeah?”

sam’s hair is a damn mess, perfectly mirroring the state of his mind as he feels your grip on his cock. he nods, still breathing heavily and not trusting his hands. his long fingers dig into the couch cushion, knuckles going white as he grips it tightly, trying to keep everything in, but once a glob of your spit drips onto his tip he can’t stop the monumental moan that leaves him.

“ oooohhhh– ah j-just like that…” sam closes his eyes this time, determined to last more than a minute, maybe even aim for two.

his hips wiggle as your hand glides, wet with saliva, up to his tip and gently slides back down. you build it up, the grip consistent as he tries hard not to buck his hips up into your hand, tries to breathe evenly. slowly, carefully you lower your head, pressing just a simple kiss to his tip, but even that has him leaking precum, twitching in your hand, holding onto a sliver of self-control.

“a- ahhhh please… pleaseplease i need– i need to…” he pleads in a breathless voice, once again bucking up, desperately chasing the warmth of your lips.

“slow down, sam, be good.” your voice soothes him, but a moment passes and he registers what you’ve said.

“h-huh? what… what did you say?” he groans out, pushing the words in between little gasps of breath as your thumb gently swipes across his cock head, gathering the salty liquid and using it to help you glide better.

“be good, you can be a good boy for me, right?” your syrupy voice hits the spot. his hips lift a little higher, as do his whimpers. a smile crosses your face, a little devious as you lean in again, swiping your warm tongue on his cock. “oh you liked that, didn’t you? you wanna be a good boy for me?” you pause, feeding on his desperate sounds, on the way his hands hold onto the couch until they’re shaking, itching to close around the strands of your hair and pull .

“please…” he swallows, not daring to open his eyes, “please… more–” a strangled cry leaves him as you close your lips just around his pink tip, sucking off the quickly leaking precum. “ o-ohhh fuck please, need– a-aahhh i need t’...” sam whimpers pathetically, he keeps cursing, pleading with you, begging for nothing, unable to string a coherent sentence. “pleaseplease ohhhh so good, so good…”

“ good , you’re being good for me, sam, taking it really nicely.” you take a moment to listen to his pleas before whispering, “sweet boy, sam, that’s a good pup.” with a gentle sigh you wrap your lips around his cock again, lowering your hand to the girthy base, stroking him tenderly while your cheeks slowly hollow out. keeping your eyes on his blushed face, keeping your ear out for his higher pitched moans, you glance at your watch, speeding up slightly before releasing him from your mouth. “you gonna be good for me and cum? come on, sweet puppy, you should cum for me.” a few consecutive gasps fall from his soft mouth, followed by a curse and a whimper.

sam quickly lifts his hips, fucking up into your hand, and spills once more, pearly white strings of cum dripping over your fingers, under and between them as you stroke him until he stills.

slumped against the seat, his head swings forward, chin touching his chest as he sighs, finally daring to open his eyes to look at you. his eyes focus on your tongue licking the mess of your hand, sucking on each fingertip as you clean it of his release. sam’s hands ball into fists, he shouldn’t touch you, it’s too intimate, it’s too familiar. it’s not a part of the deal. 

“two minutes and three seconds,” you say, “you did it.” with a smug smile, you lift yourself off the floor, sitting on the couch beside him with a small huff. 

“i… did it?” he can hardly believe his ears. he lasted two minutes with you, he can finally say he’s won a bet against sebastian. he leans back again, breathing deeply, feeling another twitch in his cock as it grows hard once more. “wanna go for three minutes?” he sounds too smug for a man in his position, overstimulated to high heavens and barely functioning after being praised.

his cheek only earns him a chuckle and a playful smack on the chest, causing him to snicker as he throws an arm over your shoulder to bring you a little closer to his body.

“good boys don’t test my patience, sam.” you tease, leaning your head against his chest, already thinking of the next time you get to fluster him until he breaks.

[imfinereallyy]

Tattooed Steve

now with a part 2 :)

I need tattooed Steve. Like Steve starts to get tattoos after Vecna. Maybe it’s because his body is covered in scars now, and he no longer has to hold on to the idea of permanently damaging his skin, cause like it already is. Or maybe it’s cause he’s trying to love his body again, and he sees how excited Eddie gets each time he gets to show off his tattoos. And Steve, Steve wants to feel that way too. Or maybe he likes the pain. Maybe it’s all three.

But Steve Harrington, wouldn’t be Steve Harrington if he wasn’t like massively insecure about his interests and his looks. So he keeps it a secret, for months (maybe even years depending on your tastes for slow burns). And it starts to get harder and harder because he can’t avoid tatting his arms (it’s prime real estate as Eddie put it once), and wearing long sleeves all the time isn’t ideal. But he continues the charade because let’s be real, most people in his life make him feel inadequate (big word, Robin would say) about almost everything. Especially the people he cares about.

The only one who never really makes him feel that way is Eddie. Sure he teases him to high heavens, and is absolutely disgusted by his music taste but Eddie never makes him feel stupid about it or make it seem like he doesn’t get an opinion. Which is actually kinda driving Steve nuts because it’s making it harder and harder to not to fall in love with him.

So it shouldn’t be a surprise at all that Eddie is the first to see them, he made Steve comfortable and that was dangerous. But it was hot in Eddie’s apartment (the a/c busted again), and Steve chose to wear a sweatshirt during mid-July with nothing underneath. So when Steve is sweating bullets, and Eddie just lets out an amused snort to just “take the damn thing off already”. Steve doesn’t really think. He just whips it off and leans back on the couch. It’s only after ten seconds of silence, and no eddie rambling that he realizes his mistake, and oh.

He doesn’t think he’s every seen Eddie Munson speechless.

Eddie reaches out to touch Steve without thinking (they had broken touch boundaries a long time ago, and damn it makes Steve want to kiss him so bad) and starts tracing his tattoos.

There is a bewildered look on Eddie’s face mixed with something heated. “When did you start getting these?” And oh, Steve doesn’t think he’s ever heard Eddie’s voice purr like that before. It makes Steve’s insides stir, and he’s pretty sure he would tell Eddie anything right now, do anything Eddie wanted.

“Last year, right after Vecna.” Steve’s breath hitches as Eddie slides his hands down his chest.

“Didn’t know you had it in ya big boy. Which was your first?” His eyes darken with even more heat.

Steve’s at a loss for words he can’t speak. Eddie needs to get his hands off of him if he wants him to actually respond. Instead Steve’s eyes wonder down his body where Eddie is starting to peak at the ones near his hips, and oh no…anyone but that one.

When Eddie hooks his fingers in his jeans and pulls down the right side, he freezes. Because there, right below the bat bite he and Eddie share, is a tattoo of a red guitar pick with a black and gold cursive E in the center (it’s also Steve’s only colored tattoo, despite his love of color he worries that colored ink will clash with his wardrobe).

“That’s not my first.” Steve rushes out when Eddie hasn’t said anything. “I uh, got it a couple of months ago on the anniversary of spring break. Sorry if it’s weird.”

Eddie’s eyes pop up to Steve’s, and gone is the heat. Instead there is something deeper, and much softer. “You’re an idiot.”

Steve freezes, because Eddie of all people, is now telling him something he likes is stupid. But before Steve can pull away in shame, Eddie holds his hips down and puts his face close to Steve’s. “You’re an idiot. Because of course it’s weird. And of course that’s why I absolutely love it. And it’s why I absolutely love you.”

Steve doesn’t think he’s every rushed so quickly so kiss somebody so hard before. And even when they fall off the couch, and he gets his sweat all over eddie, he can’t find it in himself to regret it one bit.

—

this completely got away from me, and I still need someone to write a fic like this asap, or like anything involving tattooed Steve. I also will jump for joy if someone draws something like this. Part two linked here

[sulfursmells]

S is for Smelly

“I won? I WON!!! OMG” That was me about 7 hours ago. I received an email saying that I won the sweepstakes to spend a recording session with one of my fav idols S.Coups from seventeen. I’ve dreamed of having a chance to talk and admire him up close. He’s charming voice, well chiseled face and abs. Not to mention his big, soft melon sized ass. I always wanted to get a closer look and this is that chance. Let’s skip a little to when I arrived at the studio. I was basically shaking with excitement and anxiety about finally meeting my idol.

After walking in I met his manager who asked me to sign an NDA. Which I didn’t question sing any music and conversation should stay within the room though I did see a strange word in there that I didn’t really think about. “Did that say gas?” I asked myself after signing my name and walking towards the studio. I look through the doors window to see S.Coup sitting in a chair wearing a white shirt and tight white pants, glistening with sweat as if he just stepped off the stage. I hastily open the door and walk in introducing myself. “Hi I’m ..” he quickly interrupts me and says, “come here and let’s get started.” I start walking towards him , when I turn my attention to the door that I just walked through lock behind me. In an instant his calm, constructed idol personal fell revealing something I wasn’t expecting.

“Get down here right now” is all I hear before my world goes dark. I feel the embrace of his Jean covered ass envelope my entire face not leaving any space for anything but air. His ass carrying the scent of musk and sweat dripping onto my face as if he just finished a workout, which he might have by the smell of it. “I get complaints from the staff about my musk and gas. They say I leave the room almost uninhabitable after an editing session” he says as he starts to grind my face deeper into the seat. “So until I’m done you’re going to be my little seat protector, isn’t that exciting” he says as he starts to giggle.

Is this why I was brought here? To be nothing mod than the seat of my favorite idol? This is …….. hot. What kind of fan would I be if I didn’t help my fav keep up his reputation. With that decision made S.Coups raises his butt up a bit letting me see again as he removes his pants then boxers. His fat vulumptous cheeks pouring out of his tight boxers, as sweat drips onto my face. “Ahhhhhh I have to sir it out you know?”he says. I can’t see his face but I know he has a smirk on while saying all of this.Staring up and taking in the scenery, as his melon sized cheeks start to make their descent. “Be a good fan and try not to make too much noise, I still have some work to do. Thanks in advance” was the last words I heard. His ass easily enclosed my entire head only the heavy smell of musk that could rival 4 bony builders after a workout was left.

Then I heard it the gurgle of his stomach as he leans a bit to the left. A torrent of hot gas as bad as a dumpster fire hit me in the face going straight up my noose. I start to gag and cough, flailing about underneath S.Coups. “Can you quiet down, this is a job only my number one fan can do. If you do it well I’ll give you a little present at the end” he says. A present I wonder what it could be, “Do you understand?” S.Coups asks. I respond with a muffled yes and steel myself for what comes next.

“Fair warning, I get pretty gassy after practice so prepare yourself” then he sits full weight on my face. Then came the constant blasts, each one ranging from long silent hissing to loud bassy trumpets, actually it could rival a trumpet with how loud it was. Each one so hot adding my own sweat on top of the sweat the would drip off his cheek. After about a two hours he finally got up, giving me the first sight of light and fresh air in a while. When I got up I coughed and took a deep breath thinking I survived just to breathe in the scent that was dense in the room. “Damn I hoped that you would sniff them all up, I’m going to get in trouble again. Guess you have to be punished for not doing your job!” With that S.Coups pushes my body against the door pinning my face between the door and his ass. “ I would say I’m sorry but I’d be lying, say goodnight!!” I heard a grunt and then a fart that lasted way longer than any of his previous blasts fogging up the window on the door, rivaling the smell of a skunk and a garbage truck combined. Everything goes black.

I wake up and check around the room, S.Coup is nowhere to be found but his smell still stains the room even with the door open. I check my watch and four hours since my experience with him. I go walk towards my bag and find a sign cd from him and was elated that at least I got something from this experience, though I fire I didn’t entirely hate it. I rush home to play the cd, avoiding streets with a lot of people since the stench of his ass and gas was scorched onto my clothes. I rush into my room and pop the cd into my laptop and hear S.Coup start talking, “thank you to my number one fan for a fun experience” I start to blush thinking that the entire experience was worth it. Then I hear one of his notorious blasts come through the speaker of my laptop and my coughing in the background. “HE RECORDED THE WHOLE THING”, I sit back in embarrassment and then catch a whiff of my hoodie which he imprinted his scent onto. I start to sniff the hoodie and listen to his blast at the same time reliving my wonderfully smelly S.Coup Experience.

[inexplicifics]

for the WIP List thing, I'm most intrigued by the Marika and Milena ficlet for the Broken Lock AU. Anything you'd care to share about that? (If someone beat me to that one, please share something from another WIP that includes Milena)

Someone did beat you to it, so have a bit of the doc currently titled "L/A/M modern tweet inspired", in which Aiden goes head over heels pretty much immediately:

Aiden downs another drink - what, he’s not sure, but it burned beautifully going down, so it was probably expensive - and grins wildly at the bartender before slinking back out onto the dance floor. The music is good and the crowd is cheerful and the drinks are strong and cheap - he’s having a damn good night already. Most of the dance floor is full of people bumping and grinding and flailing with various levels of drunken inelegance, but there’s a cleared space right in front of the stage where half a dozen people are dancing, fancy steps and flourishes and everything. Aiden ends up on the edge of that area after a while, pretty much by accident, and his eye is caught by a couple doing a sort of bastardized tango to a song that really isn’t meant for tangoing. They’re good, though, graceful and energetic, the big redheaded man twirling his much smaller female partner out and reeling her back in again, lifting her entirely off her feet a few times; she’s laughing, head thrown back in glee, and keeping up without any trouble at all. They’re beautiful, and Aiden spends a few minutes just admiring the view; the redhead’s black shirt is gorgeously tight, and damp with sweat, clinging to his chest and back delightfully, while his dark jeans cling perfectly to his ridiculously nice ass, and the woman is wearing a crimson dress with a skirt that flares out every time she twirls, showing off pale elegant legs all the way up above the knee, and her long dark hair is braided with something sparkly. The song ends, and the redhead bends his partner back in a deep dip and kisses her thoroughly; she doesn’t even flail, trusting her weight to him without hesitation, and returns the kiss with obvious enthusiasm. Aiden sighs a little, pressing a hand to his chest; yes, he’s a romantic idiot, his brothers remind him of it regularly, but how is someone supposed to look at that and not be smitten?

[pendingnomdeplume]

i love the nightlife pairing: hozier x transmasc!reader rating: explicit (18+) tags: First Meetings, Hook-Ups, Blow Jobs, Fingering words: 6.8k note: there is no language regarding AFAB anatomy in this fic. cocks and holes abound.

[Read it on AO3]

title from I Love the Nightlife by Alicia Bridges divider by: sylusz

Clubs have never really been your thing. 

Getting drunk in a loud, dark, moderately humid building packed with people isn’t exactly your idea of a good time. You much prefer a glass of whiskey in the comfort of your favorite spot on your couch, usually coupled with a book or another re-watch of The Sopranos. You like boring. You thrive in the safe and mundane.

Yet, here you are, braced against the bar top at a local gay club that advertises $5 well drinks on Thursday nights. You shout your drink order to a handsome gentleman with an enviable mustache and the tightest black tank top you’ve ever seen. He hands you a slightly overpoured whiskey with a wink and a purposeful brush against your hand. 

As your face burns in embarrassment, you decide that maybe now is the time to head outside and get some air. You’ve already lost your roommate, Mason, who fucked off to chat up a silver fox of a bear with a leather vest and a pelt of chest hair unlike anything you’ve ever seen. You’re impressed and also a little envious that your own chest hair isn’t quite as robust. 

With Mason otherwise occupied (despite the fact that he pleaded with you to come out tonight), you wander out to the patio where the music doesn’t reverberate through your chest. It’s a lovely, mild spring evening, a fresh breeze lapping at your overheated skin and cooling the sheen of sweat on your forehead.

You beeline for the empty table located in a far corner, collapsing into the chair and sinking into it as you let out a long sigh. A glance at your phone tells you that it’s only 11 PM, and the party inside hasn’t even truly started yet. It’s an easy choice to stay out here and eavesdrop on the conversations of strangers rather than go back inside and be wildly overstimulated. 

Worst case scenario, you’re taking a taxi back to your flat without your roommate in tow. You have his location on your phone, and you figure that he’s a big boy who can make his own choices, no matter how dumb and misguided. 

“Are you hiding out, as well?” 

The voice startles you, and you whip around to meet hazel eyes through thick-rimmed glasses, and a soft, pretty smile. This man looks like he’s been ripped straight from your fantasies—tall and lanky with dark curls that frame his face. His denim jacket is decorated with pins of different musicians and pop culture references, only some of which you understand. His denim jeans are a near perfect match in color to the jacket, and his tucked in t-shirt reveals a black belt with a silver buckle. 

For the last 20 minutes or so, you’ve noticed this gentleman hovering in your periphery. With every glance, you’d catch his gaze for only a moment before he quickly turned to look away. Slightly unnerving given his unknown intentions, but this man looks at you almost reverently now as he grabs your attention. 

You let out a little laugh and nod. “Yeah, my roommate…he dragged me out here just to abandon me after ten minutes.”

The man hums in amusement. “Ah, that sounds familiar. It’s my friend’s birthday, yet I seem to have lost her somewhere. Have you seen a short, blonde lass with a…” he gestures vaguely at his head. “You know, a birthday headband thing.”

You shake your head. “Sorry, can��t say I have.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I figured not. I’ve no clue where she’s run off to now, though it may be better not to know, honestly.”

“She's a slippery one, then?” 

The man laughs, revealing rows of pearly white teeth. “Slippery as a fuckin’ eel. I’m not too worried, though. Worst she’ll do is overindulge on Hurricanes.” He pulls a disgusted face and shakes his head. 

He introduces himself as Andrew before offering you a cigarette from a softened pack he pulls from his pocket. Drunk you is far less discerning about such vices, so you accept and allow him to light it for you with the flick of a Zippo as you take a drag. 

After a brief pause, he tilts his head and asks, “You didn’t happen to attend Trinity, did you?” 

You shake your head. “Nah, sorry. I didn’t.”

Andrew nods. “Right, sorry. Thought you looked familiar, is all.” He falters as he tucks his hair behind his ear.

There’s something about him that’s familiar to you, as well, but you can’t remember ever meeting him previously. You’re sure you’d remember a face and a dazzling smile like that.

Though you can’t be entirely sure, there’s a non-zero chance that this man is flirting with you. You’re not surprised so much as you’re caught off-guard. Mason is normally the one to get hit on, especially by tall, dark, handsome men like this. Except, Mason isn’t here, is instead chasing a man more in line with his own personal interests (namely, an abundance of graying hair and shoulders the width of a linebacker’s), and Andrew’s attention is focused squarely on you. 

You wonder if perhaps he’s a straight man out of his element. A rogue birthday girl is about, after all. Maybe he got roped into attending the club at her request. It’s not uncommon, and you’ve had a few swings and misses in the past from similar situations. No harm, no foul. Rejection hurts far less when you never had a shot to begin with.

“So…what do you do, then? Work, or school, or…?” 

You blink at him, confused. “Oh, uh, work. My dad’s a mechanic. I work at his shop in Bray.”

Andrew nods, averting his gaze to the whiskey in his hand as he gently swirls the glass. Awkward silence falls between you as you fidget with your own drink. You’re terrible at this, unsure of how to navigate the conversation when you’re not entirely sure what his angle is. You suppose you could just ask, but the words die in your throat as you meet his eyes.

“In Bray? North or South?” 

With a frown, you respond,  “Just south of the County Wicklow line.”

“Ah…I, ehm...don’t know much about cars. I suppose that’s why mechanics exist to begin with, huh? Anyway, you provide an invaluable service to…y’know…the community…”

His face scrunches as he cringes outwardly.

“Okay, that was not…Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry if I’ve bothered you, just ignore me,” he says, and you can make out the flush on his cheeks against his pale skin as he lets out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t mean to…I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you were looking for some peace, and here I am just chatting away.” 

Guilt grips your chest as you shake your head quickly. “Oh, no! I’m not bothered! Just…bad at small talk, is all.”

He seems to relax a touch as he runs a hand through his frizzy curls. “God, yeah. Me, too. As I’m sure you can tell.” 

“Well, to be fair, I haven’t given you much to work with, have I?”

Just as he opens his mouth to reply, a high-pitched voice calls out, “Andrew!” 

The two of you turn at the shouting of his name. A lively blonde with a Birthday Girl headband and a sunset orange drink bounds up to you with the type of drunk grin that comes from one too many cocktails.

“Karen, Jesus fucking Christ! Where did you run off to? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

The woman—Karen—merely shrugs, scrunching her vaguely bloodshot eyes. 

“Caoimhe and I were dancing upstairs. Have you been upstairs, Andy? It’s so cool, and the bartenders are quite heavy-handed up there.” Faltering, Karen turns to you looking perplexed. “Oh, hello there!”

“Hi,” you say with a short wave of your hand, then gesture towards her birthday headband. “Happy birthday.”

“Aw, thank you so much!” Karen turns back to Andrew and says, “Yeah, seems like you were looking for me real hard, Andy, and not at all flirting with anyone.” She turns to give you an exaggerated wink as Andrew claps his hands together with a grimace. 

“All right! Karen! Thank you so much for that. Maybe you should go find Caoimhe again, yeah? Or, Saoirse. Or, Max. Or, literally anyone else.”

“Right, right, I’ll be gone in a moment.” Karen waves a dismissive hand before addressing you directly. “Watch out for this one, yeah? Mr. Hozier here has rockstar sensibilities, so don’t fall for his meek and mild act. He’s more of the mischievous and misbehaving type, especially when he’s trying to bed some—”

“Okay!” Andrew interrupts loudly as he digs into his pocket while gently pushing Karen back towards the building. “Karen, love? Here. Go get some water, and maybe some pretzels?” 

She takes the crumpled €20 note from his hand. “Wow, bribery. That’s new.” She looks back at you and says brightly, “He must really be interested in you if he’s—” 

“Karen, for the love of God, please.”

“Right, fine! I’m going, I’m going! But, this note is going towards another Hurricane, Andrew!” 

Karen scuttles away with another wink and a wave thrown over her shoulder before she disappears into the crowd, only visible by the glittering of her headband until the crowd swallows her whole. You blink after her, equal parts amused and befuddled. What a fascinating woman.

Andrew presses his palm to his forehead. “I am…so sorry about her. Love her to death, I do, but she’s a bit of a loud mouth.”

Despite the amusing display, you’re caught up on one small detail—Andrew is, in fact, Hozier. You’ve only ever listened to his songs as part of a playlist rotation, never actually looking into the man himself. Everything you’ve ever heard about him (which is to say, not a whole lot) has only ever been positive, yet you’re still surprised by his lack of…well, ego. The man is a bonafide hometown hero, and you’re honestly shocked he hasn’t received more attention from patrons this evening. 

“Seems she spilled your secret, aye?” 

Andrew laughs awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “I suppose it’s not much of a secret. I just wasn’t sure if you…I mean, you didn’t say anything, and it felt weird to…”

“No, I get it. I thought you looked familiar, but I couldn’t place you. But, yeah, I’m sure it feels weird to introduce yourself as a rockstar.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, rockstar might be a stretch. I’m just a guy with a guitar, really.”

“Right. Simply a man with a guitar and a voice and thousands upon thousands of fans,” you say with a nod before downing the rest of your drink. It settles warmly in your stomach as you wince at the bite of it on your tongue. “So, Mr. Humble, do you make a habit of flirting with random men on your nights out, or…?”

Anxiety gnaws at you as a blush heats your face. He hasn’t contested anything Karen said so far. If Andrew is interested in anything more than a bit of friendly chit-chat, you’re certainly not going to deny him the opportunity. 

“Not all the time,” he shrugs, then laughs to himself as he stares at his own nearly empty glass. “I apologize if I’m being too…forward, I suppose. Two of these, and suddenly I’m the most talkative person in the room. It also makes flirting with attractive men a lot easier.”

You can’t bite back your bashful laugh as you turn to hide your grin.

“Don’t worry, my roommate is much the same. Get a few drinks into him, and he won’t shut the fuck up about Thin Lizzy for hours. Thank God he hasn’t come out here, otherwise I’m sure he’d be teasing me about chatting you up.”

He raises a curious eyebrow. “Are you? Chatting me up, I mean?” 

You raise an eyebrow in return. “Well, it’s not as fun if I just tell you outright.”

Andrew is all smiles as he nods in agreement. “Right, of course. You’ve got to keep the mystery and suspense going, surely.” 

After a beat, your own smile falters. If you’re going to go any farther trying to woo this man who is seemingly interested, you figure it’s best to be upfront with him. Separate the wheat from the chaff and all that.

“Right,” you echo. “Listen, before anything happens, it’s probably best to let you know that I’m trans. I like to get that out of the way up top, that way nobody wastes any time.”

Andrew blinks. “Oh! That’s—that’s wonderful! I mean, not wonderful, like—it’s great that you’re—fuck me, I’m really not good at this, am I?” He laughs to himself as he drags a hand down his face. “Sorry, it’s been a minute since I’ve flirted with anyone, so, please bear with me.” 

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’ve absolutely no issue, if you’re worried. I appreciate you letting me know, and I don’t want you to feel…well, I hope I don’t come off as the type to be put off by that.”

Butterflies in your stomach force a startled laugh out of you. “There’s hardly a type. It’s more a case-by-case situation. Though, you’ve had the most amusing response so far, I must say.”

Andrew tilts his head. “Does that mean I have competition, then?” 

The forthrightness of the question stuns you, but you shake it off and shrug casually.  “Perhaps.” 

It’s a baldfaced lie. Any suitors you’ve had in the past have been swiftly ghosted or blocked depending on the circumstance. A fair few of them were chasers who only viewed you as a fetishistic fantasy, while others were simply too clingy or wanted to move far too quickly for your taste. The good faith folks you’ve dated haven’t been a great fit either, typically falling into the categories of too boring or too adventurous or too fuckboy for your liking.

Andrew seems different. His awkwardness is endearing, his reaction to your divulsion relatively mild compared to others. He doesn’t seem put off at all, yet he’s not suddenly chomping at the bit to rush you home the way others have previously. He just seems…well, interested. In you. 

What a novelty to intrigue someone who is lauded as Ireland’s answer to Bruce Springsteen.

“I suppose I’ll have to find a way to stand out from the crowd, then.” He shrugs before finishing off what remains in his glass, eyeing you in amusement as you try to find a response that isn’t just spluttered sounds.

He looks back towards the outdoor bar, then meets your eyes with a hesitant question on his lips. “What’re you drinking?” 

“Jameson,” you reply, shrugging when Andrew gives you a look as though the answer offends him. 

“I’ll be right back.” You try to ignore the gooseflesh that breaks out along your arms as his hand gently brushes your shoulder before he’s wandering away towards the bar. You decide to sit on one of the empty couches that’s slightly tucked away from prying eyes. You figure that perhaps some semblance of privacy might make whatever this is more comfortable for both of you.

True to his word, Andrew comes back promptly with two glasses. He hands you a lowball glass full of amber liquid before plopping down next to you, your thighs nearly touching. He seems more at ease now, turning his body to face you. His elbow rests on the back of the couch, his head propped in his hand as he practically beams at you.

“Thank you…” you say warily. “What is it?” 

“Try it.” When you frown in response, he huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “It’s whiskey. Better than Jameson, I promise.”

Upon taking a sip, your eyes go wide, and you turn your surprised expression to him. It’s probably one of the best whiskeys you’ve ever tried—dark but sweet, smoky yet smooth, with the faintest hint of ginger and orange underneath. 

“Right?” Andrew asks excitedly. “It’s Redbreast, a single pot whiskey. This one apparently has an 18-year aging process. It’s one of my favorites.”

“So, this whiskey is old enough to drink whiskey. Thank you again, by the way. This is fucking fantastic.” 

He shrugs. “Well, I can’t leave you drinking well spirits all night, can I?” 

Conversation flows easily after that. Andrew asks you broad questions about your work and laughs as he apologizes for not having more background knowledge. You tell him about growing up watching your dad work, finally getting to assist in his repairs and vintage builds as a teen, and your subsequent attendance to a trade school to follow in his footsteps. 

“He was so excited about it,” you laugh. “Even changed the name of the business from McKenna’s Mechanics to McKenna & Sons.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” he sighs.

Andrew regails you with tales of his music journey. He explains his short stint at Trinity where he met the resident birthday girl, as well as a handful of other musically-inclined folks. After making the difficult decision to drop out fairly young, his big break came from a right place, right time situation. Two albums later, and he’s finally home after a US tour that nearly killed him by the end. 

“You don’t realize how massive that country is until you’re on a bus for 12 hours just to get to the next state over.” 

He starts to get a little more bold in his flirtation as his third drink sets in, and your second drink has you feeling giddy, warm, and unsure of how to reciprocate when he rests an hand on your arm while talking about his best friend and musical partner, Alex. 

The conversation hits a bump when you work up the nerve to ask another question that’s buzzed around in your mind the entire evening. 

“May I ask a personal question?” you ask tentatively. 

Andrew blinks, then nods. “Of course.” 

“Forgive me, I’m generally out of touch with anything related to the internet these days. But…I hadn’t heard that you, um…? I mean, all of your songs are—they’re about women, yeah? I don’t know, maybe my finger just isn’t on the queer news pulse like it used to be, but that feels like something I’d have heard about.”

You can tell that the question catches him off guard as he looks away to study the twinkling fairy lights strung along the bordering fence.

“Ah, right. That.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to!” you add hastily. “I was just curious, but it’s definitely none of my business.” 

“No, no, you’re okay. It’s…complicated. Mostly because it’s more of a…new development. I mean, not—it was always there, but I never…I don’t know, I just never put any stock into it, I suppose.” 

“Were you one of those, ‘Yeah, I’d kiss a lad just for kicks, but I’m not gay,’ types?”

With a reddened face and a little laugh, he nods. “Unfortunately, yeah. I thought everyone felt that way, y’know? About finding everyone attractive. I just assumed my own heterosexuality despite the fact that a fair amount of my childhood crushes were boys. And, it’s not like my family is homophobic in any capacity, so you’d think I would have put it together sooner.”

“Hindsight is a funny thing, isn’t it? Looking back on things and realizing how obvious some of those signs were. Like, for me—and, this is going to sound absolutely demented—but I used to fantasize about getting breast cancer when I was a teen.” 

Andrew splutters on his drink. “I’m sorry, what?” 

You shrug easily. “Dysphoria is a tricky bitch. It makes you think things like that are just standard. Oh, every teenage girl feels that way about their chest. Except, they don’t. Like, at all. In fact, most people react the same way you did when I say that.” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to—” 

“No, no worries, you’re fine. What I mean is, it was jarring to learn that most women don’t think that way. Which eventually led me to understand that I am certainly not a woman. It just took the better part of 23 years to put it all together. Which seems mad, right? But, like I said: hindsight.” 

Andrew smiles as he lifts his glass to you. “To late bloomers, then.” 

You clink your glass to his and nod. “To late bloomers.” 

***

When Andrew tentatively asks if you want to dance, you turn to look at the dance floor inside with a grimace. Steam floats out of the open doors, a testament to the sheer amount of bodies mingling together in such a small space. The thought makes you shiver. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not much into dancing. Is that okay?” 

Thankfully, Andrew looks relieved. “Oh, that’s perfectly okay. I’m not much of a dancer either, but I figured I’d ask in case you were interested.” 

Your body is flushed and warm from too much booze, and you can feel sweat begin to break out along your hairline. Andrew looks much the same, grinning as he sways and flips his hair from one side to the other. And, oh, his hand is on your thigh, when did that happen? 

Quietly, he asks, “Is this okay?” 

You have to look away and clear your throat in an attempt to collect yourself. “Yeah, yes, that’s…perfectly fine.” 

He grins brightly, earnestly. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.” 

Once again, his forthrightness has you stumbling. “And you are an adorable and very flirty drunk.

Andrew gives you a lopsided grin as he shrugs one shoulder. “What was it Karen said? Mischievous and misbehaving?”

“So there’s merit to that, then?” 

“Well, it’s not as fun if I just tell you outright, is it?” 

Ah, so he’s going to play this game, throwing your own words back at you in an attempt to fluster you further. To be fair, his plan is working as your face burns all the way to the tips of your ears. But, you can’t let him know that he’s winning. This is an unspoken competition now, the defiance and playfulness in his expression urging you to make your next move.

So, you do. He’s stunned when you reach out to cup his chin in one hand. The touch is light, gentle, but it’s enough to stop him in his tracks and stare at you incredulously. 

“Well, I think you’re a lot of talk and no action.” When he doesn’t respond, you smirk. “Is this all it takes to shut you up?” 

After a beat, he finally opens his mouth, still staring at you with glazed eyes. “I can think of more lucrative ways to do so.”

You can’t help the cackle that escapes you. “Lucrative for who, exactly?”

He shrugs again. “Both of us, I’d guess. I’d hope.” A pause. “You know…we’re staying at the Grafton tonight. Figured it was better to play it safe with Miss ‘Doesn’t Know When to Quit’ over there.” 

When you turn back, you spot Karen standing on the bar just inside, waving her arms around excitedly as a bartender tries to coax her down. “I see what you mean.”

“I’ve got my own room,” he continues casually, as though your heart isn’t about to beat through your fucking chest. “If you’d like to see it. Lovely hotel, and the room has an even lovelier view. Though, I can’t imagine anything quite as lovely as you.”

The laugh that escapes you makes him laugh in return, covering his face and shaking his head as he cries, “That was terrible, I’m so sorry. It came out, and I instantly regretted it. So fucking corny. Jesus Christ.” 

Some of the tension dissipates as you smile fondly while he tries to recover from his horrible flirting. 

“You really are terrible at this,” you jest. “However…I can’t deny that I’m a little curious about this room with a view. But, won’t Karen be upset if you leave her birthday bash?”

Andrew chuckles. “I doubt she’ll even remember at this point.” 

After a quick text to his mates and a message to Mason, you find yourself walking the few blocks it takes to get to the Grafton Hotel. You’re surprised when Andrew takes your hand into his despite the fact that he’d mentioned not being the biggest fan of public affection. 

There’s some plausible deniability as you use the opportunity to ensure you’re both drunkenly stumbling on the pavement instead of the road, tugging on his hand to keep him close until he wraps his arm around your shoulders entirely. In return, you slip your arm around his waist and try to stay in stride with him while the hotel glitters like a beacon in the night. 

After a piss-poor attempt at acting “natural” while shuffling through the opulent lobby, you stumble into an empty elevator. As soon as the doors close, he’s on you, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you fervently—a testament to his restraint on the walk over here, surely. 

Then, he pulls away just as suddenly, eyes wide as an apology spills out. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—I mean, I should have asked first before—” 

You hold a hand up to shush him. “I’m a relative stranger you picked up from a club following you up to your hotel room. While I appreciate the thought, kissing is definitely not an issue.” 

The room itself is quite nice, and he wasn’t joking about the view. The city twinkles warmly far below, bustling with a lot more traffic than one might expect for a Thursday night. If you were so inclined, you might suggest sitting out on the balcony for a while just to enjoy the breeze. An idea for another time, perhaps, should Andrew ever want to do this again. (You cringe inwardly at the spark of hope within you that maybe he will.) 

When you look back at him, Andrew is watching you carefully, wringing his hands and shifting his weight. 

“Are you okay?” 

He laughs awkwardly. “Yeah! I just…I don’t normally do this, y’know? Hooking up isn’t really…”

“Oh.” You frown. “We don’t have to—” 

“No, no, I want to, I’m just…at a loss of where to start. Also…” A pause. “If there’s anything you don’t want me doing in particular, please let me know.”

You can read between the lines. It’s his way of asking you to guide him through this for the sake of your comfort. It’s sweet, more thoughtful than some of your previous trysts, though you hope he doesn’t treat you so preciously the entire night. 

After a beat, you reach out to lightly grasp his wrist, smiling softly when he meets your eyes. 

“Why don’t you start by kissing me again, yeah?” 

At this, he can’t help his bright, flustered smile as he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s softer and sweeter this time as he holds your face, thumbs brushing through prickly stubble from a haphazard attempt at shaving earlier in the day. 

The taste of whiskey and ash is on his tongue, the smell of smoke sticking to his hair. You can almost feel his hesitance melt away as your fingers curl into his hair, as he leans into the kiss with a small whimper. A chill runs down your spine when he kisses along your neck, nipping lightly but not enough to leave any lasting mark. A honeyed laugh in your ear makes your face go hot, the sound sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your cock.

Impatient hands shove at his jean jacket until he’s struggling out of it and throwing it to the floor, revealing thin, pale arms with delicate wrists and prominent veins. You marvel at every sharp angle that’s juxtaposed by the softness of his chest, his stomach as you assist in pulling his t-shirt off. 

The only coherent thought in your mind isn’t a thought at all, but the primal urge to bite and mark and claim. 

Suddenly, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” and he halts his movements to look at you with wide eyes. 

“Fuck, I don’t. I didn’t exactly think I was going to hook up with anyone tonight.”

“Damn, neither do I,” you laugh, earning a cheesy, embarrassed smile from him as he shrugs. “No matter. There’s plenty of other things we can do.”

It’s easy enough to get his jeans off once he’s on his back in bed. It seems he’s beginning to understand that he is not the one in charge now, seems to even be delighting in his lack of control. He stares as you slowly undo his belt buckle, hands curled into the sheets beneath him as if it’s the only way he can stop himself from trying to reach out and touch you. With a few giggles and awkward kicks on his part, you finally toss his jeans to the floor. 

The outline of his swollen cock is obvious, tenting his black boxers and twitching slightly as you run your hands along his thighs. 

You startle when he asks, “Can I see you? You’re wearing far too much.”

And, well…how can you say no when he asked so politely? 

As soon as your shirt comes off, his eyes go wide and he blurts out, “Wow. That’s absolutely stunning. The Creation of Adam, yeah?” 

He studies your tattoo in fascination as you reply, “Yeah. It’s…a little on the nose, probably. Not the most original scar cover-up ever, but I’m happy with it.”

Andrew huffs a quiet laugh. “I can see how that might be on the nose, yeah. But, I really like it. For whatever that’s worth, I suppose.” 

He watches as you pull your jeans off and shuck them aside with the growing pile of clothing on the floor, leaving you in your own boxer briefs that make Andrew chuckle.

“Are those Halloween-themed? Mate…are you aware that it’s May?”

You roll your eyes as you finally crawl into bed, throwing a leg over him and settling on his hips. 

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t expect to hook up with anyone tonight either. Second, are you always this antagonistic towards your dates?”

Andrew grins. “Is this a date now?”

You bite out a laugh. “Christ, you are a sassy one.”

“Unfortunately, it’s part of the package deal. No returns or refunds.”

“What about an exchange?” 

“Mmm, no, sorry. I can offer you store credit?”

You tilt your head. “That implies that I’d be a returning customer.”

He blinks, swallows, his eyes flitting away nervously before looking back at you. “Well, you know, I’m big on…customer loyalty…and what have you…”

“Andrew,” you say with a smile and a shake of your head. “Do you want to keep bantering, or do you want me to blow you?”

He nods quickly. “Yeah, yes, that. Let’s do your idea.”

Kisses along his body make him squirm as he stares up at the ceiling in embarrassment. A hand pressed to the bulge in his pants pulls the prettiest sounds from him; the heat of your mouth against cotton, against his swollen length forces him to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle his groans. You’re pleased by his reactions—you’ve always loved the vocal ones, and it makes sense that this one would be the most vocal of all. 

The trail of hair that disappears beneath his waistband is slowly revealed to you as you peel back the fabric, pressing open-mouthed kisses along that line until his cock is exposed. It’s pretty—long, though not dauntingly thick, the tip already red and leaking despite the fact that you’ve done little to elicit this kind of response.

Eager, you think to yourself with a smirk. 

The first press of your tongue along the vein that protrudes just on the underside of his cock makes him gasp. He props himself up on his elbows to watch, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as you take the head into your mouth and suck gently.

He hisses as a hand curls into your hair, as you attempt to take the rest of him without choking or gagging. Your eyes water as you suck in a deep breath through your nose, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by his scent, dizzied by musk, and sweat, and arousal as you swallow him down.

It’s sloppy, messy as you put on a bit of a show in the hopes of impressing him. It seems that your plan is working out quite well as you meet his heavy-lidded gaze from beneath your lashes, and he groans before letting his head tilt back to reveal the expanse of his throat. 

“Feels so fucking good…” It comes out as a cracked whisper that breaks into a breathy moan as his fingers tighten their grip on your hair. 

You pull off of him with a lewd pop and stroke him as you catch your breath. When he looks back at you, his pupils are blown out, nearly eclipsing his irises. He already looks so wrecked, and you wonder just how quickly you can make this man completely fall apart. 

“Good?” you ask with a grin. 

“Yes, fuck, please don’t stop,” he whines. 

With a wink, you pause the movement of your hand long enough to spit onto his cock before stroking him again, faster this time as his hips buck into your hand. Andrew’s lets out a short, feverish laugh before whispering, “Fucking filthy.” It alights something in your brain—something warm and excited as his head falls back against the pillow again, seemingly no longer concerned with holding back as he thrusts into the warmth of your mouth when you take him again. 

Any semblance of composure is lost when you gently cup his balls, and he bites out a warning of his impending climax between heaving breaths. Determined, you allow him to nearly fuck your throat until he’s whimpering beneath you, hips snapping up until he he muffles a cry. The warmth of his release fills your mouth, slides down your throat, eyes watering as you continue your assault on him while he rides out every wave of pleasure that rolls through him. 

He looks wonderfully sated when he opens his eyes again, smiling when you sit up on your knees between his legs. 

“Wow,” he laughs as he rubs his eyes. “How am I supposed to follow that up? Jesus.”

You grin as you lean over him, your arms caging his head as you murmur, “With a smile and a thank you for the privilege.”

His mouth drops open for only a moment before he snaps it shut again. Then, a smirk as he asks, “Would you be amenable to doing it like this, then? I’m pretty sure all of my bones have turned to gelatin.”

You blink in surprise. “You…want me to sit on your face?”

Andrew shrugs. “Only if you want to. I’d say it’s a throne fit for a king, but that just seems egotistical, I think.” 

With a barked laugh, you reply, “Yeah, a bit, maybe. But, I love the enthusiasm.” 

You sit back up long enough to twist around and discard your own boxers. There’s a brief hesitance as you hype yourself up, that inkling of self-consciousness creeping in the way it always does before being on the receiving end of sex acts. It’s not dysphoria so much as it is the general nervousness of performance and expectation—the same feelings you’ve experienced far before beginning your transition journey. 

Andrew must notice this hesitation as he says, “Hey, we don’t have to keep going if you don’t want that.” 

“No, I want to, I’m just…are you sure?” It’s an out that you extend almost automatically, a way to protect yourself from rejection and hurt by providing an excuse for him to bail. You’re sure it says something about your own control issues, but you push the thought away to be dealt with later. 

With a soft sigh, he pats his chest and beckons you closer, saying, “C’mere so I can suck you off already.”

A warmth blooms in your chest as you cover your giddy embarrassment with a laugh. Shuffling on your knees, you move closer, pause, then straddle his face carefully, hovering just above him until his arms are locked around your thighs. 

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” 

Before you can reply, you feel his tongue on your cock, and you fall forward to brace against the headboard. 

“Oh,” is the only thing you manage to squeak out as he takes it into his mouth and begins sucking gently. Tears form in your eyes as pleasure shoots up your spine, teetering on the edge of too much as he works. You find yourself absentmindedly thrusting into the feeling, unable to hold back the moans and whines that bubble up. 

If he’s never done this before, then his mouth is truly gifted. His tongue teases just below the head, pressing gently as you whimper above him. Arousal slicks his mouth as he feasts on you like a starving man, and you curl a hand into his hair to encourage him further. A slight tug pulls a strangled moan from him, his grip tightening on your thighs as though he’s worried you might try to get away. 

He pulls away briefly to catch his breath, licking his shining lips as he asks, “Are you okay with—? Do you like being touched?”

You understand his meaning almost immediately. “Yes, please, fuck.”

One hand releases your thigh, and suddenly two fingers slip into you with ease. You choke on a moan as you push back against them. Your brain and body struggle then, trying to decide between pushing into that pressure as he fills you or grinding against his face. Heat begins to build in your abdomen. Every thrust of his fingers and swipe of his tongue brings you closer and closer to that edge. 

“Fuck, I’m close,” you pant out. 

All it takes is an errant thumb against your ass, and you’re suddenly falling over the edge, shaky thighs attempting to snap shut as you gasp and cry out. Andrew keeps you in place, doesn’t allow you to move as continues sucking your cock while you clench around him. Expletives fall from your lips mixed with his name, and you nearly choke on a sob as you smack at the top of his head with a breathy, “Stopstopstop, fuck, too much, too much.” 

Andrew stops immediately and withdraws his fingers with a chuckled apology. Once he’s released his grip on you, you gently fall onto your back next to him. 

“Wow,” you breathe, looking over to grin at him. 

“Decent?” he asks. His smug look tells you he knows exactly how well he did. 

You roll your eyes and give him a gentle shove to his shoulder. “I’m afraid if I answer that honestly, you won’t be able to fit your giant ego through the door.” 

There’s a part of you that expects him to rush you out, but Andrew doesn’t really seem inclined to do so. Instead, he invites you to scoot beneath the duvet with him, lying on your side to face him as he mirrors your position. 

Then, he’s asking questions, probing into your likes and dislikes, your favorite music, favorite films, favorite books. Andrew nods along as you speak, eyes wide in an expression you’d liken to veneration. You return his questions in kind, delighted by the way he seems to light up when discussing his musical interests throughout his childhood and adolescence, and his proxy interest in film thanks to his brother. 

A chime on your phone breaks the warm bubble of your conversation, and you groan as you reach back to grab it from the bedside table. 

Mason

HEY DICKHEAD

DID YOU FUCKIN IRISH GOODBYE ME

IN IRELAND

AS AN IRISH MAN

You

Sure did mate.

Mason

JUDAS

Can’t believe this

I HOPE THE DICK WAS WORTH IT

I want details tomorrow you fuckin scut

“Something wrong?” Andrew asks hesitantly. 

You look up at him and shake your head with a little laugh. “Nah, just my roommate being…my roommate. Took him this long to figure out that I’d even left.”

“Oh…do you have to go, then?” There’s something so sweet about the sullenness in his voice, evoking an image of Eeyore in your mind. 

“I don’t.” You shake your head. “I can stay as long as you’ll allow it.” 

“Careful now,” he says easily as he reaches out to run the back of his fingers against your cheek. “Otherwise you may never be rid of me.” 

[whyareyouhere66]

Call Me A Snitch - Benny Rodriguez/The Sandlot x GN Reader

“Could it be something like benny rodriguez x gn!reader and its they are on philips team and playing against the sandlot boys and the philips convinces the reader to cheat by using like this sticky rosin stuff…”

Here we go @yourgirljen4life - hope you enjoy and I hope this is what you were looking for 

[mind you I don’t know a lot about rosin or anything- also Phillips doesn’t have a listed full name, so I used the actors first name.]

CW: slightly rushed I haven’t written in a hot minute, not heavy on any relationships, Wil Phillips

Benny Rodriguez x GN!Tiger’s player Reader

x

It’s the middle of the day, sun hot and sticky beating down on the trees and dirt that cover the ground, temperature at least 80 degrees, when I realize I should’ve stayed home.

I used to say I’d never miss a good game of baseball, especially not with someone as invested as Benny Rodriguez or Wil Phillips. But then again, I’ve never played such an un-fun one in my life. Which is actually pretty impressive.

The ball swings across the field as Benny’s team hits it spot on again, and I see as our outfielder scurries to get it. I can’t remember who’s out there, probably Eric. Guess that wasn’t a great idea. Bertram, looking accomplished, smoothly jogs across the base. 

They’re getting real cocky, now. It’s funny, I think, I’d crack a grin when I hear Ham’s next remark but with the vein nearly popping out of Phillips’ forehead I decide to bite it back. 

“How are we doing so shit?” I hear him ask, but I don’t think he wants a real answer. The expensive jerseys can only cover so much, an idea he seems very much unaware of.

I look down at my wrinkled jersey, the white fabric tinted with dirt after I took a dive for home base in the last inning. I dust some of it off, hearing another crack of the wooden bat across the way. To follow, a curse mumbled from Phillips lips. 

I sigh slightly, and glance back at the score board. We’re down by 2, which isn’t horrible, but I know we’d all prefer not being down at all. My cleats scuff against the sand as I stand up from our bench, and stand next to the blonde boy. His gaze is strong and fixed on the new batter, Benny. 

‘Oh boy.’ 

Droplets of sweat trickle down his forehead, over his nose, and he stares intently at our pitcher. He’s in jeans in a t-shirt, to no one’s surprise, and I look over him as he gets into position. His eyes narrow, blocking the sun the best they can. 

From the dugout, I watch with crossed arms. I still remember the first game against the sandlot boys- when Phillips tried to stand off on their own field. I think that’s when I first realized, baseball would be a lot more fun if there weren’t the pressure of winning constantly on my shoulders. 

He’s so focused, swaying the bat over his shoulder and adjusting his feet across home base. Beside me, Phillips’ scoffs, I can basically hear how his teeth clench in his jaw.

Benny hits it mere feet away from the fence, our outfielder sprinting for it and suddenly Phillips’ hand grabs a firm hold on my shoulder, snatching my thoughts from the game.

“This is bullshit,” he complains, and uses the grip on my shoulder to turn me towards the bench behind us, “come on.”

My arms remain crossed even as he tugs me towards his bag, and he leans down to grab something from inside. Red flag, I think, he’s up to something.

“You’re up next,” when he comes back up, he’s holding a small tub in his hand, “use this.” 

I look down at the tub in his hands, and skim over the word “Rosin” bolded on the lid. 

He’s gotta be kidding.

I glance up at him, he’s looking at me expectantly, as if I’m supposed to immediately understand. When I don’t enthusiastically go along with it, he rattles his hand impatiently.

“No.” I tell him, and he groans.

“Y/n come on-“ he whines, “we’ve gotta get a leg up.”

“This is pathetic, Phillips.”

He groans again, dramatically throwing his head back, and I feel his fingers tightening against the bone of my shoulder. 

“Dude- it’s not a big deal, just do it so we don’t lose against these…” he looks back to the field, where Benny has already made it to 2nd base and players from our team and his are spread across the dirt and grass. Ham chuckles smugly, rolling up to base, and immediately just from one look at the field Phillips’ face scrunches into one of disgust. 

“…losers.”

He finishes, I scoff.

“Dude.”

He doesn’t listen to my protest at all, instead shoving the tub of rosin into my hand. Tan fingers slip away from my shoulder, finally, and he reaches back into his bag and pulls out another baseball, placing it into my free hand. 

“Do it, or I swear to god L/n.”  He looks at me like he’s giving a threat, which he is, but it’s not a strong one. I sigh, and he steps away from me back to the edge of the dugout to watch the game. I’m left alone by the cluttered bench.

Looking down at the ball and the tub, I sigh once more. But nonetheless, I unscrew the tub. 

It’s a bad idea, pathetic as I said, I should’ve known the second we went down a point Phillips would resort to a cheat. 

.

But hey, it worked. 

My fingers are still sticky with rosin as the game ends- the scoreboard has changed, now in our favor with 3 points above the sandlot group. 

Curses echo from them as ham kicks the dirt below his feet, and I watch as Benny throws his hat to the ground in a fit. It clashes well with the smug cheers from my team- but at the sight of the others so defeated, I feel guilty.

“Told you.” Phillips’ smirks into my ear, patting my shoulder much harder than needed before strutting off with the rest of the team. I dont join him, though.

It wasn’t our win to get. 

“Some pop and fries at the diner sound good to you guys?” Phillips asks, raising his voice knowing the sandlot boys will hear him across the dugout. Of course he needs to rub it in, sometimes i think he’s a better actor than he is a baseball player.

As my team saunters off, I listen in on the grumbles from Benny’s team.

“Damn tigers…” ham mumbles, glaring at the ground. 

“Yeah yeah- we had ‘em in the first half too. Like, what the hell?”

With all the mumbling, Benny shakes his head with a glare. I can tell by the clench of his fist he’s frustrated, he turns around to his friends.

“Just shut up about it guys- we lost, it’s whatever.” His voice contradicts him easily, but it quiets his friends grumbling a fair amount. He spins back around, about to match off to their dugout, and last second my mouth opens.

“Wait!”

They all turn around, faces still dark as ever when they see me approaching them, trying to catch up with a light jog. I don’t know why I’m doing this, I’ve never been much more than acquaintances with them, but it’s obvious they’re better friends than my team will ever get to be. Maybe that’s what motivates me to continue.

“Hold on, it’s,” I pause, breathing out and coming to a stop right in front of them, “hold on.”

“What do you want?” Squints obnoxiously adjusts his glasses at me. The only ones not glaring me down seem to be Smalls and the twins. Though, when i catch Benny’s eyes again there isn’t any anger directed at me behind his gaze. 

“I,” I glance behind me, my team is gone, and I turn back with a hesitant look, “you didn’t lose.”

This seems to confuse them, Bertram scoffs.

“Right, funny.” He says bitterly.

“Yeah yeah, hilarious.” Yeah yeah pipes up, but Squints holds up a finger to both of them, staring at me with vague interest.

Benny is lost, closing his eyes in thought. 

“What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t technically lose,” I rephrase, “not legally, I mean.”

When they’re about to question me further, I look down at my hand and squeeze my fingers, the rosin sticking to my skin. They catch on quickly, by the time I look back up squints has already marched over to me.

“What’s this?” He questions, grabbing my hand and examining the skin. I awkwardly watch on as he recognizes the sticky shit on my hand, glaring at me in disbelief. Spinning around to the others, he grabs my wrist.

“They used sticky rosin!” He exclaims, holding up my hand for the others like a clue. His friend’s eyes widen, and I take my hand back to quickly explain.

“They cheated?” Smalls let the question sit in the air, because no one really answered him.

“It was Phillips’ idea,” none of them are surprised, as Benny mutters with rolling eyes, “he got pressed when you started winning, he’d kept some in his bag.” 

Groans rumble from the group, I notice as Benny pulls off his hat once more, leaving his sweaty hair to the breeze. 

“I mean- are we surprised?” His voice is thick in sarcasm, standing out over the grumbles from Ham and Yeah Yeah.

“No- of course that blonde Bambi would cheat, pussy move.” Bertram curses, and despite their glares I feel a grin form at the words “blonde Bambi.”

“Sorry- I should’ve told him to quit, but…”

The hot sun is baking my skin, the baseball cap sitting on my head only giving so much. 

“So why didn’t you?” Ham quips- I almost bite my tongue, but Benny whacks him with his hat. 

“Shut up,” he clicks his tongue, before his gaze returns to me, and I’m not really sure what to do with it. “Thanks for uh- for telling us.” He gives the slightest hint at a smile, his teeth sticking through his lips. I smile back at him, the guilt from before falling further into the back of my mind. 

“Yeah- I mean,” I dip my head, “you guys were having a lot more fun out there than I’ve had in a minute.”

Smalls furrows his eyebrows. “Then you should play with us!”

Everyone turns to look at him.

I’m surprised by his offer, though not at the many, many quips thrown his way afterwards. I’ve never thought about it, never having been invited before, but now that the idea is fresh in front of me I consider it.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Benny jumps in- and that’s what really surprises me. 

“For real?” I ask, and Benny steps forward, blocking off the rest of the boys from giving their loud input. Face to face, I finally notice more of his grin. 

“Yeah- might be fun, plus, would drive Phillips crazy.” 

I grin. 

He holds out a hand to me, and I have to remember to switch to the not sticky one to return the gesture.

“We’ll play tomorrow- the sandlot at noon. If you’re in, join us.”

His hold is firm, yet his hands are softer than I think I expected.  Despite the blisters that cross his palm, his touch is warm. I look up at him through the shade of my hat. For a second, he looks hopeful. And after a moment of thinking, pushing away the migraine for Phillips to face the second he finds out, I nod.

“I’ll be there.”

He’s the last the leave as the others walk away, Smalls walking by his side at the back of the group as Benny throws me one last shiny grin.

Not as uninteresting as I thought it would be anymore- I walk home with the Tiger’s jersey now in lost value on my shoulders. 

[juuuulez]

📰 | part seven: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour! Reader, father figure Negan my love, enemies to lovers/slow burn, kinda angst but not emotionally yet, graphic violence, attempted sexual assault, um this got kinda dark, also long.

summary: Once again, you are tasked with babysitting Carl, this time leaving Alexandria to find supplies. An unsuspecting attacker causes a rift in your feud.

eesh this is intense but also very succulent to write i LOVE LOVE LOVE some action!

also thank you all for 150+ followers!!! pls continue to send ideas to my inbox i’m absolutely eating it up <3

You’re really starting to get sick of this heat.

It’s sweltering, sticking your clothes to your skin, sweat patches running down your back and dampening the white tank you usually wear.

In favour of not being bitten, you wore the typical black jeans, which are doing absolutely nothing to combat against the unbearable heat.

Unfortunately enough, there isn’t any air conditioning in the Sanctuary, so you’d agreed to return once more to Alexandria with your father.

It had been a few days since your last impromptu visit, a week, actually. Though you’d previously been frazzled, irritated, you took the time to cool off and work through some pretty ugly emotions back at home.

Now, it was down to business, which meant giving strict orders to Saviours on where to check, what to take. Making sure everybody wrote things down, followed their routine.

“Woah, woah, woah! What do we have here?”

Your head snaps in the direction of Negan’s voice, who is standing at the gates, leaning against an old, beaten down car with the engine on. As you approach, the familiar outline of a sheriff’s hat comes into view through the rear window, and you almost want to turn away and forget you even saw anything.

“Now, I sure as shit hope you weren’t planning on leaving unsupervised.” Negan jousts at the teenage boy, still leaning against the passenger side.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where this is leading, and you shoot your father a tired little glare. “Can’t Dwight do it? Or, I dunno, anyone but me?” You plead, not exactly in the mood to be in a confined space with Carl once more.

For all you knew, he might swerve off the road to try and kill you.

Negan doesn’t let this slide, “Nope! You’re an excellent babysitter, doll. Best girl for the job.”

You bite your tongue against any sort of protest, still having not revealed the true extent of your last encounter with Carl. It would only cause unnecessary stress, you deducted.

At the beginning of this whole apocalypse, Negan had been cagey about letting you do just about anything. It only took a one bad incident to turn on his protective mode, and you felt like maintaining your freedom for a little longer.

“Fine.” You sigh, but instead of climbing into the passenger side, you skirt to the other end of the car. “Out, now. Leave the keys.”

Carl glares at you with an open mouth, clearly displeased about not only having his trip hijacked, but now being ordered around. “I can drive.”

“Don’t care. I’m not gonna risk you goin’ AWOL.” You tell him, unfortunately deadly serious, much to the boys’ dismay.

With an angry scoff, Carl departs from the drivers side, instead getting into the passenger chair. You sit down, leaning over to adjust the seat in order to ensure your feet would reach the peddles.

With Negan gone, having departed to keep a keen eye on the Saviours, you reach into your belt and pull a small handgun from the holster. This catches Carl’s attention, as he’s never seen you carry a gun before.

You hand it to him.

“One bullet,” You instruct, tone more serious than he’s ever heard from you. “Don’t fuck this up. It’s emergencies only. You’re lucky I don’t just let you die out there.”

He accepts it wordlessly, not wanting to push that very thin boundary.

The sweltering heat is worse in the car, harsh metal keeping the thick air inside, and you doubt it had any working cooling system.

Luckily, this proved to be less of a problem as you begin driving, the air whipping past your faces and offering a slight relief.

Carl gave you directions, but after the third instruction, you were beginning to get a little fed up.

“Why don’t you draw me a map?” You suggest, one hand on the wheel while the other brazenly fishes around in your back pocket, managing to pull out a small notepad. “Then I don’t need to listen to your voice.”

“What, like you can read?” Carl comments, a snide remark that contrasts the fact that he does take the notepad, flicking through pages in order to find an empty one.

His eyes are drawn to the little graphite sketches that adorn the pages, his thumb tempted to swipe the paper back and have a peek, but he resists.

A few moments later, and Carl hands the notepad back to you, which you hold in front of the wheel in order to get a good look. Your brows furrow, finger tapping against a strange looking blob.

“What’s this?”

Carl leans closer, brows pinched as he looks at the drawing. “A tree.” He says, as if it were obvious, despite the artwork being significantly less than professional.

“Okay?” You take your eyes off the road, giving the boy a confused, critical gaze. This only feeds into his temper, where Carl suddenly takes the notepad from your hands, drawing a few more scribbled lines on the so-called ‘leaves’ of his tree.

“So you know where to turn,” He specifies, like this would solve all of your problems, “At the end of the road. There’s a tree.”

You struggle to find your words for a moment, unsure how the simple action of drawing a map has just made this more confusing. “There are trees everywhere, dumbass. That isn’t helpful.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s a big tree,” Carl scoffs, throwing the notepad back onto the dash, opened so you can see it. “This wouldn’t be happening if you just let me drive.”

“Oh! Okay,” You turn to him, “I would have let you drive, had you not tried to shoot me. So, fairs fair, asshole. This is your fault.”

“I said I was sorry!” Carl retorts loudly, uncaring of how you’re no longer looking at the road, or about how fast the car is travelling.

You roll your eyes, “That doesn’t count. Murders don’t get let off scot-free just because they said two puny words.”

“That’s barely comparable!” He continues to push the conversation, all that pent up anger and frustration towards your adamancy against him starting to bubble up. “It’s not my fault that you’re, like, deranged or something.”

That was it.

You slam your foot on the breaks, sending the car skidding a few dangerous meters ahead. In that time, you brace yourself against the steering wheel, but Carl jolts uncomfortably against the seatbelt.

“What the fuck—”

“Get out.”

He looks at you like you’re actually insane, trying to decipher whether or not you’re being serious. But you only stare at him, glaring actually, jaw clenched in irritation.

“Get out!” You tell once more, needing Carl to get the message that you simply can’t be around him anymore. Not with all the arguing and bickering, it was getting on your last nerve, and you just needed some space to breathe.

With a huff, Carl obeys, but not without slamming the door shut. You run a hand raggedly through your hair, starting the car up once more and placing your foot on the accelerator.

“Fuck you!” Carl yells as you drive off, giving you the finger in hopes that you’ll see it in the rear view mirror. You probably didn’t, but it makes him feel a little better anyway, like he got the final word in.

But as the car disappears against the horizon, he’s left there, on the dusty road in that horrible summer heat. Sweat already sits on his nape, making his shirt uncomfortably sticky, and now he’s tasked with walking the rest of the way.

All because of your tantrum.

With the advantage, you make it to the abandoned gas station in record time. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far from where you’d ditched Carl, so you knew that he would be fine walking. You weren’t that cruel.

It’s relatively run-down, and you can only spot a few walkers mingling near the store’s back end. You keep your bat held tight, stalking through broken glass and tipped shelves to find anything of use. Whilst you don’t know what Carl had in mind for this trip, you could make a few assumptions, and managed to collect a small pile of minimal medical equipment, snacks, and even some baby food.

It was peaceful, actually.

Maybe a little too peaceful.

Slinging the bag of supplies over your shoulder, you approached the car once more, intending to drive the way back and pick Carl up along the way. He shouldn’t be too far off, at this point. You lean over, starting the ignition and popping the boot open, letting the supplies rest there.

But as you circle around, something catches your eye. A shiny glint on the ground. You poke it with your boot, only to realise that it appears to be a small razor blade.

Dread floods your system, and as you bend down to inspect the peculiar object, it hits you.

The tires, each one of them, have gone flat. Air completely let out, slashed. Unusable.

No escape.

You clench your jaw, rising to your feet once more, the metal bat still in hand. Someone was here. With what intentions, you didn’t know, but you could assume it wasn’t good.

Cautiously, you take a few steps backwards, towards the gas station. You watch the open space ahead of you, eyes steady on the treeline, inspecting for the most minute of movements that could betray the whereabouts of this potential attacker.

Except it doesn’t come from behind.

One steady thunk and your head is colliding with the concrete wall, to which the shock causes you to drop the baseball bat, one hand clasping the wall and the other digging your nails into the wrist of your attacker.

A firm hand has collected your hair, gripping onto your ponytail, fingers pressed into your scalp. You fight and squirm, but the body of a much larger man presses behind you.

With your stuff in the car, you can only imagine what he might want.

Despite this, you don’t scream, teeth clenched as you struggle to evade his grip. A harsh stomp to his foot assists your escape, where you’re able to land one solid punch square to the man’s jaw, before his leg swipes your balance out, sending you crashing to the concrete.

You almost twist onto your stomach, but the attacker is too quick, once again fisting your ponytail and slamming your face into the ground. One, two, three and you finally stop struggling as vigorously, blood and mucous caked all over your face, mixing in with chipped cement and dirt from the floor.

But the baseball bat is so, so close.

There’s one hand still in your hair, another on your back. Now waist, then stomach. Gross, burly fingers circling the button of your jeans.

A singular moment of weakness is all you need, where he’ll let his guard down, and you can leap for the bat.

Unfortunately, you know what form this weakness comes in.

You’re panting like a wild animal, trying not to squirm, carefully calculating your next move until suddenly there’s a loud pop then whistle that whirs past your ears, the sound almost making you flinch, before the weight of your attacker slumps against your body.

Crimson blood drips down onto your shoulder, coating your neck and back, the cold shock helping you regain enough consciousnesses to shuck the dead body from your smaller frame, scurrying out from underneath him.

The pavement is searing hot against your palms, you can even feel the burn through the thick material of your jeans. As you sit up on your haunches, looking around, you spot him.

Carl, crouched behind a few bushes, tentatively lowering the handgun.

One bullet.

As he begins to approach, you wipe some of the blood onto your arm, smearing the disgusting gunk further around your skin, which is still persistently dripping from your nose and mouth.

Gravel has surely made its way into the open wounds, but you do nothing about it. Not now, at least.

Carl approaches you slowly, putting the handgun back into his holster, and that genuine look of concern on his face makes you feel sick.

When he gets close enough, arms reach, you bristle and firmly shove him away, sending him stumbling a few steps backwards.

“The fuck did I say?!” You yell at him, directing all your rage and anger towards the corpse lying at your feet, back at Carl. “Emergencies only. What happens now, huh? I don’t have another bullet!”

He looks completely shell shocked by your outburst, not having accounted for such a reaction. But it doesn’t matter, as you’re still shouting, even as he stands there dumbly and watches.

“I had that under control!” You grunt, once again wiping at you nose, which runs with a mix of snot and blood.

When you garner no reaction from Carl, this frustration only continues to fester. You lean down to the ground, swiping up the baseball bat and clenching it hard in your palms.

You approach the body once more, and with one hefty swing, completely obliterate the man’s skull. Later, you would claim this was being proactive against potential walkers, but in the moment in was nothing more than revenge.

When you’ve entirely crushed the skull, you move on to the neck, spine, arms, torso. Anything. There comes a point where you’re no longer hitting to destroy any evidence of what happened, but hitting simply to feel some semblance of control. Blood spurts onto your jeans, some even reaching your tank, a darker colour that contrasts with the bright red of your own.

“Hey, hey. Cool it.” Carl is saying from behind you, and when you show no acknowledgment of his words, he reaches out to place a hand on your shoulder.

You shrug it off, but otherwise drop the bat, letting it clang harshly against the concrete, rolling a few feet away and leaving a gorey trail.

At this point, you try to clear your head, take stock of the situation. The tires are slashed, deeming the car useless. It was beginning to enter late afternoon, and though the days were hot, the nights were freezing. Not only that, but all this shouting has likely attracted whatever walkers you’d hoped to leave unsuspecting.

Finally, you spare a glance back at Carl, who’s been watching you this whole time. It looks like he’s on edge, waiting, ready for whatever you’re about to do, however irrational. A few specks of blood have made its way onto the sleeves of his flannel, where you realise how close Carl has been standing to you, even during the little outburst.

“Fine,” You mumble, answering his unspoken question. “No point heading back. Best push the car into some shade, camp out there for the night.”

Carl takes this as permission to contribute, though he still speaks to you with a level of cation. Mentally, you accept this as fear, but you know very well it’s actually concern. “I know the area pretty well. There’s a cabin not too far off, it was clean last time I checked.”

It’s reasonable, even if the idea of following Carl into the woods makes goosebumps rise on your skin. You’d rather not, especially now that he’d used the sole bullet, which you had none of on hand.

You chew on your busted bottom lip, nodding, accepting this makeshift plan. “Yeah, okay.” You sigh, almost sounding defeated, but nonetheless you pick the bat off the ground and stride back away from the gas station, not bothering to consult Carl any longer.

This was going to be a long night.

[laura1633]

For the drabble... maybe alpha Max coming home to omega Charles, who has just gone into heat 🥺

Hi anon,

Thank you for the drabble suggestion <3 , I've written a quick 500 word drabble (18+ content) below.

Normally when Charles goes into heat Max can’t wait to bury himself between the omega’s thighs and lap up every last little drop of slick, tongue broad and flat as he licks up and down the omega’s pussy until his jaw aches and his lips and nose are all shiny and wet. 

Today he manages to exercise a modicum of self control as he hangs back in the bedroom doorway and admires the sight that greets him. 

Charles is naked and face down against the bed, his body sweat soaked as he writhes, or more accurately humps at a pillow propped beneath his hips. Max isn’t quite sure how much Charles is really getting out of the movement. There may be some friction from the pillow against the omega’s clit as he rubs his pussy against it.  It doesn’t seem to be anywhere near enough to get him off though, not if the disgruntled little sounds are anything to go by. It’s hot to watch though, also kind of cute. Max smiles to himself as he enjoys the sight of his pretty little omega mindlessly thrusting. 

“Baby?” Max coos and instantly receives a desperate whine in return, “Baby, Do you need some help?”

Charles whimpers and when he looks back over his shoulder, its clear he has been at this for some time, his face is bright pink and his eyes wet with tears of frustration, “Didn’t want to start -, without you -“ 

“It’s okay sweetie, I’m here now,” Max throws off his shirt and steps out of his jeans as he makes his way over. As the alpha climbs on to the bed, Charles buries his head back into the mattress and arches his body, presenting himself for his alpha. 

“You are so wet,” Max hums as he pushes the tips of two fingers inside the omega and smiles at the near animalistic sound Charles makes in response, “What do you need?”

“You,” Charles mewls and wiggles his hips around trying to get Max to move as the alpha pushes the head of his cock against the omega’s pussy. 

“Do you deserve me though?” Max bites at his lip, his whole body vibrating as he tries to hold himself back from thrusting straight in. 

“Yes,” Charles whimpers. The omega still has his head buried against the bed but Max can just imagine the little indignant pout on his face. He really does deserve to be taken care of though. He always deserves to be taken care of. It’s why Max loves Charles’ heats, loves being able to please his omega. 

As Max runs his hand over the curve of Charles’ ass he realises how warm the omega is to the touch. He might normally tease a little longer but Charles has clearly been waiting some time already so without any further warning Max shoves in roughly and revels in the moan of relief and pleasure Charles lets out at finally having his alpha inside of him.

[2knightt]

can you please do dally and johnny hc's (seperate) of them dating a whimsigothic girl? ty!

↳nobody else matters, girl.₊˚✧

➬ J.C, D.C x whimsigothic!reader

a/n; i didn’t know what the whimsigothic shit was until i looked it up and i lowkey fell inlove. ALSO IM SO SORRY THAT IT’S SHORT I DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO WRITE LMFAO

Johnny Cade ;

HE THINKS YOU’RE SO COOL??

if you ask him what to wear to an outing and you show him several different velvety dresses, he will explode.

“or this one? i think i like this one best..what d’ya think, johnny?”

“uh…”

“johnny?”

“what? oh! i like this one.”

he ADORES the velvety clothing you wear, especially if it’s a darker colour of one of his favourite colours.

he’s legit so inlove with your style.

if you’re witchy and collect rocks/crystals, tell him everything.

“what’s this one? it’s real pretty.”

“oh! that’s amethyst, it’s a calming, soothing crystal. take it!”

treasures it forever.

if anyone says your weird because of your style, he is ONTO THEM.

“can you believe what she’s wearing? like…this isn’t the 1800’s.”

“hop off her back, miss. you’re acting like your above her when you got jumped by a few 5th graders two weeks ago. quit it before i get a few..actual adults…on ya.”

he’s obsessed when you layer different clothing??

he thinks you’re a fashion GENIUS bro.

sometimes goes to you to ask what looks good and what doesn’t and how he can make his clothes look ‘different.’

“well for starters, take off the jean jacket. you wear it everyday, plus it’s summer! spice it up a bit, johnny.”

“it’s the prime thing of my look though…makes me look tuff..”

“makes you look like a bum too.”

tough, but he needed to hear it.

but overall, he’s OBSESSED period. nobody can change his mind, he thinks you’re the coolest girl EVER.

Dallas Winston ;

he probably talked to you just because of your style.

you stick out among crowds, especially since it’s the ‘60s.

i believe that dallas winston likes different, so that’s why he likes you so much.

when you wear a dress, it’s no joke, his favourite thing.

“i just bought this one, do ya like it?”

“i love it, y/n.”

will punch anyone who makes fun of you.

he can and he WILL.

“you let her walk out of the house like that?”

BAM! knocked out cold.

loves anything with lace.

it drives him MAD.

idk what it is with dallas and lace stuff but i feel like he loves it so much.

loves darker colours on you, even if your more of a lighter colour gal, he will be drooling if you wear dark colours.

doesn’t understand layering.

he cannot understand why you’d put this sweater jacket thing on top of an already pretty dress.

“..why?”

“why not? it looks cute like this.”

“it’s hot as hell outside and you wanna sweat more?”

“being pretty comes with it’s downsides, dal.”

may 24th, 2023. 4:05pm

[inkdrinkerworld]

Hello my love <3 I had an idea so I thought I’d request it! Bradley Bradshaw being so in love with you but cannot for the life of him talk to you normally. He’s a stuttering blushing mess. He finally convinced himself to ask you out but reader thinks he’s sick with a fever or something. He just goes with it and adventually spits it out that he wants to take you on a date (im sorry if this doesn’t make a lot of sense i don’t request very often and it’s hard to get my thoughts out clearly 😅) Xx

my lucky

cw: bradley is a bit shy, reader teases him, hangman being hangman, a supportive dagger squad, fluff

wc: 1.3k

Bradley is anything but subtle. The entire Hard Deck can see his desperate adoration for you, especially the Dagger Squad.

The only problem, when Bradley saw you twirling around the Hard Deck with drinks in your hand, and moving between tables with the breeze under your skirt and a little sheen of sweat on your skin he lost all ability to speak.

He wasn’t quite sure how it was that you made him so speechless, but he could never get out more than a, “Hey could I get six beers, Lucky?”

Phoenix, Jake and Bob had bets on how long it would take Bradley to introduce himself to you and so far, Jake and Bob were still in the range of their bets.

Tonight, the Hard Deck is full of some newer pilots and to say the least, you’re over them.

You’ll be the first to admit that there’s an unnatural appeal to men in their dress whites, but this group of pilots seem different.

You’re not in your typical outfit today- instead you’ve opted for a crocheted top on the balmy night, and a pair of jean shorts that you’ve embroidered with little beakers filled with red and pink hearts along the pockets and hem.

When you step behind the bar Penny whistles at you and smacks your ass making you laugh.

“You tryna catch the attention of a pilot tonight Lucky?”

You’re not entirely sure why she’s given you that nickname, but you love it.

“None of the newer ones, that’s for sure.” you say and she laughs.

Penny isn’t too fond of the newer pilots either, they’re rowdy, rude and just so full of themselves that they all rival Hangman.

You’re wiping glasses when the doors open, Maverick comes in and Penny blushes as he blows her a kiss making you roll your eyes.

They’re so in love it’s sickening in a good way.

Behind him is Jake, Phoenix, Bob and Coyote.

You’ve taken a liking to Phoenix and Bob, but the one you’ve really got your eye on is Bradley and recently he hasn’t been in as much.

You’re not sure why, but something about the way he can’t stop tripping over his words or looking down at his hands when he orders his drinks is endearing.

And it also helps that he’s always made you feel like a person and not a piece of meat.

“God damn sugar, you might be all I need tonight!” Jake shouts as he comes to the bar and you shake your head.

“Do you always try to sleep with pretty girls Jake?” you don’t ever really call them by their call signs; in your head that’s an extension of their work and they come to the Hard Deck to get away from that.

“Only the prettiest sugar,” he winks and Coyote pushes his shoulder.

“Leave the girl alone Bagman, you want Rooster to kick your ass?”

Bob shakes his as you set the beers down on the counter.

You gaze up at Phoenix who just shakes her head and mutters, ‘Coyote’s just being a dick.’

“How is he by the way? I heard Pen saying that he wasn’t too hot last time you guys were flying.”

Jake grins in his little impish way and it makes you nervous.

“You worried ‘bout the chicken sugar?”

“Jake,” you say and he puts his hands up. “He’s just not been coming in with you guys for a while.”

“You been looking out for him?” Jake pouts dramatically but before he can answer, the doors push open with a rush and in come the new flyers and you groan.

“Great, mini Hangman’s.” you mumble making everyone laugh besides Jake.

He mutters softly, “Ain’t nothing mini about me sugar.”

But your attention is stolen by Bradley who comes in dressed in his Hawaiian shirt and a pair of cargo pants and boots looking hotter than hell.

Maverick and Penny share a secret smile and Bob looks between you and Bradley and says to Phoenix, “Maybe I’ll actually win the bet.”

The disperse before Bradley makes his way to bar and when he stops you notice a harsh blush to his cheeks.

“Hey Bradley,” you say casually, trying to calm your racing heart. He smells heavily of eucalyptus and lavender and the scent reminds you of the ocean early in the morning.

“H-Hey,” he stammers and you give him a gentle smile. “Could I get a beer?”

You nod and as you bend to get the beer you hear him muttering to himself.

It’s too soft to make out but Bradley’s trying to hype himself up to asking you out.

He needs to get it done before he loses his edge, he’s only stammered once so far.

“Here you go,” you slide the bottle into his hand and hazard the comment, “You’ve been pretty mia ‘round here Bradshaw.”

It’s playful enough that Bradley’s stance softens and he gives an almost guilty smile.

“Yeah, I have,” he takes a swig of the beer. “Did you miss me?”

It’s your turn to smile and when you give him a nod, Bradley has all the courage to blurt,

“Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Bradley freaking Bradshaw just asked you on a date and your mouth has never felt drier but you’ve also never wanted to say yes more in your life.

But you also know pilots and you don’t want this to be just some little ‘date’ that ends with you just sleeping together.

You want something more with Bradley.

“A date with me Bradshaw?” you ask and he nods, eyes wide with panic.

He really hopes you don’t shut him down and report him to Penny.

You reach for his beer, Bradley’s eyes track your every move.

“What if you just wanna have sex?”

His eyes go even wider and you feel bad for dragging his chain.

He swallows just as you drain his beer.

“N-no! I wanna take you out on a date. Maybe to that music festival that’s coming up, I know your favourite artist is gonna perform and I was thinking maybe we could go,” he takes a breath, “together.”

His cheeks are rosy and you set the bottle back on the counter and smile.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous Bradley,” he goes a deeper red and you giggle. “I’d love to go out with you.” you say finally and he lets out a deep breath.

“You won’t regret it,” he leans into your space a little, “I promise you a great time.” His lips smack to your cheek and you gasp. A dimple pops in his cheek at the sound and you narrow your eyes.

“Is the shy Bradley a front?”

He shakes his head, “No, you still make me nervous, but now I’ve got a foot in the game so I’m a little less nervous.”

You laugh when Jake swears across the bar and hollers, “You couldn’t wait a fucking week Bradshaw? A week?”

Bob takes the money that Jake has in his open palm and Bradley turns to flip them both off.

“Be ready, Friday at eleven. The festival starts at 6 so we’re going for brunch.” He begins to walk over to his friends, when you call,

“Where are you picking me up, Big shot?”

He jogs back towards you with a bashful smile and offers his phone for your number.

Coyote yells out, “Damn! We could’ve had a shot if you didn’t say nothing sugar!”

“They don’t have a shot,” you whisper to Bradley who smiles. “You’ve got the best odds.”

He walks over to them with an extra pep in his step and smiles when you text him and see you’ve saved yourself as, ‘lucky,’ he sneakily adds ‘my’ in front of it and pockets his phone after responding.

[runninriot]

Inspired by the prompt Love is just a four-letter word by @sal-si-puedes for @steddielovemonth day 27

 the definition of love

wc: 944 | rated: t | tags: Established Relationship, Sappy Steddie, Dustin and Eddie friendship, Dustin and Steve friendship, Dustin is going through a bit of heartbreak

   “This is so stupid! What even is love?”

It’s not a question Eddie thought he’d ever get asked by Dustin. But he gets it, knows how much it hurts to have your heart broken for the very first time. Especially as a teenager, when it feels like it’s literally the end of the world.

Eddie thinks about it, let’s the question sink in.

    What is love?

Well, technically speaking, love is just a four-letter word. But it’s also so much more than that.

Love is a variety of expressions and emotions. Love is big gestures and little things that go unnoticed in the day to day life.

To Eddie, it’s the fear of losing Steve. It’s saying ‘Drive safe’ like a little prayer every day when Steve leaves for work in the mornings because Eddie couldn’t bear if anything ever happened to him.

Love is adoration, telling Steve ‘You look so hot in those jeans’ or ‘My pretty boy’ just to see him blush, just to let him know how beautiful he is.

Love is pride. To be rightfully self-appreciating of the things they’ve accomplished as a couple – overcoming insecurities, sticking together even through tough times, making plans for a future together.

Love is never wanting to be apart from Steve.

Love is a three-word sentence, a confession of the heart Eddie makes every night before they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Sometimes it’s saying ‘I’m sorry’ after a fight. It’s saying ‘I cooked your favourite meal’ or ‘Let’s watch that movie you like’.

Love is saying ‘Thank you’ and ‘Pleaaase, baby’.

Other times it’s not saying anything at all, when Eddie just lets his lips pour all his feelings into a kiss or when he lets his fingers worship Steve’s body, caressing each scar, each blemish, every perfect imperfection that makes him unique.

It’s the flittering butterfly wings he feels in his stomach when Steve smiles at him and the prickling on his skin he feels whenever they touch.

Love is holding each other. Having your favourite person’s arms wrapped around you for comfort, when you’re cold, or just for the sake being close.

Sometimes, love isn’t gentle. It’s rough and wild. Sometimes it hurts, runs through your veins like a raging fire, smouldering in your soul.

It’s passion and longing.

Love is taking each other apart, becoming one in heated moments. It’s the urge to bite and suck and lick, to savour the taste of sweat drenched skin and spit slick holes.

It’s the rhythm of their bodies moving in sync, grinding, and gliding, and sinking in.

It’s falling together and landing on clouds.

Love is the delightful sound Steve makes when he laughs loudly at one of Eddie’s stupid jokes and the soft, whispered words they share in the dark of the night.

It’s a melody Eddie absently plays on his guitar while his mind is filled with thoughts about Steve.

Love is a four-letter word but sometimes it’s five – because it’s Liebe in German, and Amour in French, and to Eddie it’s Steve.

Love is everything, and if it’s true then it’s forever.

Love is what makes Eddie’s life complete.

   “You’ll know once you find it,” Eddie finally says, placing a comforting arm on Dustin’s shoulders to pull him into a brotherly hug.

It might not be the most satisfying answer but it’s the best he can give. And he knows one day Dustin will understand, when he finds the person holding the other half to his heart in their chest.

Eddie never expected to find his other half in Steve of all people but now that he knows what it’s like to love him and to be loved by him, he never wants to be without again.

   “You just gotta be patient,” he adds, can see Dustin rolling his eyes without seeing his face, huffing and sniffling into his shirt.

There’s a gentle knock and when he looks up, Eddie finds Steve’s worried face peeking through the half-open door.

    ‘Is everything okay?’ Steve mouths, pointing at Dustin who still hasn’t let go of Eddie.

Eddie smiles and nods at his boyfriend, forming a silent ‘I love you’ with his lips, just because.

Steve turns around and tries to make his way back into the hallway.

   “I know you’re there, Steve. Just get your ass in here,” Dustin mumbles into Eddie’s embrace, waving a hand in the general direction of Steve.

He only looks up once he can feel Steve’s hand on his back.

   “Suzie broke up with me.”

   “I’m sorry, buddy. That sucks.”

Dustin wipes his eyes with his sleeve, shrugs his shoulders, and sighs defeated.

   “Love is bullshit.”

Steve and Eddie share a look, soft and doting.

   “Yeah it is,” Steve smiles, “but it’s also the best goddamn thing in the world.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, takes Steve’s hand in his and kisses the back of it.

   “Ugh, you guys are the worst. I knew I should’ve gone to Robin instead. At least she knows what it’s like to be hopeless.”

With that being said, Dustin makes his way out of the room, ready to wallow alone in his heartbreak.

But before he exists through the door, he turns around one more time, finds Steve and Eddie still holding hands, looking at each other in a way that makes him want to barf and melt at the same time.

Because no matter how much he hates to admit – whatever they have, theirs is the true definition of love.

Maybe, Dustin thinks, feels something like hope blooming in his chest despite the lingering sadness, one day, I’ll find something just as perfect and wonderful.