#babylove speaks

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Delighted to announce that my story has officially reached novella length! I truly didn't think it would get this far, and didn't think I would be able to stick with it to get it this long. According to Wikipedia, a novella is 17,500-40,000 words, and I'm currently at 17,714. And I'm going to keep writing for awhile tonight. I'm just super proud of this

[phantom-curve]

today sucks but at least there is s&b season 2

[inkdrinkerworld]

Remus doesn't love when you get sick, he hates seeing you with a red raw nose and a fever but he loves how you act when you're under the weather.

You're usually his independent girlfriend when you're fully healthy, but the minute you're even a bit sniffly, you can't lift a finger for yourself and he loves that he can take care of you.

"Remmy," you whine, shoving your face into his chest as he helps you sit up in bed. You'd be wrecked with a fever over the night and Remus had been a diligent doctor and placed a cool rag on your chest and back and had you bundled up all night.

This little routine had gone on all morning when he realised that the fever never broke fully.

"My love," he responds, smiling when you lift your head with a shy smile. "What can I do for you?" He pulls the rag from behind you, feeling the back of your neck and finding the fever reduced but not gone.

"I just want a cuddle and a kiss." Remus pouts, smearing a kiss to your forehead, cheek and then your lips and pulls you a little closer to him and squeezes you tight.

Remus smiles over your head, especially when you nuzzle closer to his neck and shift your body to his lap. "Better?" he asks, amusement colouring his tone as he moves his hands around you to hold you better.

"A little," you're too nasal for your liking. You hate being ill. You hate it more than anything in the world, but your job gets you sick every term. "Do we have vegetable soup?"

Remus hums, "I can make you some. With beef stock?"

You perk a little, leaning back to look at him with your bleary eyes. "And lots of egg noodles."

Remus nods, "But you have to take all your medicine." That deflates you instantly and he chuckles at the way you grimace. "Baby, you have to."

"But I don't want the syrup." You sound petulant and whiny but you lean even more into Remus, like you can hide away yourself in him and it makes his heart stampede in his chest.

"I won't give you the syrup, babylove." he pushes back your sweaty hair and kisses your forehead, frowning when he feels your fever again. "However," and at that you whine again, holding onto his neck as if it would save you from whatever heartbreaking news Remus was about to tell you.

"Rem," you cut him off and he shakes his head, only a little stern as he speaks again.

"You'll have to take something for your fever and they won't be the gummies you like. They'll more likely be tablets."

You sniffle wetly, congested making you sound worse as you speak. "Just two?"

Remus nods and pulls you from his neck, wiping the tears that tumble down your cheeks. "Just two. Give me thirty minutes to get everything together and we can have a cwtch and watch a show while you eat."

You nod, kissing Remus' wrist as you climb out of his lap and lay on the bed. He tucks you in and sets a cool rag on your chest just before he leaves and heads to the kitchen.

[lexirosewrites]

Steddie as rival lawyers who have very different careers.

Steve became a prosecuting attorney after graduating from a top school at his parents’ insistence. It pays well and makes them happy, even if it’s joyless for him to fight for things he doesn’t believe in.

Prosecuting innocent people and fighting for the sake of money without morals.

On the other end of the spectrum is free-spirited Eddie Munson. He’s a defense attorney who shows up in ill-fitting suits that show off his many neck and hand tattoos. Piercings in his ears and hair that’s not tidy or tamed in any way.

He’s a rebel who barely graduated from some lower tier law school with no prestige whatsoever.

Steve naturally assumed their first trial would be a breeze.

But somehow— sheer dumb luck, bad jury selection, or just stupid fate— Eddie wins. And he keeps winning.

Over and over for months.

Steve’s long uninterrupted winning streak becomes a losing one. If Eddie’s in the courtroom too, Steve knows he’s already lost his case.

It’s humbling.

Actually, it’s frankly embarrassing to lose to someone who’s so unprofessional and doesn’t take the law seriously like Steve.

Eddie is respectful of course, but he doesn’t use lawyer-speak unless he’s referencing a precedent of a law. Other than that, he’s overly casual and friendly. Everyone’s favorite lawyer.

He doesn’t lack passion though. No, the guy all but hops up on tables to make speeches about freedom or the American dream during every trial. Utterly ridiculous.

It works though. The juries fall for his bullshit about being down to earth and his clients walk free because of it.

Steve can’t stand it. He can’t stand Eddie and his mockery of his career.

This ultimately culminates in a confrontation in the parking lot one night after a particularly tense trial conclusion.

Once again, Eddie’s guy walked free and Steve knows he’s gonna hear about it from his boss (who also happens to be his dad).

So he might snap a bit when Eddie comes out whistling and looking happier than anything.

“Hey, jackass!”

Eddie looks around like Steve might be referring to some other jackass, despite the otherwise empty parking lot.

He points to himself in question and Steve rolls his eyes in answer.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Eddie finally greets him with a smirk. “Chinese takeout for tonight sound good?”

Steve’s stomach growls at the mere suggestion.

He’d accidentally skipped lunch earlier so he could make changes to his closing argument. Fat load of good that did him.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You’re not off the hook that easily though. What the hell was that brutal cross examination on my witness, you dickhead?”

Eddie smiles extra sweetly and presses a quick but affectionate kiss to Steve’s forehead first.

“All’s fair in love, war, and court, baby. You can whine about it later when we’re home if you really want to. I happen to know some very nice pillows that would love to muffle your pretty little moans.”

Asshole.

He blushes, glancing around to make sure they’re still alone before he pulls Eddie into an embrace.

They’ve barely spent any time together this week because of the tense trial and he really missed his boyfriend (not to be mistaken for the jackass who argues with him daily in the courtroom).

As much as they can separate their personal and work lives, it’s hard to not be on the same side of things.

“What if I want you to hear me moan, Eddie? I think it’s only fair since you seem to get everyone else off and I’m the one always suffering for it,” he mumbles snarkily into Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie laughs at the pun. He knew that he would.

“Is that why you’re sulking, babylove? You want me to get you off too?” He nods with a pathetic whine. Not getting to cum for a few days can do that to a person. “I think that can be arranged. You’ve been such a good boy for me lately. You’ve earned a treat.”

Steve melts into his boyfriend’s arms, feeling loved.

“I missed you.”

Another kiss to the forehead, but this time Eddie’s lips linger there as he speaks.

“Missed you too, sweetheart. Not sorry for winning, but I am sorry that you lost.”

Steve knew the defendant was innocent. There wasn’t much of a case to be made anyway. It still stings though.

“Yeah... I’ve been thinking about that and it might be time to quit my dad’s firm. I’d much rather be on the same side as you,” Steve confesses.

Eddie pauses.

“Does that mean…”

Steve looks up smiling and confirms, “Yes. I’ll accept the job offer if it’s still on the table.”

The rival lawyer had offered him a job months ago, before they even got together.

By accepting the position, it means they’d finally be allowed to be a couple publicly and they’d be sitting on the same side of the court for once.

It would also free Steve from his dad’s control and disappointment.

“Stevie, I’d love nothing more than to have you as my partner. In both the court and life. I love you, sweetheart.”

He can’t resist.

“I love you too… jackass.”

Eddie makes good on his promise to get Steve off that night. He even brings out the handcuffs for accuracy sake.

[estrellami-1]

Steve never yelled.

It was something everyone knew and no one talked about. All his anger was quiet, a rage simmering just beneath the surface.

And sure; he’d raise his voice to be heard over the cacophony of the kids he’d unwittingly adopted, but everyone agreed that wasn’t yelling. That was just making sure he was heard.

Even Eddie, as his boyfriend, had never heard him yell before. And there’s something to be said about following the leader: even when they argued, even when tensions were high, Steve never yelled. So Eddie didn’t, either.

He wished he could take back the one time he did.

Eddie was hot-tempered. He knew this. Everyone knew this. Hot-tempered and a knife-sharp tongue, cutting down to the marrow with just his words. He’d never use his fists. This is also something everyone knows.

Eddie’s animated, larger-than-life, and he continued that trend in his arguments. Hands flying out to prove a point, but never to strike.

Everyone knew why. Everyone who knew Eddie knew what happened when he was nine, when Momma died and Daddy tried to find happiness at the bottom of a bottle.

That was the summer he moved in with Wayne. Wayne was a kind soul, slow to speak and even slower to anger. He was even-tempered, which meant it took a lot to get him mad, but once he was there, he wasn’t letting go easy.

So Eddie never raised his hands. Steve never raised his voice. Steve never raised his hands, either.

Eddie wished, with everything inside of him, he hadn’t raised his voice.

Because there’s something to be said about following the leader. When Eddie yelled, Steve followed.

Eddie didn’t know what they were arguing about anymore. Something stupid, he’s sure, but all he heard was blood rushing in his ears as he argued with Steve.

Steve, unflappable Steve, unshakeable Steve, argued back. He raised his voice.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. “Shit,” he whispered, eyes wide and not completely present. ���Shit- I- sorry, I- I’m-” he shook his head, started to back up, almost tripped on nothing. Caught himself on the counter. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t- didn’t mean to-”

Abruptly, everything was silent. Eddie’s blood stilled as something ugly rose up in his throat. “Steve?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I’m not- not him, I swear, I don’t- I didn’t-” he shook his head again.

Eddie almost cursed when he finally realized what was happening. A panic attack. “Steve,” he said, slowly, calmly. “Stevie, baby, can I touch you?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered again, gasping for breath.

“No, babylove,” Eddie murmured. “My fault, isn’t it? I should’ve known. Can I touch you, Stevie?”

He nodded, lip trembling. “‘M sorry.”

“No, sweets. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, c’mere.” He tugged Steve into a hug, nudged his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, rubbed soothing hands down his back. “Breathe with me, baby, c’mon, you can do this. Come back to me.”

Steve choked on a breath. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled again, and here were the tears, here’s what Eddie had been waiting for. He knew crying would likely trigger a headache, so he made a mental list of things he’d need to prepare.

“Not your fault,” Eddie promised him again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never shoulda yelled, that’s on me.” He smoothed his hands down over Steve’s back again. “Come back to me, baby, where are you?”

Shaking hands grabbed at Eddie’s shirt, just above his hips. “Eddie.”

“That’s me,” Eddie agreed. “Take a breath for me, sweets, c’mon. In and out.” A shaky puff of air hit his neck, and he gently squeezed Steve. “That’s good. That’s so good. One more, Stevie, c’mon, just one more breath.”

Slowly but surely, Steve calmed down. He let out one last sigh and unclenched his hands, wrapping them around his boyfriend’s waist. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Eddie promised again. “You okay?”

Steve sniffed. “Think so. I, uh… didn’t know that would happen.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” He sniffed again, pressed his fingertips into the divots of Eddie’s spine. “I’ve tried, my whole life, to be anybody but my dad. He… he would yell, and I remember thinking as a little kid that… dads aren’t supposed to scare their kids.” He shrugged. “I don’t think it was ever a conscious decision, not to yell. Just a… side effect, I guess, of not being like him.”

Eddie sighed. “And here I come along and fuck it all up, huh?”

Steve shook his head. “You make everything better, Eds. Even if we argue. Because I know we’ll be okay.” He managed a huff of a laugh. “I, uh, don’t actually remember what we were arguing about anymore.”

Eddie chuckled. “Me neither, Stevie.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve lifted his head to kiss Eddie properly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Eddie answered instantly. “Always.”

[oh-stars]

Tender Kisses

Love is the kiss left on my forehead.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 652 words | CW: N/A | Rating: T

--

Eddie’s holding his breath. 

Not literally, he’d die if he held it for this long, obviously. Figuratively speaking, he’s holding his breath. It’s been three months of this thing with Steve and he’s waiting, watching for the other shoe to drop. It’s bound to happen, always does with his adventures in dating or anything resembling a love life. They have their fun, they experiment a little, and then – poof  – gone. 

And Eddie’s left with a broken heart once again that he tried so hard to prevent. 

Admittedly, he’s not trying as hard with Steve to keep his walls up, to guard his vulnerable heart. It’s hard when the guy literally saved you from the brink of death and is the sweetest, most attractive guy you’ve ever had the chance to meet. Add in his nearly decade-long crush, the fact that Steve’s making an effort to infiltrate every aspect of Eddie’s life, and showers him with all sorts of romantic, sappy gestures? 

Eddie was always going to fail in that particular quest. 

But he’s still holding his breath. 

“Mornin’ baby,” Steve mumbles as he shuffles into the living area. It’s funny seeing him so sleepy, one of Eddie’s sleep shirts (that was originally Wayne’s) hanging from his shoulders at an angle and his boxers have to be low on his hips with how much thigh they’re covering. He’s rubbing at his eye, squinting and frowning at the lights above. Normally, Steve’s up first and Eddie’s the one who looks like he was just dragged from the depths of their bed, so Eddie’s relishing this moment. 

“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” Eddie says softly, sipping at his coffee as he pushes off the counter to grab Steve a mug. “How was going out with Rob last night?” 

Steve groans and clings to Eddie’s back, burying his face in the crook of his neck as his arms hug Eddie from behind. “Great. I don’t think we’ll ever drink again.” 

Eddie laughs softly, trying not to move too much to dislodge Steve as he fixes Steve’s coffee with too much milk and sugar. 

It doesn’t matter, not when Steve reaches to grab Eddie’s mug and takes a sip. His nose wrinkles as he puts it back down. “Don’t know how you can drink it like that,” he grumbles, hiding away again. 

“You get used to it,” Eddie laughs again. He nudges Steve’s hand. “This is better,” he whispers. 

Steve takes the mug and stays as draped over Eddie as he can as he takes a sip. He hums as he lowers the mug, a sleepy, content smile on his face. “Perfect.” 

Eddie turns to lean against the counter and holds Steve in his arms, hands running along his hips. “Missed you last night.” 

“You should have come out with us,” Steve says, pouting. “I missed you too. Wasn’t as fun without you.” 

“You needed time with Rob.” 

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “but still wish you were there.” He reaches over to set his mug down and throws his arms around Eddie’s neck. Steve leans in and presses his lips to Eddie’s forehead, kissing once then brushing away his bangs to kiss the bare skin again. “Can we go back to bed after this?” he asks against Eddie’s skin.

Eddie nods, actually holding his breath and trying not to jerk his head against Steve’s chin. It’s too sweet, too much. Steve’s always too much. Fuck, he loves him. 

And he thinks, when he lets out the breath – both literal and figurative, that Steve may actually love him too. 

“You’re full of great ideas this morning, babylove,” Eddie says, pulling away to actually kiss Steve – coffee breath and all. “Want to eat first?” 

Steve groans and shakes his head, dipping back down to hide again. “No,” he whines. “Just want you.” 

Oh yeah, Eddie thinks. This is it for him. God, he just hopes Steve’s thinking the same. 

“That can be arranged.”

--

Thank you @lady-lostmind!

Ao3 Link

[gravehags]

my love mine all mine

Pairing: Cumulus x f!reader (ghoul bicycle reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: hurt/comfort, self esteem issues, self worth issues, crying, vibrators, dildos, lovey dovey emotions, praise

Words: 3,674

Summary: You never wanted any of them to see you like this but if they had to, you're glad it's Cumulus.

a/n: hello yes this is definitely a normal smut fic that i did NOT project my personal issues into thank you very much

You’ve been quiet recently. In one of your moods.

You have no reason to be - by all accounts you should be overjoyed with your current situation. As of yesterday, the last of your things have been moved into your new room and your lovers (all ten of them) have been wonderful and affectionate. Which leads you to where you are now - standing alone, naked, in front of your full length mirror eyeing yourself with disdain. Despite your move into the ghoul den now being complete, you still don’t feel as if you belong here. It’s not your lovers that have made you feel that way - quite the contrary - but your own mind. Wondering what they see in someone like you. You’re an unremarkable sibling and, you think as you squeeze at your generous belly and hips, there are far more attractive people at the abbey who deserve to be in your position. Why did they like you so much? Tears well in your eyes as you scoff and sniffle, angry at your own ungratefulness. When there’s a knock at your door, your brain wildly jumps to the conclusion that it’s the ghouls - ready to tell you they changed their mind and they don’t want you anymore. A harsh sob escapes you and you double over.

“Honey? Are you okay? I’m coming in.”

Through blurred vision you see the figure of Cumulus in her white silk nightgown open the door and step in, quickly shutting it behind her when she sees the state you’re in. She rushes over to you, wrapping her arms around you as your weight falls heavy onto her. Your sobs are fierce and wet and you move to collapse onto the rug below you but the ghoulette catches you and steers you over to your bed. Her gentleness as she sets you down and grabs your calves to swing your feet onto the duvet only makes you cry harder. She abandons your side only for a moment to round the bed and climb in. She pulls you close, pushing your hair away from your face until the two of you are a breath apart. 

“Babylove, what’s going on, huh? You’ve been so quiet we’ve all been worried about you.”

When you open your mouth to speak, a horrible wail comes out instead and she pulls away momentarily to reach behind her and grab the box of tissues off the nightstand. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright honey,” she reaches down to pull the soft blue blanket up over the both of you, “You cry as much as you need to. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

So you do just that.

You’re not sure how long it takes for you to run dry of tears, but true to her word, Cumulus stays by your side catching all of them with a soggy tissue. When she holds a fresh one up to your nose and commands you to “blow” you bark out a hoarse laugh which makes her smile. Your head is pounding.

“Alright, so what’s going on, love? And don’t say ‘nothing’ because what I just witnessed was not nothing.”

You let out a ragged sigh.

“I hate myself,” you begin, figuring bluntness is the only way this is going to feel better, “I hate my body. Hate what I see in the mirror. I don’t see why you and the others care about me, want me…find me attractive. There are other siblings who deserve–”

“Stop.”

The hardness in Cumulus’ voice is something you’ve never heard before and it shocks you so much you hiccup. She looks at you with deadly seriousness but when your eyes begin to well with tears once again her gaze softens and she reaches her hand up to stroke your cheek.

“My love, despite the horrible lies your brain has convinced you of, you are special. Beautiful. We’ve always told you that, right?”

You nuzzle into your pillow.

“I know you have and…” you sigh again, rubbing your eyes, “like you said it’s my stupid brain. I know what you guys tell me but that little fucking gremlin inside me doesn’t. It just tells me you guys are being kind or taking pity on me.”

Cumulus hums in her throat and her eyes look sad.

“Let me tell you something about ghouls,” she begins, scooting closer to you, “We don’t establish a pack until we’re summoned but many ghouls find their mates prior to that point, in the pit. None of us did and as much as we all care for one another we always knew there was a piece missing. Did you know I saw you first? You were front row for a ritual and even from my spot at the keyboard I noticed you. You just had a…a vibe. Gave me butterflies. I told the others after the show. Then when Bug and Rora were summoned we waited to see if they would latch onto you like we did - it was almost instantaneous. When you were asked to assist us with moving boxes in the rehearsal room that day where we first asked if you wanted to hang out? No accident. We requested you, specifically. Sathanas, we were all so scared of…well scaring you away.”

“Dew was the first one to talk to me,” you murmur, with a smile. Cumulus huffs out a laugh.

“Yeah, we were all hoping he wouldn’t say anything too uh…caustic.”

You giggle.

“He complimented my rosary,” you say softly, “you know, my garnet and gold one? Told me it was sick because the beads look like blood drops. I never forgot the way he smiled at me when I laughed.”

“He’s charming, when he wants to be,” Cumulus chuckles.

“He’s a sweetheart,” you counter, “He’s all bark.”

The ghoulette gives you a doubtful look.

“You didn’t see him with that sister who insulted y–”

Your jaw drops a little as she cuts herself off and shakes her head.

“Anyway,” she continues gently, carefully sidestepping the murderous nature of her pack, “right from the get-go we all knew you were the one. After Swiss got to you well…we hoped the pieces would fall into place. And we fucked it up��Satan knows we fucked it up a few times but now that you’re here? With us? Darling, it’s everything. You are everything. Our missing piece.”

You smile at her and when you get teary eyed again she swiftly leans in and kisses your cheek.

“Thank you,” you whisper. She pecks you on the lips before pulling back.

“Now about this other part,” she says with faux-sternness, “what do you mean you hate your body?”

“Ugh,” you begin, rolling onto your back to stare at the canopy above you. You know saying this is going to be easier without Cumulus’ soft gaze looking into yours. “You know it’s the usual…internalized fatphobia bullshit. I don’t like what I see in the mirror, never have. Especially when I compare myself to the other sisters…I envy you, you know?”

She cocks her head at you and you face her once more.

“You’re so confident and beautiful and you know you’re beautiful and that makes you even more beautiful,” you gush, making her lips twitch, “I just…augh. Want that for me too, you know?”

Cumulus shakes her head.

“Humans are so weird about their bodies,” she sighs, “as if the vessels that hold all your complexities and your knowledge and your love and the things that make you…you…are anything but incidental. There’s no one right way to be beautiful. Not to be cheesy or anything but beauty can’t be universally gauged by any one person’s opinion. Or society’s opinion for that matter. And like you said - you think I’m beautiful and we have similar shapes, would you ever speak as unkindly to me as you do yourself?”

“No!” you blurt out, hand reaching out to grab hers, “‘Lus I would never.”

“So what makes you any different?” she asks patiently.

“I…well…”

“Exactly,” she nods, triumphant. “You are physically beautiful whether you believe it or not but more importantly your heart is what drew all of us. None of us had ever made friends with siblings before you and you welcomed us into your life with open arms, no judgment. You treated us with kindness and grace from the moment we first spoke. We adore all of you - whether that’s your body, your mind, or your soul. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you and I guarantee if you ask the others they’ll say the same.”

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and you dodge her gaze.

Cumulus makes a thoughtful noise and grabs the edge of the blanket, yanking it off the two of you, causing you to squawk at your nakedness. Cumulus’ gaze is hungry, traveling up your body from feet to face.

“I’m not trying to change the subject or anything,” she purrs, reaching a hand out to knead your hip, “but how about I show you just how beautiful you really are, huh?”

Your throat is dry as you look over her like she did you before nodding.

“I’ll go gentle,” Cumulus murmurs, claws dancing along your skin, “you uh…you got that gift I gave you?”

Oh, do you. Not that you’ve had much use for it with your ghoul harem on call.

“Bedside drawer,” you rasp out as her fingers cheekily pinch at your nipple, “there’s uh…others in there too.”

Cumulus rises from the bed and stands, waggling her eyebrows at you. When she opens the drawer she gasps in delight.

“Who…?”

“Aurora,” you laugh softly, “she told me my stash was ‘severely lacking’ and you know how Papa Copia gave you guys that credit card?”

Cumulus laughs and the sound is so bright and joyous it makes your heart clench.

“Let’s see,” she begins, bending over. “Found the one I got you. And hmm…perhaps this?”

You look to see what she’s put on the bed. The little pocket vibe with devil horns she got you, which you are extremely fond of, and…oh. Interesting. The iridescent glass dildo you hadn’t tried yet with its bulbous head and smooth shaft. Your mouth falls open, considering the implications of the items you see before you and when Cumulus clears her throat, your eyes shoot up to hers.

“Easy, girl,” she breathes, scooching her nightgown up her body and over her head. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve seen her do it, your mouth still waters. She grabs the toys and crawls over to you, grinning sharply. Once she’s by your side you roll onto your back, tongue darting out to wet your lips. You can already feel the heat and slick accumulating between your thighs. She props her head up and with her free hand, she drags her cool fingertips down your arm, leaving goosebumps in her wake. 

“Love how sensitive you are,” she purrs, her breath stirring your hair. She reaches between you and picks up the little vibe, turning it on. With a grin she drags it across your lips and jaw, along your clavicle, down your sternum, and brushes the underside of your breast. Between her cool touch and your arousal you feel your nipples growing taut and judging from the delighted noise Cumulus just made, she sees it too.

“Pretty,” she breathes, taking the toy and circling the bud, playing connect the dots with the little bumps on your areola. “You like these pretty titties?”

She patiently waits for you to answer, content to just tease you until she hears you say it - and mean it. You look down and behold the swell of your breasts.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter out, “yeah I do.”

She makes a noise of affirmation in her throat before mercifully dragging the vibe over your nipple. The sensation makes your cunt clench and your legs spread wider.

“How about this one, you like this one?” she asks, sliding the vibe over to your other breast.

“Yes,” you breathe, more confident this time. She rewards you by leaning in and slipping your taut nipple into her mouth, sucking insistently. When your hips flex and a moan escapes you, she returns the vibe to your other nipple. The hungry little noises she makes as her tongue slides over you has your hand flying to her curls. When she pulls off, you let out an embarrassing whine.

“‘Lus, please,” you whimper.

“Don’t worry, angel, I’m not done with you yet. Got all night, huh?”

All night. The implication of her having her way with you until the sun rises makes another gush of slick come out of you. You surely must be dripping on the duvet at this point. She tucks her body along yours, her leg hooking around your calf to spread you open and she inhales sharply.

“Mmmm,” she moans, knowing full well she’s caught the scent of you. The notion makes your head fall back against your pillow and your back arch. “Filthy girl,” she pants as she drags the little vibe over your belly, “filthy, beautiful girl. Isn’t that right?”

She stops her hand at your mound, teasing along the curls. You know she won’t descend further until you say what she wants to hear.

“Beautiful girl,” you say, breathing heavily through your nose. She moves the vibe closer to your slit.

“Say it again,” she tells you and you exhale sharply.

“Beautiful girl.”

She drags along the slit.

“Again,” she prompts.

“Beautiful gir–ah!”

When she slips the little devil between your folds and rests it on your clit, you want to cry with relief. Her fingers press down on it as your hips buck upwards and you moan.

“‘Lus, so good. Fuck, yes, right there.”

She smiles and leans in to kiss your throat, her tongue tracing over your carotid. You’re squirming but she holds the little devil steady against you, teeth dragging over your skin as your hips buck up against her. 

“Gonna cum quick for me tonight, huh baby?”

You let out a whine and bite your lip, nodding vigorously.

“Yes, yes, yes, Cumulus, fuck, don’t stop, don’t–ah!”

Now you know you’re dripping on the duvet as your cunt clenches around nothing and Cumulus urges you through your first orgasm of the night. You feel almost dizzy as you fist the covers and look over at her with adoring eyes.

“L-love you.”

She grins, all teeth.

“You’re easy, aren’t you? Besides I know you love me - let’s work on you, hmm?”

Gently she eases the vibe away from you so you can catch your breath. When she picks up the dildo and raises it to rest the head on your lower lip you groan.

“Didn’t forget about this beauty, did you?” she coos and lazily you flick your tongue out to brush against the tip. The action makes her gasp and her gaze darken.

“That’s right,” she breathes, “I remember how much you liked my cock in your mouth. First one you ever had. Can you be a good, pretty little slut and take this one for me too?”

You nod and extend the flat of your tongue for her to put the head on. When she eases it into your mouth you hollow your cheeks and suck hard on the glass, eyes on hers. Cumulus has maintained immaculate control of herself all evening until this point and you feel her sharp exhales on your shoulder as she slowly slides the dildo out of your mouth and pushes it back in. The glass is cool in your mouth as you greedily take more.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Cumulus murmurs, “Nice and deep. Like to watch you with one of the guys sometime. Maybe Mountain or Aether. Watch that pretty little mouth stretch and stretch while you take their fat cocks. Maybe we’ll make a contest of it. See who you can take the most of. Would you like that?”

She wetly slides the dildo out of your mouth and lets you pant for a moment.

“Y-yeah. I’d like that ‘Lus.”

“Good girl,” she purrs, dragging it down your chest to your hardened nipple. She giggles before sharply slapping it, making you jolt and your hips twitch.

“Cumulus, please,” you breathe as she continues to make a wet path down your body. When she drags the bulbous head through your folds, you whimper. Obligingly she spreads you open and nudges your entrance with the head.

“Only beautiful girls get fucked,” she hums, ever-so-slightly pushing you open, “So if you really want it that would make you…?”

Your head falls backwards against the pillow as a soft laugh comes out of your open mouth.

“A beautiful girl,” you obediently state.

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes I mean I–I can’t see myself so how would I know?”

Cumulus scoffs.

“You wanna know how you look, baby? The way you flush so prettily from your cheeks all the way down? The way those sweet little nipples look all hard and begging to be sucked? The way your hair falls on the pillow? The wet curls in between your legs and this dripping cunt all ready for me? Darling, what would you call that if not beautiful?”

Your chest heaves and you look her in the eyes.

“I’m a beautiful girl.”

The conviction in your voice makes her cheeks crinkle in a grin and gently she pushes the head of the toy inside you. Your jaw falls open as she continues to ease it inside.

“That’s it, honey,” she murmurs, scooting her body down for greater access and to nuzzle at your breast. “Take it all. Doing so well.”

Your breathing is coming out in short pants, a moan hanging on your lips. When the toy bottoms out she leans down and presses a kiss to your chest. The curved shaft and the fat head of the toy is pressing against a spot inside you that makes white stars bloom behind your closed eyelids.

“Cumulus, please.”

That’s all she needs before she eases the dildo out and pushes it back in. Her pace starts off slow but before long her wrist snaps in controlled thrusts. You can’t speak, can barely keep up with breathing as she fucks you at a steady pace.

“So good for me,” she pants, eyes cast down at the iridescent glass and how it disappears inside you, “so fucking good, baby. Always so sweet. So giving. ‘S what we love about you. How eager you are.”

The slick noises coming out of your body are lewd as your hips buck up to meet each thrust. Your moans are loud and finally you seem to have regained the ability to speak.

“Fuck, ‘Lus,” you whine, “L-love you. Love you so–ah–m-much. Don’t stop. P-please don’t–”

“Oh angel, I wouldn’t dream of it,” she coos, changing the angle of her wrist and making you choke out a gasp, “Watching you come apart is better than anything.”

The pleasure is so intense - feels so good - tears begin to leak out of the corners of your eyes and you know you’re close. You’re babbling nonsense as you sob and she increases her pace, eyes on your cunt.

“Gonna cum for me, honey?” she pants, her own hips flexing against you unconsciously. You try to answer but all that comes out of you is a long, low moan. “Come on my beautiful girl, give it to me.”

Your hips jerk upwards as your back bows off the bed and you cum with a scream. Cumulus is speaking to you but all you can hear is static as she continues to fuck you through your orgasm. You struggle to catch your breath as the corners of your vision go dark and you grab at her.

“C-can’t Cumulus, I can’t.”

Gently she slows her pace and you finally manage to inhale deep when she comes to a stop. She’s panting almost as much as you are, her eyes dancing over your face. You’re overwhelmed - the whole night just too fucking much - and you let out a pathetic little sob. She eases the toy out of you and sets it aside, immediately scooting up to see you.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she breathes, leaning in to press her lips against your forehead. “You did so well, my love. So well. I’m so proud. Beautiful, wonderful girl.”

You expect tears to accompany your sobbing but it would seem you’ve already cried yourself dry tonight. You concentrate on Cumulus’ breath to even out your own as she strokes your sweat-damp hair away from your face.

“That was a lot,” your voice is hoarse and she nods.

“Yeah, it was. And you were perfect. I love you. So, so much, baby.”

You nod and the two of you pull apart, content to calm yourselves in each other’s presence. Cumulus rolls onto her back and stares at the canopy.

“You know…” she begins thoughtfully after a few minutes, raising a hand to point, “we could definitely put a mirror up there.”

The giggle that comes out of you quickly escalates to a guffaw and shaking, you press a kiss to Cumulus’ shoulder.

“Like some kind of depraved sex den?” you ask with a grin.

“Uh-huh,” she confirms, smiling equally wide. You roll your eyes and yawn so wide you hear your jaw pop.

“Bed?” she asks, sitting up.

“Mmm mmhmm,” you say, sitting up, swinging your legs over and standing up. You’re going to be deliciously sore in the morning. 

“Hey,” Cumulus says behind you and you turn around as she peels the covers back, “Proud of you.”

You nod and uncover your side before climbing back in. She does the same.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you murmur, eyelids heavy. Cumulus leans in to kiss you once on the forehead, once on the cheek, and once on the lips.

“It’s my honor. Sleep well, angel.”

You’re not sure if you respond, already drifting off. The rumble of purrs fills your head and sets you at ease. You’re warm. You’re safe. And you are loved.

[hairmetal666]

Steddie Notes BONUS PART

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

Eddie wakes up to an empty bed. He’s a little surprised, honestly, since he had his heart set on first anniversary morning sex. Though, based on the smells wafting through their apartment, Steve’s making breakfast, which is an acceptable alternative (plus, if he has it his way, they aren’t leaving the bed again today).

The digital alarm clock on his bedside table is obscured by a Composition Book he doesn’t remember bringing to bed. He reaches for it before his brain registers the red ink dragon sketched on the cover. His hands tremble as he flips it open, but the first few pages are written in his own scrawl. Steve’s handwriting doesn’t appear until 10 pages in and Eddie’s heart stutters at the sight.

March 28, 1986

God, Eddie, I’m so sorry. So, so fucking sorry. I can’t— I’m sorry. I should have been there, I should’ve protected you, I should’ve kept you safe. 

You wouldn’t be part of this if it weren’t for me. Robin and Dustin keep telling me that's not true, that Chrissy was already cursed but. Robin is here because of me. Erica-fucking Sinclair is here because of me. And now you. And you’re dying. And it’s my fault. 

I don’t even know what I’m doing right now, but I can’t just sit and wait, I’d lose my mind. Anyway. You left this notebook in my trunk, and I hope you don’t mind that I’m using it. 

I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified in my life, Eds.

Please don’t die on me. I can’t live in this world without you. 

March 29, 1986

Hey Eds

You made it through the night. I can’t fucking believe it. I ripped Robin’s shirt when the doctor came in to tell us that you were out of surgery and stable, and then he dropped the bomb that your chance of surviving the night was 40%. Forty-fucking-percent. I guess you beat the odds, babylove.

I’m with Uncle Wayne at your bedside. He threw a fit to make sure I could be here whenever I wanted, and that everyone could visit.

You’ve missed some wild shit, Munson, you’re going to be so mad when you wake up. 

Come back to me, sweet boy. I can’t take this.

March 30, 1986

Made it through a second night, babe. 

I hope you wake up soon. 

Miss you like crazy. 

I keep looking at you in this hospital bed, and you look so fucking small. I hate it. You’re the loudest voice in the room. You don’t just take up space, you demand it. It’s killing me that I haven’t heard your voice in days. And my brain, it keeps filling in things you would say, and I wait for you to speak up, but of course you don’t. It’s a kick to the balls every single time. 

The thing is. 

The thing is that I need you to wake up, Eddie. You can’t leave me. I made up my mind a long time ago, we’re spending our lives together. And it can’t fucking end now. It can’t end because of this. 

And I need you to open your goddamn beautiful eyes so I can tell you how much I love you. You don’t get to go before you hear me say it, do you understand?

I love you. You’re it for me. I’ve never wanted a forever as much as I want one with you. So, you have to wake up, yeah? You have to wake up so we can grow up, have a family, have a life together. 

Promise you won’t leave me, Eds.

March 31, 1986

You woke up, you motherfucker. The doctors kicked me out to look you over and I cried so hard in the bathroom that Robin made El break down the door with her powers. 

Thank you for coming back. I won’t ever let you go again.

April 7, 1987

I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m giving this to you, babylove. It’s been a year. Look how far we’ve come. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

September 18, 2015

It’s way too fucking early for Eddie to even be awake and he has the day off. Steve asked him to take vacation months ago, didn’t say why, and now that fucker has the audacity to not even be in the house. And like, sure, they’ve been together for close to thirty years, and Eddie knows that Steve goes for a run at the ass crack of dawn.

Still pisses him off, though. 

Eddie huffs down to the kitchen to get coffee started, doing a double take when he sees a familiar black Composition Book with red dragon on the cover. 

He walks towards it slowly because this has been framed on the wall since their first anniversary, way back in ’87, and Steve isn’t home.

Eddie opens it, re-reads the panicked, lovesick notes Steve wrote in the hospital, doesn't bother to fight back the tears. He gets to the last letter and the paper is stiff and wrinkled, like it took water damage. Eddie flips the page, grief already pumping through his veins.

What he sees instead is college-ruled notebook paper, glued in place. It reads:

“I fucking hate this class.”

“Tell me about it.”

“trig. You?”

“Algebra 2 :(” 

A sound escapes his mouth, something between a laugh and a sob.

“Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me...”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of beautiful, Munson?”

“Watch. The. Movie. This is the last time we get high first if this is how you behave.”

 “What are you gonna win me at the fair, Harrington?” 

 “If you’re nice to me, probably something cute.” 

“Eddie…I think I really like you

You’re my favorite person in the entire world

Some days you’re the only thing I can think about

I want to wake up in bed with you everyday

I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you

Do you like me? Yes or No”

“What are you doing about Hellfire?”

“Huh?”

“If the game is Friday. Lucas can’t do both.”

“He made his choice.”

“You ever been in love?”

No, but I think I’m falling”

“I love you, Eddie”

All the sketches of the sailor boy and the rockstar are there, even the one Eddie stuck to the poster in his room, though how Steve managed to get that is anyone’s guess.

There are pictures too, Eddie and Max still recuperating in the hospital; Corroded Coffin performing at the Hideout; them holding the keys to the bar, Steve shirtless and hammering something while Eddie looks on, with the increasingly popular bands Eddie booked to play their must-see Friday night slots; Steve on his first day of college and one of him jumping into Eddie’s arms in his graduation gown, mortar board slipping off his head; In the hospital cradling their twin girls with Max giving a weary thumbs-up between them. Shot after shot of their family, their life, their dreams coming true. A scrapbook of their lives together, big moments and small; good and bad. 

Eddie’s crying freely as he flips through the rest of the book, still fucking astounded that Steve is the love of his life, that they’re making a forever together.

Eddie flips to the last page. Stops dead. 

In Steve’s looped handwriting, unchanged since high school, it says:

“Eddie, 

         Will you marry me?”

“What the fuck?” He yelps, standing up fast enough that his chair crashes to the floor. 

He turns and Steve— his reason for being, the man that brought him back from the dead—Steve Harrington, is down on one knee, something silver glinting in his outstretched hand.

“Eddie,” he says, his voice a wreck. “Marry me?” 

Eddie crashes to his knees, shoving at Steve’s shoulder. “You’re such an idiot.”

Steve laughs. “Is that a yes?”

Eddie laughs too, but it quickly morphs into a sob, “Of course it’s a yes, Steve. Of course.”

Hands trembling, Steve slips the ring onto Eddie’s hand. It’s a thin silver band with skeletal hands contorted into an infinity symbol. 

They fall into a kiss that rips the breath from Eddie’s lungs, but then that’s nothing new. When they finally pull apart Eddie asks, “why today?”

Steve blushes and grabs at the back of his neck. “Thirty-one years ago, I walked into Mundy’s class and found a note on the window ledge.” 

“What the fuck.” Eddie’s mouth drops, his heart stuttering. This man.

“Once I figured out you leaving that note was going to be one of the most important moments of my life? I made sure to never forget.”

“Baby.” Eddie pulls Steve in for another kiss. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Steve tugs at Eddie’s hand. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?” 

“The girls will be here in a couple hours, and I have some things I want to do to you before they’re home.”

“The GIRLS?” Eddie shrieks. “How the hell long have you been planning this? Did they KNOW?”

“Since the end of June,” Steve answers without missing a beat. “And of course they know. Everyone knows. I asked Wayne for his blessing.” 

Eddie can’t speak, his heart crashing in his chest as he, once again, thanks whatever entity made it possible for him to have this.

“I’ve been in love with you for over half my life, Eds. I wanted to do this right. You deserve it. We deserve it.” 

He pulls Steve into his arms, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clack, but neither of them care.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

When they come home from dinner, as Steve reaches in his pocket for his keys to let the entire family in the house to celebrate their engagement, he finds a gum wrapper tucked in with the metal. He unfolds it, the words within unfurling in his heart, his soul.

"Thank you for giving me forever, sweetheart."

Edited: check out the full version on ao3!

This is officially the end! I hope you enjoyed this little (long) bonus part. Thanks for reading! 💜💜💜

@gaysonthefloor @little-gae-shit @ineffablecolors @mojowitchcraft @hiscrimsonangel @thegingerrapunzel @adelicioustragedy @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @im-sam-fucking-winchester @rainydays35 @gobbledy-gluk-gluk @gay-stranger-things @sherilitchi @gezell-igg @leather-and-freckles @bornonthesavage @ramyayaya @awkwardgravity1 @chaoticvictorianspirit @thosemessyvibes @beeing-stuupid @silentiumdelirium @freyaforestafay @thatbitchgayasf @sapphirecobalt-1 @sahh-dude @adorkfromnewyork @ollie-in-gray @extralegobrick @snapshotmaestro

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@somewhereatdawn @5pac3g1r7 @thequeervibes @paperbackribs @bitchysunflowerr @knitsforthetrail @wrenisflying @plasticcrotches @demoniccorvid @em9515 @savory-babby @loverliner @aceacebaby42

@trainchomp @anaibis

[awheckery]

Nola Rose's Big Birthday Poll

This is Nola Rose:

She is my best girl, my babylove, my beloved little butt and my most precious evil eel, and in one week, she will be one year old!

Recently, I ordered her an Embark test, in the hopes of one day reuniting her with one of her siblings or other family members, and to maybe get an idea of what other health problems I could expect in the future.

I was not expecting any surprises on the breed front, because the rescue had Nola's original paperwork from her "breeders," indicating her mama was a brown Cocker Spaniel named Spruce, and her daddy was a registered blenheim Cavalier King Charles named Fellow. AND YET.

...and 7.2% something I did not expect at all. Full honesty, I don't see it, but maybe it explains a few things about her?

ANYWAY. For Nola's impending birthday, I thought it might be fun to survey other people, to see their best guesses at the third breed in Nola's genetic cocktail. I've pulled all poll options from an article on the most common breeds for Cavalier crosses, and additional photos and possible clues to her ancestry below the read more.

Psst, for folks coming back for the answer, check the pinned reblog!

Starting from the top, BABY PHOTOS, of Nola Rose and the two sisters the rescue picked up from the puppy mill auction.

That photo of Nola on the left was the photo in her Petfinder listing, the one I saw by accident in the middle of the night that made me fall in love with her immediately. I honestly have no idea how she was the last of her siblings left to be adopted, but I will never not be desperately grateful.

Maybe it was because she had the dramatic eyebrows and mutton chops of a civil war general, I can't say. In more recent photos, you can see that the eyebrows and bushy cheeks have subsided, but the insanely luxurious eyelashes remain.

Her color has darkened immensely since I brought her home in August. She used to be a much lighter sable, and fully blonde on the top of her head.

Speaking of which, sable isn't a breed standard color in either Cavaliers or Cockers, and her ridiculously long chin beard (which you won't see in any of her photos because I have her groomer trim it off) doesn't appear in those breeds either. Coincidence?

At just shy of a year, she's hopefully maxed out at 18 pounds, and she's unbelievably leggy, with an outrageously long body and the deep chest of a racing dog. (She's also fast as hell, good god.)

Her fur is unbelievably silky, save for a coarser ruff over her shoulders and trailing down her spine, and her cocker-fluff booty feathers. Her back end was trimmed down substantially before the above photo. Her tail might be the softest part of her, and I love how it's both silky and curly.

Behaviorally... she's. Something.

Nola has the strongest prey drive of any dog I've ever met, including that time we babysat a rat terrier mix named Ella The Killer. Nola's little heart is so full of murder that I have to close curtains so she won't hurt herself trying to break through the windows to get at bunnies. She is a grand champion at "breaking the necks" of her toys by way of viciously shaking them.

Nola likes to burrow! She tunnels under blankets, rugs and throw pillows, and her favorite way to sit On A People is between our legs when we're in recliners. She likes to feel confined. She also deeply enjoys being held, and she asks to be picked up by my father at least once a day, even tho she's perfectly capable of jumping into his lap by herself now.

She LOVES to lie in the sun until her little body is radioactively hot and her mouth smells like hot rotting garbage, which is actually extremely weird, because she's our second sable dog in a row to have solar-powered halitosis and I'm not above begging people for answers. If you have a dog that has especially stinky breath after they've been in the sun, indoors or out, please talk to me because I'm dying for answers.

Ahem. What else.

Nola is disturbingly smart, and has no concept of obedience, but an excellent grasp of the concept of naughtiness. She knows exactly which items in the house are Forbidden, and which ones will get our attention the quickest if she takes or otherwise threatens them. She also knows the names of most of her toys and can distinguish between them when she's feeling cooperative.

Her favorite way to wake me up when it's time for work is to jump up on my bed, pounce on me, and oh-so-gently bite the tip of my nose. (I know I shouldn't encourage it but it's so sweet I may die.)

She investigates new people by aggressively sniffing their eyes.

She is my tiny daughter with every disease, but despite her allergies, and her asthma, and her megaesophagus, and her subluxated hip, she is the happiest, most delightful little being in all the world.

I lov her.

[zerokrox-blog]

The first few times it happens, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Steve had a long day at work, plus he had been feeling pretty down lately so upon coming home and finding his boy on the couch, face and body lax in a deep restful sleep, Eddie tugged a blanket over him, kissed his forehead, flicked off a light and slipped out of the room.

But by the fifth time where he found Steve asleep in the laundry room curled up on the cold floor, he began to worry. It wasn't like Steve too sleep this much but more worryingly, even if he had seemingly slept well the night before he was sleeping wherever and whenever. Eddie was concerned.

When he brought it up with their Doctor all he got was "it doesn't have to be anything. I can assure you, Steve is in great health..but since you're so worried I'll set it up for him to get some blood tests and we will go from there."

Eddie felt off about it. He brought it up to Wayne, Nancy, Robin, Joyce and Hopper but nobody had any idea why or what was causing Steve to fall asleep every where. But one thing they all noticed was that Steve only seemed to sleep like that around the apartment Eddie and he shared or when Eddie was home or coming home.

Eventually even the bloodwork came back clean with nothing to explain what was happening. So Eddie in concern brought it up o their couple's therapist, Dr Angela Bradley.

"I am worried about Steve," he started, "he keeps falling asleep every where and nobody seems to know why, the bloodwork and other test results came back with nothing to explain why he keeps falling asleep."

Dr Bradley paused her note taking, Steve was sipping his tea, but had stopped to listen to what Eddie was saying when his name had been mentioned.

"Steve? do you know why you are falling asleep constantly?" she kept her voice soft.

Steve shook his head for a minute before pausing to think. "I feel safe around Eddie. I feel safe in the home and space we built," he was speaking slowly working out his thought process, "I also don't usually sleep well in my parents house, but I don't really know why I'm sleeping so much. "

"Well, Steve let me ask you a question, when you're with your parents or at their house how do you feel?"

"Small and unsafe. I have to be on guard because inevitably one or both of them will get mad."

"Ok, and with Eddie at your home you said you feel safe? Around the people you've chosen as family as well you feel secure?"

Steve nodded, then suddenly he sat up straighter, "Eddie! I think I'm sleeping more because I can. My body isn't survival mode or flight or fright anymore. Like I can breathe again." Eddie blinked, "I make you feel safe? So you feel comfortable sleeping more around me?" Steve nodded, "so it's not a medical emergency? You're ok?"

Steve nodded again, feeling like he had hit the nail on the head. He was feeling safe and comfortable that his body was catching up on what it needed for years. He felt tears filling his eyes but tried desperately to keep them in, he didn't want to cry right now.

But later on, when they got home, Eddie dropped him off at their place and went to pick up their dinner from their favourite deli shop. Eddie also grabbed some flowers, drinks and snacks from the grocery store and drove home.

When he saw Steve sitting up and dozing on the recliner, he smiled, "hi babylove. Dinner is ready."

He made his boy feel safe and comfortable. He knew it was important for Steve to feel secure and he made him feel that way.

[seecarrun]

“Hi babylove. Everything okay?”

“Hi Stan,” Patty answered, her voice kind of weird and distant, with a soft rumble in the background the way it sounded when she was speaking on her car’s Bluetooth phone speaker. “Everything’s okay, but I just got off the phone with Ms. Lucy.”

Stan’s heart plummeted. “Ms. Lucy from daycare? Is Georgie okay?”

“Georgie’s fine,” she said, cryptically. Stan could tell she was holding back a laugh. “But he needed a change of clothes, and when Ms. Lucy went to get him dressed, she found the spare outfit in his backpack to be… uh… not school appropriate.”

“Oh goddamnit Richie,” he groaned, as Patty laughed heartily on the other end. He knew having Richie and Eddie babysit Georgie over the weekend was a bad idea. “What did the shirt say? How badly do I need to kill him?”

“She wouldn’t say,” Patty giggled. “The kids were in earshot.” Stan groaned again, but Patty continued. “I’m on my way with a replacement now, I’ll let you know when I get there.”

Ten minutes later, Stan’s phone vibrated with a text, the picture of the offending shirt filling his screen along with crying laughing and blushing emojis from Patty.

He called Richie immediately.

“Rrrrichie Tozier speaking!”

“I had a ball at Dick Tozier’s ‘Letting it all hang out’ Tour?!” he cried, drawing more than a few stares from coworkers but not giving a damn. “Are you kidding me, Richard?!”

Richie burst into laughter. “Oh fuck, did you find that?”

“No,” Stan snapped. “But his daycare teacher did, you asshole!”

Richie continued laughing, even harder.

“Eddie was supposed to be watching you!” Stan cried, the tiniest hint of a smile breaking through.

“Wait, wait,” Richie gasped between laughs. “It was his fucking idea!”

“Did Stan find the shirt?!” He heard Eddie say, softly but excitedly in the background.

Stan rolled his eyes. “I hate you both!” he called out. Both Richie and Eddie laughed. “I can’t believe Ben is the only Loser I can trust with my child. You’re all worthless.”

“What about Mike?” Eddie offered, clearly on speakerphone now. “Oh wait, he’s living in his van.”

“Still a better choice than you dumbasses,” Stan said with a smirk.

They all laughed again, knowing they’d be back to babysit again in no time.

[oftenderweapons]

Interrogated | KNJ

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 6.0k 

Genre: smut, a hint of fluff and angst, but lowkey. Basically pwp

Rating: 18+

Synopsis: Namjoon sends a mysteriously threatening text to Vixen. Convinced of her innocence, Vixen confronts him. Little does she know what her lover has planned…

Warning: Swearing, power dynamics, Dom!Namjoon, Sub!Reader, roleplay (professor x student), masturbation (m/f receiving), unprotected oral sex (f receiving), cock worship (mild), dirty talking (description of sexual fantasies, description of blowjob, cumplay), spanking (ass, pussy), marking (hickeys, bites), unprotected sex (stay smart, kiddos), mild assumptions regarding cheating, grabbing (face, hair), mild edging. The power dynamics are extremely delicate because there is some safewording (yellow - slow down), and consent is actively negotiated in a couple moments where Vixen is feeling very delicate. Remember that as a reader, you can always quit reading when a scene gets too much: check in on yourself and feel free to safeword and not finish a piece if you’re no longer aligned with what you’re reading. 

I love you, please stay safe 💜✨

Here is my masterlist! Enjoy 😘💜

My office. Now. 

Namjoon’s message was cryptic to say the least. Also intimidating. 

You wondered whether he’d found out just how expensive that beautiful Le Creuset blue casserole was, or maybe you had messed up the watering of one of his tiny trees… It could really be anything. 

You don’t usually mess up. You are diligent. Namjoon is a neat man, he knows how he wants stuff done and he gives clear instructions about it. So you keep a page on your Notion account just for his plants, so you always know how or when they need to be watered. You keep lists on lists about small things that make him happy. 

His favourite detergent. His favourite fabric softener. His favourite set of sheets. His favourite brand of shampoo. 

Being diligent about his preferences fulfils you. It’s like playing a complicated game of Nintendogs. Some quirky, hyper realistic version of Animal Crossing. 

With your heart in your throat you open the door to his home studio.

Your fight or flight mechanism is going berserk in your guts, telling you to stand very still and not speak until he speaks first. 

Do not give him anything he can use against you. 

“Namjoon,” you say, just to make sure he has acknowledged your presence. 

He does this dramatic thing where he turns around with his chair. 

And your breathing stops. 

Wow. 

God. 

Wow. 

“Is this what you wanted, babylove?” 

He’s in a charcoal three piece suit. And he’s wearing glasses. 

He’s so sexy. 

“Yes, sir.” The words come out shy, unsteady. 

He snickers. “So I’m ‘sir’ tonight… Interesting.” 

He places his elbows on his knees and props his head up, his dragon eyes luring you in. 

He’s intimidating and it makes watery want roll in your belly like the surface of a lake being titillated by the breeze. 

This is how you play it, how he plays you, his desire like a snake, moving sinuously, insinuating your mind. A siege. A constant siege.

The chemistry between you and him is like an abyss, calm around the edges, and fierce in the depths, with currents so strong and unsuspected that venturing under the surface is dangerous and exciting at the same time. 

“Come here, pet.” His voice is as deep as the ocean of your desire, and you walk to him, standing in front of him, eyes to the floor. 

“Kneel,” he orders. 

You bring your gaze to his face, brow furrowed in disagreement. “But what did I do?” You ask, too confused about what’s coming for you. 

“You don’t know?” His expression conveys surprise and disappointment. 

“No I don’t?!” You are truly perplexed. It’s not like you did something to provoke such behaviour. Usually you would deliberately tease him if you crave some rough treatment, but this?! Not part of the plan. Dammit, there wasn’t even any plan to start with! 

“What did I do?” You ask, wide eyed and sweet mouthed. He can’t resist that, usually. 

“It’s yours to tell, sweet cheeks.” He cackles cruelly and you feel torment start to boil in your chest, like ugly, nasty tar. 

“I don’t know.” You feel helpless and it’s not a thing you like. It reminds you of feeling cornered, and when you’re cornered you start biting back. 

“Then you’re gonna kneel, little thing.” 

You frown some more. “No?” you object. 

Namjoon arches an eyebrow in disapproval, then leans back against his chair and runs his hands through his hair. His beautiful, dark chocolate hair, your favourite. “Come again, fox?”

“I said no.” You cross your arms in front of your chest. 

“Excellent. I gave you a chance to behave and go easy, but as usual you need to make my life impossible.” 

“I’m not kneeling for something I don’t even know I did,” you spit back, vitriolic. 

“But you’re a smart girl. You have an excellent memory, my love.” He waits some more. “Can’t be that you have forgotten.”

“Is this about my new casserole? Because I love it and you love what I cook with it, so fuck it, I’m not saving money for my god blessed pans and pots. Fuck it!” You turn around, ready to leave, but he’s as fast as a viper, he snaps up and grabs your wrist, pulling you to him, your back pressed to his chest.

It cuts your breath short. You feel even more acidic at the slick, treacherous want pooling between your thighs. 

“It’s not for the pan, love,” he whispers at your ear. “Still, thank you for your confession. We’ll deal with that later.” His voice is as dark as the witching hours, obscure and lush and dangerous like a Venus flytrap. And what a silly fly you are. 

“What did I do?” You speak, voice tender and thin.

“At this point, I assume you remember, but you don’t think it was that deep, huh?” He bites your earlobe and you whimper, a short, miserable sound that makes him feel wicked and beastly. “Maybe I’ll let you play little detective with it, yes?” He clamps his lips around the curve of your neck, as if you were a ripe peach and he was trying with all his might to hold you with his mouth without even bruising you. It was not a bite, not a kiss, not even anything really. Just the inside of his lips touching your skin. “I know you like your witty games, but I won’t make it easy on you, Vixen.”

You bite your lips, your sex clenching around nothing. 

Your breath coming short, your blood rushing wild — he is high on them both, on the crazed thumping of your heart. It feels forbidden. 

“Yes,” you say, and you frown at your own word. 

“Only if you want it, fox.” Namjoon’s hold gets more gentle. “Remember your safeword, babylove.”

That is the last straw. You turn around for him and look in his eyes. “Yes. Green. Very green,” you tell him. This is your man. This is your safest place on the entire earth. Nothing can go wrong when you’re his.

He pecks your lips with a kiss and you almost forget how dangerous he is to you. “Will you kneel for me now, pretty thing?” He asks, saccharine, and the way his voice bends and breaks into silence makes it one hundred percent certain that he is the one begging, he is the one wanting the most, he is the one who will break of lust.

Your hands touch his waist, using it to prop yourself as you lower. 

He caresses your hair fondly as you do so. “Such a good girl. An adorable, obedient, smart girl.” You look up, and he’s so in love, his stomach in knots at how perfect you are. Beautiful, terrifying thing. 

He takes a few steps back, sits on his chair and looks at you, still dressed, not a single ounce of indecency on you if not for those sinful eyes, and those wretched and divine lips. “I thought the outfit would be a good enough hint,” he says, standing up again, wanting his full height on you, but also wondering whether he should find a way to prop himself upright. 

You blink at him, shake your head innocently and plop your ass on your heels. 

He stands again and moves towards you, his steps slow and well-thought. He circles around you, studying your position. He is rather pleased with your hands clasped together behind your back. 

Once he is in front of you, he crouches down, looking you in the eye and grabbing your face with one large hand, squishing your cheeks together just a little, your mouth even more improper this way, tender and red, skin flush with excitement. Your pupils are blown wide, so black. “You’re such a doll.” His other hand caresses your head, stopping at your nape. “And I bet you’re soaked, mh?”

You look at the floor, just a tiny bit embarrassed. 

He chuckles, and it feels like a purr, like a set of claws tickling down your spine. “Pleased to know it’s true.” He tilts your chin up, and new arousal sends a shiver across your belly. “Are you wearing makeup, love?”

You keep your eyes on his as you shake your head. 

He nods to himself, then stands up, interrupting all contact with you. You feel your body sag imperceptibly, but he seems to notice. He loves you being his sunflower, the way you move for him, follow him whenever. 

A strong, independent, beautiful woman, polished head to toe, well-mannered, well-educated, elegant, intelligent, unreadable and mysterious, and so classy… You shouldn’t be allowed to new money kids like him. And yet, in those rooms full of strangers, full of men who could perfectly match you, you still chose him, always, over and over. And he reads you, like no one does. He still is the only one who can tell your focus is only somehow shifted his way whenever he’s in the room. 

He circles around you again, and again, edging you, letting you sizzle with nerves. And once he pounces, he makes sure not to miss. His hand goes to your hair, tugs at it a little as he forces you up on your knees, your face reaching his hip.

“Isn’t the material of this suit lovely?” He asks, cupping the back of your head and dragging your face across his crotch, the friction delicate as he is afraid of hurting you with the metal of the zipper. He holds back a moan as your cheek connects with his sex through the fabric. “Isn’t it, Vixen?” He asks again, though this time he’s a bit more feral, and speaks through gritted teeth. 

“It is, very,” you concede.

His grip gentles. “Colour?”

You shake your head. “Green.” You look up at him, looking for reassurance as you nuzzle your face, your nose, your cheeks and mouth against him, rubbing all over his crotch. Your eyes are piercing through his as you trace him with your nose, with your chin, as if you were learning him with the touch of your face alone. 

“Do you want a hint or do you want me to undo my belt?” He asks you, fondling your hair without an ounce of malice. 

You try to smart-ass your way out of it and add some sprinkles of sweet talking, just to better your chances. “Can’t I have both?” 

God, he loves you. You’re so smart and he loves you. “Not this one time, sweetheart.” 

You pout and he loves you even more. “Okay,” you squeak. 

He watches you quickly calculate the better route. And then he wants to mess your mouth, because your lips part and he sees your pearly teeth and he watches them wrap around the bit of leather that goes inside the buckle, tugging at it. 

You’re wicked and holy and he will die for you. 

He would love to watch your struggle. “What are you doing, Vixen.” 

You try to act coquettish and innocent as you reply, “If I can remove your belt, then I can ask for the hint and have both.” 

His eyes turn into fiery slits. “Cunning fox. Always trying to play by her own rules.” 

He stays quiet for a little bit, thinking. “As a reward for your miserable attempt at a coup, you’re getting neither.” 

You watch him retreat, no longer touched, no longer fondled or admired. He flops onto his chair and turns around. “Stay there. If you can obey that, then maybe I’ll play with you later.” 

You’re staring at the back of the chair. You’re wishing for everything and nothing suddenly. You could stand up and leave. You could crawl your way to him and be a good pet and quit battling around. 

But maybe he wants you to be a brat. Maybe he wants you to keep butting heads with him, making him fierce with authority and power. 

Maybe he doesn’t want a servant, maybe he wants an opponent. A rival. 

The clinking of metal awakens you, then the sound of a zipper. The chair creaks a little and then you recognise the heavy exhale. 

Really? And you can’t see? Can’t watch? 

Your face turns sour. You’re on the verge of complaining when you hear a moan. 

Oh, he’s doing… That. 

“Maybe I’ll teach you to listen, this way,” he says, and you feel wetness ooze out of you, it coats your core, seeps into your underwear. “If I damn notice you touched yourself, I will punish you Vixen. And not the way you like, mind you.” 

The memory of him edging you last time you went too far has you almost tearing up. “Yes, sir.” 

“Fantastic.” He’s a voice without a body right now, denied to your sight. “Would you like to hear what I’m thinking about, fox?” 

You hesitate, then nod imperceptibly. He can’t see you, you remind yourself. “Yes,” you mewl. 

He clicks his tongue, then you hear a deep mumble, a humming that feels like an earthquake on your body. It presses play to a super cut of him on top of you, below you, behind you, up against you, and endless desire, him drawing pleasure out of you like a puppeteer. 

“I’m imagining you under my desk. Mouth full, eyes glossy. You’re licking me up like I’m a popsicle, and the pink of your tongue compliments the red of my dick.” He stops, and you know he’s gathering his thoughts, venturing deeper into the specifics of his fantasy, hyperfocusing on the details until they feel almost real. “You’re there, like a devilish nymph, dressed in a soft, see-through robe with lots of feathers. They tickle you a little, and sometimes you squirm because of it, and it edges me a little, but I love it. You’re lovely and wicked and dirty.” His breathing is a little more laboured now, and you follow it, your hips syncing up without you even realising, and when you do realise, you feel only partly surprised by how deeply you and him connect.

You adore hearing his fantasies. You enjoy playing them out even more. 

“Don’t you want me under your table, right now?” You suggest. 

“It’s how I wanted you from the start, isn’t it?” He chuckles and slows down his movements. “But you were a brat and you had to mess it all up.” 

You want to slap yourself for a quick second, then try to remember that you can still play it as it lays. 

“Okay. I’m sorry.” 

Namjoon hears the little limp in your voice, he knows you’re truly sorry, but he doesn’t acknowledge it out loud. 

“Oh fox… If only you could play fair once. Just for one time.” His words choke a little and you hear him stop moving. He breathes deeply, once, twice. He’s on the edge and he’s holding back, you can tell just from the sound of him, by the depth of his voice, by how ragged it is, how rough and dark. “You could be with your back on my table, screaming by now. I could be inches deep inside you right now. Instead, you make me chase you, like a ghost. Like a dream.” 

“I can make you feel good, Namjoon, you know I can.” You try to persuade him, “I can be so good to you. I want nothing but having you in my mouth. Please.”

He quivers at the thought, almost caving him, vibrating with want — no, with need. “No,” he still replies. 

You decide to sit silent, in penance, chastising yourself. 

You don’t listen to him, you don’t do anything but sit deep in your thoughts, pondering over your knack for insubordination. Not even Namjoon’s deep, growling moans manage to get you out, not even his sweet exhale as he finally meets his pleasure. 

He cleans himself up quickly, and when he does turn around and finds you there, staring at the void, he’s almost disappointed that you did exactly as he told you. Your clothes are still on, and you’re precisely where he left you. 

He tests you, picks up your hands, turns them around and presses his lips to them, but he can tell you didn’t touch yourself. They have no wetness, no taste, no smell but that of your clean skin. 

He questions the look on your face . “What did you do, Vixen?” 

You keep your eyes low, avoiding his gaze. “Nothing. I listened, like you told me to.” 

Namjoon stares at you, confused, almost worried. You feel your hair being pushed back. 

“Vixen?” 

You lazily open your eyes to meet his. He seems worried. “What?” Your tone is dry, laconic.

He kneels in front of you and pulls you to him. “You’re such a smart little fox,” he whispers into your hair, his chin propped on the crown of your head. You feel like crying, just a little, because you’re so confused by everything that is happening. 

Too chaotic, too incoherent, you can’t make sense of it. Why is the pace so inconsistent?

“I love you, Vixen. I love you a lot, baby.” He kisses your head, again and again. “But I like you much, much better when you toy with me.” He cups your face as he looks into your eyes intently. “When you make my life a little impossible and perfect at the same time.”

“Does this mean I’m allowed to disobey?” You ask, hopeful. 

“Just every now and then. Maybe we should get a safeword for when we need to quit the games and just go straight at it.” 

You agree with several nods. “Did you want me to disobey you right now?” 

He looks at you and yeah… He for sure wanted some mischief. But you’re still in time for that, right…? “I want you to be my stubborn, cunning, clever little Vixen.” His hands feel so big against your cheeks and you abandon yourself in them. “Anything you do makes me so happy. Even when you disobey me.”

You crawl a little closer to him, and he notices it, moves his palms to your waist and gives a gentle squeeze that makes your laugh glitter with joy. “I was scared. I don’t know where this is coming from. I thought I’d better not make my position worse.”

Namjoon’s face softens with a feeling so deep, his body cradling you protectively. “I’m sorry I scared you, Vixen. I love you so bad, babylove.” He kisses you like you hung the entire universe for him and for a second you believe in being extraordinary. He caresses your face and you can tell he has no bad intentions when he says, “but you still owe me an apology,” with the sweetest, least threatening look on his face.

Your brow wavers with genuine unawareness. “I really don’t know what I did.” 

The innocence in your eyes is not counterfeited, and he is convinced. But he’s not done with the game. 

He kisses the tip of your nose, and you know he now is the gentle lover who’s overly eager to please. “Then since you behaved I’m giving you two bonuses. First, you get a hint. And then I want to see you come, love.”

You lick your lips and he stares at the movement with a slow nod, chasing the pink of your tongue with his hungry eyes. “I wanted to see you come,” you counter, mimicking his tone, with a hint of patronising.

“Let’s consider that a lesson,” comes his composed reply. 

You stare at the ceiling, thinking. “What if I don’t want you to watch me come, since you denied me?”

Namjoon’s face is blank for two seconds before he lights up. “Then I guess I can fuck you with my tongue and see how long you resist not coming.”

A shiver runs down your spine. “I guess you can.”

Namjoon’s smirk is cruel and almost manic as he asks, “Colour?”

You shake your head with disbelief and excitement, and you know your smile is the mirror of his as you reply, “Green. Get me on that desk.”

He’s so fast it almost makes your head spin. You’re bent over, and your leggings are so tight and he loves watching the curve of your ass in them. He loves that he can trace your folds with his nose and he can feel the moisture. He bites the curve of your ass and he feels the muscle squeeze as you hiccup at the sudden aggression. 

“Shut up, you love it,” he scolds you, with mild mocking. And then both your leggings and your panties are on the floor and dammit, his tongue is inside you. 

“You still owe me a hint,” you manage to utter, cheek flush against the desk, wrists pinned to your back by one of his hands.

“Call me teacher, Vixen.” He purrs, and you almost miss it. He sometimes launches the two of you in impromptu roleplay. But… 

The suit.

How could you not get it? How did you not?

He’d seen you fawning over him the other day as you rewatched the Dionysus performance. One hundred percent certain. 

Maybe he thought you were fantasising about one of his mates? Is he jealous?

Is that even the point? You’re getting tonguefucked, you’re in heaven, he’s got a point to prove, which makes him driven, and a driven Namjoon fucks like a god, like he has a purpose, like a man on a mission. So why apologise about something you just realised you might have potentially messed up — and you’re not even sure about the details — when you can enjoy a very determined Namjoon?

No, you won’t deprive yourself of that. There’s already too much a girl has to say no to. 

It’s decided, you’ll play naive and get fucked till you can’t even form sentences anymore, and once he’s spent, you can say sorry about whatever it is and give him some peace of mind. 

“Please, teacher, I did nothing wrong! I’ve been your best student!” You whine, pressing your folds against his mouth, grinding against his face, and the middle finger landing on your clit has your vision going blurry. It feels like your entire body is spinning so fast, and the angle bares your clitoris, no longer protected by the hood that usually numbs the stimulation a little. 

Your knees buckle and he stops. It’s like he entirely detached himself from you. You can’t feel him and it makes you panic a little. You turn to look at him, but he growls minaciously, “Don’t you dare move.”

So you stay still, especially since this first taste of edging is already too bitter on your tongue. 

“I’m admiring how sloppy you are.” His tone is full of himself. “You’re dripping. You’re oozing precum. It’s liquid and glossy and thick.” He stands and slaps your ass, which makes you gasp. The burn is delicious. “Lovely. I adore seeing your pussy clench when I surprise you with a spank.” He widens your stance, exposing you even further, and taps some slight slaps to your folds. “So, any clue what you did wrong, Vixen? Want to apologise to your professor?”

You’re now sure about your decision not to confess. “Not for anything that I know of.” You almost want to grin in victory.

He hums in acknowledgement. And then a spank comes across your bottom. “Such a naughty student. So smart, and yet I think you deliberately act dumb so you get some extra time with me.” He bites your ass again, and this time he stays there, sucking a bruise onto your skin. “Do you do this with other teachers too?” This time his hand moves against your soaked, slippery, warm folds. And then he enters you — only with his digit, sadly.

It causes a strangled moan to leave your throat. 

“One would think you’re doing it for your grades, but I’ve seen your tests. They’re perfect without any need for… Incentives.” He adds another finger and you push back, trying to get him knuckle-deep inside you. “Do other teachers get to come in this warm, perfect cunt?” He bends over, and his voice is suddenly so intimate, so close to your ear. “Or do I get special treatment?”

“Just you,” you squeak, your lungs incapable of emitting enough air for proper words.

“Just me, you say…” He wants inside. More than anything. He’s ready to go again and damn him, he just wants to watch his cum slide down all the way to your ankle. Keep you bent over and still until the liquid is tickling you and you’re squirming. “Then you won’t mind me marking you up, so I’m sure that other people will know you’re already owned, mh?”

“Mess me up, please,” you beg, a tad pathetic and so, so needy. 

He lowers himself again, using his thumb on your clit, torturing your entrance with his tongue, which is so slick and fleeting and wet, and there’s so little friction, and you need it so much. You try to find purchase on the desk, but you claw at nothing as you get closer and closer to the edge. 

And then he stops. And sucks another mark at the curve of your ass. 

“Oh, goodness, fuck!” You scream with frustration. 

“I’m messing you up, Vixen. Unless you apologise for what you did, then I’ll fuck you proper.” He keeps insisting and maybe he knows you have some idea of what you did and keeps going still. Maybe he wants to break you?

“I can apologise, professor, but you would need to accept me not knowing what I’m asking forgiveness for.” 

“Or maybe you’re just a starved little slut who’s so needy that she’s happy with whatever reason to get manhandled.”

That made you frown a little too much. “Colour’s yellow.”

Namjoon takes a couple heartbeats to realise what he did, and then he’s pulling you up, turning you around. He cups your face and you can read the fear in his eyes. “I’m sorry, babylove. I didn’t mean that.” He holds you to his body, tucking your head beneath his chin. 

“I’m alright,” you reassure him, hugging him, knowing just how terrified he must be. You do use your yellows every now and then, but it’s rather rare, so it wouldn’t surprise you for him to get scared. You tip your chin against his sternum and stare up at him. “Can you fuck me good enough to get the apology out of me?”

His jaw flexes, and you can see him swallow. “Be honest with me, fox, you do know what you did wrong, didn’t you?”

“I guess I know now… The hint was pretty obvious. I didn’t know it at first. And I’m still not sure about the specifics, but I do know what this is about, circa,” you admit, vague and honest at the same time. 

He chuckles. “Well, then…” 

You reach to your tiptoes, trying to get a kiss, trying to bask in the taste of you forever marking his lips, his tongue. Mine, mine, mine, the beastly, possessive part of you seems to chant. 

He gives you a peck and you let your disappointment show as he pulls away. The hands on your waist help your sweater up, exposing your undershirt and some skin of your torso. Meanwhile you kick off your panties and leggings, which were still scrunched around your calves and ankles.  

“You cold, babylove?” He asks apprehensively.

You shake your head and shiver at the same time. “I’m just excited.”

“About me messing you up?” He asks, and he’s excited too, eager and impatient more than the first time. He’s never had sex that got better and better with time, and this, with you? A revelation. He can’t help growing more and more in love with you. 

“About you fucking me like a man possessed. You get determined and strong and so, so sexy. Your ambition is like an aphrodisiac,” you admit with a fond smile that feels just a bit silly and humiliating. You never thought you would come to admit that such a small thing has such a high power over your libido.

He grins and leans back, “You wanted that?”

You nod, suddenly very serious. 

“You’re so incredibly easy to please, babylove.” He licks his lips and you follow the movements for the millionth time, drawn to him as if each part of your body and his had created a magnetic field by rubbing against each other over and over again. You sit on the desk and he’s undoing his belt and the sight of his hands… Have mercy. 

He doesn’t waste time, just slides his slacks and boxers down, not even to his knees, but to his mid-thigh, and he’s grabbing himself, tugging a little, and he has that evil smile, and those dragon eyes, and he’s the god of lust and you want to kneel and worship, but you also want to sit still and enjoy the ride you’re about to be blessed with. 

“Lay back. Hand to yourself, naughty thing.” The order is barked out and it makes you want to offer yourself even more selflessly. 

Once he enters you, there’s only him, his heat, his girth and the sight of him above you. 

“Anything you want to tell me?” He growls.

You tut, shaking your head coquettishly. “I want to apologise…” you let him hope for a second, and then continue, “for being so inexperienced about sex, professor.”

You lower your lashes innocently, stealing a glance at the dark, short hair at his pelvis, at his flesh melting in yours. “I might be a hungry slut indeed. After all, after our first time, I’ve been thinking about this all the time. I don’t want it from anybody else.” You let your expression play the harmless, dependent girl who truly can’t live without her man making love to her — and a part of you really empathises with that. Maybe a part of you has truly become dependent on Namjoon’s way of loving you down. Maybe you really need him taking care of you to stay focused, to function as an adult human being. “I feel complete only when you’re inside me,” and though you know you’re perfectly complete by yourself, that you would survive without him, you love to indulge him with being exceptionally needy.

Namjoon gives a luscious thrust, slow and rolling and it makes you feel so full. 

“Girls my age say boys are lazy, and clumsy, yet they fuck all the time even if it’s lame. Some say they like it—” The words choke in your throat as he touches a deliciously sensitive nook of your inner walls. “But I know they’ve never known the pleasure you give me.”

Namjoon leans down, and you look at your hands, at his neck. You think about wrapping your arms behind his shoulders, to get closer. 

He leans further down, and it feels like a permission. 

You know he’s struggling, so you ease the squeezing of your insides and he seems to find an easy breath. 

“If anyone had pleasure like this, I don’t think they would want to do anything but this. I don’t ever want to do anything but this. But your mouth on my cunt, your fingers teasing me…” And this sentence is indeed true. You don’t want sex with anybody else, and sometimes you do wonder if you could just shrug off your responsibilities and turn into his pretty toy. You spend half a second wondering how many weeks it would take for you to get bored of doing nothing but fucking him and being taken care of in return.

“Touch yourself,” he grunts, sliding a hand beneath you, where your back arches in pleasure as he hits the perfect spot with the new angle. 

He watches your finger reach down, watches where he moves inside you, and he feels your insides flutter at his focused gaze. 

“Come on, Vixen, Come,” he urges you. 

You hold your breath, control your kegels for three, maybe five seconds, and then, with your fingers filling your mouth, you explode. 

You’re not coherent for almost a minute, and he keeps going, he keeps pushing you. 

You place your hand around his throat, a possessive hold with no grip, to avoid hurting him. You’re just claiming him, claiming the power to hurt him but not doing that. His eyes are glossy and dark and his glasses are in the way, but that allows him to focus his eyes on you, and that’s enough. 

He’d dishevelled, uncivilised, and you’re not even sure he can comprehend his mother tongue. And yet, you speak, “Sorry, for thirsting over you in that Dionysus video I was watching the other day. Sorry for hiding away as I… relieved myself.” 

He nods and kisses you, but the hand around his throat doesn’t allow him anything more than a peck. 

“Now you’re getting off me, you’re going to lay on the carpet and I’m gonna ride you until we both come,” you say, assertive and in command. 

Namjoon goes still inside you, feeling blessed that he survived your high — and that’s probably thanks to his earlier solo session. 

“You think you’re in command?” He asks, eyebrows raised, a mocking expression on his face. 

You give a quick, harmless squeeze to his jugular. “I know I’m in command. The point is, do you know it?”

He exits you, removes his jacket, then his vest. 

You watch him like a hawk as he undoes the buttons of his shirt, leaving it on and open. The soft curve of his tummy turns you on all over again and you reach with your fingers between your thighs.  

He’s so attractive, solid, masculine… He’s powerful the way a gladiator had to be. He removes his slacks next. “Don’t want you dripping all over those,” he says, eyebrow arched in cockiness. You have to swallow as he steps closer, sexy and powerful and confident. You watch him wrap his hand around his sex, red and swollen and pulsing. You watch his lashes as his eyes lower, as he stares at the tip of his dick trace the shape of your folds. He manoeuvres himself slowly, his tongue wetting his lower lip before his jaw unlocks and his mouth hangs open, head tipping back as he enters you with a groan, your mouth still agape at the erotic vision of him. You nod and stare at his pulse echoing at his jugular.

“Lift it up, love,” he purrs, his hands grabbing your ass as he leans over, your arms clasped behind his shoulders. 

He’s effortless as he lowers himself and you to the floor, kneeling first, then with your back to the lovely, plush carpet you chose together. 

And then he yields his power, rolling so that his back is on the floor. 

He moves his hands to your ass, caressing the curve of it, then climbing up your hips, to your waist, tracing you the way he would test the shape of a rounded vase, and the narrow neck of it. You help yourself to the luxuriant fullness of having him inside you, to the lush feel of his girth moving inside you. 

He smiles lazily at the wondrous first grind, then moves his hands to your hips, his palms so wide as he grips your hip bones and starts leading your movement. “Fuck yourself on me, love,” he whispers, his chest so alive and full and plush and you can’t wait but to collapse on it, to feel his heart still beating wild as he’s just come inside you, as you lay spent on top of him. “Ride me, babyfox.”

From the grin you give him, he knows you must be related to the devil itself.

“Let me show you what a clever little fox can do,” you speak with a cunning, lustful expression.

His eyes spark up. “God bless Kinky Professor Roleplay,” he speaks in awe. 

“Long live,” you agree. And then you get to work. 

Hello reader, thank you for reading my fic! Please consider commenting and reblogging to keep a poor little writer motivated! Love you 💜✨

[howdoyousleep3]

soo speaking of ballsy, bratty, huffy baby bucky...

i feel like there's one solid, fail proof, filthy-sweet way of pulling that stubborn baby out of his 'lil funk and that is absolutely, completely dumbing him down until his brain melts out of his ears

and i know daddy steve has all the tools to do just that

dumbification kink go brr brrrrr 😌

yes yes yes not me asking you to put this in my inbox so i can write somethinnnnng for it after i had a CRISIS realizing i've never written this with these two okay okay okay...Tags for dumbification, daddy kink, established relationship, humiliation, verbal humiliation, rough sex, blowjob, manhandling, brat taming, dirty talk 💕

"That's a dumb fuckin' baby right there..."

Oh...oh no.

Bucky hiccups. Spit drips down his chin where he kneels, his neglected dick aches something fierce, and he hiccups, breath stuttering tight around his hot mouthful of cock. He feels Steve's words all over his body, the force of them damn near knocking him sideways, fucking him.

The energy within himself, between the two of them, makes its final shift of the evening. And when Steve pulls his hips away from the edge of the bed, cock popping from between Bucky's lips, he feels the last of the fight leave his system.

Dumb...baby?

"D-Daddy?"

"There he is," Daddy all but growls, voice like velvet slipping through Bucky's veins, big hand cupping his chin, other loosely jerking himself off in front of Bucky's face. "Daddy's cock fillin' your throat remind you'a who he is? Make you stupid enough to drop this embarrassing fuckin' act?"

Bucky's head spins as he pants, twirls right up into nothing but wisps of sugary cotton candy. Confused and wrung out, all he can do is open his mouth, show Daddy his tongue and that it's a much better place for Daddy to put his cock.

He's having trouble remembering why he threw such a fit to begin with actually.

"Fuckin' look at you," Daddy mumbles, smearing the swollen tip of his cock along Bucky's lips. He finds himself chasing it before he can stop himself. "Stupid like this, just how I like you— dumb for my Daddy dick."

Bucky doesn't understand what's happening, why he is finding such degradation so hot. But he is. Every one of his actions today have led to this moment, have been begging for this treatment from his Daddy. Every huff, every snap, every eye roll; this is what he was craving from his Daddy.

Bucky shouldn't be surprised Steve would use this moment to show him yet another something, another kink, he may enjoy.

He is surprised that it's this one though.

"Dumb b-baby?" he asks in a small, ragged voice, fingertips pressing into the skin of Steve's meaty thighs. Daddy gives his chin a hard squeeze, slips the same hand up and threads his fingers through Bucky's hair. When he chuckles and shakes his head, Bucky whines.

"Yeah, babylove— dumb. Havin' Daddy's dick on your tongue makes your brain go silly and that's just how I like you, just how you need to be. No thinkin', no runnin' your mouth, no backtalk. Just pliant and pretty and wet for your Daddy to fuck with."

Bucky's brain goes offline.

His eyes roll back into his head when he whines again, high and nasally and needy. He pouts, squirms, opens his mouth wider. He doesn't know why he does this, why he wants to spread his legs, show Daddy his hole, cry around Daddy's cock.

But he doesn't have to know why. He doesn't have to think. He gets to be dumb for Daddy.

"I'm sorry, D-Daddy," he whimpers, and Steve pulls his head forward by his hair, lips smashing against Daddy's shaft messily.

"Nah, I don't think you really are, but we'll talk about that later, sugar. Right now you're gonna let Daddy use this silly little mouth and your silly little body to make up for the shit you put me through today."

Yes, yes Bucky wants that. Daddy deserves it, he deserves it. It's what he's meant for, for Daddy to work out his frustrations, for Daddy to enjoy. Bucky eagerly nods his head just as Daddy impatiently smacks his heavy cock down onto his tongue.

"Now put your mouth on Daddy's balls, my pretty dumb baby. Play with 'em a while. They're heavy and full for you already, but attention from a stupid lil' thing will make the load I drop in you even heavier, come on..."

[lamoabss]

Okay but like,,,,hear me out hear me out,,,

“Pretty boy” by TV Girl is so fucking Steve coded. Like cmon, you’re telling me this song isn’t about him??

“But how about his lonelinesses? He gets it from his mom

A hundreds dollars for his haircut, but a a smile from God

And when he touches you, you wonder how he keeps his hands so soft

He got some money from his grandma, guess he’ll never have a job

Oh pretty boy (pretty boy)

Don’t speak (don’t speak)

Oh pretty boy (pretty boy)

You pretty boys are a only good for one thing”

—

Additionally,,,,can you imagine Eddie hearing this song and being like, “this is about my pretty boy” so he shows it to Steve. And Steve’s a little nervous cause he never really liked Eddie’s music but the look on the metalhead’s face is so endearing that he just can’t say no.

So he shows the song to Steve and when it’s finished playing Eddie sees him absolutely engulfed by tears. Eddie suddenly thinks that maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

“Hey, hey” Eddie coos, attempting to calm Steve down, “I should had known better, I’m so sorry babylove.”

Eddie places his hand within Steve’s and gives it three squeezes. It’s their unofficial way of saying the L word (or at least Eddie thinks).

Steve just looks at Eddie with a confused expression on his face while attempting to wipe away the tears with his free hand, “What are you sorry for Eds?”

Eddie places his other hand over Steve’s cheek in attempt to try and reassure his sweet, pretty boy.

“I heard the song on the radio,” Eddie started, “When I listened to it, it reminded me of you sweetheart.”

Eddie sees Steve’s eyes soften.

Nonetheless, Eddie continues, unaware of the fondness within Steve’s face.

“-But I should have realized that maybe it was a bit too much.” he looks down, seeming ashamed of being the one responsible for Steve’s tears. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Stevie, if I had some common sense sometimes I would just-“

Steve stops him before he can ramble on any further.

“Oh Eddie,” Eddie stiffens at the sound of his full name on Steve’s lips, “I wasn’t crying ‘cause I didn’t like the song.”

Eddie shifts his gaze back up to Steve.

“I was crying ‘cause its absolutely perfect,” Steve attempts a bright smile, even though he has tear-stained cheeks.

“Oh” is all Eddie can muster out.

“Yeah, oh” Steve mocks him (with good nature). “Tell me more about the song please.”

And so Eddie goes in full detail about the way that this song reminds him of his pretty boy.

[dukeoftheblackstar]

Come Away With Me

Summary: N/A [I want you to read this and figure it out yourself @amorfista ♥] Edit: I was gonna put something here, but nah. You got this babe!

Pairing: Me and my husband, Plo. You and yo husband, Savage.

Word Count: 2.3k

Rating: Not telling. KTNXBAI. Edit: Angst / Fluff

Notes: I couldn’t write for Savage because I know very little of him apart from what I got from you. But I trust how you draw him, trust how you speak of him, trust even the insecurities that make you crumble about him; I trust you. Trust. ~ Many thanks to @botherbother-blog because I also needed quick consult over Savage ♥ Appreciate it, my friend! ♥

Color thingies because I'm deranged to not use them: Orange: Plo Koon Pink: Me - because babe, I have no self-control and I wanna be part of this because I made it for you? ilsym ♥ Red: Also me because still, no self-control omfg? Blue: You ♥ Green: Thoughts, You ♥ Yellow: Savage Opress Purple: Song ♥

Perfect divider by @idontgetanysleep with itty, bitty, cutie-patootie Plo Koon face ♥

Thank you for being unapologetically you ♥

So please play this first because I will be so angry if you didn't ♥ - I want you to be upset first because omg, babe need you to be conflicted? Because I can't carry the pain of it all? Because I'm just genuinely unhinged as a default? - Okay, done? Good. Now, pull up the second song, set it on loop and then die with meeeeeeeeeeeee ♥ Please play this in loop ♥

“Have we a deal, sunshine?”

It would have been a full-on collision if the 212th was among the 501st and 104th raining heavily from all possible entryways of the cavernous haven that held the crowned princes captive — entourage had been wiped clean by the Republic’s finest. The unsung hunter with an idle rifle lax on her side had sashayed her way past scouts and troops that now chatter in doubt whether they have procured tampered intel from a now deemed incredulous source, or they have been bested by elusion. 

“Come on big boy, Mommy doesn’t have all day. Well — she does but, you know what I mean.”

The timing couldn’t even be more perfect as distant howling from wolves stalked and seeped through cracks in between boulders piled over. The choice was simple; escape with a ‘yes’ or die with a ‘no’ — never anything in between.

He didn’t have to say anything after a very audible scoff — now whether that was directed at the huntress, the situation at bay, or the fact that a very disgruntled Maul paced impatiently and seethed so horrendously that it was, as the huntress would often say ‘sus-vibes’.

“Count to three, always three — never more, never less, yes?” 

Pleased beyond compare, she tossed two small chip-like devices with singular buttons that beeped in unison; one in vibrant tangerine and the other of coy periwinkle. As they vanish in comparison to the striped palms that cradled them like fragile glass, the huntress takes a step forward and gently taps his cheek thrice; always three — never more, never less.

“Tangie (tangerine) go boom, Peri (periwinkle) go zoom.”

And just as she said and slithered through a makeshift tunnel and up onto the sandy grains, she clicked her ankles twice and activated the thrusters — watching the sparks ignite that needed one more tap to get it going; always three — never more, never less.

***

“You’ve surely outdone yourself, P. I have to say, I’m digging the vibe.” “High praise, high praise.” “Hey! That’s not very Kel Dor of you. You’re supposed to say something regal and … proper.” “...”

“...” “Well, go on. Don’t keep me hanging, babylove.” “Very well.” Plo clears his throat and procures a very dignified baritone response. “Exalted preeminence…?” “Babe, you know that was shit, right?” “Language, my sweet. But yes, that was indeed…” Plo merely sighed, nodded and backed away. “Now come along, my darling.”

***

Come away with me in the night

And so he finds you again, laying in the designated cot under the comfort of your own insecurities.

“Hey. You stop that now or I will come get you myself and break every horn on his head.” 

You laughed, at least you thought you did — willed yourself to believe in the lie that you’ve woven with such grace that it would put kings and queens to shame; the same lie you’ve meticulously etched upon every touch, every breath, every thought, every word that would always fall upon deaf ears. Not because they refused to listen, but because you knew that even the faintest of whispers would be too loud.

— too. damn. loud.

So you deny yourself in fear of becoming more than the encumbered weight upon shoulders that have already sagged from the avoirdupois of the galaxy itself; repulsed by the conundrum of hate and love in the same sentence that you’ve starved yourself of and from his anger, that you have surrendered yourself to the role of dirt — a maid droid with some, at best, questionable information that would endure Maul’s relentlessness that Savage would always make sure he would never cross a line. 

“I mean it, babe. I will break all his kriffin’ horns and grind —”

You can’t help but wonder if gratitude is enough; you accept it under the premise that they stay with you — or that they allow you to stay with them. To be given that privilege, to bask in their greatness; to worship him and all encompassing him — to surrender in hopes of a morsel of trust, if not affection.

“I’m fine — I promise! Please, just… Go faff over Plo or something.”

You laughed, at least you thought you did — willed yourself to believe that this was your resplendent point of no return; that this was the grandiose moment in which you would liberate yourself from the shackles you’ve adorned like fine jewelry to match the king himself. 

That maybe if you had been as beautiful as he is; had painted your nails at a point, had bruised your lips with the finest rouge, or have held your hair in a seductive knot that bore not only your skin but the desolation of your soul  with each passing moment that you’ve shed tears that would just… not… stop.  

That maybe if you had presented yourself or have written a masterpiece with an allure so potent, trust would have fallen so callously  upon sweet hands for the taking. That maybe if you had a better hold on emotions that spilled with such rawness, you would not have wept so much and had offered joy — not this. 

This…. This painful existence has made you doubt every reason to linger. That beyond how much you might love him, there is no longer any cause to continue this charade — this unnerving circus of a concept that for him to be angry, for him to bestow upon you this carnal need of fury, he would first have to care about you. 

That maybe… 

“We leave in half an hour. Prepare yourself.”

And you indeed do as you’re told;  prepare yourself devoid of candor that you’ve stayed true to your purpose — a maid droid with some, at best, questionable information that would endure Maul’s relentlessness that Savage would always make sure he would never cross a line. But at this moment, it was only Savage. 

Savage who needed something, anything; a massage, a clean up, food, a pilot — something, anything, everything but you.

***

“Borrowed.” Heavy like fluids that taint your cheeks with salt, his voice rumbles, but soft? — soft like velvet ribbons that knot quaintly around your neck as you board a smaller ship. You nodded, tugged by the galvanic tune of his voice that drew your feet onto the ramp and your hand — heavens, your hand, your beautiful, blessed hand that had touched me with such divinity that it revealed the sacrilegious tenderness of your heart. Your beautiful, delicate, exquisite heart that I would die for — that honors each passing second to be called a friend. [ I love you ♥ I’m such a sap! ]

Maker, break me — smite me from where I stand for there is no place in the vastness of the galaxy do they belong other than upon his.

Come away with me in the nightCome away with me

“Careful.”

With her heart? Like come on, Savage.  You gotta put in the work, babe!

He’s held your hand once before, right? When fingers brushed as you served him sustenance while Maul hissed on the side like a proper untrusting ball of fiery rage, glaring daggers at Savage who held onto his saber. You’ve brushed upon stern shoulders and arms when the wound needed cleaning and or the mechanical contraption failed to accommodate an angle — just as you have, but once, placed upon the sweetest kiss of your fingertips along the broken crown that did very little to diminish the sovereign he has on you while you applied whatever it was that made him groan, grunt, and sigh some few nights ago. 

When he had taken you by the wrists because you’ve flown far too close to the sun — now whether it was the liquid gold of his entirety or the kindled orbs of his soul, it had been all but a blur.

And I will write you a songCome away with me on a bus

“Are…. Are you comfortable?” And once more, that velveteen ribbon had knotted even tighter, forcing you to swallow what little life you had left, what little dignity you thought should have been robbed of you. And so you do as you always do, starve. 

Come away where they can't tempt us with their lies

“Yes, my lord.” Fallen from grace, hazel meets the silver flooring of the ship — hands seek straps to bury yourself in the comfort of the chair, distancing yourself from tempestuous Gods of Celestia who a friend had devoted her nights to pray for you, of you, to you, with you, always and a day as she says.

[ Yes, it be me, bestie ♥ I pray you for and happy things ♥ ]

And I want to walk with you On a cloudy day

“Auroras.” The journey was silent, never loud with Savage — never, only with Maul. And indeed, Auroras — a burst of lights mangled by a plethora of colors that had painted the sky of fine blues and purples, of greens and pinks, tangies (tangerine) and peries (periwinkle), but never a shade finer than the sun that glimmered on the very face that had consumed you — mind, body, heart, and soul; never a finer shade indeed.

In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high

And now there were emeralds before your feet; fine, lush virescent fields of a vacant park that overlooked a river of sorts and mud. And beyond, by where lonely rivers flow to sea, to the open arms of the sea, is a table with a pair of chairs.

Your friend had always told you that the Gods of Celestia are always unkind to those who are — unkind to the kind. It had always baffled you how truly kriffed up Celestian Law is, but you weren’t one so it didn’t matter.

You were happy to have a friend — no matter how much of an unhinged bitch she is and how much she thirsted for a certain Kel Dor Master Jedi to an unhealthy degree.

But you adore her, adore her with all your heart as you’ve told her aplenty — and in turn, she adores you more than you could ever best her.

She adores you enough to lie and claim she’d draw you but ends up writing a sappy fic because she has absolutely no self-control and cannot draw for shit and her self-insert game be too damn strong even for herself.

And so we carry on.

So won't you try to come

Unforgiving were the short gusts of wind that blew locks of hazel over your face that had seemingly pulled you into arms lean and muscular, yet gentle. The same pull that drew the sun back into your smaller frame and a marked fingers sprawled to caress your face with such a dignified stroke, it had called upon the stray locks to twine in between and be lulled to the back of your head. 

His gaze lingered — so did yours.

And whatever it was, be it the Force that trembled the sovereign before you or the Gods of Celestia drawn to this magnificent spectacle that happens to be observed by a distant figure of a Kel Dor frame with his talons mindful over the muffled screams of the aforementioned, unhinged Celestian woman, who flailed her arms high enough for you to smile. 

Come away with me and we'll kiss On a mountaintop

And again, before the crude interruption of the intruders, whatever it was, be it the Force that trembled the sovereign before you or the Gods of Celestia drawn to this magnificent spectacle, it happened.

Just. Like. That.

Come away with me And I'll never stop loving you

Lips so silken and laced with release that you felt your body quiver as it bestowed upon you the highest form of opulent gratification— as if his lips were either Midas’ touch of gold from lore of childhood or one of all deities that hail the sun had confounded it’s fiery blaze of passion upon your supple, sweet lips.

And I want to wake up with the rain Falling on a tin roof

The scent of pine resin permeating the air, the symphonic cacophony of birds that glided over the small city of your homeworld, the pitter-patter and click of silly, little river crabs that assaulted the tablecloth so vehemently that it had drawn Savage’s gaze to the creature before turning to address to the approaching couple.

[ Sorry babe, you ain’t making out with Savage if I’m not making out with Plo. Fair trade ♥ ]

They bore plates and trays of food; an assortment of anything unfamiliar to both Kel Dor and Zabrak — only to you and this bitch who decided to walk in when the kissing was happening. 

Plo, unprompted and perhaps as evenly an emotional wreck as your friend — one could only speculate seeing his enigmatic allure is brought upon by his antiox mask; placed a rather assuring hand over Savage’s shoulder and an approving squeeze. 

“Please enjoy.” Plo Koon would say, offering a delightful nod as you and Savage took to your seats. “I will see to it that your dinner remains unperturbed.”

You could help but laugh as you watched the Master Jedi take your friend by the waist and haul her over his shoulder. You would have commented but he had bested you with an amused tone. “Forgive my primitive manner of doing so, as it is a necessity.” 

While I'm safe there in your arms

You hear your friend whine and beg for, as she calls it, ‘five minutes of tea’ — to which Plo Koon sighed with such resignation over the fact that this mode of ‘disposing’ nuisance (your overly eager friend), had brought him to a defeated and compromising position.

[ Yes, babes. We getting lucky tonight ♥ LOL ]

“A… dire… necessity.” Plo trails off, patting your friend’s rear three times. And somewhere, somehow, you find yourself in chorus with the Master Jedi. 

“Always three — never more, never less.” “Always three — never more, never less.”

As the couple departed, your smile never fading, Savage calls to you.

So all I ask is for you

Not by 'you' or 'hey'. But calls to you. Speaks your name with so much reverence and warmth you feel it in your chest — so much that your own called upon yourself and placed a hand over your heart.

To come away with me in the night

"(insertnamehere). Will you... Come away with me?"

[kiankiwi]

(babylove) oh aus is q master at babbling, he always babbles! we just answer him as if we understand everything he says tho sometimes he goes non verbal and doesn't want to sign so he just points.

when he's cranky he grumbles and points, sometimes aus would go non verbal during filming qnd we would tell baz like "oh uh, someone looks overtired " bc when aus is tired he doesn't speak much and it's clear aus is overtired so baz makes sure to get everything ready for baby aus

It depends on the day whether he'll talk or be nonverbal but we're an expert on all of his communcation!

I feel like tired aus just looks super sad so Baz makes sure not to overwork him and get us there whenever he slips to keep him calm. He doesn't often get cranky but when he does, he grumbles and glares a lot