#deeper gel

[agreyrose]

No because you bitches aren’t listening to her. She left the glitter gel pens in the Midnights room!! Watch the video!!! You sound so stupid! “Omg, my fave rn is So High School/The Alchemy/Guilty As Sin?/ etc!! love a glitter gel pen song!!!” WRONG! She left the glitter pen songs in midnights! There isn’t a single one on TTPD!! Idc if it’s good ass throwing music, I agree! Shake your ass! But it is a RUSE and it is NOT a glitter gel pen song I stg !!

[sickgraymeat]

Modern human au bubbline adopt a pet and can’t agree on a name bc all of Bonnie’s are like Fancy Guy the Tuxedo Cat and all of Marcy’s are like Gloopy or smth

[poptartmochi]

but u know. dimitri does not get away scot free bc he is shielded from the paparazzi at north... no.. when he was a student, his life was endless torment from crowler. when he's a teacher, his life is endless torment from johan... he can never be free 🍻

[slttygeto]

to love you is to grow old with you - GOJO. S

synopsis: satoru learns to appreciate the little things in life thanks to you.

c.w: just tooth rotting fluff, wrote this w fem! reader on mind but there are no gendered terms, physical touch being gojo’s love language, slow mornings with pookie bear himself, he deserves all the love.

note: im on a ROLL.

to age is such a blessing and a privilege in itself, and gojo only learns how much he loves it when he notices it on you. it’s not too obvious, he never points it out to you, but over the past couple of years of dating you, he’s noticed a few changes in you, all positive.

your smile lines have gotten deeper with him around, and when he stands in front of the bathroom mirror first thing in the morning to wash his face while you were still fast asleep, he notices how his own dimples have gotten more prominent. he glances at your skin care products and although he appreciates how much you take care of yourself, he is not looking forward for the day where you start buying “anti-aging” cremes or face masks.

he wants the full experience with you, and for the very first time, gojo wants to live for a long time and is certain that he wants to die with you next to him. he doesn’t fear death, he knows it’s inevitable, but something about dying in a boring manner has always irked him—until he met you.

now he doesn’t mind if he gets sick, because he knows you will be there to take care of him. he doesn’t mind when he gets fevers because he knows you’d immediately notice based on his reddened face and would quickly but surely treat his fever and ask him to lie down and be careful, as if the man wasn’t the strongest himself.

he finds himself so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice when you start waking up from sleep and your first instinct is to look for him.

“satoru?” you call out sleepily and satoru snaps out of his thoughts and walks towards your bedroom.

“oh look who’s awake.” he grins when he sees the sleep lines on your arm and face. his hand goes towards your hair as he takes a seat at the edge of the bed and strokes it before leaning in a planting a kiss to your forehead.

“did you sleep well?” he mumbles against your forehead before planting another kiss. “any dreams of me?” another kiss to your nose. “did i look handsome in them?” and another on your cheek before going down to your neck. “were you always my pretty girl in them?” he mumbles against your pulse and you giggle at the ticklish feeling.

“satoruuu,” you whine out loud. “I just woke up,” your hand rests on top of his head when he keeps peppering kisses all over your neck.

“and plus, what were you doing in the bathroom just staring at yourself?” your fingers scratch his scalp and the man immediately melts on top of you, making you lie back down on the mattress.

“i think i changed my mind about aging,” he replies and your other hand rests on the back of his neck before sliding upwards to feel his undercut and scratch the hair there as well.

“changed your mind how?” you feel the man wrap his arms around your middle and pull you tightly towards him. he pushes his face down and plants it on your chest, enjoying the way he gets to hear your heartbeat that seems to have a nice rhythm to it.

“i wanna grow old as long as i get to do it with you,” he mumbles again and his arms unwrap from your middle and you watch as his hands push up the shirt you were wearing to kiss your stomach. “i want us to get wrinkly and ugly together,”

“you can never be ugly,” you say as you roll your eyes at your man but he strongly disagrees and pinches your sides.

“my hairline is receding.”

“please stop taking what nobara tells you so seriously,” you chuckle at how serious he is and a hand rests on his cheek. “in my eyes, you can never be ugly.”

“even when I forget to put my socks in the laundry basket and accidentally use your shower gel?”

“you’re only ugly when you do that.”

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[ghettogirly]

Hi lovely can you one for Armando x reader. Armando , Mike, Marcus, doesn't know what the reader does for a living. She find out thing before they do , skilled in everything. ( Whatever you want her to be). The reader takes the spot of reggie. Armando call her instead of Marcus. They get scared for her but just wait until they find out.

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄:

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐒 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑!

𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏.

-> synopsis: Where armando calls you to warn you that you have trouble coming you way and to go hide somewhere safe. Little do they know, you can do more than hide.

-> warnings: spoilers for bad boys ride or die, mentions of violence.

[🕷️] author’s note: thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy!

Your first encounter of Armando was when he was released to be the new member of AMMO to repay his debt to the state for his crimes. He walked in with his father, Mike, in an alluring manner. You was a helper for the team, however currently unemployed. Failing to find your place in society.

The mexican-born male wore a black co-ord , tight to his chest and flattering in all the right places. His hair slicked in gel, the sides of his head faded with a scar at the side of it.

You both grew quickly closer, spending each day with each other even with the stares of judgement people descended onto you.

“He has killed countless people.”

“He’s a criminal, they should lock him up and throw away the key.”

“Armando Aretas. The animal who should be put down.”

It did hurt you for a while, leading you to deny your feelings for him. Until one day, after a passionate night with him, you tried to briskly leave in the middle of the night.

“Where are you going?” The males voice croaked out, his voice deeper than usual due to the vocal cords enlargement throughout the night.

“I need to go home, i’ve spent too long being here.”

A scoff is heard.

“Yeah. No surprise there. Running out of excuses are you?”

“ Its not an excuse i just have something to do at..”

“Guárdalo, solo vete. Te han lavado el cerebro las opiniones de otros y no quiero escucharlo más. Ahórrame los detalles.” Venom dropped off the latino’s tongue as he dismissed you away. Sadness overcame you as no words came out of your mouth.

Days went by, Armando never spoke to you. Tension flushed by you guys whenever you was by each-other in a room. One day, you couldn’t handle it no more and you grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn and look at you.

“I’m sorry. You’re more than just an animal or a criminal. I know i don’t even deserve for you to forgive me but i need to get this off my chest. I am so sorry Armando.”

You feel his arms engulf you in a hug as tears roll down your cheeks, embarrassed at how easily influenced you were from everyone’s opinions. “no llores mi amor, I forgive you.”

𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐏.

“Hey guys, we’ve got trouble.”

Armando’s shoes pounded down the wooden steps as he swiftly walked to Dorn’s computer, his nerves rising as he sees the blonde’s frantic typing on the keyboard below. “What’s wrong?”

The cameras on the computer pointing to every angle in your house, yet, 3 armed men slowly creep up to the front door. Ready to raid, they point their rifles towards the door. “Tenemos que tomarlos ahora!” One masked man, whisper shouts in spanish, their emotions covered but their body language is prevalent. He is tense.

Dorn shifted his position to turn to Armando, his brows furrowing, “Are these your people?”

He shook his head, “No.”

Time stood still before he realised the severity of the situation, rushing over to the phone he picks it up and rapidly taps your contact. “Mierda! Pick up the phone..”

A few seconds of beeps echoed around the room, the only thing filling the air of silence. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“We have no time. Take Uncle Marcus’s wife and go hide. Now.” His words dropped with warning as he kept it short and sweet.

Your eyes widen as you hear his stoic words. Quickly whipping your head to the side, you gather your godmother and hide in the closet. A loud bang blasts through the room as footsteps clatter along the floor, moving in a tactical fashion as they scan the house for people. Armando quickly runs to the cameras, looking at the masked men quickly run through the house, weapons pointed at every angle. “Fuck..”

A moment passes and you slowly slip past the closet door, gripping your fingertips on the cold, wooden pane, you slide by the counter and quickly exhale. “Lord, please protect me.”

The woman slowly slides her hand up the counter top, reaching for a knife before calculatedly turning left while peeking around. A second passes before you see an outline of a shadow descending down onto you. Slowly looking up, you see a gun pointed towards you. “Shit.”

With a quick whisk, you slice the knife through his leg, the man drops down and shouts in pain as you slit the masked man’s throat. Taking his gun, you push forward back into the living room where the rest of the men were. Angling yourself, you shoot the man in the corner before whipping the man in front of you with the rifle.

“Damn, that bitch can fight.”

Randomly another man whisks you around, taking you in a loose headlock. The sound of a gun goes off and the man falls back in anguish, brushing yourself off you turn around and shoot him in the head.

A quick moment goes by and by the end of it, all men are dead. The carpets and floorboards stained with a crimson red as you pant for air. You quickly run back to the closet, “it’s safe now. let’s go.” You say to Marcus’s wife, embracing her in a hug before you both hurry off.

Not before, you look up at the camera and smile. Blowing your pointer and middle fingers to represent a gun, before winking.

“You’re welcome.”

The male turns to the rest of the crew and grins, followed by a slow whistle.

“Seems like we know what she does after all.”

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒:

“Guárdalo, solo vete. Te han lavado el cerebro las opiniones de otros y no quiero escucharlo más. Ahórrame los detalles.” - Keep it, just leave. You've been brainwashed by the opinions of others and I don't want to hear it anymore. Spare me the details.

“no llores mi amor” - Don’t cry my love.

“Tenemos que tomarlos ahora”: We have to take them now.

“Mierda!” - Fuck!

[macgyvermedical]

Wound Care For Adults

So the wife was on backpacking reddit and found that a lot of people can't tell the difference between wounds you need some vaseline and a bandaid for, wounds that need a little home TLC, wounds you need to go to an urgent care for, and wounds you actually need to go to the emergency department for, so we're gonna talk about that here.

Wounds that need some vaseline and a bandaid:

A blister that popped

A non-gaping cut

A skinned knee (small amount of fresh, shallow road rash with nothing embedded)

Keep in mind that you should NOT use rubbing alcohol, iodine, mercurochrome, or hydrogen peroxide on any of these. It will just hurt and potentially kill healthy cells in the wound. Neosporin or other antibiotic ointment is okay if you happen to have it, but the antibiotics themselves don't last long and are generally not worth the extra money.

Wash the wound with plain tap water, pat it dry with a clean cloth or piece of gauze, dab on a little petroleum jelly (Vaseline) and slap a bandage on that beby.

Wounds that need some TLC at home:

A small, shallow burn with nothing stuck to it

A slightly infected open blister or non-gaping cut

Slightly infected road rash or shallow road rash with something embedded in it

Cut gaping less than 1/4 inch (1/2 cm)

Small, shallow burn: Right after you get the burn, run it under cool tap water for 5-10 minutes, even if you think it's already cool. This will help clean the wound and stop the burn from getting any deeper. Do not ice. Do not put oil or butter or vaseline on the wound. Use an over the counter burn gel and a bandaid to hold it in place.

Slightly infected small wound/road rash: You'll know it's slightly infected if there's redness and swelling around the edges (up to 2cm), if there is drainage, and if it smells bad. It will also probably hurt more than you think it should. For this you'll want to do hot compresses about 4 times a day for 20 minutes per time until the infection goes away. To do this, get a pot and get water hot enough that it is uncomfortable to touch. Then put a wash cloth in that water, pull it out, wring it out, and hold it against the wound. It should be uncomfortably hot and just a little painful. When it cools down, dip it back in the pot, wring it out, and do it again. At the end of 20 minutes the whole area around the wound should be pink.

Road rash with something embedded: If there's a tiny stone or pieces of visible dirt on this section of road rash, you'll need to clean it with a moderately forceful stream of water. You can do this with an irrigation syringe you can get from the pharmacy, or you can make your own using a plastic zipper bag. Fill a bag with water, then cut a teeny tiny hole in one of the corners. Squeeze the bag to make a stream of water, then direct that stream at the wound. This will take potentially a lot of water. Keep at it until there is nothing visible in the wound, then treat with vaseline and a bandaid.

A cut gaping less than 1/4 inch: If this is on your face, genitals, or hands and you care about scarring, go to an emergency department. If this is on another part of your body and you're okay with a scar, keep reading. Stop bleeding with pressure. Clean the wound by running clean tap water through it and pat the edges dry. Make some butterfly bandages out of strong tape- I recommend silk medical tape, but in a pinch you could use duct tape or similar.

Starting on one end, tape down one side of a butterfly bandage, pull it across the cut, and tape it to the other side. Move a 1/4 inch down the cut, and tape another one down, then another, until you have taped the length of the cut. Put some kind of breathable bandage on top of this.

Wounds that need to go to an urgent care:

Cut gaping more than 1/4 inch but that you can still stop bleeding with pressure.

Open blister, cut, burn, or road rash that is draining thick, yellow-or-white drainage and is not getting better with hot compresses, but you don't have a fever

Stop any bleeding, clean by running water over the injury, and go to an urgent care or your family doctor if you happen to be able to get in for a same-day appointment.

Wounds that need to go to an emergency department:

Any cut that gapes on the face, palm of the hand, or genitals

Infection with streaks or with which you have a fever/chills, or for which the red area grows by more than a cm in an hour

Burn larger than the palm of your hand or that is more than skin deep

Any wound that was spurting blood or that needed a tourniquet to stop bleeding

Go to the emergency department as soon as possible, they'll take care of it.

[lokisgoodgirl]

A Quiet Storm [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A stormy morning and a sleepy Loki in your bed. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Loki x Female Reader. Established relationship. Mild somnophilia. Light, fluffy smut. (w/c 1.2k)

Wind batters against the windows. It buffets the eighty-seventh story with the strength of a god’s fury, rattling the glass.

Rain sounds like hailstones. It has done for the past twelve hours. And it's beautiful, in a primal sort of way. It lulled you to sleep, alone. But as you try to snuggle deeper into the duvet, you realise that most of it is missing.

Turning, you find a familiar wall of pale muscle. You smile softly. No wonder you felt so safe in the storm. He came in at some point during the night, careful not to wake you. But despite his good intentions, Loki is a chronic bedsheet thief. Always has been.

Dull light makes a faint line across his body, from his neck and over the thick of his back. Loki’s hair spreads against his pillow like ink on fresh towels, curling and winding its tendrils into every available space. Your nose traces the sharp line of one shoulder-blade, inhaling the warmth that lingers on his skin.

He showered. Steve said it might be a messy one last night.

The god is facing away from you, one leg draped over the other, bedsheets trapped between his thighs. The room is cold, and the more you awaken, the more you notice the ripple of goose-bumps bristling up your calves.

Loki is fast asleep, that’s plain enough. The portion of his torso visible above the sheets is rising and falling steadily. Peacefully.

Rain slaps against the glass, another gust of winter gale howling around the panes. Without looking, you know that one arm will be tucked under his pillow, the other bent at a way that makes his triceps bulge in that effortlessly sensual way. You place a sleepy kiss between his shoulders, no more than an angels touch. And with all the care you can muster, you try to tug the sheets in your direction.

Loki stirs, groaning with unintelligible annoyance. You snuggle closer, squashing your cheek against the hard expanse of his back. Fingers creep tentatively over the ridges of his abdomen, pausing to ghost the solid dent of his obliques. His breaths rise and fall in undisturbed slumber.

The hand comes to rest in the centre of his chest. You can feel his heartbeat, the same as your own. One leg rises and slips beneath the sheet he hoards, your thigh finding its home against his hipbone. Loki’s perfect ass presses against your lower belly, the increasing heat from your exposed sex millimetres from his skin. One calf lies flush against his, bent at an angle. Tangled over him. “Mornhnigk.” he grumbles sweetly, voice thick with sleep.

He’s not awake, not really. You smile against his neck, closing your eyes.

Nuzzling into his hair, you appreciate that this is the god you see. This is the Loki you see. The one who feels safe in your bed. The one who feels safe in your love.

Another kiss finds its way pressed against his hair. You nose rogue strands aside, capturing the edge of his delicate earlobe between your lips with a gentle sigh. He smells so good, like fresh cotton and your shower-gel.

He came straight here, you think, heart skipping as you imagine him striding from the Quinjet in darkness and making a beeline for your apartment. Stripping off in your bathroom, not his own. His leathers a tangled heap on your hallway floor, no doubt. He came straight home.

Irresistible. That's what he is. Even if you wanted to leave him be, not touch him, adore him, you don't think you could. The quiet storm of love you have for him rages inside you with all the ferocity of the one outside. Unstoppable. Undeniable.

Loki’s back arches slightly as he works his face deeper into the pillow. It presses his muscular ass into your crotch. Your fingers slip down his stomach, pads catching on the silken trail of fine hairs leading towards his groin. Heat increases as you move closer to his centre, radiating from his skin. Suddenly aware of how cold your hands must be, you flinch as the head of his cock brushes your pinky. The tip is slightly wet.

He’s usually horny as hell when he comes back from missions. It must have taken all his willpower not to wake you. Or at least resist the urge to hold you, burying his erection between the curve of your cheeks. The thought of his gentlemanly resistance makes your stomach flip with desire.

A small sigh escapes him as you trail a solitary digit up his velvet cock, tall and strong against his stomach. You’ll never get used to how soft the skin is. Chalk and cheese to the way he can make you cum as he rails you masterfully with the force of a wild tempest. The finger catches on the thick vein that runs to the root, and you play with it, grazing up and down its route with a ghost-like touch. Loki sighs again, shoulder-blades twitching.

Needy fingers wrap around his girth, squeezing gently.

Loki purrs. A low, rumbling sound which chimes with the patter of raindrops against glass. His cock twitches in your hold, eager for his mistress’s adoration as you trace your delicate grip to the tip. The god’s hips thrust lightly into your hold, rocking himself deeper into the tantalisingly pleasure his sleeping form finds itself. His foreskin gathers beneath your fingers as you massage gently, before sliding it back down.

Loki gasps. The mattress shifts as your lover’s waking body turns with care, shoulder muscles clenching as he pushes up against the bed and lays on his back. One of his hands stretches up and slides behind his head while your own continues its slow pump of his swollen cock beneath the covers. So slowly, back and forth.

He blinks several times, watching the work of your hand before his sultry stare finds your own. His eyes flash, still hooded from dreams. “Did you miss me?” he asks groggily, knowing the answer. Loki leans forward, kissing you deep. His warm tongue searches your own, strands of his wild hair sticking to your lips. You can feel his lower body clench and jolt as your strokes grow firmer, his left hand itching against the sheets as he clenches and unclenches a fist.

A particularly ferocious wave of wind slaps against the window, making you flinch. Your hand grips his cock even tighter, making him hiss with pleasure.

As you loosen, Loki’s brow furrows in feigned pity. “Are you scared, little one?” he purrs. It’s tipped with loving condescension in that filthy way that only he could muster. “Do you need a big, strong god to to protect you as the realm’s elements rage?” You bite your lip to stifle a smile, nodding. “So scared,” you confirm in a girlish whisper. Loki sniffs, raising his chin. He looks down from half-lidded eyes, un-styled locks of curl falling around his jaw. “Come then,” he utters, moving the hand behind his head to pat your pillow. “We must ensure you are thoroughly...protected.” You squirrel down in to the blankets, facing away from him while he draws you near. His throbbing cock pulses against your ass, against your thighs, searching kisses working a trail up the curve of your neck.

“I will always protect you,” he mutters earnestly as you feel a hand slip between your bodies.

The crown of his manhood slides against your entrance, slipping against wetness. He hums contentedly, nudging the tip as you clench around air. Loki's body melts against yours like a finger dipped in wax. His abdominal muscle pulses against your back as he tries to steady his breaths.

In moments, a dark moan floods your ear as he squeezes inside. The feeling of peace is immediate. Loki stills, breathing softly against your skin.

“Always,” he groans quietly as he bottoms out.

He only withdraws an inch with every careful thrust, rocking you gently as you move against him. With him. You’re vaguely aware of his dexterous fingers toying with a nipple, the suck of his kiss on your neck, the happy sounds of your own moans as he fucks you in rippling waves.

All the world dissolves. All you hear is the white noise of his loving praise. His delicate pleasures. Safety.

All there is, is him. And outside, the storm rages on.

Tags (contd in comments)

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog

[adverbally]

I Put a Spell on You

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Halloween” | wc: 1,213 | rated: M | cw: minor discussion of the consent and self-determination issues arising from love spells (which do not actually apply to what happens) | tags: attempted magic, halloween costumes, eddie’s self esteem issues, this turned out more humorous (or even cracky) than intended but i figure i was due for a light angst day, happy ending | title from the song by “Screamin’ Jay” Hawkins (though I personally love the version by Creedence Clearwater Revival)

———

Under any other circumstance, Eddie would be thrilled to have an amorous Steve Harrington in his arms, pressing him up against the side of his van and kissing him senseless. Honestly, there is still a part of him that thrills at the contact, but a far greater part of him is too guilty to enjoy the warmth of Steve’s mouth on his.

“Steve, wait,” he gasps between kisses, planting a hand on Steve’s chest to keep him at arm’s length.

Steve frowns at him. It’s a ridiculous look contrasted with the werewolf costume he had put together for that night’s Halloween party, complete with hairy paw gloves and a repurposed fake beard glued onto the sides of his face to simulate overgrown sideburns. “Too much?” he asks with genuine concern.

It takes everything in Eddie not to flinch away from the scratchy fur when Steve raises a hand to cup his cheek. “No, I just– are you sure about this?” He’s not sure what he means by this, exactly, but it definitely includes making out with another guy in full view of whoever is still wandering around Loch Nora at two in the morning. Especially when it’s the weekend before Halloween and they’re dressed as a vampire and a werewolf.

“I really like you and if you feel the same, I wanna see what this can be,” Steve says firmly. “Especially if you let me keep kissing you.” His lips are stained red, courtesy of the fake blood he picked up from Eddie’s mouth, and his cheeks are flushed from alcohol and the exertion of the past few minutes. He’s almost beautiful enough to distract Eddie from his ethical dilemma, but not quite.

“I appreciate that, but did you feel that way before, like, Thursday evening?”

Steve lets go of his face. “That’s a suspiciously specific question,” he observes through narrowed eyes.

“What do you mean?” Eddie keeps his eyes wide, trying to look innocent.

“Eddie.”

It doesn’t take much to make him crack, just a hint of disappointment on Steve’s wolfy face. “I, um.” He scrunches his face up as he searches for the words. “I might have cast a love spell on you?”

Steve, to his credit, doesn’t immediately burst out laughing. Another worrying bit of evidence pointing to the spell’s success, maybe, but he mostly looks incredibly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I found this book at the library,” Eddie confesses miserably. “About magic. And of course I didn’t think it would actually work, but I had to try it, you know? For science or whatever. So I cast a love spell on you, and now you’re here,” Eddie waves a hand at him, “and you’re suddenly into me.”

Steve’s frown gets even deeper, if possible. “You know how insane that sounds, right?”

Eddie really regrets slicking his hair back with gel to complete his fancy vampire look. The urge to fidget with it is especially strong right now. “Yeah, obviously it doesn’t make sense. It’s magic.”

“It’s not real!” Steve exclaims, throwing his paws in the air in exasperation.

“Steve, look at the evidence here. It’s Friday night– or Saturday morning, I guess– and it’s the first time we’ve seen each other since I did the spell on Thursday. You expect me to believe that you genuinely want to be my boyfriend and the timing of this was a coincidence? I mean, the odds are practically zero!”

Steve is blinking at him like he’s trying to understand a foreign language, but his smile is fond when he says, “I didn’t do great in Stats, but I’m pretty sure the fact that you just described exactly what happened makes the odds, like, a hundred percent.”

That’s not how probability works but Eddie isn’t sure he can explain why while he’s tipsy and distraught, so he ignores that statement. “And it doesn’t matter if you say you already wanted to be my boyfriend. The whole point of a love spell is that it makes you think you’re in love. Maybe that’s a retroactive effect! Maybe if it worked, you would just think that you’ve had a crush on me this whole time!” Eddie is sort of shouting by the end. Good thing Steve’s neighbors are so far away.

“Eddie.” Oh god, Steve’s eyes are sad now. He’s probably about to explain how this insane violation of his free will makes Eddie a shit person (which, yeah, he’s aware) or argue that he stole Steve’s chance to fall in love for real (also very hard to refute).

“I’m sorry, okay, it was supposed to just… do nothing. That’s why I knew I could test the book by doing this. Because if you showed any interest in me, which would never happen in a million years without magical intervention, it would be proof that the spell worked.” Eddie spreads out his arms as if to say ta-da! “And now here we are. I totally understand if the whole mind control aspect of this, like, ruins our friendship, ‘cause I’m sure that would be a dealbreaker for me–”

Steve covers Eddie’s mouth with one of his giant furry gloves. “Eddie. I’m going to ask you something. It might be hard for you to answer, but I want you to try, okay?” He waits for Eddie to nod before removing his hand. He looks Eddie dead in the eye and calmly poses his question. “Why do you think it would be impossible for me to like you of my own free will?”

“I mean, I guess it’s technically possible? Just super unlikely and even demonstrably false.”

Steve rests his paws on his hips. “I think you know what I mean.”

“Steve, stop trying to spin this into being okay! I know I fucked up but I’ll undo it as soon as I can. I owe you a huge apology.”

“No,” Steve shakes his head, which makes his lupine sideburns rustle. “No, that’s actually the complete opposite of what I’m trying to tell you here. I like you. Really! You’re smart and fun, and I love how creative you are and how you want to help people and even how fucking self-sacrificing you are.” He puts his hands over the exaggerated shoulders of Eddie’s vampire cape. “That’s all because of you, not some stupid spell.”

“Oh.” All Eddie can do is stand there, hoping the tears in his eyes don’t spill over and smear his makeup. “Really?”

Steve laughs. “I’ve only been trying to ask you out since August!”

That makes Eddie snort, mostly at his own obliviousness. “Give me a break! I had just relearned how to walk in August, I was a little busy.”

“If you need something to do that doesn’t involve fake magic library books, I might be able to help,” Steve jokes with a crooked grin. “That is, if it’s okay to kiss you again?”

“Blanket permission, as long as you forget this ever happened.” Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and pulls him close again.

“Mm, I don’t think so.” Steve tilts his head to kiss Eddie. It’s not as frantic as it was earlier, now that Eddie isn’t panicking about the moral implications of intimate activity under the influence of a love spell.

Somehow it’s even better.

[moonsaver]

Morning Sunlight

What are mornings like with the mysterious Head of the Oak Family? Not many know. But you, his lover, has the pleasure of knowing how to answer that question in many ways. One memory of dozens comes to mind.

A/n; just a drabble I wrote about mornings with sunday because i wanted some slightly domestic fluff. Its very small.

Cw/tw: implied to be bad at cooking (reader) body pain (reader), mentions of chest but no mentions of boobs (you're welcome), sunday being clingy, overall fluffy. Just 2 mentions of peeing.

Mornings with sunday are fortuitous

And by that, you mean, you get to see the elusive, prestigious head of the Oak family sleeping.

And you get to spoon him.

Isnt this lovely?

Your nose is tucked into his blue hair, a few strands stick up and tickle your face. You shift, to which Sunday responds by burying his face deeper into your chest, adjusting the hold of his arms around you.

You blink your eyes open, slightly blurry still from last night's sleep. You reach up one of your hands to gently pet the top of his hair.

You've recently taken to calling him "star" as a joke. You just called him "Sun" initially as a form of endearment and shortened his name, then simply resorted to calling him star. Although, you suppose he's more like the moon. You should ask him when he's woken up.

You shift again in bed, before stilling,

Ouch.

Something just pulled in your back.

"[Name]?" Sunday's muffled, soft voice curiously speaks,

Oops.

"Did I wake you?"

You whisper back to him, one of your hands immediately going down to sift through his feathers, soothing his fluttering wings as he stirs awake. He lifts his head slightly. Golden, half-lidded eyes look up at you.

"Not at all. Did you sleep wrong?"

One of his hands moves up your back, going over to your side and resting there, his thumb massaging the outline of your shoulder blade.

"I might have. Probably pulled a muscle?"

Sunday's head gently dives down, taking shelter back into the haven of your chest. He stays still for a moment before his body pushes, and his hand stretches out to reach the drawer behind you. You look over to see shaking, outstretched fingers barely make it to the handle, and stifle your laugh. It escapes as a snort.

Sunday stills for a moment. Then sighs, before pushing further and managing to open the drawer. You see his hands teeter around and feels the various items before landing on a pain relief tube.

He pushes the drawer close, and returns to his original place, the force of his body retreating from you.

You close your eyes, burying your nose into the top of his head again. He smells nice, you note.

You hear the faint click of a cap, and it's not soon before Sunday's deft finger crawls under your shirt and over the skin of your back. It presses the gel on the outline of your shoulder blade, and firmly presses into the cavity beside it, massaging it well. Once he's done massaging it for a few minutes, his finger retreats, and his hand returns to its place on your back. His thumb caresses the outline of your shoulder blade again.

“Planning to wake up anytime soon, handsome?”

“A few more minutes, dear.”

He shifts again, his face moving from the home of your chest to the curve of your neck, and he presses soft kisses on your skin. Everything about him is warm. You scrunch your nose as the feathers of his wings slightly tickle your nose.

“Star.”

“Mmh?”

His hummed response reverberates slightly in your neck,

“I need to use the washroom.”

“My condolences.”

“Sun.”

“Truly unfortunate.”

You sigh. Sunday softly chuckles, the noise muffled.

“5 more minutes.”

“I won't have to go if you keep me here that long.”

“3.”

“Cutting it close.”

“That's fine.”

“Sunday.”

It's his turn to sigh, except, he doesn't. He stays quiet for a few minutes. When he doesn't shift or respond, you get nervous,

“Sunday?”

…

You try again,

“You're so quiet.”

“I've heard acting dead can deter brown bears from attacking.”

The imagery is too bold in your mind as he says so.

“Now, now.”

You tap the top of his head, trying to get him to budge.

“Were you implying something with that?”

“No. But, do you think I'd survive, if I acted dead?”

“Perhaps.”

You push against Sunday, again.

“Sunday, it's been 5 minutes”

“2, to be precise.”

“I'm gonna pee in 2 more.”

“Tragic.”

“Sunday.”

He stays quiet again. Then shifts with a sigh, moving off of you and onto the other edge of the bed. Is he pouting?

–

Your morning is now well under way. The sizzling in the kitchen is loud in your ears as you handle the pan over the stove.

A pair of white wings cover your eyes. Slightly damp at the edges, you note. His face presses up next to yours, the skin cooler in comparison. Sandalwood fills your nose and the kitchen.

“Done, hm?”

You chuckle, as his wings retract.

“I'll manage the rest, dove.”, his voice is clearer than before. You admit, to a degree, you miss the sleepiness in his voice.

He cups your face, both of his thumbs coming up to soothingly run along the edge of your eyes,

“My eyes are really crusty.”

“I'm trying to help.”

“Not gross?”

“Not at all. I don't mind.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“What about my cooking?”

Sunday gently pecks the corner of your mouth.

“Go wash your face, angel.”

You laugh a bit. The sound echoes in the quiet of your kitchen. The air is fresh and still from the morning, sunlight pours in from the open windows. And Sunday treasures the isolated sound, repeating in his mind.

–

[ellastone-olsen]

Soft mommy Wanda headcanons

Warnings: NSWF 18+, fluffy fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of anxiety, pet names, praise

AN: I haven’t written anything for so long, I’m trying to improve. Thank you all again for 700 followers 💕

Soft mommy Wanda who...loves to use a nickname for you, it seems that she has already called you by all possible names, but her favorite “bunny” comes out of her mouth most often. You have already forgotten when she called you by your real name, but you don’t mind, because that’s how woman shows her conviction.

Soft mommy Wanda who...lies next to you and hugs you when you feel anxious. Her hands stroke your hair as she whispers sweet “It’s okay baby, I’m with you.” She lets you bury your face in the crook of her neck so you can inhale the scent of her slightly bitter floral perfume.

Soft mommy Wanda who...always listens to your long monologues about some films or TV series that you like, but about which she understands nothing. Sometimes she takes the initiative for you to watch them together while you lie between her legs in an embrace under a fluffy blanket.

Soft mommy Wanda who...often stays late at work and when she comes into your shared bedroom, she finds you sleeping peacefully in a pile of blankets. She knows that you were trying to stay awake until she joined you. Sometimes Wanda takes out her phone and takes a couple of photos for her collection so she can look back and admire what a cute little thing she got in your face.

Soft mommy Wanda who...loves to take a bath with you on Sunday evenings. She will definitely light a couple of scented candles that you bought on your initiative and place them on the sides of the bath. Her hands gently wash your body with chocolate shower gel while her lips kiss the expanse of your neck.

Soft mommy Wanda who...puts your legs on her shoulders to fuck you with her strap deeper and better, as you deserve. Your little whining “Wanda...mommy, mommy...so good.” comparable to the reward for her efforts. Her eyes watch as your hands tightly grip the headboard as she hits the soft spot inside you every time. “That’s my good girl, like that, taking mommy’s strap so well.” She knows that these words will drive you even more crazy.

Soft mommy Wanda who...loves it when you pay attention to her breasts. Your mouth waters every time you see her big soft tits and she lets you bury your face in them before giving each nipple your attention, making her pussy clench around nothing.

Soft mommy Wanda who...is embarrassed about her body, especially the small tummy that you adore so much. Each time you undress her, you pay special attention to this part, then lower your mouth to her soft thighs. When your hand reaches her pussy, you will find that she is already soaked wet from all the caresses that you give her.

[harryspet]

Can you write a Bambi eyes Drabble where rafe does anal with reader for the first time ?

a/n: this got a little freaky :)

Warnings: dark!daddy!rafe x reader, medfet, DUBCON, fingering, vibrator, bondage, bambi/reader is 18+ DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE A MINOR

Some nights, Rafe pushed you to your limits. Typically, those were the days where he was most mentally strained. You knew he'd expect more from you when you heard him arguing over the phone or getting short with Lana. In the moment, your heart raced and you let your fear creep in but Rafe was always much nicer in the morning. It was a good thing that you helped him get out his frustrations. 

“Don’t squirm so much,” He told you, his hands on your hips to keep you still. You were bent over the edge of your bed, your hands constrained to each side by white cuffs. You weren’t particularly fond of the restraints, especially when you were naked as you were often left shivering, your nipples perking up from the cold. 

You felt a cold gel as it was squeezed out over your exposed holes, “I know it’s cold, little girl. You’re being such a good patient for Daddy.” It was a game and you were to pretend you were at the hospital recieving an exam and Rafe was your Doctor. It wasn’t far off from your imagination, Rafe always kissed your bruises and put on your bandaids. You also knew he was much smarter than you. 

Before he’d restrained you to bed, he’d given you a bath, paying special attention to an area that he hadn’t paid much attention to before. Now, with gloved fingers, he was paying even closer attention to that area, “Daddy,” You whined as he pressed his middle finger against your hole, “It feels weird.”

“What did I just say? I have to take a look down here, make sure my little girl is nice and healthy,” You squeezed your lips together and tried to hold in your mewls, “You’re so tight here, little girl. Too tight.”

“I’m sorry,” You dipped your head further down, your face heating with embarrassment. 

“Don’t worry, I’m going to stretch you,” You winced as he pushed his finger deeper and a yelp escaped your lips as he pushed in until you felt his knuckles against your bottom cheeks, “Shhh, stay still.

“Too much, too much!” You rushed out as he slowly pulled his fingers out, “It’s too much, Daddy. I think–”

Rafe interrupted your nervous ramblings by landing several spanks on your exposed bottom. Tears pricked your eyes and you felt your heart beat coming up your throat, “It’s supposed to hurt at first, it’ll get easier,” He tried to assure you although you sensed a harshness in his tone, “Listen, don’t yell.”

“I-I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“You gonna be a good little patient, now? If you don’t behave I’ll have to start all over.”

“I will be a good patient, Daddy.”

“Good girl. You’re much tighter than Daddy expected,” You heard him moving around the room although you couldn’t see exactly what he had grabbed. When he heard a soft vibrating, your mind filled in the blank. It made you feel relieved for only a moment because once again, Rafe’s latex finger was pressing against your tight entrance, “You’re gonna cum with Daddy’s finger in your ass, okay?”

It was rhetorical, you realized, but nodded anyways. Rafe pressed the large head of a vibrator to your clit just as he pushed inside of you, “I’ll give you a few minutes,” Rafe continued, “If you can cum three times with Daddy’s fingers in your ass then we can stop for the night.”

“I-I’ll try.” 

With the vibrator on high, you reached your first orgasm quickly but the pain cut your pleasure short. You could give him two more. It was a good thing that you helped him get out his frustrations. 

“Attagirl, Bambi.”

Bambi Eyes Masterlist

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

sleepy mornings with König

(cw: age gap 25/41; nsfw, mdni, smut, cockwarming (i guess??))

a/n: just some thoughts that have been plaguing me for a while cause i just need smutty domesticity with the big guy...

He’s usually awake before me, being used to get up early, and he doesn’t change that when he is on leave. Most days he just reads, a book on the covers before him, while I sleep in, especially on weekends. Or he looks at the news on his phone. Glasses on the tip of his nose.

On other days he'll wake me up, with my favorite method of being woken up, his head between my legs. It's not like he didn't do that the night before, but he still can't get enough.

“Good morning.”, he mumbles as I stir awake.

Mmh, his sleepy voice. Soft and gravelly. A little deeper than usual. Whispering sweet nothings to me as he eats me out until I come on his tongue.

An orgasm, even before I had my first coffee. What a treat on a Sunday morning. The big guy can't live without the black elixir though, so he just scoops me up and carries me downstairs to the kitchen.

He sets me onto the counter right next to the coffee maker, toying with me, nuzzling his face into my neck, pressing soft kisses onto my face. The marble top under my bare cheeks is hard and cold, and my feet are dangling in front of the cabinet.

His fingers dip into me, and I sigh, relishing the feel of how he stretches me. I slump into his chest, breathing him in. His soft warm scent, the slightest hint of his shower gel, from when we showered the night before.

While we wait for the coffee to be ready, the liquid slowly dripping down into the mugs, his hands are spreading my thighs, his eyes dropping down to my pussy as he pulls down his pants and slides his dick into me, slow and languid. Softly fucking me, hardly moving. I’m still so sleepy, I yawn against his chest, snuggling into him.

He hands me my mug, while grabbing his and grabbing my ass to lift my off the counter with one arm. Carrying me to the living room, his dick inside me, pressing into that sensitive spot inside me with every step he takes.

Sitting down on the couch, relaxing into the soft cushions and I slump against him, careful not to spill my coffee. He’s buried deep in my pussy. Lazily fucking up into me whenever he feels like it.

He takes a sip from his cup, a satisfied sigh dropping from his lips, while his other hand strokes over my back, still barely moving. His mouth presses kisses to the side of my neck which makes me shudder and pant.

A calm and quite morning until he turns on the stereo and asks me what I want to listen to*. Selecting the songs, the music sounding from the speakers, filling the living room.

My warm wetness around his dick while we’re having out morning coffee together, his thrusts up into my pussy get needier, and he puts the almost empty mug away to put his hands on your ass, guiding my hips to ride him, the slow, languid strokes becoming more desperate until I bounce up and down his length, the sound of my ass hitting his big burly thighs, my panting breaths intermingling with the music.

I pull the shirt over my head and his gaze is fixed on my bouncing titties, his mouth falling open ever so slightly. I can feel his soft breaths coast over my sensitive skin as he coaxes me to lean closer and catches the nipples, closing his lips around them. My hand tangles in his hair, the long strands feeling soft between my fingers as he arches me back, gently toying with the stiff peaks. Still rolling my hips, the strokes getting sloppy as I come on his dick, and he follows suit, spilling inside me.

I snuggle into him again, his arms closing around me while he finishes his coffee. My cheek pressing against his chest, sighing, his fingers softly massaging my neck and I’m almost getting sleepy again.

Finally, he pats my hips, gesturing me softly to get up. I can’t help but shimmy my hips while I put on my shirt again before heading upstairs, my butt cheeks jiggling as I do so.

“Brat.” His hand is on my ass again, squeezing it and dropping a kiss to the side of my face, his deep voice so close to my ear. “Like I didn’t just fuck you.” Instead of an answer, I chuckle and run up the stairs to the bathroom. He follows me, his heavy steps close behind me.

I go to brush my teeth, toothpaste foam dropping down my lips into the sink, while he shaves, the razorblade gently gliding over the skin.

It’s so simple, the moment just filled with the brushes of my tooth brush and the scraping of his razor as I’m watching him, and something about how he shaves, the deliberate concise strokes, is kind of calming.

I come a step closer as he washes away the last remnants of shaving cream, getting on my tiptoes, pressing myself against his naked chest. “Thanks for cleaning up my seat.”, I whisper, grinning up at him. My fingers are brushing over his freshly shaved jaw, my gaze panning up until I meet his eyes, turning smoldering.

“Uh-huh…”, he hums, his hand stroking up my body until he softly grabs my throat, his fingertips digging into my cheeks. “Come on then, put your money where your mouth is.”, he teases before kissing me.

“You mean… where your mouth is.”, I shoot back jokingly, biting back a grin.

He grunts hoisting me up, and I yelp and giggle as he throws me over his shoulder. His hand lands on my ass again, the fingertips slipping in between my thighs, and I squirm under his touches. “König!”

He just laughs and carries me to the bedroom, ready to devour me again. Well, at least on weekends, I kind of gave up wearing panties around the house anyways…

(*I would choose the eternal blue album by spirit box because that is my go-to for lazy mornings, but you can imagine whatever you’d like <3)

~ More in the Masterlist ~

[nadvs]

out of bounds (part four)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

» part one | part two | part three

» masterlist

At this point, there’s no way that you can change your mind. And no way that you’d want to.

Because once you lock your door behind Zach and he leans down to kiss you like he’s been starving for you, you forget why you were so insistent on following the rules in the first place.

His hand settles on your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin as his lips hungrily press against yours. His warm kiss and firm touch lull you into a state of pure bliss.

He steps an inch closer, kissing deeper, and your bodies curve into each other in a way that makes you feel like they were made to do this. When someone fits this well with you, you don’t know how you can possibly resist them.

You drag your hands over his damp showered hair and his every muscle tenses. He almost inaudibly moans against your mouth, gripping your hip.

The cotton of your towel bunching between his fingers is a reminder that you’re hardly covered right now, and he pulls back just enough for your lips to part.

He hopes he didn’t come on too strong. You invited him in and it’s like he sort of blacked out from excitement.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… Do you want to change?” Zach mumbles through shallow breaths. “I won’t look.”

You smile against his lips, not surprised at all that he’s being so considerate about your comfort level.

You’re in a haze. Within minutes, your night has turned around to lead you here, standing in Zach’s arms in the solitude of your small cabin, both in agreement that you’ll start this, whatever this is, in secret.

You pull back a little more to look up and meet his eyes. Now that you can see his face again, you notice that he’s blushing, his cheeks flushed.

You wonder if it weren’t for the one rule forbidding you to do this, if you’d be as eager to be physical together so quickly. You’re sure Zach feels the same, having followed the same rule for so long.

“You alright?” he asks when you don’t answer. His worried eyes search your face as he towers over you. “Should I leave? I can leave if-”

“No,” you interrupt with a small, appreciative smile. “Stay. I’ll get into my pajamas.”

You realize you’re still holding onto the burn gel he came here with.

“And I should put this on since you went through the trouble,” you add.

You laugh to yourself when you see the way Zach sits in your desk chair, facing the wall with his head down, keeping his promise that he won’t look at you while you’re naked.

You want to take it slow with him, as if you met him outside of work, with no rule hanging over your heads. But that doesn’t mean you don’t want to do anything with him at all.

You come up behind him, sliding your hands over his broad shoulders, and he turns to gaze at you, drinking you in as you stand over him your shorts and tank-top.

His lap looks especially inviting, so you lean forward to straddle him. The fabric of his sweats is soft against your bare skin.

Zach is convinced he’s dreaming. He imagined this exact scenario, and now, he’s actually here, angling his head so your lips can meet again.

His thoughts are racing, an overlapping, tangled mess in his head. It’s unbelievable, wanting a girl this badly and actually having her like this, her weight on him, her tongue touching his.

He doesn’t get how he lucked out this much. A girl who struck him from the moment he saw her, turning out to have a heart and mind just as beautiful as she is, actually wants him back.

He can’t mess this up.

Your kisses grow deeper and your hips roll involuntarily, nudging against his groin. The way he called you worth the risk replays in your head. You’d hate to see this sweet man ruin his reputation and lose his job at a place he so deeply treasures all for you.

But when Zach’s big hands rest over the curves of your thighs, fingers digging into your skin as he squeezes, you forget about your concerns. He has a way of touching you that makes your mind go blank.

You inhale sharply as you pull in even closer, feeling how hard and big he is against your core. He lowers his head, your lips parting.

“Sorry,” he whispers, shuffling in his spot.

“For?” you chuckle.

Concern sits in Zach’s chest as he shifts again, mortified at the prospect of you feeling uneasy from how hard he is.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he admits.

You gaze down at him with pure admiration.

“I’m literally on top of you,” you tell him with a laugh. “I am not uncomfortable. I like you, remember?”

He smiles lazily, fingers grazing over your bare thighs in circles.

You keep your eyes trained on his expression when you grind up against him again. His jaw tenses and his lips part, immediately giving you the proof of just much you affect him.

“How come?” Zach asks. His eyes drift to your lips again, glossy from your kisses.

“How come I like you?” you ask.

He nods, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. You always got the sense he was more on the sensitive side underneath all the jokes. Last night on the dock proved it to you.

But you realize that he must really crave reassurance, considering he’d rather ask you what you see in him than continue to make out.

“You’re sweet,” you tell him, brushing his messy hair back. “And you’re funny.”

“You are, too.”

You gently glide your hand down his face, looking at the faint freckles peppered over his skin, surely from all his time in the sun.

“And you’re fun,” you continue. The way his eyes wash over your face in pure, awe-struck affection makes your stomach twist. “And hot.”

“I mean,” he mumbles, looking down at how hard he is pressed against you, “so are you. Obviously.”

You giggle and he gazes at you through half-lidded eyes, struck by how much he loves your laugh. How much he wants to make you laugh over and over.

“I like you, too,” Zach says, his tone low and velvety.

You could say that even though you had passing doubts at times, he made it pretty clear from the day you met by the way he stared and flirted that he liked you. But you don’t want to tease him. Not now, when he’s so vulnerable.

So, you lean forward to kiss him again, perched on his lap. Your foreheads press together as you deepen the kiss more than you ever have, mouths hot and open.

He’s hard as rock against you. His hands are kneading the underside of your thighs, inching closer to your ass.

You’re dazed when you pull back, not sure how long you’ve been making out. The position is starting to hurt and you’re hungry to feel all of him against you.

“Should we lie down?” you offer a bit nervously.

“Whatever you want.” He’s almost breathless. “Just tell me and I’ll do it.”

You smile, your noses nudging as you grind against him again.

“What, so you can call me bossy for the millionth time?” you joke.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “I like it when you’re bossy.”

“You do?”

He nods earnestly, enamored, wishing he could express just how twisted up you make him feel.

It makes you realize he really must have a thing for when you’re assertive, and maybe through all that teasing he did, you were turning him on.

For the first time, he’s pushy with you, nudging you to stand and guiding you onto your bed, looking down at you as you gently bounce when your back hits the mattress.

You gaze at him readily, watching him lower to hover over you, kissing you again. He’s not afraid of showing you how hot you’ve got him anymore, bucking his hips as he grinds between your legs.

You let out a shaky sigh when he shifts to kiss your neck, his tongue warm against your skin. You run your fingers up and down over his hair and he starts to kiss harder over your throat.

“Be careful,” you giggle. “If you leave marks, people might see.”

“Sorry,” Zach mumbles, pulling back. “You’re right.”

His kisses are so tender and hungry that you don’t want him to stop.

“Go lower,” you whisper. “Where only you can see.”

He moves like he has seconds left before he has to part from you. His wet mouth is on your chest, right by the hem of your tank-top, where he knows your work shirt will cover.

It’s damn near intoxicating to him, knowing this is your little secret, lying on top of you in your bed, feeling you like this.

Zach leaves kisses all over, his hand cupping your jaw. Your head is resting on your soft pillow, eyes shut as he trails kisses over your cleavage, not dipping below your shirt.

When you feel him stop, you look down to meet his hazy blue eyes. He shifts to bring his fingers to the strap of your top, silently asking if he can pull down the only piece of fabric covering your chest.

You nod and watch him look down as he undresses you, pushing the straps past your shoulders. The tank top bunches up at your waist and he sharply inhales once he sees you bare.

“Oh, my God,” Zach murmurs huskily. “I can’t…”

“What?” you ask. He meets your eyes, slightly shaking his head.

“I can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

Your skin pricks with heat as he gazes down at you again and brings his warm hand to cup your breast. He dips his head to kiss your sternum, burying his face and letting out a small groan as he gently squeezes your flesh.

You sigh contently, never having felt so wanted before. You can tell he sincerely feels lucky to be here right now.

Your skin is so soft and you smell so damn good and once he locks his lips around your nipple, making you breathe shakily, he’s sure he’s never been harder in his life.

All you can hear over your own heavy breathing is Zach’s mouth puckering over your skin. You know there’ll be bruises from how hard he’s sucking.

Your breasts are wet with his spit from all the attention he’s giving you. By the time he straightens up to look at your face again, he almost looks drunk.

His mouth and tongue and jaw are so sore from losing himself in the pleasure, but it’s so damn worth it.

He lowers to kiss you and his lips move slowly on yours. With the heat of arousal in your stomach, you trail a hand down his firm body. You press your palm against his cock, wrapping your fingers around his thickness over his sweats.

“Is this alright?” you ask quietly.

“Yes, I’m…” Zach breathes a nervous chuckle, his breath hot against your cheek. “If you keep going, I’m not gonna last long.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m not always like this,” he stammers nervously. “I didn’t expect tonight to happen.”

You start to slowly rub his length, shocked yet again by his size.

“I take it as a compliment,” you say in a hush. As you continue to stroke him, you’re sure it’d take some time to adjust to him once you decide to go all the way. “You’re big.”

Zach grips your wrist, guiding your hand away. Your touch is already driving him crazy. The praise will make him come in a second.

“You first,” he breathes, desperately hoping you want him to touch you. “If you want it.”

You take a long, eager breath. The anticipation makes your core tighten as you take back control and direct his hand between your legs.

Even through the fabric of your shorts and panties, Zach can feel how wet you are. He’s already imagining how good you must taste.

He whispers a groaned fuck when he presses his fingers against you. His lips lock around the side of your neck as he rubs between your legs, and while it feels incredible, you have to remind him he can’t leave proof of tonight on your skin.

But before you can, he seems to remember, breathing out a sigh as he pulls his mouth off of your neck to kiss your lips. His pressure is firm, his movements slow, the friction making you writhe beneath him.

It’s a whirlwind being like this, feeling him massage between your legs as he kisses you. When you moved into this cabin just over a week ago, you never would have dreamed you’d be touched and kissed on this bed by the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

You moan and arch your back when he finds your clit, rubbing in circles. You can feel his satisfied smile against the corner of your mouth.

He’s hard against your thigh, tracing shapes on you, bringing you to an intense orgasm.

Zach is in another world when he feels you trembling through your peak. He pulls back to prop himself onto his elbow, solely to watch the way your features contort as pleasure hits you.

“That feel good?” he breathes. “You’re so damn pretty.”

You smile as you come down from the high. He continues to touch you, gentler now. He loves that he’s the reason behind the blissed out expression on your face.

You let out a tired laugh as you cup his cheek adoringly. You sit up for a moment to kiss him, then shift to feel him over his pants again.

Zach’s stops breathing for a second, adjusting to settle on his knees as he lies over you. Hungry lips meet yours as you stroke his length.

Your tight grip around his cock is perfect and he starts to rock his hips, fucking your hand, imagining he’s inside of you and already both excited and nervous to get to that step with you if you’ll let him.

You pull back from the kiss as you think about how much he seems to love reassurance. You decide to take the risk and see how he’ll respond if you praise him some more.

“You made me finish so fast,” you whisper, meeting his eyes.

“Fuck,” he breathes in awe, thrusting against you. “Please keep talking like that. Please.”

You bite your lip, a little nervous, but push through to tell him what you’re really thinking.

“I can’t believe how big you are,” you tell him. “I don’t know how you’ll fit.”

“Fuck,” he says again, his voice straining. You feel him get even harder before he starts throbbing in your hand.

His hot cheek is pressed against yours as he rides the high, jerking against you. You feel heat fill the fabric separating you and he collapses, making an effort to hold himself up so not to put all his weight on you.

Your chests rise and fall together, touching every so often in a broken rhythm.

It’s like he’s high right now. You know just what to do and just what to say.

“I’ll be right back,” he eventually says. He leaves a kiss on your shoulder before he stands to rush to the bathroom and clean himself up.

When Zach comes back out, you’re sitting on your bed, dressed again. The mattress sinks with this weight as he settles across from you.

“You were right,” he says, gently pushing you back so you lie down again, making you laugh. “We didn’t last six weeks.”

“Not even close,” you reply.

He’s on his elbow, lying beside you, lips parted, eyes searching your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he says softly.

“You said that already,” you tease. The way he’s looking at you and the fact that he said it again after the heat of the moment has passed tells you he really believes it.

Zach sighs and looks down, dimples framing the defeated smirk on his face.

“What?”

“It’s gonna be hard keeping you a secret,” he says. “But I think we shouldn’t tell anyone. Not even other counselors. Nobody. Just in case.”

Relief fills you. You figured this wasn’t just a one-time thing, considering your conversations and how he mentioned going on a date with you after the season wraps up. But it’s nice to get the confirmation that he wants to keep doing this. Because you do, too.

“Of course,” you say, nodding. You know he has a great deal to lose if this comes out.

He leans over to kiss you, his lips still tender. He can’t stop thinking about what you whispered to him, that he might not fit.

“Hey, I’ll… I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt, okay?” he says. “If you want to ever… go that far with me.”

You nod, glad you can speak so openly with him.

“I do,” you say. He smiles, then takes your hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles.

“How’s your burn?” he asks, gazing down at your arm.

“I honestly forgot about it.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of a great distraction,” Zach says.

You watch him sit up and stand to collect the gel he brought that you left on your dresser.

You’ve caught on to how normally, he likes to sarcastically play up his confidence, but during intimate moments, he’s vulnerable and sensitive. It makes him all the more interesting to you.

Zach lies back down next to you, applying the gel onto your forearm, his face crinkled in concern as he stares at your injury.

“It’s really not that bad,” you say, watching the way his pointer and middle finger gently run over your skin, reminding you of how they felt between your legs just minutes ago.

“I’m not buying your tough guy act,” Zach replies with a smirk.

“Excuse me?” you laugh.

“Everyone knows girls who play soccer pretend they’re fine when they’re not,” he says. “And guys who play soccer are crybabies.”

“True,” you laugh. It’s a running joke that you’re well aware of. Male athletes exaggerate injuries on the pitch, while women have a reputation for continuing to play after a fall or collision like nothing happened.

“But that’s just during a game,” you say. “If I’m in pain off the field, you’ll know. I’ll tell you.”

“You better.” Zach’s sits up to blow cool air onto your skin where he just applied the gel, as if taking care of you is an instinct to him.

He closes the tube and leans over to toss it onto your desk, but it slides too far and knocks over a few things that clatter onto the wood floor.

“Crap,” he laughs. “Sorry.”

“Stay away from any sports involving throwing,” you tease.

“You saying I’m bad with my hands?” he murmurs as he lies beside you on your pillow. “You weren’t complaining a minute ago.”

You chuckle, gazing at him as you both lie on your sides, facing each other.

“The ego,” you reply with a laugh.

Zach smirks, shifting to kiss you slowly, revelling in the way you taste. He’s not going to forget how pretty you looked when you came. How nice you sounded when you complimented him.

Normally, maybe he’d be a little embarrassed by the way he begged you to keep praising him, but he’s not. You seem to just get him.

When he pulls back from the kiss, he swallows disappointment, knowing it must be past ten o’clock by now and that it’s best for both of you to get your rest.

“I should probably make a run for it,” he says.

“Great pillow talk,” you tease.

“I just mean because it’s late,” he laughs. “And Malcolm will wonder where I was. I can’t tell him the truth.”

“Do you have to be so responsible all the time?” you say with an exaggerated groan. He loves how open you are about how you don’t want him to leave. He doesn’t want to leave, either.

“Yeah, I’m being real responsible right now,” he replies sarcastically.

Your smile falters.

“Are you sure you want to keeping doing this?” you say. His brows furrow, realizing that his joke made him came across as regretful. In reality, he wouldn’t take back tonight for anything.

“I didn’t mean it to sound like that,” he says. “I talk before I think sometimes. Sorry.”

You nod understandingly, still not entirely at ease.

“I’m sure,” he reassures you. “But if it makes you feel weird-”

“That’s not it,” you interrupt. “You have so much to lose if we get caught. If I get fired, yeah, it’d suck, but if you get fired, it’s… so much worse.”

Zach exhales slowly. This is part of the reason he likes you so much. How considerate you are of his situation. He loves this place and its people. Getting caught breaking this rule would be a stain on his reputation.

But he’s confident you can both hide it.

“I’ve seen a lot of staff date and never get caught,” he tells you. “We’ll keep it on the down-low. I’m totally sure I want to do this with you. A hundred and five percent.”

“And five, huh?” you say with a quiet chuckle.

“That five is crucial,” he replies.

“You’re a goofball.”

Zach chuckles and kisses your cheek before sitting up. He sits on the edge of your bed, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and opens the weekly schedule in the staff group-chat.

“No drills together tomorrow,” he says, the disappointment clear in his tone. “But Monday, we’re on the east field in the morning. And Malcolm has an overnight on Wednesday. My cabin will be free.”

He looks over at you to see you perched up on your hand, smirking at him.

“What?” he says.

“It’s just cute that you’re already scheming for when we can hang out again,” you reply.

He laughs and kisses you one last time before sneaking out.

The next day, you and Zach catch each other staring nearly every time your paths cross. You can’t forget how he felt lying over you, kissing as he touched you, panting as you touched him.

Any time you’re near each other, it’s a thrill to think that you know what his kisses feel like and how hard he gets for you.

Monday marks day ten of the season, and when you stand beside Zach on the touchline as campers run through their morning warm-ups, you wonder if he feels as tense as you do being so close to each other and not being able to touch.

“You want to lead the drill or get the pylons?” Zach says as both of you stare ahead at the field under the cloudless sky.

“I’ll get the pylons,” you say, looking back at the closest storage shed. “We need four, right?”

“You got it, newbie.”

You turn but he stops you.

“One more thing,” he says.

You meet his eyes, the tension between you thick. Zach can barely take this. He can’t stop picturing the way you looked on your bed. The way your lips felt. The way you touched him.

It’s its own form of agony, having to act like you’re just a coworker to him when you’re all he thinks about. You’re so beautiful, standing just a few feet away from him but so painfully out of reach.

“Yeah?” you ask.

“Do you know if there’s a way to like, professionally hold hands?”

You laugh and flash him an unimpressed expression.

“Don’t think so,” you say.

“Damn.” He licks his lips and smiles at you before you walk away.

Not surprisingly, the shelves are a mess. You’ve heard the directors and vets over the walkies reminding counselors to tidy up the storage spaces over and over. They hardly ever do.

You search through the choas for a minute before Zach’s voice stops you.

“All good?” he asks, stepping in past the open door.

“It’s a mess in here,” you say, pointing to the three pylons you found on the floor. “I’m just looking for one more.”

Zach steps into the small, cluttered space, a foot away from you as his eyes trail over the top shelf.

“Think I see one,” he says. You could move out of the way, but you don’t, so his chest presses against you as he reaches over you.

Zach collects the pylon and looks down at you as he lowers his hand. Your stares are fixed on each other. You’re alone for the first time since Saturday night, and to him, that feels like an eternity ago.

“Thanks,” you say.

“You’d be lost without me.”

“Shut up,” you laugh, pushing against his firm chest. Instead of moving back, Zach leans into your touch, his grip on your wrist featherlight as he dips his head to kiss you.

You surrender completely, as if your body is the one in control, pushing you to do what it wants instead of listening to logic that this is risky.

Your lips part with a quiet smack.

“It sucks that I can’t do that whenever I want,” he says in a low voice.

“Yeah,” you agree. You swallow hard and take the pylon from his hand. “We should go.”

When you step out of the shed, Zach following, you’re startled by one of your campers coming around the corner. Two seconds earlier and she would’ve seen you kissing.

“Hey,” you say kindly, hiding your nerves. “What’s up?”

“Can I go get my hat from the cabin?” she says, blocking the sun with her hand.

“Of course.”

After you finish set-up, your heart still racing, Zach guides the kids through the drill. Once you’re standing next to him at the touchline again, you see him shaking his head in your peripheral.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles to you. “That was so stupid of me.”

You look up at him to see his brows turned down, clearly ashamed. You don’t need to say it. You both know how badly that could have ended.

“I didn’t exactly stop you,” you say.

Zach’s lips turn into a small, but genuine smile, endeared that you’re not mad at him. He’s eager to push the conversation into easy territory again, but thankfully, you seem to have the same idea.

“You just can’t stay away from me,” you tease. He chuckles.

“Guilty.”

Zach crosses his arms. You have no doubt if dating was allowed, he’d be touching you right now. He’s more affectionate than you thought. It makes you like him even more.

“I won’t do that again,” he says.

“You won’t kiss me?” you joke quietly.

“Not in a public area. In private is… a different story.”

You share a knowing smile. The secret between you is safe. You’re determined to keep it that way.

On Tuesday night, you and Zach chat during free-time when you notice Oliver and Jemma hanging out by the fire. The young boy seems at ease again, talking to his new friend. Zach can’t stop thinking about how much he admires you for helping him out.

A minute after lights out, Zach gets a call on his walkie from Tom, asking him to meet him at the campground office.

Even though he’s not one to worry much, when he does worry, it gets near catastrophic. He’s on edge that he got caught for breaking the no-dating rule. He feels like a little kid going to the principal’s office.

The mood isn’t tense when he enters the small office. He sees a couple of counselors sitting and chatting with Ruby at the back desk. It’s one of his favorite things about this place, how staff like to hang out like this, comfortable with the directors.

And it’s a relief. If he were in trouble, other people wouldn’t be here.

Tom is sitting at the computer when he waves Zach over.

“How tired are you?” Tom asks. Zach clues in immediately.

“What do you need?” he replies.

His uncle offers him a smile and a piece of notepad paper with a list of needed supplies. He’s used to this, running out into town every so often for odds and ends.

It’s a reminder of how much his aunt and uncle trust him. He tries not to think about how he’s been hiding something from them for days now.

“Malcolm’s not on an overnight if you want some help,” Tom suggests. “And keep the-”

“Receipt,” Zach says. “Got it.”

As Zach heads out of the office, he doesn’t even have to think about it. He wants to go with you. He’ll think of an excuse for why he didn’t take his best friend later.

He texts you: You down to go buy some stuff with me? This is strictly a work event.

You just got in your cabin when you see his message. With a soft chuckle, you reply: i accept, and tell Ami you’re going into town to run an errand and rush out before she can ask for any details.

Zach gets out of his work clothes, exchanging quick greetings with Malcolm in their cabin and vaguely mentioning that he’ll be back later, then he meets you in front of your cabin.

You come down to the dirt path with quick steps, a sweet smile on your face.

“What are we buying?” you ask.

He holds up the list. Normally, with Malcolm, who tagged along any time Zach was asked to go into town for an errand, they’d split up the list for efficiency.

But Zach doesn’t care about efficiency right now. He just wants to hang out with you.

“All you have to do is keep me company,” he says. You set out towards the parking lot together, your shoes crunching over the dirt and rocks.

“And this counts as work?” you say. “Nice.”

“My uncle said I can go with Malcolm, but no offense, I’m obviously gonna pick you.”

You smile, your cheeks warm.

“No way you said that to Tom,” you laugh.

“Nah, I just left,” Zach says. “I’ll come up with something if he sees us.”

When you sit in his car, in between conversation, you notice Zach makes sure your seatbelt is on before he starts driving.

The supermarket in town is large, bright, and quiet, with on an hour left before close. As you pace together through the aisles, you ask him, “How many times have you been here?”

“Lost count,” he says.

It feels strange for some reason, knowing that everything you’re seeing for the first time at work and in town is stuff Zach has been seeing for years. He has a whole history of summers here behind him, with long-standing relationships with so many of your coworkers.

You continue to chat as you shop, eventually entering an aisle to see tin cans scattered across the floor.

Zach sighs in frustration before picking up the cans that other shoppers have clearly just pushed to the side. You admire how kindness is second-nature to him.

“You’re so sweet,” you say, helping him.

“What else am I?” he asks. You chuckle. This man loves compliments.

“Considerate.”

“Yeah?” he continues. “And?”

“What, do you want me to call you a good boy?” you reply with a laugh.

It was a joke, but by the way Zach shyly looks down, you can tell it had an effect on him.

“Noted,” you say a bit timidly, putting the last can up on the shelf. “So, what’s next?”

Once you cross off the last thing on the list, you finally gain the courage to ask if there’s a pharmacy.

“Yeah, what do you need?” Zach asks. “Is something hurting you? Is it your burn?”

“No,” you laugh. “I just want to take a look.”

After you walk through the department, you realize that while you feel plenty comfortable with Zach, saying what you’re looking for out loud is too nerve-wracking.

“So?” he says once you reach the end of the aisle. Even after what you did with him the other night, it’s embarrassing to say.

“I’m ready to go,” you mumble. He can see by the way you’re avoiding eye contact that you’re nervous.

“What is it?” he laughs. “Get whatever you need. I’m not going to judge you. Would it be better if I gave you some privacy?”

You swallow your nerves, looking away from him.

“If we…” You sigh. “You know what we talked about? I think it’s good to be prepared.”

His brows furrow, confused amusement on his face.

“I’m so lost,” Zach says with a grin. You put your hands on your hips.

“Maybe prepared isn’t the right word,” you say. “Protected.”

He stares at you for a moment. Finally, he catches on that you’re talking about condoms.

“Oh,” he says, his cheeks burning. “Yeah. It’s good to be... You’re right. Um, let’s - we can go see what they have.”

“Okay,” you reply. “I was just thinking it’d - like, if we’re in the situation-”

“And we don’t have anything,” Zach understands, “that’d suck. Right. Yeah.”

You both laugh now that it’s out in the open, a little less tense. He can’t believe how weak he is for you, considering that merely talking about the potential of having sex makes arousal rush through his body so fast.

Tomorrow night, he has his cabin to himself. You both are very aware of the fact that you’re one sleep away from having complete privacy again. He already thought he couldn’t wait. This is a new level of impatience.

Soon, you’re standing next to each other in front of the shelves of mutlicolored boxes. Silence passes between you.

“In case I didn’t say it, I’m really glad you came here with me,” he says. You laugh and nudge his shoulder.

“Pick one,” you say.

“You know I’m bad at making decisions.”

“Consider this an opportunity to get better at it, then.”

Zach breathes a laugh, scratching his cheek as he looks at the options.

“Any day now,” you say after a few moments.

“Cut it out,” he smirks. Finally, he picks up a box and holds in front of you. “You approve?”

“Wow,” you say. On the front of the box, in white letters reads: Enhanced for her pleasure. “Um, yeah. That’s good.”

“You sure?”

“A hundred and five percent,” you tease. “It’s nice of you to pick that one.”

He shrugs with a sly smile, putting the box in the cart.

“There has to be some red flag I’m missing,” you say. “You’re kind of too perfect.”

Zach laughs again, pushing the cart down the aisle as you follow. You hook your hand in the crook of his elbow. He loves the feeling of your touch, shifting to cup your hand in his.

“Then, let’s figure what my red flag is,” he plays along.“I’m indecisive.”

“You were just decisive ten seconds ago,” you say with a laugh. “Not a red flag.”

“I’m messy,” he admits.

“Also not a red flag,” you say. His car isn’t pristine, but it isn’t necessarily trashed, either.

Zach figures if this subject is open, he might as well let everything out.

“I don’t always say it when stuff bothers me,” he tells you. Every ex-girlfriend has had this issue with him and he hates that he can never seem to break the habit.

“Well, that’s not really a red flag, either, I don’t think,” you say. “Why do you think you do that?”

“I’d just rather… be happy, you know?” he confesses, keeping his eyes ahead. “I spent so much of my childhood sad. I saw the way it affected my parents. Getting over stuff on my own is easier for everyone.”

You can’t find the words to say right away. This glimpse into his soul tells you so much. And truthfully, it makes you a little nervous. If you upset him, what’ll he do? Just swallow the pain and never tell you?

But, you get it. From what he’s confided in you, you understand that he must’ve felt guilty as a kid when his parents spent so much time desperately tried to find ways to make him happy.

It’s heartbreaking. He was bullied for being quiet and now, as an adult, he’s quiet in a new way, hiding his sadness.

“Is it really easier for you, though?” you say softly. “How you feel matters. It’s not something you need to hide for other people’s comfort.”

Zach squeezes your hand, gazing down at you. He’s never met someone who can joke with him one second, then treat him with so much empathy the next. It’s just what he needs.

“How much for the therapy session?” he asks. You smile, already used to how he prefers to navigate out of tense conversations.

“First one’s free.”

You make it to the register and as you help unload the cart, Zach points to the array of candy on the rack by the magazines.

“Let’s see if you can get this right,” he asks. “What’s the best snack here?”

You point to your favorite candy, telling him it’s obvious. When he picks up the bag, you realize he asked just to buy a treat for you.

“You tricked me,” you laugh. “You don’t have to buy me anything.”

“It’s the least I can do. You made a trip to this store fun for once.”

Zach separates the purchases, looking a bit awkward when the cashier scans the condoms, saying he doesn’t need a receipt for ‘the box’. You can’t help but giggle.

He doesn’t let you carry anything on the way to the car. You settle in the passenger seat, happily accepting the bag of candy he hands you. His car roars to life and he drives out of the parking lot.

You fill the fifteen-minute drive with conversation and laughter while you feed him pieces of candy every so often.

You make it onto the campground, hiding the box of condoms in your bag as you step out. You plan to head to your cabin while he drops off the supplies at the office, but once you pass the dining hall, you see a familiar figure in the dark. It’s Tom.

“Crap,” he whispers. “Remember when I said I’d think of something? I didn’t.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I’ll talk.”

Tom greets you both, playfully asking Zach why he roped in a newbie to help him with a chore.

“It was all me,” you say with a laugh. “I ran into him at the perfect time and begged to go so I could get a snack. Poor guy had no choice.”

Your boss doesn’t seem fazed, making friendly conversation and confirming with Zach that he can drop the bags off in the office, where Ruby should still be, before you part ways.

Once he’s out of earshot, Zach sighs.

“Nicely done,” he says, impressed.

“All I could think about was the condoms in my bag falling out,” you whisper, earning a laugh from him. “That was terrifying.”

Once you reach the fork between the office and the staff cabins, you wish you could kiss him goodnight. Instead, you offer a smile.

“Thanks for the invite,” you say.

“Thanks for coming,” Zach says. He doesn’t move. He stands across from you, his eyes on you under the moonlight.

“You okay?” you ask with a quiet giggle.

“Yeah.” He’s more than okay. You’ve thrown him and everything in his life for a loop in the best way. It’s wild how he misses you before you’re even gone. “Get some rest, alright?”

“And I’m bossy?” you joke, stepping away. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

As you pace away from him down the trail, Zach watches your silhouette, and he’s sure that if you didn’t already have a piece of his heart, you do now.

(to be continued)

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[joyoushyuck]

(minors dni)

Showering with Haechan is never a good idea because the water is turning cooler by the second. Your phone has been ringing non-stop for atleast two minutes now, your alarm ringtone falling on deaf ears despite its blaring. The house is a mess and you'll have to skip breakfast again.

Showering with Haechan is never a good idea because he'll pull your hair and spill the shower gel. He'll steal all the warm water for himself, and then he'll go on to stand under the shower for an additional quarter hour because he needs to 'get into his element.'

Showering with Haechan is never a good idea because he'll land an innocent peck on your lips. His mesmerizing eyes blink at you like you hung the moon in the sky, brown orbs dilated, hair sticking to his forehead. His hold on your waist will tighten ever so slightly when he dives in for a small kiss.

Showering with Haechan is never a good idea because his tongue is down your throat before you know it, your back pressed against the wall, his hands on your neck in a chokehold. His hair is brushed back messily and his eyes are hooded, gazing at you with their most predatory gaze.

Showering with Haechan is never a good idea because his abdomen is warm against your back. His hand is sliding down your wet stomach, smearing water droplets on their wake. Your neck is painted with bruises, Haechan's teeth biting and nipping at your skin. His hand moves down towards your dripping cunt, two fingers sliding in effortlessly.

Showering with Haechan is never a good idea because he's pounding into you and you are begging for him to go faster, deeper, and you want more, more, more. He kisses you sloppily, lips hovering over each other more than actually kissing, your chin dripping with saliva. Your screams echo in the small bathroom. Your eyes roll back and you reach your climax, Haechan following you soon enough.

Showering with Haechan is never a good idea because you are late and hungry and limping on your way to work. You've done a pathetic attempt at covering up your hickeys, and the ghost of his hand is still on your neck.

[transform4u]

Can you turn me into a stereotypical rich hateful douchebag dude-bro jock bully?

The loud snaaaaaaappppp reverberates through your head like a thunderclap from a storm that only you can feel. It’s a sound so jarring that it makes every thought in your mind stutter and falter, like a faulty engine sputtering to a halt. As the echo of the snap lingers, you sink deeper into your chair, each moment dragging you further down into an abyss of self-loathing and bewildered introspection. The snarl that curls your lips is not just a physical manifestation of disdain but a reflection of the turmoil roiling within you.

A searing heat begins to unfurl within you, an inferno of raw, untamed power that tears through your being. It courses through your veins with a fervent energy, and as it does, it feels as though your very essence is being rewritten. Your skin flushes a deep, burnished tan, a radiant hue that seems to shimmer with an inner fire.

Your hair starts to morph as well, with a thick layer of gel-like substance forming and solidifying in its strands. Your body, once a mere shadow of strength, now undergoes a dramatic and exquisite transformation. Each muscle bulges and swells, a testament to excessive power and sheer physical dominance. Your abs, previously ordinary, become a meticulously sculpted six-pack, each muscle so perfectly defined that they could slice through paper with a casual flex. They are like a set of masterfully hewn bricks, each one a testament to the relentless pursuit of physical perfection.

Your biceps swell into mountainous mounds of sinew, as if they were hewn from the very bedrock of determination. Every ripple and contraction is a testament to your newfound strength, a granite-like hardness that betrays an almost obsessive dedication to physical prowess. Your chest expands into a taut, imposing expanse, as though you’ve been on an endless quest to perfect the ultimate peacock strut—broad and commanding, with an aura that demands attention.

Your face, now framed by a razor-sharp jawline and a smirk that radiates arrogance, is the crowning glory of your new form. Handsome, yes, but in a way that feels like a bold exaggeration—a caricature of conventional attractiveness. Your piercing eyes challenge anyone who dares to meet your gaze, daring them to engage in a duel of egos, where the stakes are nothing less than supremacy itself.

In this state, you are a brooding colossus of arrogance, a beefcake whose presence demands reverence and respect. Every inch of you oozes entitlement and disdain, a dazzling display of excess that is as overwhelming as it is magnificent.

Then, a searing hatred begins to consume you from within, incinerating the pathetic remnants of your former self. Your memories of faggy nerdy losers and their snot-nosed, four-eyed visages flood back, each one stoking the flames of your righteous fury. The sickening crunch of fist meeting face, the wet splatter of blood upon your knuckles - these sensations ignite a fire in your veins, a primal thirst for dominance over the weak and impure. Your mind becomes a twisted collage of brutal acts, a vivid scrapbook chronicling your reign of terror over the schoolyard's resident geeks and dweebs.

You see yourself as a brutish force of nature, your hands stained with the blood of fallen foes. The fag's whimpers and pleas for mercy only serve to inflame your sadistic urges, each pathetic bleat spurring you to inflict fresh agonies upon their pitiful forms. The sound of shattering glass and the rhythmic pummeling of meaty blows echo through your psyche, a symphony of violence conducted by your own hands. Your lips curl into a cruel sneer as you recall the taste of blood on your tongue, the intoxicating rush of power as you laid waste to the pathetic sacks of flesh surrounding you.

But your bloodlust is not limited to the schoolyard. Memories of drunken debauchery flood back - wild parties with the cheerleaders, their nubile bodies writhing beneath yours as you took your pleasure from their quivering holes. The hot blonde bimbos seemed to multiply before you, each one a willing receptacle for your base urges. Their moans and whimpers were music to your ears, fueling your insatiable appetite for carnal delights. The constant partying and fighting led to countless suspensions and warnings, yet Daddy's money always came through in the end, ensuring your place at this prestigious institution despite your lackluster academic record. You chuckle darkly at the memory, your eyes gleaming with wicked amusement as you picture the looks on those sanctimonious teachers' faces upon learning of your misdeeds. Their lectures on respect and decorum seem like nothing more than pitiful jokes in light of your true nature. In this moment, you are the law, the supreme arbiter of right and wrong. And heaven help anyone foolish enough to stand in your way.

As you turn to face the beautiful young woman lying beside you in bed, your gaze immediately zeroes in on her tantalizing curves. Her supple breasts strain against the confines of her lacy black bra, begging for your touch. You reach out and cup the pillowy mounds, thumbs circling her hardened nipples through the thin fabric until they stiffen into enticing peaks. She lets out a breathy moan, arching her back to press herself further into your kneading hands.

"You're so strong, Tony…" she pants, hot breath tickling your ear as she trails her fingers along the ridges of your muscular chest. "I can feel you getting excited…" The intoxicating scent of her arousal fills your nostrils, clouding your senses with lust. You feel your cock beginning to swell and harden between your legs, straining against the confines of your boxers. Your hand drifts lower to grasp her hip possessively, fingers digging into her yielding flesh as you prepare to claim what's rightfully yours.

Without warning, you flip her onto her stomach and cover her body with your own. One hand grips her throat lightly while the other slips under her skimpy nightgown to delve into the slick heat of her core. She gasps sharply at the sudden penetration, her hips rocking involuntarily against your invading digits. "Mmmm, you're going to make me cum so hard…" she whines wantonly, grinding her cunt along your hand. Her inner walls clench desperately around your probing fingers as she nears the edge of climax, and you double your efforts, stroking her most sensitive spots with ruthless precision. This buxom bimbo has no idea the force she's about to unleash.

[nuitnotions]

Task Force 141; Cold Hands

[ 18 + MINORS + AGELESS ACCOUNTS DNI ; oral m!receiving ; handjob ; spit play ; gn reader ]

Chronically cold hands meet the desperate desire to touch him, to feel him and maybe that combination is not all that bad.

john price lets out a deep barreled grunt at the bite of your icy fingers wrapped around his cock; hips jerking in his seat as his chest trembles. the sensation trickles across all his nerve endings and he looks down at you with eyes blown wide, whites large to accommodate for the expanse of his pupils. you grimace and flutter your lashes in apology, kitten lick to the slit at the mushroom head in your most tender sorry’s. it works, if the hand gripping the roots of your hair are anything to go by and then your warm mouth swallows his thickness to the root and the sigh that leaves him borders on a whimper. apology accepted as you curl your toes to fight down your gag reflex and take him deeper, nose brushing at wiry pubes and the corners your mouth tugging against his heaviness in a smile as he all but prays to you, “good fuckin’ pet, that you are. yes-” the worn leather of his recliner groan as he grinds his hips in minute movements, eager but unwilling to cause you any discomfort. no, you decide, cold fingertips leaving the base of his cock to find victim in the meat of his muscled thighs, a guttural moan breaking from a battered throat, hips bucking unabashedly and you are pleased.

kyle garrick throws his head back with those pretty eyes squeezed shut tight as your cold hands work the length of his cock, your spit cooling too quickly to aid in the temperature that burns his blood blue. “please love, fuck-” he begs oh so nicely and you shake your head with a smile so impish, he might see your horns sprout if he looked down fast enough. he doesn’t though, chest heaving and you enjoy the view of his muscled abdomen fighting off the frying of his nerve endings, so sugary sweet it physically hurts. you’re distracted at the contorting of his aching body for but a second before your mouth is hovering over his twitching cock, letting the drool gathered in your cheeks dripple over him all messy as your hands massage the liquid in pulsing up and downs over him, from base to the flare of the head. you coo at his cock, mocking apologies for the cold touch, murmurs of warm love to follow it and you finally lock eyes with kyle when you wrap lush lips over the head and batter the width of your tongue against the slit for a taste of him. the poor man cries out, jaw tensing and dancing with the gall of you to tug at his puppets strings as you are. when you swallow him down in his entirety, your saliva-coated, chilly hands cup his balls and oh, he folds so splendidly, cussing viciously around your name and you hum, drinking down your spoils with the posturing of royalty and a silver platter.

john mactavish is much too reactive; his hisses at the cold pads of your fingers, his own hand squeezing at the nape of your neck as the other wraps into the strands of your hair and pulls. you can’t not look up at his demand, a dark hearth spits sparks in the blue of his eyes and you mewl for him, hoping to express your pardon, because you’re just so eager, so needy to paw at his thick cock, jaw slack and panting to have him. you shuffle between his spread legs and brush your cheek against his thigh, imploring doe eyes looking up at him as you continue to feather touches over his length, the right of your thumb and forefinger catching at the cock head, but you wait, ever obedient. he smiles down at you, jaws and daggers and a shiver ripples down the pearls of your spine. “chase the cold away, bon. give me the warmth of you.” oh and you do, clumsy in your rush to do just that with a wet, hot mouth, cheeks hollowed and tongue lathing with thick, bubbling spit to make it all better. johnny hisses out a yes, head nodding as if to reaffirm the word as his lips part and you bathe in his satisfaction. those wee, gelid fingers of yours venture upwards, beneath the hem of his tshirt as your nails find purchase in tensing muscles and scrape just the way he likes. he is loud, dirty with his lashing tongue as he keeps your head down on his cock and fuck his tip into the back of your throat and you can only cry out around the weight of him.

simon riley arches a singular eyebrow as you kneel before him, hands pulling away from the waistband of his briefs. you look up at him, mouth gaping and breathing heavy as you try to chase heat into your hands by rubbing them together. you’ve only just started when the viper striking speed of his hand catches your wrist and he shakes his head down at you. left thumb hooks into the elastic of his briefs beneath his navel and tugs it down until that large cock is springing free and slaps happily against his stomach before bobbing before you. your eyes are droopy with molasses thick desire and you don’t realise you are leaning into him until simon chuckles and tugs at your arm. “hands first, sweet thing. you taste me when i tell you to.” you nod, of course, yes as long as you can have any touch of him. and you try to lick at your palm, try to ease the bite of your cold hands but he stops you again. “like how it feels just like that. make it hurt a little.” you make a pathetic sound at his words and appease those gravelly words; dry, cold hands that grip harshly at his length and give a burning stroke to the root of him until he tilts his head to the side with a huff of pleasure. you squeeze, you drag, you abuse his length until he murmurs your name in a drawl that sends a throb between your own legs. mouth, is all you hear between the grunts and puffs he lets out and you go down onto his cock knowing it will fill all the cracks splintering through you with the need for him.