#dunno just feel like i need to clarify

[dragonstardraws]

Consider your gouda snatched. Forget your weave. I want the cheese.

[nicky-jr]

shoutout gothcleats shippers o7

[differenteagletragedy]

It’s just past 1:00 am in a seedy bar in some no-name town, and Simon is well and truly wasted.

When Simon Riley gets drunk, he’s not loud, he doesn’t stumble around or start fights, nothing as boisterous as that. It’s internal, a sort of buzzing that takes over his brain and blocks out all the noise. His restraint, his history, all the cold, strange little parts that he’s made of swim around in the liquor. They drown.

So when you come up to him, some lovely soft little thing that seems to have taken a shine to him tonight, he entertains you.

You’re drunk, too — you’re not falling over yourself either, but as loose as your lips are, there’s no way you’re sober.

“You look like you come from good stock,” you tell him, squeezing his bicep.

He laughs at the idea, knowing exactly what sort of stock he comes from, and you pout, clarifying, “You look strong, I mean. Like you’ve got … I dunno, dominant genes. Like if you had a baby it’d be all tall and big with pretty eyes too.”

If Simon was sober, he’d shut down the conversation. He’d know he doesn’t need some pretty woman touching his arm and talking about what kind of babies he’d have. It’s a bad idea that would only stir up things he’s been trying to push down for too long.

But tonight, he’s not sober. He feels like his blood might be half whiskey now. And he wants to keep talking.

"That what you think, pet?" he asks, his hand moving to grip your hip a little too tightly. "What's a little thing like you thinking about babies so hard for?"

You shrug, give him a little coy grin, and say, “I don’t know. I think I’d be a good mom.”

He pictures it, for just a moment. What you would look like if your hips were a little wider, your bust a little fuller. How it would feel to hold your belly, round and tight with the skin taut, and know that the thing growing within was a part of him. To have worked his way so far inside you that your body and your life would never be the same.

When you take his hand and lead him back to your apartment, he doesn’t fight it.

“I want you to put a baby in me,” you moan in his ear as he presses you to the wall. “Please…”

You trail off, like you’re thinking of something, and he huffs out a laugh and offers, “Simon.”

“Please, Simon,” you sigh, not missing a beat. “Come inside, ok?”

He groans, and a few seconds later, he does just that.

The next morning, he wakes up with a splitting headache back in his own room, alone. He feels like death, but part of him wishes he’d have drunk just a bit more — enough to black out, so that he wouldn’t have to remember you.

The thought of you doesn’t plague him after that night, not exactly, but it lingers. It’s a nagging little itch, not a gaping wound: it doesn’t hurt, but it’s enough to notice.

Some nights, he’ll think back to how good you felt wrapped around him. Others he’ll focus on the way you begged him to leave the condom off, telling him, over and over, that you wanted his baby. Either way, the encounter plays on a loop in his mind for months after it happened. Years, if he’s honest with himself.

Simon doesn’t like to be honest with himself about some things, preferring instead to think of himself as the man he’d like to be — or the man that it’s easiest to be.

But when he finds himself back in your town a few years later and comes across a gangly little girl in the street, all golden curls, long blonde lashes and big brown eyes …

Well, some things are harder to deny.

[sturnsrecord]

. . . THE WAY YOU RIDE HIS FACE

he settles between your legs, spread open for him on the bed — all for his taking as his lips linger over the sensitive skin of your thighs. teasing and tender kisses, muddled with soft praises about how good you felt, and how pretty you looked.

his teasing only seems to make you more desperate, gently rocking your hips upwards every time his tongue passes over your clit — wanting more than he was giving you.

“taste so good.” he murmurs, hands gripping your thighs as he passes his tongue over you, dipping into your wet heat just to taste more.

you whine out, threading your fingers through his hair in the hopes of bringing his face closer — pushing him into your pussy.

“so desperate baby.” he mumbles against you, a small smirk on his face as you simply whine, pulling him closer as your hips continue to grind forward. “fuckin’ needy.” he adds, pulling away to catch his breath as your fingers remained tangled in his hair, pulling at the roots.

“just— feels good.” you admit, sighing a little as he looks up at you, brows furrowed a little as he tries to read your face — like you had more to say.

“is this not enough?” he asks softly, peppering kisses along your thighs and over your pussy, merely touching you as he asks the question.

you let out a shaky breath, body burning hot from whatever had gotten you so worked up in the first place. “i-i… i don’t know.” you admit quietly.

he thinks for a second, lips brushing over you like he didn’t wanna stop despite having to talk. “hm. you want something else?” he asks suggestively, clearly suggesting his dick.

you think for a second, more frustrated than anything. “no— i dunno.” you sigh in defeat, unable to ignore the throb of your cunt — and the way your whole body felt on edge, craving a release.

“i want your mouth— just want…” you trail off, reaching down to run your thumb over his lip, so transfixed on the plushness of them — and honestly his entire face. something about it just made you want it.

his eyes bore up into yours as he lets your thumb rest on his bottom lip, gently parting them — but not enough to push your finger in. “tell me what you want.” he whispers, just wanting to make you feel good.

“your mouth.” you mumble back, transfixed on the way your thumb pressed into his lip, so soft and plump. “just… wanna do it.”

hir brows furrow slightly, fingers still resting on your pussy, mindlessly playing with it. “you wanna do it?” he clarifies, trying to understand what it is you wanted.

there’s a short silence as you continue to play with his lip, just trying to not think about how frustrated you were — or more rather how bad you felt for asking for more.

but then he shifts from between your legs, sitting up slightly as he pulls away from your touch. you watch as he moves, curious as to what he was doing as he sits beside you.

“what’re you doing?” you ask softly, worried he was annoyed or hurt by what you’d said. but it was quite the opposite as he smirks, tapping your thigh.

“sit on my face.” he murmurs, saying it so casually as if it didn’t have your stomach twisting with need and anticipation. “oh.” you swallow a little, slightly taken back by how four words had got you so incredibly worked up in a matter of seconds.

“oh?” he repeats back, questioning your reaction. “you don’t want to?” he taunts, not at all taken back by your response as he looks at you — seeing that look in your eyes that made him sure of the fact you wanted to.

that you needed to.

“i-i.” you try to find the words, but your body’s so hot, and you’re so desperate to just grasp the feeling — you can’t even think or try and speak rationally. you just need it.

“stop then, just get on.” he huffs, having heard enough of your hesitation and mumbling, or whatever it was that you were doing as he lays his head back on the pillow, waiting for you.

you think for a second before shifting to straddle his face, leaving a space between him and your pussy — hesitant on how you were meant to sit and how much weight you were meant to—

“jesus, just-“ he sighs, hands firmly gripping your hips to pull you down, closing the gap. you gasp a little, feeling his tongue dip into your folds immediately — lapping you up hungrily.

“ooh, f-fuck.” you whine, face scrunching up in pleasure as you hold onto the headboard, trying to keep your balance without putting all your weight down.

he groans against you, fingers digging into your skin to keep you there as you gasp out, body tensing from the feeling of his tongue passing over your clit — and the way you were holding yourself up.

“don’t.” he mumbles against you, lips brushing over your pussy as his eyes open to look up at you, a slightly frustrated look on his face. “don’t what?” you question quietly.

“don’t hover, you’re like fuckin’…” he grips your hips harder as he speaks, trying to tell you to sit on his face properly, and put all your weight on him.

you hold onto the headboard, letting your body relax and rest on him — slightly worried about suffocating him. he groans, kissing your folds before pulling his face back to run his thumb over your clit. “atta girl.”

before you can even respond, his lips are on you, sucking and licking at your clit as he quite literally eats you — unable to do anything but that with your pussy pushed up against his mouth.

“fuuck, god matt— i-i, mm.” you moan out, one hand moving down to grip his hair to stabalize yourself, looking down to see his eyes shut in concentration, brows furrowed as his jaw clenched each time he moved to go deeper into your heat.

and only when he lets out a guttural groan do you realise the way you’d been grinding your hips, so lost in the feeling you didn’t care — simply chasing your release so desperately.

“mmgh.” he groans beneath you again as you shift forward, his tongue dipping into your cunt as your clit nudged against the tip of his nose. “ahh, shiit.” you whine.

he doesn’t even care that he can hardly breathe, hands remaining on your thighs to keep you there — feeling the way your hips rock back and forth so perfectly to grind your needy cunt against his face.

in all honesty, his dick had never been harder. hearing the way you moan so freely, taking control of what you needed by using his face like this.

he fucking loved every second of it, drunk on the taste of you — and so content with his head stuffed between your thighs.

“oh g-god.” you grit out, moving quickly against his nose, not a care in the world as you grind your hips at the perfect angle — body buzzing with the repeated stimulation of his nose buried in your pussy — rubbing over your clit.

“fuck— gonna cum, o-oh fuuck.” you moan, body sticky with sweat as you keep going, fingers only gripping onto the roots of his hair harder to keep him beneath you.

he moans into you at your words, the thought of you coming all over his face enough to have his dick twitching in his pants — pumping out enough pre cum to soak through.

“fuck matt, ooh fuuck yess— ahh.” you completely fall apart above him, feeling your release in your entire body as he continues to flick his tongue over your sopping pussy. the only thing keeping you up being matts firm grip on your hips.

it takes a second for you to catch your breath, head resting against the headboard before you climb off with shaky legs — matt still trying to get a taste as his tongue flicks over your clit.

“oh my god.” you breathe out, melting into the bed below you as he lays in silence next to you. “that was so fucking hot.” he mumbles, staring up at the ceiling, arms behind his head as he licks the taste of you off his lips.

“yeah?” you smirk, still sweating but on such a rush you couldn’t help but be cocky.

he scoffs a little, head nodding down to his crotch. “few more minutes and i would’ve cum in my fuckin’ pants.” he admits, a little out of breath.

you can’t help but smile at the prospect, looking back up at his pretty face wishing you could’ve stayed there forever.

𐔌 ©.STURNSRECORD

idea. anon

[sweetshuga]

Keep it on ✰ MS

───~𓆩♡𓆪~───

fwb!matt! Your friend (with benefits) bought a new pair of glasses, a sight for sore eyes—and an even sorer aftermath.

Warnings! Smut!, obscene descriptions!, petname (pretty), p in v, unprotected sex (don't do this irl, this is just fiction, protect yourselves hoes<3), friends with benefits, size kink (kinda), dunno what more,

wc. 1.1k

note. English is not my first language! [Prologue]

You and Matt had decided on this weird arrangement after accidentally hooking up at a mutual friend’s party, both having drunk a little too much and zero fucks to give—you stumbled into a spare bedroom and woke up entangled in each other’s arms.

The compatibility was so good that the arrangement seemed logical. No strings attached, just feeling the bliss and having a friend to talk to that you knew wouldn’t judge you; almost too good to be true.

He was addictive.

Today was like any other day; with you knocking on his front door, ready to have the "much–needed" relief. As soon as Matt opened the door, you felt your breath hitch, he looked like a vision, the hair, the stubble, the clothes, the glasses– wait the glasses?

You blinked and stood there entranced, making Matt let out a small chuckle of amusement, "you gon’ stand there all day pretty?" You snapped out of your thoughts at his words, suddenly very nervous and fidgety, "yeah– no, uh... pardon my intrusion," your words came out more like a mumble as you slipped in through the door, your nervousness evident.

You cleared your throat and looked around briefly, "Nick and Chris aren’t home?" You asked, trying to distract yourself.

"Yeah, they were talking about going somewhere today, I’ve been alone all day, it’s a good thing you came, I was getting bored out of my mind," he chuckled as he saw the small fidgeting you were doing with the hem of your shirt, "you nervous or sum’?" Your eyes widened briefly, "whaaat? Me nervous? M’never nervous around you," you downplayed, laughing, but the slight quiver in your voice gave you away.

Matt chuckled again, "right, definitely not nervous, not at all," he said with playful sarcasm.

You couldn’t help a chuckle at his teasing words, even if it was at your expense. "You’re wearing glasses." You stated the obvious. "Yeah, does it look weird?" He asked, grinning while fixing his glasses, "no, not weird," you clarified, "it’s just that I’ve never seen you in glasses before, but I have to say, ’s not a bad look on you," smiling as you gave him a teasing nudge on his arm.

Matt smiled back at you, and took your hand, already leading you to his room. "Well, since my brothers aren’t home, might as well use it to our advantage, no?" You let out a small laugh, "yeah, not like we don’t use any moment of solitude to our advantage," you said as you let yourself practically get dragged into his room.

𓆩♡𓆪

After making out and having a slow sensual foreplay, you had become a needy mess. Your insides craved to be filled by him—the glasses perched on his nose didn’t help your ache, only worsened it. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pulled him closer, eliciting a hum of approval from Matt. He broke the kiss, leaning forward to get a condom out of the bedside drawer.

"Hold on pretty, lemme put on-" you stopped his hands from ripping the condom, "do it raw today, I wanna feel you." A soft groan left his lips as he threw the condom somewhere on the bed, "you’re gonna kill me someday, woman," he breathed out, lining himself at your entrance, prodding but not pushing inside. You bit the side of your bottom lip, rolling your hips as you tried to push him in yourself.

"Matt... c’mon." You whined in frustration, the ache too much to ignore– or go along with his teasing. "Mm... you want this big dick in you huh? Want me to stretch you— split you open with it?" His voice was strained, letting you know that he was just as affected as you were.

"Please Matt, yeah... Please, I need you so bad... c’mon," you pleaded, your voice laced with desperation and pure need. Your hands trailed down his chest towards his stomach, his muscles tensing under your fingertips as shuddering breaths left his lips. "You’re so pretty when you beg like that," he praised, making you look at him with pleading eyes, silently conveying your need.

"Please, Matt— I need it, I need you," he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. "I know pretty, I know," he murmured against your lips before claiming it in a searing kiss, slowly pushing his thick length in, stretching you deliciously. A soft moan of pure, unadulterated, relief and pleasure fell from your lips. Matt pulled back until only the tip of his dick was inside before slamming his hips flush against yours, bottoming out as he groaned into the crook of your neck.

The sudden feeling of being filled to the brim made your back arch, sharp moans exited through the "O" shape etched on your lips. Your hands clutched desperately at the bedsheets, trying to ground yourself from the intense pleasure as he pounded into you. He snaked one arm under the arch of your back, holding you tightly as his other hand held your hip—with bruising strength.

The subtle hint of pain caused your pleasure to double.

𓆩♡𓆪

Matt groaned in annoyance as his glasses kept slipping down his nose – due to the sweat-slicked skin – his hand on your hip reached for his glasses but you held his forearm, stopping any further movement. Matt’s pace faltered as he looked down at you, confused, "yeah? What’s up pretty? You okay? Am I being too rough-" You chuckled breathlessly at his concerns, "no, no, don’t worry, you’re not being too rough, I just..." You paused.

"You just?" He repeated, panting softly, slowly rolling his hips against yours. A breathy moan fell from your lips, "well, just keep it on alright... you uh... you look good in it, the glasses I mean." You said, still breathless, mumbling an add on, "delicious even," a slow smirk made its way onto his lips, now understanding why you were acting so flustered and fidgety earlier today.

Matt wiped the sweat that had been making his glasses slide, chuckling as he leaned down to your ear, his lips brushing against the shell of it. "Oh I’m gonna keep it on alright, the whole night even, m’gonna fuck this pretty little pussy so good—ruin you for anyone else," he whispered – a promise – before continuing his pounding, each one making your body rise up the bed.

Your tits bounced with each slam as he held you tightly, not letting you escape the intensity of it all. All you could do was cling to him and scream his name as he took what he wanted—what you wanted. Your nails dug into his back, making him hiss and shut his eyes in slight pain and pleasure, his pace never faltering.

The ecstasy etched on his features, the glasses, the stubble, the hair, the earrings, the chain— a sight for sore eyes indeed– and an even sorer aftermath.

𓆩♡𓆪

wc. 1,146

Isa's notes. Yeah... Another smut? I'm so awkward when it comes to writing something like this 🫠 Also, something longer? Gee, I know, but the topic is too good not to write a longer fic to.

༝༚༝༚

© sweetshuga

[parfaitblogs]

'tis the damn season ❀ s. reid x reader

in which christmas is the season to crawl back into your ex's life, and you accidentally do so one drunken night. 

pairing: ex!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: flangst tags: still in love exes. alcohol consumption. (sleepy) drunk reader. spencer reid's fear of dementia. word count: 1.3k a/n: obligatory do not contact your exes this holiday season. just fantasise about doing it to spencer reid. it’s opening night for my play so!! here is this while i go off to do that!!! :D

❄︎ advent calendar masterlist

Fourteen missed calls.

Spencer Reid had fourteen missed calls, from a number he did not have saved, but could recognise despite the months that have passed and the seasons that have changed. 

Why did he have fourteen missed calls?

Christmas was always an awful time for him. The striking reminder that he was alone in a big city, for his mother does not remember him this year, his father does not exist in his life, and his friends have families of their own. 

And then there was you. Oh God, there was you. 

He thinks even when he grows old and his brain begins to delete files from his expansive memory, you will stick around forever. He thinks he is physically incapable of forgetting you, even if he tried. Sickeningly so. 

Shaking hands answer the sixteenth call before it can ring through, having watched the fifteenth come and go. He was met with a lot of silence, and he had to question if he even had picked up the call. 

But yes, you were there. Quietly. Breathing into the phone, perhaps surprised by the fact that he had actually answered. Or maybe this wasn't you. Maybe you had changed your number, or gotten your phone stolen, or—

"Spencer?"

If anything were to pierce the silence in his apartment, it might be the shattering of his heart as he listens to you speak his name for the first time in thirteen months. Your voice was so familiar, yet so different, too. You had thirteen months of growth, and yet you sound the same as you had the day he first met you.

"Hey," he finally breathes out, and he hears you shakily exhale. 

"Can you open your door? S'really cold out here."

He freezes. The causality in your tone tells him there's something else motivating your random reappearance in his life, followed closely by the faintest hint of a slur in your words. 

Oh.

He heads to his door, and sure enough, on the other side of it, stands you, in something borderline ridiculous for the December weather. No wonder you were freezing. 

"What're you—why're you—come in—it's freezing," he stammers out, eventually deciding on stepping to the side to let you into his warmer apartment, the visible relaxation of your shoulders providing some comfort to him in light of your state. 

"Your hair," you say, eyes wide as he coaxes you inside and to his kitchen countertop. His fingertips probably burn holes through the fabric of your dress as he guides you. 

"My hair," he replies, and though it isn't posed as a question, he is confused. 

"It's longer," you clarify for him. "I like it."

He provides a weak smile. "Thank you. Are you cold?"

"Not anymore," you shake your head, finding a seat at his island, folding yourself in half over the edge of it, resting your head on the marble. "Your apartment's warm."

He nods his head, walking around to the other side of it, using his hands to lift your head back up. "Don't fall asleep."

"'m not," you mumble in response, though your head growing heavier and lolling into his left palm claimed otherwise. 

"Liar," he muses, and you huff, quietly, but force your eyes open regardless. He ignores the heavy feeling in his chest when the two of you lock eyes. "There she is. Why're you here?"

"I dunno, actually," you say, and his heart sinks. "My friends put me in a taxi an hour ago. Or two hours. I don't really remember," he presumes one hour — you were still so drunk. "And I asked him to drive me around. He said okay, but he needed a final destination too. I guess I gave him your address."

"Why?"

"Habit, maybe," you murmur.

"It's habit to take a taxi back to my apartment?" 

You shrug your shoulders. "'Cause I used to. Back when..."

We were still together, hangs off the end of your sentence. 

"Christmas party?" he then asks you, and your head nods against his palm. 

"For work," you end the word with a yawn. "I wanted to Merry Christmas my way back into your life, I guess."

He knew it was your lowered inhibitions spilling these details out to him, and he should pretend you aren't saying things like this for your own benefit. But he also couldn't stop the visceral reaction he has towards your admission of wanting to reenter his life. 

"You shouldn't," he replies. 

You pause, searching his face all too intently. "D'you not want me to?"

It's a loaded question, and he knows the response he wants to say is vastly different to the response he should say. But you're staring at him, albeit inebriated, and he has nothing left to do but curse his impeccable memory for reminding him of everything he hasn't had for thirteen months. He misses you. 

"I don't want you to do something you regret," he settles on saying. 

"Well, 'm already here," you mumble, and his hands soften on your cheeks, before he slips them away. 

"Yes. You are," he nods, standing up straighter. "Do you have a way home?"

"Um, Uber, I guess."

"It's too late and you're too drunk for an Uber alone," he disapproves. 

"I took a Taxi here alone—"

"—I'm not letting you go home — alone —from my apartment in your state," he counters immediately. "I don't really care how you got here."

You relent quite easily though, murmuring a quiet, "Okay," that shocks him. 

"Do you want to shower?"

You nod, your feet slipping from the stool and landing on the floor. He's moving back around to you to help the second he watches your hands brace on the edge of the countertop, an arm looping around your waist that makes your stomach swim. 

"I can walk, y'know."

"Uh-huh," he doesn't believe you fully, and you don't have it in you to fight with him as he leads you to an all too familiar bathroom. As he sits you down on his toilet lid, he says, "Stay there. I'll get you some clothes."

"Yes, Doc."

His cheeks puff as he expels a sigh at the nickname, shaking his head as he disappears back into his bedroom. 

By the time he's returned, your eyes are fluttered shut, your head sitting probably uncomfortably against the wall next to his toilet. But your chest is moving evenly enough for him to conclude that you had fallen asleep that quickly, and he didn't have the heart to wake you back up. He'll take your frustration in the morning.

You barely stir as he carries you into his room again. Instead, he swears you curl further into his bedsheets the second he places you down on his mattress. 

"Spence?"

He's barely two footsteps towards his door when you speak again, and his heart shatters. He turns over his shoulder, and though you're speaking, your eyes are barely cracked open. 

"Where're you goin'?"

"The couch," he says, confused by the frown that tugs your lips down. "What?"

"Come back. This is your bed."

"It is," he nods. "But you're in it."

"'m not gonna bite," you say, your hands weakly stretching out towards him.

He takes a few beats to determine whether or not he'd take up your offer. But he is too weak of a man to not give in, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get you in his bed again. So, he sighs, and begrudgingly climbs back into his bed next to you.

"Hey," he turns his head, a question dancing on his tongue. But when he finds you again, you're fast asleep once more. Habitually, as if it hadn't been thirteen months, he brushes the hair that had fallen out of your face, and he smiles.

And, to no one in particular, he murmurs, "I'm glad you Merry Christmas'd your way back into my life."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[the-music-maniac]

It is very exhausting being in western fandom spaces sometimes. Tell me why I just wanted to enjoy a cute oubing ship vid on tiktok, and half the comments section was about people saying you can't ship them???

I wanna complain into the void, so here's a comprehensive of why Oubing/藕饼/Lotus Root Cake is fine (and even if it wasn't, why I don't give a shit):

(Spoiler warning for Nezha 2)

1. "You can't ship them cause they're brothers'": No, they are not brothers. Not by any definition of the word. Not by blood - not even sworn brothers technically, because they only refer to each other as best friends. They each have their own parents - those parents are not related to each other in any way, shape, or form. One of them is a freaking dragon, an entirely different species. Also, they're technically made of lotuses now. They weren't raised together either. Clarifying this point feels ridiculous.

2. "But they used to be part of the chaos pearl": If you wanted to define them by any type of relationship, they are soulmates. This is not me trying to spin them romantically, I mean they are literally soulmates. Their spirits are each half of a single Chaos Pearl, and they each represent opposite halves. They are literally soulmates and yin and yang.

3. "But they're children!": Are they three years old? Yes - and also no. (this is edited: I saw an official post that did say their ages were 3, not 6). They've been alive for centuries as a chaos pearl. I need you to understand that the original entity we saw at the beginning of Nezha 1, IS a creature that has been alive for thousands of years. They had personality too while they were fighting Taiyi. They were made into the pearls by the cauldron. Now, their mortal bodies as we understand it, is 3 (again edited. I originally said 6 cause I wasn't sure whether or not to count the 3 years of pregnancy). But because they're not really human, and their developmental stages therefore don't mirror a human, the movie shows them maturing into an adult form in the span of about 3 years. How do we know this? Ao Bing is the same age as Nezha, and he went from a baby to his adult form in those 3 years. The only reason Nezha is still in a child form is because he has the qiankun circle suppressing him. This is also the reason that putting the circle on his wrist releases his adult form. Also it's sort of maybe implied by the end of Nezha 2 that he may stay permanently in his adult form, since he reformed his body into it while he was in The Soup™. I dunno how accurate this part is so I suppose we'll see by Nezha 3. I would like to point out further that no three year old talks or acts like they do. Ao Bing and Nezha have very complete vocabularies, and are able to understand the complexities of their circumstances. They're both new to the world in this form, but they're not at the mental capacity of a 3 year old. It's like if you were dropped into a new form of existence with an adult brain.

4. "Nooo, why are you shipping them now": This ship is NOT NEW. It's been around since at least 2019. It is WILDLY popular in China. Back when Nezha 1 first came out, oubing literally won an award for best couple. I want you to understand the scale - from my understanding, they beat wangxian in cql. Y'all can correct me if I got this part wrong because I can't find the source of where I read this information, but if it's true, that's wild. I know the award part is correct. There was an official shampoo ad that reads like a shipping comic. Now that Nezha 2 came out, it is still one of the most popular ships. Every other post on my social media has been about Nezha 2 and at least half of that has been Oubing. There are over 2000 chinese fics on ao3 currently. Stop with this "why are you shipping them now", WE'VE BEEN SHIPPING THEM.

5. "It's not canon.": Not that I give a shit what's canon or even what the original creator thinks about shipping usually, but Jiaozi, aka the director of the movie, has stated that while he wrote Nezha and Ao Bing to just be a friendship that he thinks it is fine if people ship them. I'm pretty sure he also said something along the lines of 'people can interpret things how they want' or something.

6. Even if all of the points I made were not the case, I cannot stress enough how little I care about what someone should or should not ship. If you don't like it, just block the fanart/fic/video and move on. I promise society will not crumble because someone decides to ship two fictional characters from a mythology movie. We will be fine.

(Also if you see anyone in the chinese fandom write 藕饼cp, the cp stands for "couple". Just to clarify. They use different terms for shipping in chinese fandoms, they'll say they "ke CP" aka ship a couple)

Some of the comments I've seen make me wonder if people have even watched the movies. 'You can't ship them cause they're brothers', god don't make me laugh.

Don't let them find out that the chinese fandom is also shipping Ao Bing and Nezha from the 1979 cartoon, they'd lose their minds.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut; got some more "draft stud" for y'all. No real reason, haha, just because I actually wrote a pretty decent chunk more of this than I ended up having space to post for the mystery slots last week and like, it SEEMS like so far this WIP is up a few of your ( crime ) alleys. Like juuuuust maybe, hahaha. So I took a lil' writing break and got it all Tumblr-able for all of your tire-thieving, crime-lording needs! ❤️ content notes/warnings: omegaverse, family-planning via attempting to recruit a crime lord who is legally your dead-brother-by-adoption to knock up your best (boy)friend, and Tim Drake's total lack of respect for both personal boundaries and Jason's impending migraine. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Jesus Christ,” Jason groans, burying his face in one hand. He doesn’t even bother asking when or where the little creep got ahold of any of his DNA to test that. Fucking–probably off the damn memorial, for all he knows. Or, well–admittedly "at a crime scene" is an equally likely option. “You know if I were legally alive, we’d be legally siblings, right? Technically we are legally siblings.” 

“I actually think it’s pretty common to ask siblings for favors like this?” Tim says. “Or cousins, maybe.” 

“Yeah, the actually related ones!” Jason says in exasperation. “Or at least the ones who aren’t trying to drop-kick each other into either early retirement or a life sentence in goddamn Blackgate!” 

“I mean I really don’t think we have that kind of relationship anyway, considering, but also I’m not the one who you would ideally be knocking up,” Tim says with a shrug. “Also full disclosure, I don’t actually think Blackgate could handle you so there’s not much point in trying to send you there. Maybe if I just needed a free weekend or something, I guess.” 

“Why did Batgirl turn you down on this, Dream Warrior?” Jason asks, half-eyeing him.

“I’m going to blame either David Cain or Lady Shiva for that,” Tim says. “Probably Shiva, considering we were effectively asking her to sire a pup and then not actually be their parent. I didn’t think there was a high chance of her saying yes, honestly, but she was both our immediate first picks so it seemed kinda . . . I dunno, disingenuous not to ask her?” 

“Yeah, obviously she would've been,” Jason snorts as he unwraps his sandwich to tear a bite off. It's goddamn delicious, which MM's always is, but he's still vaguely annoyed because it's goddamn Tim Drake who brought it. “So what pick in the stud draft am I, eleven? Twelve? Lucky number thirteen?” 

He cannot actually imagine how many people must've turned Tim down for him to be here, so–

“No, you're second,” Tim replies, shaking his head. Jason stares blankly at him past his mouthful of wafflewich. “If you say no, I’ll be calling Super-Man, and if he says no then–” 

“Superman?!” Jason sputters. 

“No, Super-Man,” Tim “corrects” like he somehow thinks he’s actually saying a different name. “Kong Kenan. How was that not self-evident?” 

“Because it sounds exactly the fucking same, that’s how!” Jason says in exasperation, though that does make more sense. Definitely more sense than Clark, anyway, because that was definitely a what the actual fuck EVEN moment. 

“It really doesn’t, but this is getting off-topic,” Tim says, then gestures meaningfully with a hand and asks, “Which is: what are your thoughts on sperm donation? 

“Sounds boring,” Jason replies frankly before taking a swig of coffee. 

“Oh, that was a metaphor, Kon said he’s fine either way but I’d really prefer you actually fuck him,” Tim clarifies with a much more meaningful gesture. 

Jason stares blankly at him again. Tim continues to look unfazed. 

“. . . is this a kink thing, Beyond Thunderdome?” Jason asks finally, for lack of any other reasonable explanation.

“This is a ‘I don’t want my omega to feel like a lab experiment for his first breeding heat because he’s worried about making me feel emasculated’ thing,” Tim says. 

“. . . yeah, fair enough,” Jason allows, taking another sip of his coffee. Still goddamn delicious; still Tim Drake-related annoying. “Jesus, though, you could’ve led with that. You know I’m a fucking beta, though, my chances of successfully knocking up your boy in one cycle are not that impressive.” 

“Well, that’s the useful thing about cycles,” Tim says with another little shrug. “They, you know, cycle.” 

“You want me to fuck your omega through probably multiple heats?” Jason asks, still more than a little incredulous about the idea. Again, he was not even aware that those two were dating. He was not even aware that Tim was into invulnerable and insatiable touch-based telekinetic omegas built like sexy industrial farm equipment with a very public history of “let me prove I’m good enough” issues, though actually when he thinks through that full sentence in his head it’s admittedly difficult to make an argument for why he would not be. 

Maybe if he was very, very gay or very, very asexual, Jason guesses. 

“Well, if it goes well this time, we’d probably ask you to do it again in a couple years anyway, so why not?” Tim says. “Kon wants to have more than one.” 

“Oh, so twice as many multiple-heat fucks?” Jason says. Jesus, this little freak of human nature. 

“Maybe three times, depending?” Tim says, tilting his head to one side with a considering expression. “Kon was designed to be hyper-fertile but given I have heard of exactly one Kryptonian ever that had a littermate it seems like Kryptonians might have a lower chance of conceiving litters than humans do, so we don’t really know how that might go yet.” 

Jason pauses for a long moment, because all general incredulity and disbelief aside, that sentence contained a red flag the size of a damn bedsheet. Several bedsheets sewn together, in fact. 

Maybe just an entire Bed Bath & Beyond’s worth of bedsheets, actually. 

“‘Designed to be’,” he repeats, and Tim’s expression briefly sours. 

“We’re not going to get into what Paul Westfield’s backup ‘make myself a custom Superman’ plan entailed,” he says. “Especially because he didn’t immediately scrap the thing when Kon came out sixteen and unpresented.” 

“Fucking hell,” Jason says. Well, that definitely explains Tim wanting to make sure Superboy doesn’t feel like a lab experiment while he’s getting bred.

“Mmmhm,” Tim says. 

Jason eyes him for a long moment as he takes another swallow of very good coffee, debating on how stupid this idea is and also if he wants to deal with Bruce’s opinion on him getting involved in it. A counterargument, admittedly, is Superboy’s very pretty smirk and ass you could bounce a giant penny off. 

Though . . . 

“Do you actually factually know if Kryptonians have a lower chance of conceiving litters, or is the prevalence of them having singles potentially just a birthing matrix thing?” he asks. “Because another solid reason I can think of to use one of those besides not risking the dam’s health or life and doing whatever weird ‘genetic optimization’ thing they had going on with 'em is Kryptonians being a lot more likely to conceive litters. Like big litters.” 

“. . . that is a question that I should have thought to investigate sooner,” Tim admits with a slight wince. 

“Y’think, Season of the Witch?” Jason asks dubiously. Tim frowns, tilting his head again and clearly confused, and Jason rolls his eyes. “Third Halloween movie, genius.” 

“Oh,” Tim says. “I was wondering what the names were about.” 

“Terminator, Nightmare on Elm Street, and Mad Max,” Jason says with another roll of his eyes. He did not think calling the guy a bunch of threequel titles was that subtle a dig. “Jesus, kid, watch a movie that didn’t originate on either Netflix or PornHub."

“I don’t watch either of those?” Tim says, wrinkling his nose. 

“You watch porn somewhere, otherwise you wouldn’t be asking me to knock up your bitch for you,” Jason snorts dubiously, tearing another bite off his sandwich. Who even has that thought process? 

“I’d really prefer you not call him that,” Tim says. 

“Who cares, he’s not even here,” Jason retorts dismissively, waving him off as he chews. 

“Well yeah, I wouldn’t be telling you not to call him a bitch if he was here, because that would actually be helpful,” Tim says reasonably. Jason . . . pauses, and stares at the corner of the wall past Tim’s head. It’s a wall. 

 It . . . sure is a wall, yeah. And also the corner of a wall, yup. 

Wall. 

Jason chews the rest of his bite very slowly and does not allow himself to process the implication that Superboy might like being called a bitch in bed. 

“I’ve never actually heat-partnered anyone before,” he says. “Like I’ve rut-partnered a few people, but I feel like that is likely a significantly different experience. And probably also easier, frankly, given getting most alphas off takes about a fifth of the time and effort as getting most omegas off.” 

“That’s not really a concern,” Tim tells him with another one of those little shrugs. Jason stares at the corner of the wall past his head some more. It is . . . still a wall, yeah. Yup. Definitely still a wall.

What the fuck does that even mean? There is literally no way Tim meant “you wouldn't need to bother getting my omega off while you were breeding him as non-lab-experiment-ly as possible”, because in what fucking world would he have meant that, so like–what? Just . . . what? 

Jason’s brain is unfortunately supplying some very goddamn creative and very goddamn dirty theoretical answers to that question.

[whisperofaflame]

Sneak Peak

I promise I am writing Chapter 16 of Collision Course, but I've also been working on a few other pieces for the series – including something based on the many asks I've received about reader hearing/interrupting Wanda and Natasha getting busy in the bedroom...

It's not finished yet and I think I'd rather release it as part of the main story, but I thought I'd give you a little spoiler now (from the rough draft -- so this is very much subject to change).

Pilates [working title]

WandaNat x [innocent, clueless] Reader

A/N: Reader is in her 20s and perfectly capable/cognisant... except when it comes to certain social cues.

Natasha is in the kitchen, chopping tomatoes on the island countertop. You grin and bound up to her, glad she has returned.

“Nat! You’re back!” 

“Back?” Natasha replies, looking confused. Wanda positions herself at the corner between you, ringed fingers clutching the marble.

“Yeah — I was looking for you earlier when Wanda was doing a workout, and I couldn’t find you,” you explain, frowning a little at her lack of understanding.

“Oh, I wasn’t gone,” Natasha clarifies bluntly. “I was in the bedroom too.” Wanda turns to her then, giving her a look you can’t see. Natasha’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and she adds a little extra detail, her words a little stilted. “I was… also doing Pilates.”

“Oh.” The realisation makes you feel a little sad, in truth. You’d assumed it was something Wanda preferred to do alone, but if she was happy to do it with Natasha too… was it just that she needed time away from you? 

Wanda studies you, looking a little concerned. Maybe you should be honest. That’s what they’re always asking you to do. Just say what you want, what you need. 

“Um, maybe next time… could I join too, please? I’d like to learn Pilates.”

Wanda’s face pales, and she doesn’t meet your eyes as she speaks the now familiar phrase, the one that is beginning to infuriate you. 

“Maybe when your arm is better, darling.”

Perhaps Natasha sees your face crumple, because she jumps in lightly, a small smirk tugging at the edges of her lips. 

“I dunno, Wanda… I’m sure we could figure something out.” There’s something a little playful, a little implacable in her tone, but Natasha’s words suggest she’s on your side, so you smile shyly at her, grateful for the intervention. 

“Nat,” Wanda growls lowly. Again she’s turned away from you, so you can’t see the expression she sends to her wife. One of Natasha’s eyebrows raises slightly, but after a moment all evidence of a smirk has vanished. Natasha turns away, occupying herself with the dishwasher. 

“Darling, would you help me set the table, please?” Wanda asks you, her voice sweet but carrying a clear directive to move on. You obey, frowning a little at their strange behaviour and the new addition to the ever-growing list of things you can’t do because of your injury. 

Reader missing the point cracks me up so much (partly because I can unfortunately imagine this happening to me lol) 😅

[steddieas-shegoes]

matches my weird

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote "we are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." - dr. seuss

rated t | 1069 words | no cw | tags: pre-relationship, steve has a crush on eddie, open ending but assume they're gonna kiss later

🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒

Steve knows it’s gross, which is why he never does it when someone else is around. He opens the jar of pickles and the jar of peanut butter.

He scoops out a spoonful of peanut butter because he’s not an animal. He would never risk pickle juice getting in the jar when so many people come over to his house and ransack his cabinets. God forbid Robin try to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and end up with the taste of pickle on it.

She hates pickles almost as much as she hates Vecna. Seriously.

He dips the pickle into the peanut butter and puts it up to his mouth to take a bite.

“What is happening right now?” Eddie’s voice is high pitched and Steve jumps, nearly dropping his snack.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asks. He can’t hide what he’s doing at this point, so he might as well embrace it.

“I left my jacket here last night, remember? I called and told you I would be by to get it before I went to work?”

Eddie is holding said jacket in his hands and looks…not as disgusted as he probably should be. He just looks surprised.

“Oh, right.” Steve does vaguely remember this phone call, but he was half asleep this morning when Eddie called. He can’t be blamed for forgetting.

“Are you putting peanut butter on your pickles?” Eddie asks as he steps closer.

“I obviously am,” Steve replies.

“Bread and butter?” Eddie clarifies.

Steve checks the jar to be sure. “Yeah.”

“You should try it with the dill ones.”

Steve blinks. “Huh?”

“The regular dill ones are really good in peanut butter. These ones are too, but the savory– Oh! And the sweet and sour ones! I ran out of peanut butter once and used chocolate syrup. Wasn’t as good, but got the job done,” Eddie explains as he walks over and takes a pickle from the jar to dip into the scoop of peanut butter.

“Um. What are you doing?”

“I’ve never known anyone else to do this! I did it when I was little and Wayne thought it was gross, but he always kept pickles and peanut butter in the house for me,” Eddie shrugs as he chews.

“This isn’t you just trying to make me feel like I’m not weird?” Steve doesn’t think someone would go to such lengths, especially not Eddie, but who knows.

“No. Who would do that?”

“I…dunno. I didn’t know anyone else did this. It’s kinda weird.”

“Yeah, have you met me?” Eddie laughs. “I’m a pretty weird guy. Wait until you see what I do to my hot chocolate.”

“What do you do?” Steve takes another bite.

“This is Wayne’s fault, but I usually make it with a mix of milk and cola.”

Steve makes a face, but immediately realizes that’s actually probably pretty good. He’s heard of people using cola in chocolate cake before, so why not make hot chocolate with cola?

“I should try that,” he says.

“Yeah, I can make it for you after work if you want. I only have a four hour shift today.”

“I can go get some hot chocolate packets from the store.”

“We don’t need packets if you have syrup,” Eddie says.

“I always have syrup. El and Dustin drink chocolate milk every time they’re here,” Steve sits back in his chair. “But is that really gonna make it sweet enough?”

“Trust me, Harrington.”

“I do.”

It’s a loaded sentence, and Steve recognizes almost immediately that it’s a bit heavy for a very simple discussion about hot chocolate. His face is warm as he reaches over to grab another pickle from the jar.

“So…I can be here around eight?” Eddie continues after a long pause.

“Yeah, man, sounds good.”

Eddie reaches over Steve to get another pickle from the jar. Steve holds his breath as their arms brush against each other. His heart stops for a moment.

“You know, Wayne always says I gotta find someone just as weird as me. I don’t think he meant this, but maybe it’s that simple.”

Steve blinks, staring ahead so he doesn’t do something stupid like stand up and kiss Eddie or pull him into his lap. Now’s not the time to explore the feelings he’s had simmering in his gut for months, not when Eddie has to go to work. They’ve got plans later, maybe he can be brave about it then.

“Anyways! See ya later, Steve.”

Eddie leaves. Steve waits until he hears his truck start up before he throws his head back and groans. He’s ridiculous.

The phone rings and he groans again. He’s almost positive he knows who it is, and her timing is always impeccable.

“Hello?”

“Steve. You have to hear what Keith just told a customer. We would have been fired it it was us,” Robin whispers into the phone.

“Are you calling me while Keith is next to you?”

“Obviously I am.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “What did he say?”

“He told them that if they wanted to watch kid movies as an adult, they should keep that to themselves,” Robin sounds half-crazed. “I promise it sounded more scathing when he said it. The customer left and said he’d never come back. But I always got the creeps from that guy anyway. You know the one who always asks if I turned 18 yet?”

“Gross. Hate that guy. Maybe he won’t come back,” Steve says as he closes the peanut butter jar. “Hey, you know how I have a crush on Eddie?”

“Duh,” Robin says, half-distracted.

“Think I’m gonna do something about it tonight.”

He’s met with silence.

“You there?”

“I’ve been trying to get you to do something about it for a month now. Why tonight?”

Steve looks at the jar of pickles and smiles. “Because our weird matches.”

“O…kayyyy. You’re probably right about that.” He hears Keith say something about getting off the phone. “I gotta go, but good luck with that tonight.”

“Thanks, Robs. Do you like pickles dipped in peanut butter?”

“That’s disgusting, Steve. Seriously.”

“Just checking.”

“Do you?” Robin asks, but Keith starts yelling about personal calls on the clock and she rushes to hang up the phone before he can answer.

Steve hangs up and leans his head back against the wall.

“He matches my weird,” Steve sighs, smiling to himself.

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

I was thinking about Cybertronians freezing in the Arctic due to the ice that forms on them instead of just the cold & not knowing what humidity is again, and what if they weren’t instantly aware of all the abilities of their alt modes?

They’d have a warmup period after scanning them and have to gradually get used to/ discover all the things they can do. There’s little to no water on cybertron, no reason for them to know that ice forms in the cold, no reason for them to have de-icing. And when they come to earth and choose aircraft as their new vehicle modes, they have no idea those aircraft come with built in warmers on the wings.

I thought about how some flying decepticons would deal with it. Let’s go with Starscream first because I love him very much.

(Also because he complains about cold the most out of all the characters. I imagine everyone ices up the same amount, but the cold is an entirely different problem and one that affects him more because he’s all thin and lanky, not very good at retaining heat. It’s worth clarifying that the freezing is what’s dangerous to them. The cold bothers them but isn’t a threat in and of itself, seeing as they can walk around in space just fine. But I ramble on)

- If he had a human friend or partner, he’d be complaining about how cold it is in front of them and they’d be like “Wait, aren’t you a plane?” He’d ask what that has to do with anything and get very annoyed that he didn’t know he came with extra heating.

- He claims he totally knew about that all along and merely forgot about it in the moment. He also claims he totally knows how to turn it on, but…remind him again?

- The realization that he can just… make himself warmer at will is incredible. He’s still gonna complain about the cold though. Probably out of instinct, he complains to fill the silence. (Is it obvious I want him to be safe and warm. I think it’s obvious.)

- Cue a concerned human asking if he’s been flying through clouds and terrible weather and all the way into the stratosphere with ice building on his wings for all this time. How is he still flying? He just replies that he’s built different, and that he’s far superior to human machines yap yap yap blah blah.

- He doesn’t want to admit how great it is, but after the human shows him how to turn it on, he’d be waking around with the de-icing turned on all day, even when he doesn’t need it. I reckon it’d make the area between his wings an excellent nap spot. He could just put a human in there and squeeze them between his wings and it’d feel like being put in one of these bad boys, I dunno what they’re called in English

In any case, peak nap spot.

Up next is Megan:

- Megatron doesn’t actually have an earth based vehicle mode, leading me to believe he wouldn’t have any form of de-icing. My headcanon is that his bigger, bulkier frame would require and generate more heat, but look at him.

He got a lot of nooks and crannies that ice could build up in. Even spikier than Starscream. Much like Starscream he doesn’t have paint which may also have acted like an extra layer of heat insulation. Additionally, his joints on the arms and legs are visible.

(Actually unsure if Starscream is painted and just gray, but Megs definitely isn’t)

- My point is, I’m not an ice expert but Megatron is terrible for both heat insulation and icing prevention. Megatron is a tough bot, he can take a lot of punches, and as prideful as he is I doubt he’d ignore the fact that a snowstorm would be a genuine threat or hinderance to him.

- Not that he’d let anyone notice, of course. He has a reputation to maintain, and he can’t allow anyone to know his weakness. When he’s in private though, I find the image of evil dictator Megs snuggled up in a billion blankets drinking a hot cocoa hilarious. I’ll probably draw it.

- A human pal or partner may not be able to advise him to turn on de-icing that he doesn’t have, but they might be able to offer him another solution. A badass cloak or cape to protect himself from the snow, while also remaining intimidating. Anyone would think it was just for show, unaware that it’s actually to keep him from freezing.

Last but certainly not least, Soundwave!

-Oh, Soundwave totally knew about the de-icing without needing anyone to mention it. Soundwave knows a lot of things. He’d totally read his own altmode’s manual. I don’t think we’ve ever seen Soundwave in the Arctic though.

Trying to find a good gif for my own reference hang on-

- I’d argue that out of these three he’s probably best with the cold. Sure, he’s spiky too, but nowhere near the other two. His “elbows” are awfully small and exposed, but since his wings form the arms there’d be no issue once he turned on the de-icing. In the gif he easily covers his entire body with those huge arms, so he could easily curl up around himself and defrost if be needed to. Now here’s a good writing idea I probably will never use

- Laserbeak probably has its own de-icing, which makes Soundwave extra warm when he requires it. ADDITIONALLY Laserbeak could be deployed in order to warm up a human friend or partner from afar. Tactical warms.

- Not much to say about Soundwave. Maybe I’ll edit and add later.

[livwritesstuff]

happy valentine's day pallies <3 threw this the office-inspired drabble together for funsies over the last few days and thought today was a good a day as any to finally post

“What the hell is wrong with Dustin?” Eddie asked as he walked through the open door to Robin and Nancy’s apartment, “I passed him in the hall and he’s ranting and raving like a goddamn lunatic. Barely even acknowledged me.”

“You got lucky,” Steve shook his head as the rest of the Party, scattered around the living room, gave a similarly over it-kind of response, “Also – hey. Missed you.”

Eddie dropped down onto the couch next to Steve and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Ugh,” Robin groaned from the other end of the couch, “Either get a room or be gross later.”

“Missed you more, my love,” Eddie said loudly and pointedly as he settled in, and Steve ignored the way Robin rolled her eyes as Eddie draped an arm over his shoulders, “So…Dustin? What’s his deal?”

“He thinks he’s never gonna find love,” Lucas said from his spot on the rug, mouth full of half-crunched chips.

“Because he hasn’t dated anyone since Suzie,” Will clarified.

Steve watched Eddie’s eyebrows furrow.

“Uh, okay, didn’t they split, like, a month ago?”

“Yep,” Mike nodded.

“And didn’t Dustin just say last week that he’s happily married to his studies?”

“Dude,” Mike replied, “If you hadn’t been thirty minutes late, you would have seen us ask him these exact same questions.”

“Alright, gimme a fuckin’ break, man,” Eddie protested as Robin stuck a foot out and clipped the side of Mike’s head, “Not all of us are in college, asshole, living our most carefree lives. Some of us have jobs we're societally obligated to hold onto, Michael.”

“Anyway,” Steve cut in before Mike and Eddie’s bickering could derail the discussion too badly, “Dustin is apparently so desperate for love or whatever now that he’s trying to crowdsource a relationship.”

“And we’ve all been drafted,” Max said drily, “He wants us to set him up with someone at least once a month.”

“Each,” El added from beside Max in the armchair they're squashed in together.

“Each,” Max repeated with a nod.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie blinked, “He needs to chill out.”

Eddie got a chorus of agreements in response, plus another snarky comment from Mike about how he could have told Dustin this himself if he hadn’t been late to their weekly movie night hangout, and then from there, the conversation spun into the Party’s usual overlapping pre-movie (waiting for the pizza to be delivered) chatter.

Eddie turned his attention to Steve.

“So who’s the lucky girl you’re siccing our deranged little buddy on?” he asked, voice just loud enough for Steve to hear over the surrounding conversations.

“I dunno,” Steve shrugged, catching Eddie's hand in his and starting to fiddle with the chunky ring on his pointer finger, “I don’t think anyone here is gonna put up with his shit, but…yeah, I dunno, I feel bad. I might try setting him up with Lauren – y’know, Andie’s friend she has over all the time?”

Andie is Steve’s roommate, who took Robin’s spot on the lease after Robin, the woman she is, U-Hauled with Nancy at a spectacular rate (barely a month into her and Steve’s lease). Steve couldn’t exactly blame her – Nancy’s brownstone is leagues (and leagues and leagues and leagues) nicer than the shitty walk-up he and Robin had barely been able to afford at the time. Plus, Robin was all kinds of apologetic about it – paid her half of the rent and everything until she found a suitable subletter.

Enter Andie, a women’s and gender studies major who Robin had met at their school’s SGA during her first semester of undergrad and who leans pretty much as far to the right on the good ol' Kinsey Scale as someone could. Both Steve and Andie had been a little on the fence at first, but as far as living with a half-stranger goes, he can admit that it actually went okay.

Case in point, he and Andie are both a good few years out of college now and neither of them have made any move to, y'know...move.

“Lauren?” Eddie repeated, “You mean, Andie’s straight friend? The one Andie is very actively and overtly trying to woo?”

“It’s not gonna work,” Steve insisted (because this has been a topic of conversation between the two of them for a while), “If she’s straight, she’s straight.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie acknowledged, “But it’s not her I'd be worried about, Stevie.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon, Steve – it’s basically a lose-lose for you. If Dustin goes on a date with Andie’s straight friend that she is, once again, very overtly and obviously into, whether or not it goes well – whether or not it even happens, Steve – Andie’s gonna find out that you were the one behind it, and you’re living with her.”

“So?”

“Dude, you’re gonna get booted outta your place.”

“No way,” Steve scoffed at him.

“I’m telling you – hell hath no fury like a lesbian scorned. Have you seen Nancy at the bar when someone is trying to hit on Robin? The big guy in the clouds was cutting from the same cloth when he created these ladies.”

Steve rolled his eyes at his boyfriend's brand of ex-Catholic poetic.

“Well…whatever. It’s just an apartment. If Andie really has an issue…I dunno, I’ll just move.”

Eddie grinned at him.

“Oh really?” he says, “And who do you think’s gonna be taking you in? You’re a crazy neat-freak, you think it’s totally appropriate to watch sports during breakfast – I mean, seriously, I get wanting to watch Sunday Night Football or whatever, but listening to recaps before I've had a cup of coffee is borderline criminal – and you've got basically a thousand houseplants.”

“Yeah,” Steve gave a feigned nod of understanding, “Maybe I’ll just move in with my boyfriend – he could use some order in his life.”

“Okay,” Eddie said, straightening a little in his seat, “I’m in if you are, Stevie-boy.”

Steve felt his face fall just a little. He tried to laugh it off, but even he could hear how awkward it sounded, and he glanced around to make sure the rest of the Party was otherwise occupied.

“I mean...," he said slowly, keeping his eyes on their hands so he didn't have to look at Eddie and his ever-expressive face, "I’m not gonna move in with someone unless we’re getting married.”

He really won’t either.

He’d done that before with his first serious boyfriend a few years ago – it was kind of a U-Haul situation in its own right, and it’s how Steve’s apartment became Andie’s apartment that Steve pretty please asked to move back into four months later when everything went to shit with the boyfriend.

(Their landlord had raised an eyebrow at them when they asked to put Steve back on the lease he’d only just left, but he didn’t ask any questions.

“He probably thinks we’re, like, a total dysfunctional couple or something,” Andie had pointed out.

“If only he knew,” Steve shook his head, “He’s leasing to a pair of idiot queers who can’t get their love lives together.”)

So, yeah, the U-Hauling thing may work for lesbians (or, two very specific lesbians whose couch he's sitting on, at the very least), but it’s not for Steve.

He’s a little too intense for it, contradictory as it sounds. He’s been burned in the past by the notion that someone could be willing to take a step as big as moving in with someone, and yet still see their relationship as “unserious” enough to balk at other big things (things like meeting each other’s friends and family, and what to do if Steve had another seizure). He’s not interested in being burned again, thanks.

Not that he actually thinks Eddie would do anything like that – the opposite actually. Steve knows he won’t.

For as long as he and Eddie were friends, Steve had known it in a kind of way he didn't even think about, and he's known it in another way, in a way he couldn't not think about, ever since he eavesdropped on a conversation between Robin and Eddie.

“Steve’s boyfriend is a fucking asshole and I hate him,” Robin had said, because this was back when Steve was dating (and living with) his ex, who did turn out to be a colossal fucking asshole, but this was the first time Steve had heard that particular opinion voiced by one of his friends.

“Shit, okay," Eddie had replied, "Do I need to go kick someone’s ass?”

Robin had paused for a split second before saying, “No. You’d just finally decide to confess your love for him and make everything even messier than it already is.”

They'd both been quiet for another few moments, and then Eddie let out a frustrated sigh.

"Fuck, man, that blows." Another pause. "I just – I don't understand how anybody could get to have Steve like that and not worship every breath he takes. I'm telling you – if it were me, you'd be able to break me down into fuckin' molecules and still be able to find him there. He's the sun in the fuckin' sky, dude. How are people not getting this?"

Steve hadn't been able take any more than that, not without feeling like something within him would split in two, so he had gone back to getting snacks in the kitchen like Eddie and Robin had thought he was doing, and then he'd spent the rest of the night feeling a little nauseous in a way he couldn't explain.

To this day, Steve is pretty sure that neither Robin nor Eddie know that he'd overheard their conversation, but it's what led to him breaking up with his boyfriend nonetheless.

Nothing had happened between Steve and Eddie at first. Eddie had actually been in his own relationship at the time, despite his and Robin' conversation, though they inexplicably split only a month after Steve’s break-up (Eddie never gave the Party a reason why).

Not too long after that though, Eddie had shown up on Steve’s doorstep (in a goddamn rainstorm, no less, the theatrical bastard) to profess his undying love, and by then Steve had spent enough time reflecting on the last several years of his friendship with Eddie and had firmly landed on the conclusion that he was in love with him too.

And so here they are now.

Steve spared a quick glance at Eddie to see that he was wearing a cute, kind of confused look.

“Wait – Steve, have I not proposed to you yet?”

And Eddie's truly dumbfounded tone, Eddie's way of bringing Steve's attention back up to his face so Steve could see the cheeky grin he's still wearing, had relief flooding through Steve's veins and washing away any doubt or insecurity or fear because, as Steve might have let himself forget, this is Eddie.

“I don’t think so…” Steve replied, then he flipped their clasped hands over to show his unmistakably ringless ring finger, “Nope.”

“Huh. Well…look out, Stevie, ‘cuz that’s coming.”

“Oh really?” Steve asked, and now he’s got a big smile growing on his face too, and he ignored the way his heart was thrumming over what Eddie had just divulged to him, how matter-of-fact, how certain he'd sounded when he said it.

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nodded, and Steve is so in love with him it nearly hurts.

“You mean, like, right now?” Steve continued, still feigning confusion, still keeping up the bit like they weren't having a huge, important, real conversation right now, because they hadn’t been together that long, all things considered, and yet Steve wasn’t surprised to hear any of this because he felt it too.

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Not right now. Have a little faith, darling. Now would be pathetically unromantic.”

“Hmm,” Steve hummed his agreement, though a small part of him could acknowledge that now – happy and surrounded by all their friends – wouldn’t be the worst way to get engaged, but Eddie hadn't lost any of his flair for dramatics over the years, so he's not exactly surprised to hear that Eddie is picturing something more.

“I got it all planned out, don’t you worry," Eddie told him, looking all kinds of proud, “And it’s gonna knock your socks off, Steve Harrington.”

"Alright," Steve said as Eddie leaned away, leaned back into conversation with their friends, a tight squeeze to Steve's hand his only acknowledgement of the sheer magnitude of the conversation they'd just had, "I've been warned."

[mono-dontidae]

linger

c/w: situationships, no fluff, not proofread at all

a/n: half-assed i dunno lawl. do ppl still write & read haikyuu fics?

pairing(s): (!timeskip) suna, bokuto, kenma x !fem reader

suna

it was intoxicating. it was like a drug; addicting and horrible for your health. you both knew the consequences of getting into a relationship with one another. thus, why you both opted for a situationship. no full commitment was needed, it was casual, stress-free and cheating wouldn't be a problem. so, why did it hurt when he would see you smile at a guy after he compliments you? why would it keep him up at night when you'd look at a random dude the way you look at him? since when was it a problem that his roster wasn't filled by you enough? when were other women so irrelevant? he's never uttered these questions out loud before. it's casual afterall. dare i say he knew the answer to all of these; he's grown attatched. he didnt need an answer on how your pressence lingered with him to this very day and to make him constantly think this way. he grew even more distant when he found out how attatched you were. arguments arose on why he stopped wanting to hangout or go forth with how it's always been. then you grew tired of it. he wonders how was it so easy for you to say, "hey. i think we should end this." after finding some other random guy to date, to commit to, to love instead of him? something deep within him resonates and he knew he overdosed on you and the withdrawal symptoms are kicking in.

bokuto

loud and upfront. that's how it's always been with him. every moment together with him was forever an adventure. truly expressive with himself, he was a firework. he was bright, splashes of colour painting a dark night sky and always noticable by a well-known "boom!" in a distance. much like a firework however, he was quick to dissapear when the moment's over and proceed to reappear again, bright as ever. that's how it's always been. as amazing as it felt to be in his pressence, it was odd of you to forget how much of a big carreer he has. the kou you know has always been a sweetheart, not a famous volleyball player. you've always cared more about how he was when it was just the two of you. he'll always light up your world at first and then back up at the mention of a relationship, excuses about how his life-long passion comes first. thus, that's how it'd always be. the cycle repeats and the both of you go back into your situationship mishap. he never thought of it as a problem, he never understood why you wanted to make such a commitment to someone as busy as him. neither did he understood why, one day, you just dissapeared. why he felt so empty inside, so desperate to see you, so crestfallen at the fact you blocked his number alongside with every social media account he has and ever so confused at why you were leaving a lingering feeling onto him when volleyball has only ever been his focus. you're the firework of his night sky now, a thought of you igniting at a sudden and thinning when he remembers what had happened.

kenma

he was always busy. either it was with planning on filming and editing his youtube videos, checking with his stock-trades or uni, he was always busy. you were nothing but convenient to him though; a distraction, breath of fresh air or even a change of pace. he was never ready for commitment however, with how busy he is. but he hates it. it's always been boring and repeptitive. he's never liked 'boring'. he hates how typical his day can be and that's where you come along! a day together doing whatever, watching movies in his living room, laughing at random videos on his phone, doing self-care before heading to bed or even cuddling in bed with occasional kisses, he was always happy to hangout with you. but outside of his apartment? never. he doesn't want people to spot him with you and ask if you were his girlfriend. he didn't want to deal with the allegations and go through the trouble of making posts to clarify it either. he knew you thought of him as someone special and he couldn't bear the thought of letting this go on. he let you go and tried other women to fill his mundane schedule. yet, none of them could compare to the way you'd smile, the sweet kisses you'd press onto his forehead whilst being in each others arms, the pure ecstasy that he gets when he hears you laugh or the way your hands comb through his hair as you massaged hair oil during self-care nights. your entirety lingered onto him like a haunting memory. he'd never forgive himself for not taking the risk but after seeing your post the other day with another man, smiling the same way you used to smile at him, was enough. he had no one else to blame.

(ill keep it a buck, idek i just felt like making this & im sooooo lazy pffhahahahgagaja. lmk if i should make more & request me thx love u)

[rekino2114]

I’ve been wanting to ask this for a bit but would you write for Falling Devil? If so, can you do simple headcanons or a scenario like cooking with her?

Falling devil relationship headcanons

A/n:ngl I've kinda been waiting for someone to request something for falling devil cause she might be my hear me out. Also how do you guys feel about y/n not calling her falling and instead rakka as a nickname cause her Japanese name is rakka no akuma and for some reason I like that better as a name than falling. I dunno why death works as a name for me and falling doesn't maybe cause it's a verb but Idk let me know if you'd like that

Let's get the obvious out of the way, she cooks for you, you are literally never eating anything that she didn't cook or approve of ever again

She hates fast food (despite how much death loves it ironically) calling it "awful organ rotting human garbage" and will forbid you from eating it cause she doesn't want it to "ruin your body" in any way plus the food she makes is way better so why would you ever need to go eat out? If you ask nicely enough she might let you go once a month though

She makes sure all of the food she makes is healthy and nutritious and good for you but also that you like her meals. She memorized all of your likes and dislikes in foods as well as any potential allergies you might have so she serves you only dishes she knows you'll enjoy. She complains when you don't try new food or don't finish what she makes, but she'll mostly let it slide since she loves you

Also, to clarify all of the food she cooks for you is 100% human free, she'd never feed you something you don't like eating, and that includes not making you commit cannibalism. Ever since death decided that she would not eat humans to respect her boyfriend (could that be considered the devil version of a vegetarian?) Falling doesn't really have any more reason to kill humans and she can just as easily cook delicious human meals as well so everything resolved itself nicely

She can speak french and likes to call you french pet names like "mon cher" and "mon amour" you have no idea how she even knows french considering she spent almost the entirety of her existence in hell but her accent is attractive and the nicknames are cute so you don't question it

She gives some pretty amazing cuddles, not only is she insanely tall so she's a great big spoon letting you use her basically as a bed and her chest as a pillow she also has six arms so she can wrap all of them around you (except the ones that are holding her head in place) or just use two to cuddle while she's playing with your hair with one and feeding you with the other one

Sometimes she likes playing pranks on you by using her powers, she'll make you float and then catch you when you fall carrying you bridal style, she'll only do that when she knows you'll be 100% safe of course

[petriwriting]

It's always been you - JJ Maybank X Reader

Prompt: Always telling each other everything, sharing secrets and dreams late into the night, but suddenly their secrets become about each other and their feelings

The marsh was quiet. The air was warm and moist, blowing a gentle breeze through your hair. The water was buzzing with life, and the marsh creatures were all going about their habitual routines. You sighed you JJ finished his joint. He sat next to you with his feet hanging off the dock, yours were crossed with your hands in your lap as you turned to JJ, your long time best friend.

"How's that girl doing- what was her name again?" you asked. "Maya? or Melanie- No Melody!" you corrected yourself. JJ chuckled, fiddling with the roach in his fingers after he had blunted the embers away, the smoke trail ceasing. "Mel," he corrected you. "And she turned out to be a huge kook, not really my style." he shrugged half-heartedly. You knew each other so well that he could tell when you were scared, uncomfortable, or tired just with a glance, and you returned the favor by looking out for him. You could tell when he was anxious or too angry.

"A kook? working at the seafood shack?" you stated, rather than questioned. He shrugged again. "Said her parents wouldn't give her allowance money anymore." He explained. "I can't imagine having an allowance," you said honestly. You were Pogues, money wasn't in excessive abundance for the two of you the way it was for some.

"It seemed like she just wanted to piss off her parents by being seen with my anyway," he said somewhat sadly. "I'm not exactly boyfriend material," he joked. "I don't know what you mean," you said

JJ bit his lip and nodded slightly. "I dunno. doesn't matter," he dismissed. You looked out into the dark, murky water that was illuminated by the moonlight, watching the side slowly wax and wane. "Can I ask you something?" you said, not wanting to sound foolish.

"Shoot." he said, gently swinging his feet. you began slowly, hesitantly. "I kind of like this guy," you admitted, thankful the evening masked the flush on your cheeks. "It's so dumb. like major cheesy..." JJ smirked and looked at you. "Yeah?" he nodded, watching attentively as you spoke. "Yeah, so I'm wondering, from your perspective, is it weird if I ask him out?" you asked.

"No, I mean, sometimes guys like that stuff." JJ said cocking his head slightly.

"Do you?" the words slipped out. "I mean would you like it if a girl asked you out first." you tried to clarify, to deflect suspicion.

"If it was the right girl, then yeah," he said, very matter of fact.

You nodded. "Who are ya tryin' to ask out?" he followed up. You shook your head in dismissal. "No one, it was just a thought. You don't know him. we've been friends since like- kindergarten or something." you said, JJ seemed unconvinced. "well he'd be a lucky son of a bitch. No one can say no to you," he said.

You smiled slightly. "you really think so?" you asked softly.

"I know it." JJ insisted. He smiled slightly to himself, and for a brief moment, you guys matched, locking eyes, though you weren't sure if he meant it platonically, or if he thought you'd make a good girlfriend. You pushed the disheartened feeling away.

The two of you were always incredibly honest with each other. He had come to you on his worst days, and in return, he had seen you in pretty rough shape over the years. You just wanted him to be happy, and you were scared that falling in love with him would ruin that. You had no idea how he felt.

"Aaannnnd," he said in a somewhat goofy, exaggerated tone in an attempt to diffuse the slight tension. "Since we're giving each other advice, I also kind of need help with somethin' like this." You nodded, ready to hear about whatever attractive surfer girl he was probably pining over. "Well, I'm glad you came to me instead of John B this time," you snickered.

"Yeah, so um." JJ reached his hand up, running his fingers through his golden hair.

"There's this girl. . ." He began, gazing out at the water as he spoke. She is just amazing. She's really cute, and funny and sweet. She really understands me, like, I don't feel alone around her." he said, clutching his chest for a short moment. Your heart sank. you weren't quite following.

"I'm scared she only sees me as a friend, and that really hurts," he said, his tone shifting. "But I really like this girl. it's not the same as the other girls on the island. I want to see her laugh, smile, and cry. Thing is though," he says. "I think she deserves so much better than me, or anything I could ever give her."

The words hung in the air; you wanted to choke out a sob and go listen to songs about unrequited love, but you stayed. " . . . I think you should tell her all of that. Be honest." you said finally after a thoughtful pause. JJ nodded, maybe its the lingering high or something in the air. Suddenly, it hits you. It was always you. you are the girl. He was talking about you.

there you were, dancing across the line that needed to be crossed to venture from friends to lovers. "Jay," you said softly, leaning closer to him. "Can I kiss you?" he asked. you were shocked but smiled and nodded. "Yeah," you said.

Your lips collided, and you melted into the embrace, a moment you'd been dreaming of for so long, his soft lips grazing yours while your fingers found themselves combing through his soft hair. You pulled away after what felt like an eternity.

You pulled away, and JJ's body language relaxed again. "So is this Kindergarten guy of yours going to give me any problems?" he said, poking fun at your confession, somewhat seriousness in his tone.

You laughed and smacked his arm. "JJ, I was talking about you," you exclaimed with a light hearted laugh. "Oh yeah, okay, good." he nodded. "Had to be sure," he said in a sly tone. For another hour or two, you sat there and talked about things, the same way you had before, this time a special loving connection blossoming from the pre-existing friendship. You found yourself sleepy, resting your head on his shoulder, with his arm snaked around you.

Eventually, you found yourselves back to the house, where a comfy hammock overlooking the water awaited, not wanting to wake the rest of the house but still wanting some privacy. JJ offered you his hoodie, which swallowed you up as the two of you cuddled on the hommock, limbs entangled.

When the sun rose finally, It was early, and the house was quiet. Pope had wandered outside the house with some fishing gear. Having left the front door open while moving things, he saw the two figured in the hammock fast asleep and he froze. He quickly sat the fishing gear down, in rush searching for John B.

John B followed Pope back outside, and he chuckled. "you owe me $50." Pope said with a smirk. John B rolled his eyes. "fine." he said reaching for his wallet.

[hazelfoureyes]

Someone nice, Somewhere safe

Angel x Virgin Male Reader

જ⁀➴ Angel x Virgin Female Reader - Someone nice, Somewhere safe*

*same story, just your bits and bobbles are changed 

You let it slip to the group you were a virgin, and instead of laughing, Angel grabs you before bed to offer a friendly hand.

<Warnings/Promises: Angel Dust x Virgin Male!Reader, smut, fingering, lubed to the gods, Angel uses four arms, Valentino is a blind bag of smashed assholes, creampie, oral, the gentlest sex I’ve ever written (probably), an alarming towel>

listen here virgins, if I could craft a perfect first time for you, this is it. Minus the lack of condoms because—it’s hell? Sex workers are tested bi-weekly?? This is still a fantasy??? Just if anything, please take from this the importance of a safe and trusting environment at all times 🙏  

minor dni (shoo! get outta here! Go on, git! 🧹)

You thought everyone would laugh when you said you were a virgin. The group awe’d and said it was cute, which was definitely better than the response you’d gotten in the overworld. But when Angel made a joke that your toys must be worn to the base, you felt the need to clarify. Total virgin, never used toys or your hands for, you cringed, penetration. Everyone just looked… sad? The conversation was quickly derailed by Angel launching into a list of wildest orgasm faces he’s seen, Charlie leaving the room entirely.

Continuing with the evening’s theme of surprise, you hadn’t expected Angel to catch up to you when everyone was filing off to bed. His hand gently reached for your wrist, “Hey ya got a sec?”

 For Angel, the epitome of smiling through the pain, you’d give him the remainder of your time in hell if he just asked. Every second, his.“Always!”

“So uh”, he rubbed the back of his neck, “about bein’ a virgin and all that.” Your stomach dropped, was the famous porn star about to embarrass you into a second death?“I think it’s real important that like— knowin’ yourself, and what makes you feel good is like super healthy. I dunno if you are interested in that kinda stuff but,” he was wildly moving his hands round, nervously stumbling over his words, “I’d be happy to help ya out.”

All of the blood rushed to your face.

“Oh fuck!” Angel grabbed your head and tipped it forward, “I would have accepted a simple no, jesus!” With one hand pinching your nose, he led you into his room just down the hall. 

What— what was happening, exactly? At all? In general? With your entire existence?

He kicked the door closed behind him and grabbed a handful of tissues, “Keep your head forward. Everyone who says tilt it back is an idiot.”

His hand was red when he drew it from your face, using his other hand to now hold tissues between his fingers as he pinched your nose shut.

“Is- is my nose bleeding??” Your voice cracked.

“Does that happen often?”

“Never.”

“Well I got to help you with at least one first, right?” Angel laughed, moving his hands away as you took over the task.

Oh, right. The offer. You glanced around the room, small but lived-in. Everything was pink and purple and soft.

“Angel, do you think because you’re a sex worker, you have to help me?” The room fell silent. Angel completely still beside you. You would love someone you could trust to take your virginity, but you would never want to use Angel like so many other people did on a daily basis.

“Ya know— a lot of people get real confused about this.” He sighed, chest heavy with the many misconceptions others had, “What I do for work, what I gotta do to get through the day, has nothin’ to do with who I am as a person.” You turned to look at him, “Why should I limit my experiences because of what other people have done to me?” The words hit you like a truck. You had unintentionally boxed him into his job, in turn into his trauma, summing him up as a warm body and incapable of any depth past that. Just a sex worker.

“No, no I didn’t mean anything like that. I just, I don’t want to ever,” you grabbed two of his hands, “ever take advantage of your kindness.” You squeezed, “or any part of you.”

His frown turned up, “We’re dead, yea, but you still exist. If you want to, you should enjoy every part of your afterlife. And I’d hate you to meet some asshole who’s too rough or doesn’t get ya warmed up first. A bad first time can be really traumatizin’.”

You nodded without actually thinking. Your brain wasn’t really processing meaning, his words were just soft and kind and your nose still stuffed full of tissue.

“Do you wanna?”

You nodded more vigorously, “Did my nose start bleeding again?”

Angel took the tissue away, giving a second to see, “Nope.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “Okay. Yeah, I want that. Someone nice, somewhere safe.”

“It ain’t quite nice but-,” Angel looked around his room.

“It’s perfect, Angel.”

“Aw fuck, I should clean up,” he hurriedly carried trash from his nightstand, flattening out the comforter and adjusting his pillows. He placed fat nuggets on the floor with a little pat on the head.

Finally, he stood in front of you, two hands on his hips, two gesturing to you.

“Alright baby! Let’s pop some cherries! Undress~” he elongated the word, shimmying his hips a little, “-to your comfort level.” He began to unbutton his blazer, “Bare minimum, take off your pants and underwear, please and thank you. Though I have fucked through underwear…” He was momentarily lost in a memory.

You hadn’t anticipated getting naked in front of a friend tonight. But Angel so effortlessly shed his clothes, peeling off his gloves. Pulling off your pants, you paused.

“Is it weird if I keep my shirt on? Like— do you know who Winnie the Pooh is?”

“Nothin’ weird about bein’ comfortable, pookie.” He pinched your cheek, “I’d offer a modesty blanket but I kinda need to see what I’m doing.” His eyes flitted to the left, “No, wanna. I wanna see.” Angel’s laugh relaxed you, the idea of anyone wanting to see you made you feel a little less—-naked. Still, your hands seemed frozen on your underwear’s edge.

With a hum, he disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a towel. “Go on, lie down. I’ll help ya relax. This is already feeling too medical-like.”

Were you going to need a towel? Were you going to need a towel?? Were you going to need a towel!?

You sat back on his bed, and when he crawled up to meet you, all legs and arms and Angel Dust, you buried your face in your hands.

“Oh hey—,” his voice was so soft, lacking its usual sass, “Wanna just, cuddle and watch stupid shit on my phone?” You groaned, face sinking further down. This would be easier if he wasn’t so sweet. You could at least take a backseat, then.

You shook your head, and felt his hand on your ankle. It snaked up your calf, slipped down your knee and thigh, finding the waistband of your underwear. When you looked up from your hiding place, Angel was a foot from your face. His features lit only by the purple neon signs hanging beside his bed and near the door. He lifted his brows, a question he didn’t need to vocalize. You sank back into the purple and pink pillows, different sizes, different textures, gently enveloping you.

With two hands now, he slide off your underwear. You might die, again. Your heart would give out any second, incapable of handling the moment. You were manually breathing.

He lifted your hips with two hands, a third sliding the towel beneath you before setting you back down.

“Do ya-,” he was rummaging now inside the nightstand drawer, “not play with yourself? Ever?”

“Not really. Not like, there.”

“Whaddya do with all your free time?” His short but enthusiastic laughter forced a smile to your cheeks. Angel slid the drawer shut and came to rest in front of your tightly shut thighs and knees. You heard a cap pop, and found the courage to sit up and see what he was doing.

“What?” He squeezed a clear, thick lubricant onto his right hand, “Don’t let anyone tell you ya don’t need lube. No fun for no one, trust me. Could start a fuckin’ fire—- and spit ain’t lube!” Angel said it like he spoke from a personal experience.

Ah, the towel. That made sense now.

“Should I do something?”

“Just lie back, baby~,” he opened your knees and followed your face as you settled back down, “Do you like kissin’?”

You’d kiss a trashcan if Angel said it got him hot, so, “Yeah.”

“Good,” One hand touched your cheek, sliding to your chin as he brought your lips to his. You thought you’d melt, his hands so soft on you, lips confident and sure. He used his thumb on your chin to pull down your bottom lip and ask you for entrance. When you opened up to him, his tongue slid into yours as his sticky wet hand finally touched you. Two fingers rubbing the lube up and down your ass.

You nearly inhaled him with your shock, he giggled into it, “You’re so cute.” You twitched under his hand, “Ooh, and reactive! Daddy likes.”

Stop. Stop talking. I’m going to black out.

His mouth returned to yours, tongue over your tongue, as his fingers just massaged your entrance. No attempt at entering, no prodding, just gentle up and down motions. Slowly, your felt your skin heating beneath his hand, the lubricant somewhat melting with your warmth.

At work, Angel was never the lead. Never the top, and never afforded time to ease anyone open. He had no issues with topping, it just wasn’t his normal role. Watching you sigh and twitch under him felt like a treat. Such a sweet response to what so many people made unnecessarily dirty at work. He wasn’t shocked to find his cock twitching, swelling as your breathing hitched with every stroke of his hand. When was the last time he could just… slow down? Be the one in control? Not control like Val, control like—- can I get you a pillow? Is the pacing good? Let’s soften these lights.  Hold my hand, sweetheart.

His head felt a little dizzy. His middle finger pressed now, and with a slow but constant motion entered you. ‘Uncomfortable’ was the best word. Your body tensed around him, but he gently pressed past your virgin walls. He hummed, “First one down! Atleast,” he paused, “two more to go.”

“Atleast??” You shook your head.

“It’s sex math, trust the professional in the room.” He withdrew the finger and slid it back in, starting a slow pace of long drags from knuckle to fingertip.

It didn’t hurt, to his credit. The excitement of having Angel touching you so intimately made the finger easier to relax into. Angel must have noticed, his finger leaving you. He popped the top again of his lube and pressed in two fingers. This was harder. You whined, his fingertips pushing past the tight ring of muscle and settling into the wet warmth behind.

Lying on your back, you stared at the now upside-down photos behind his bed. He looked so happy. Could you join that wall? Was this wall worthy?

“You still good?” He leaned over you, fingers  moving.

You nodded, “Can I have another kiss?”

Ah, you might as well have punched him in the chest. “Of course, darlin’~ Ask and you shall receive.” You liked kissing, genuinely, but were always scared you’d kiss someone too long and end up in an awkward situation having to explain you weren’t wanting sex. But that fear was all gone, you’d broken the code. Get naked first, then kiss.

You smiled into his mouth, and he smiled back, “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“I like kissing you.” You leaned up, pressing your lips to his chin. His fingers quickened, and you moaned without warning. You felt your cock twitch, erection growing as nervousness was slinking away and finally letting you feel aroused.

“Ooh, now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” he leaned back, repeating the same steps and trying to press a third finger into you. His abundance of hands were a blessing, one at your entrance, one on your knee to keep your shaking legs open, and two roaming down the sides of your body. When three fingers finally entered, you could feel the burning stretch of your skin around them. He pushed in, and the skin followed. He pulled out, your sensitive hole pulling too. The hand on your knee came to your crotch, his palm pressing lightly down on your growing erection. You glanced up to him, his eyes focused as he watched his fingers slowly drag in and out of you. It burned still, but just past that burning was a slippery sensation that made your cock jump under his hand.

He let his fingers sink in entirely, before bending and feeling inside you. Your knee jumped when he hit something.

“Bingo! Say hello to your g-spot.” He beamed down at you, gold tooth shining, “You don’t really need it to cum but oooh boooy does it maximize pleasure,” it sounded so pornographic when he said it.

You weakly copied, “B-bingo.” 

“I can do this now~” he replaced his palm with his fingers,  sticky with lube, and they wrapped around your cock. His hand slowly pumped up and down your shaft. “Sex math. Don’t need your virgin ass locking up on me.” He said quietly to himself, fingers in and out of you picking up speed. Your head was pressing into the pillows as your neck strained, you’d never masturbated while someone, something, penetrated you. Every stroke of his hand made your body clench, the feeling of something hard and unforgiving pushing back against your quivering hole made a pleasure you couldn’t describe.

“Feelin’ good yet?” The way he said it, he knew damn well how you were feeling.

You whimpered into one of the pillows, “Feels good.” A weak nod.

Angel’s grin bordered on wicked, hand slowing. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your cock head. Then another. His tongue flattened against his bottom lip as he dragged it over your sensitive slit.

You moaned, a half spoken-half cried, “Oh fuck, Angel-.” Hips bucking up, his fingers kept their place and followed. You humped up against his tongue, ground down into his fingers; up, down. Soft tongue, rigid fingers.

“You can fuck my face, baby,” He opened his mouth, tongue out, and looked up at you from your stomach. “I ain’t got a gag reflex anymore, popsicles slide in like— well, cocks.” He lowered his mouth onto you, leaving room for you to move. His fingers slowed in you.

You thrust up slowly, testing the sensation. His mouth closed around you, tongue moving along you shaft as you rutted into his face.

One hand held tightly to the pillow, the other coming to Angel’s hair. Your body kept jumping away from overstimulation but you fought against it every time and tried to grind against his face.

His fingers slipped out of you, your body closing back around the space where they were. That feeling of your hole tightening made you hungry for his fingers to spread you back open. His hand came to cup your balls, feeling the weight in his palm.

He lifted his mouth off you with a deliberate pop, “Gettin’ close already?” You nodded, eyes closed. “Ready for the real thing?”

“Yeah. I need more, Angel.” It came out as a whine, shocking you a little.

His hand came to his erection, red and leaking. Stroking himself, he returned to massaging at your puffy and swollen entrance.

“You comfortable with gettin’ on your knees? This position ain’t so conducive for what I’m tryin’ to do.”

Somehow, ass up sounded better than face to face, “You’re the expert.” You rolled onto your stomach, hips up, face resting into the sea of pillows. You paused, lifted off your now sweaty shirt, and got back into position. 

“Sexpert, but thank you!” The lid popped open again, cold and viscous lube being dripped directly onto your ass, “Finally some recognition around here.” He coated himself with what was still on his hands, and raised your hips to line himself up.

“Deep breaths, okay?” He leaned over your back, kisses falling down your skin. Two hands held your hips, one guided himself into you. You tensed when his head began to push in, “Relaaax, just like the fingers.”

A muffled, “okay” from your place in the pile. Your heart was suddenly racing, erection now gone. He wiped his dick up and down your ass, swiping past your entrance, dragging the edge of your hole with the crook of his head. Lining up, he pushed in, getting his head firmly sunk into you.

“Breath, baby,” he moaned into your shoulder. You took a deep breath in, your body tight still. But, it didn’t hurt like you’d thought. It burned, but there was no sting, no tearing. Angel’s hands ran up and down your sides, along you ass and thighs. He gently touched everywhere he could reach, until he felt you soften, “Ready to keep going?”

“Yes please”, you turned your head to look at him.

He pulled out slightly to collect more lube on his shaft, before slowly sinking into you until he bottomed out.

You were gasping, your brain misfiring. You couldn’t feel anything but him, your body just a formless thought with Angel’s warm, solid cock reaching deeper into than you thought possible. One roaming hand reached for your shoulder, “Can I move?”

“Slow,” your hand searched for a loose fold of comforter to grip, but it was soon encased and intertwined by one of his.

He pulled out, and slowly thrust back in. A saccharine moan fell from his mouth, and it made you whimper. 

You were so soft around him, yet your entrance was gripping him so snuggly he felt like he was melting into you. His breath was unsteady, “You feel so good on my cock, baby.” A burning blush took over your face, your erection jumping back to life.

“How ya doin’?” Angel sounded nervous, timid.

You had to collect saliva to get any words out, mouth running dry from panting, “S’good.” You tried again, “So good.” Your fingers tightened around his.

He adjusted his hips, watching you closely. When your eyes closed and your hand nearly broke his, he grinned down, “Bingo~,” his speed began to pick up. 

“Fuuuuck, Angel-,” you dragged out the last syllable of his name. You could feel your orgasm returning after dying down earlier. 

Angel took languid thrusts out to the tip and pushing back past your still resisting entrance. Every time he pulled out and slipped in felt better than before. The sensations of him opening you around his cock again and again had your stomach and thighs tensing. You brought your hand up to stroke your own pulsing dick, slowly pumping. 

Angel’s hand came down and wrapped around your cock, taking over your own attempts. The feeling of him in you and around you was overwhelming.

“Cumming,” You hissed, squeezing his hand tighter, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower. His repeated pressing of your g-spot pushed you over the edge, hand slowly milking you of every drop of cum.

Angel’s moans got louder, your body tightening in spasms as you emptied your balls onto the towel. Your body was so inviting, warm walls sucking his head deeper. He rarely got to feel this sensation. His head rested against your back, hands running along the curve of your hips as he melted into your sweet heat.

He picked up speed, only drawing out an inch or so now with each thrust. The lube made a pop and squelch every time his skin pulled from yours, the sound making his legs weak.

“Where can I cum?” His breath was raspy, messy with the pleasure of your soft insides rubbing along his shaft. You gripped the blanket, dick jerking from the feeling of Angel chasing his release with your body. You could hear the strain in his voice, “Gonna need an answer real fast, babe.” You hid your face in the pillow mountain again, embarrassed to answer.

“Inside,” you tried to say it loudly enough for him to hear.

He whimpered a, “Fuuuuck” down your spine, “Such a dirty little virgin.” His hips stuttered before he sunk into you with such force your legs gave out. Your body came down flush onto the bed, towel sticking to your stomach and thighs. Angel was pressed into you, chest against your back as his breathing calmed. You could feel his heart through your ribs, his chest fluff silky on your skin. Your body was warm, his hot cum filling you.

Small, lazy kisses on your back, then up your neck, he leaned to kiss your cheek. He slid out of you delicately, but you didn’t move.  His weight left the bed, then returned as a warm, wet cloth wiped you clean. After a couple of minutes of gentle cleaning, you felt the throw blanket cover your back. Angel plopped down on his back beside you, pulling the blanket over his legs and unlocking his phone, “Wanna see this fuckin’ hilarious video of my boss runnin’ into a glass wall?”

You chuckled, nodding, making no effort to get up. One of his hands came down and ruffled your hair, he leaned in to your head and as you watched Valentino collide head first into a wall, he said softly, “Let me know if you need anything. I got a bitchin’ tub in there.”

You hummed, reaching a shakey hand up and pressing ‘replay’ on his phone. Angel’s laughter echoed off the walls, and you decided you had no plans on leaving bed anytime soon.

Sweet smut inspired by HunnyPaint on pornhub and fansly! 🍯🎨 If you like femboyxfemboy, I highly recommend. They make love look hot. Their fansly is also priced well! 10/10 (again, talking to legal adult humans here)

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