#i need to draw him. i need to find time. i need to draw him

[moonstruckme]

Hello! I find myself unable to stop thinking about fae Sirius, so here's another drabble about him as sort of a continuation to the first :)

cw: brief, vague allusion to sex

fae!Sirius x whimsical!reader ♡ 745 words

You’re scanning the earth for small, white flowers when there’s a rustle in the bushes nearby. You turn, expecting the orange streak of a fox vanishing into the brush or a bird taking flight, but you see nothing. The forest is quieter today, as it has been for you lately. Stiller. The sort of place with secrets. 

You draw in a breath as arms snake around your middle, catching you in their snare. 

“Hello, my little naïf,” says a familiar voice, smooth and lovely as the rock in your pocket. “What are you doing wandering about by yourself?”

You turn in Sirius’ arms. He grins down at you, and you press your smiles together in a gentle kiss hello as your own arms wind around his middle. He likes spending a lot of time pressed close together like this; you didn’t know you’d enjoy it so much until you did. 

“I’m looking for chickweed,” you answer him. 

Sirius’ eyebrows raise. Like most of him, they’re beautiful, finely shaped things; you reach up to trace your finger underneath one. Sirius very dignifiedly does not preen over it. “You’re not looking for me?” 

You shake your head, though you both know it’s a lie. You’ve always enjoyed this particular forest, but you visit twice as often since you met him. You’re never not thinking about Sirius, finding things for him, wishing to see him. It’d be embarrassing if he weren’t the same. 

“I was looking for you,” you confide to appease him. 

He tuts softly, a smile curving one side of his mouth. Sirius loves when you’re plain about your feelings for him. He doesn't always return the courtesy, but that’s alright; you can tell that they’re there whether he does or not. He wouldn’t have given you his name otherwise. 

“And what have you brought for me today, lovely thing?” 

“Do I always need to bring you something?” you ask, teasing. “Am I not enough by myself? You never give me anything.” 

Sirius’ eyes flicker with amusement, because this too is a lie. Sirius has given you many, many things. He’s taught you how to listen to the moods of the wind and shown you how to entice butterflies to rest in your palm and brought you unimaginable pleasure one long afternoon by the creek. Not least of all, he’s given you his devotion, proven in a thousand tiny ways. 

You’re unable to conceal your smile as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the rock you picked up this morning. It’s oval, worn to perfect smoothness by the rushing waters of the river you found it near, and a grayish blue that reminds you of Sirius’ eyes (when they stay still for a while, that is). 

Sirius takes the rock from you, studying it. He rubs his thumb across the top. “This is pretty.” 

“It is,” you agree, basking in your own private pleasure. You think he’d still say the same thing even if he did know why you chose it for him, but you enjoy keeping this to yourself. Sirius’ eyes slide to yours like he can tell you’re keeping secrets, but he doesn’t push. 

“Not,” he says, “as pretty as you, however.” His hold tightens without warning, drawing a surprised giggle from you as your bodies come flush together. “You’re more than enough of a gift.” 

You hear the sincerity in his tone and repay it in kind, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I know.” 

Sirius’ eyes squint the way they tend to do when you particularly delight him. Just before he calls you strange or silly or my lovely little oddity. He doesn’t say any of those things now; only, “You won’t find chickweed around here, you know.” 

You frown. “If I knew, why would I be looking?” 

Sirius heaves a great sigh and presses his lips to your temple before loosening his hold on you. He guides you away from your little patch of bushes by your hand, moving with otherworldly grace. “There’s chickweed by the meadow. We’ll find it for you there. Do you use it for something?” 

You nod. “Pesto.” 

His brow furrows. 

“It’s food. I’ll bring some for you to try.” You give him a sweet look. “Thank you for showing me where to find it.” 

A low hum. “What would you do without me?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll never have to find out.” 

“No,” he agrees, fingers winding between yours like vines, “you won’t.” 

[dykespirk]

I think both tos and aos Jim survived Tarsus. but I think tos Jim was older (15-17) and aos Jim was younger (10-12).

I think tos Jim became the de facto leader of children survivors (as we see with Kevin Riley and Thomas), because of his age. That Jim carries the survivor’s guilt of not being able to save more kids—of watching the youngest ones die (ostensibly) in his care. his coping mechanism is thus leadership—usurping and clinging to positions of authority in an effort to save others; he craves authority, wants and needs to embody it to turn it into something that would’ve saved the others, would’ve saved him. Starfleet becomes his white whale. he needs the myth of Starfleet—an intergalactic emblem of peace, carving through deep space purely to discover (and defend). he embraces starfleet’s militarism because it echoes his understanding of power (some evils need to be defeated; innocents need to be protected). Jim also loves to defend—to entrench and hold boundaries (with the Klingons, the Romulans, with any hostile life). deep space is at the same time mystical—where birth and rebirth are always possible, where miracles happen every day—and orderly, where regulations and boundaries are clearly defined. Jim finds solace and role stability in this space, defending others, acting as a father figure, and indulging in hyper-independence & isolation.

that’s how we get tos Jim, who’s desperate for connection & intimacy, but ultimately clings to his leadership role like it can sustain him—like it’s all that can sustain him. (love, you’re better off without it, and I’m better off without mine. this ship, I give, she takes…I’m the captain…I’ve lost the enterprise, I’m losing command…nothing is more important than my ship) the guardian role is essential to his self-image.

conversely, aos Jim was the child. he was the scared, too-skinny kid who had the rug ripped from under him. aos Jim is born into a world where fatherhood/authority is already dead; George Kirk’s absence is a gaping hole in his life. Starfleet’s idealism makes martyrs, but it also cannibalizes its men to sustain its ideals. George’s replacement, Frank, neglects if not abuses him. that Jim witnesses the complete breakdown of authority. he watches Starfleet come with too little, too late. he sees the older kids die. he watches his only solace from Frank’s terror, his fresh start, become a waking nightmare.

that Jim learns that no one is coming.

his coping mechanisms are withdrawal from the system entirely; to bare his teeth at it, to claw at it, to draw blood. scare them before they can scare you. act bigger than you are. appearances are everything. to distrust authority entirely. give up on Starfleet, because Starfleet is an empty vaccum that will take and take, ineffectual at its core and hypocritical at best.

instead of being defined by his attraction to space, aos Jim is defined by his inability to stay still; his distaste for Earth, for Iowa, for groundedness. for him, staying in Riverside is a kind of self-harm, one he doesn’t understand how to escape and ultimately believes he deserves.

this Jim is lonely not because he uses distance as a defense, but because he’s so distrustful of others, he genuinely can’t imagine an open hand. (enlist?)

that’s how we get the Jim that ultimately cares way more about his crew than his ship; who latches onto Bones like a leech and craves Spock; who wants connection with far less shame has absolutely no expectation of receiving it. this is the Jim that blares sabotage while charging into battle, says fuck you to the admiralty, and would rather die saving lives than live with taking them—that’s what I was raised on.

there’s also the fact that tos Jim is a Jewish man written in an era of liberal internationalist optimism underscored by the early Cold War and the shadows of the Shoah whereas aos Jim is the flashy product of peak commercialized Hollywood in a post-9/11, post George-Bush America. anyways.

[cryptidbear]

YES! YOU GET IT!!!

The angst of it all is just perfect, honestly.

the back and forth between his kids ending up as robins or vigilantes in general.

the fear of finding them dead like he did Bruce.

the fear of not returning alive to his kids like Bruce did.

But seeing younger him in them when they fight to be robin or anything else-

the same way he used to fight Bruce.

and he knows he can't keep doing it alone, knows Gotham needs a light he can't give to them now that he's Batman, something that only Robin could give.

but that fear is so deeply rooted that he feels stuck in place, unsure of what to even do.

I have some notes i wrote down back when i was brainstorming the au-

Jason wants to be a hero- he wants to fight alongside Dick. He wants to help Crime Alley- his home, and better it.

Dick's heart seizes in fear and he absolutely forbids it, a hard no. His foot is down. "I can't lose you too, Jason. I can't lose another family member, I can't watch someone I love die to crime another time. Just... grow up a normal kid. Please."

Jason is angry at this answer, his hands clutching into his hoodie as he shouts with tears in his eyes, asking Dick how he thinks he feels watching Dick go out all alone as Batman and coming back looking like a damned corpse? If Dick dies... then Jason is all alone again. He's afraid of another parental figure dying.

Dick is left reeling as the young boy storms off, his heart dropping into his stomach, stuck between a rock and a hard place, feeling like the weight of everything was finally crushing him.

But he doesn't take back what he says. It hurts, but he doesn't want to see Jason ever get hurt. He doesn't think he can handle it. He doesn't think he could survive it.

He's lost enough already, hasn't he?

And then one night, Jason steals Dick's old Robin costume from his early days from the display case, wrinkling his nose as he dawns the pixie boots. Because pixie boots, really Dick?

And he's sneaking out once Dick has left for patrol, long after the young boy was supposed to be asleep.

the suit is ill fitting but he feels light as air as he stumbles his way across rooftops, using his skills he'd learned while living on the streets to prowl unseen by Batman.

Or, at least he thinks he's being sneaky, until Dick is snatching him up by the bright yellow cape, and in a loud angry voice he's never had directed at him from Dick, the older male lets his anger gets the best of him. Yells at him on some random rooftop, all the emotions and fears he's kept bottled up for so long spilling out as he sees Jason in his old Robin suit.

He says things he doesn't mean, things he immediately regrets as he see's Jason's heart break and tears bead up in Jason's eyes.

watches with dread as the young boy just breaks down in a way he never has before right there on the rooftop, and before Dick can even apologize, the boy has run off, quick as lightning.

It takes two excruciating hours before he finds Jason hidden somewhere in Crime Alley, still sobbing and curled up, tucked away in some hidden corner, soaked from the rain.

Dick collapses in front of the boy and just draws him tight to his chest, covering the shivering boy with his cape and warming him up, his back against a wall and the tiny boy cradled in his lap, his head tucked beneath his chin.

they don't speak for a long while, silent as they both try to process their own emotions, as Dick tries to navigate something he never thought he'd have to.

"I'm afraid of losing you like I lost him." he admits, quiet in the wind as he holds the boy closer, almost desperately like he's afraid he'll disappear if he doesn't. "I just finally started living again... and i can't lose the one light I have."

its silent for a while once more, Dick weighing his options on what he should do,

Jason speaks up next, speaking of the way crime alley needed help, help that Batman couldn't give on his own. Things that he just couldn't understand without growing up there.

Dick listens to his son, listens to the passionate way he speaks, listens to how Jason opens up about Catherine, and about the gangs and how its barely livable there anymore.

Dick can't deny him anymore after that.

He breaks and gives in, a small, wet laugh leaving his lips. "There's no one else I'd rather be my robin." he whispers.

They don't discuss it anymore that night, Dick carrying the boy back to the manor.

They both end up with bad colds and Alfred scolds the both of them, but he doesn't leave the boy's side the whole time, trying to make up for his mistakes. for all the hurt he caused.

Once they're better, Dick lays out the rules, trying to find solutions to make them both happy.

School will be Jason's number one priority, and Jason can only do short patrols on weekdays, longer on weekends.

He would not go out until he had a few months of training, except to keep watch for Batman.

Dick would take him on patrol through crime alley, and they would work together to figure out what they needed to do to help.

He was not allowed on missions or to fight any super dangerous fights- no matter how much he wanted to. not until he was on the field for a long time, thank you very much.

Jason hates some of the rules, but he finally relents after a long time debating over it, knowing that Dick had some good points, even though he's never tell the man that.

Dick lets Jason redesign the robin costume to suit him better, and the first thing Jason does is add pants. he was really fucking cold in Dick's outfit and he didn't like it.

Jason becomes crime alley's Robin, recognized as one of their own. It starts to slowly blossom under his guidance, bit by bit over the years.

(one day I'll actually write this fully fleshed out as a fic and not just 3 am rambles, lol)

(and one day i'll write about the other kids too, i just haven't written past like, Jason and Tim meeting for the first time bc i'm brainstorming chapter by chapter oops.)

Lying awake at 5 am thinking of the au I planned out where Batman dies before Dick ever becomes Nightwing, so Dick becomes Batman and he ends up adopting all his siblings instead.

19/20 year old Dick Grayson staring down at a like 10-13 year old Jason Todd trying to steal his tires and understanding why Bruce took him home that day at the circus.

Dick Grayson staring at Jason who brought home a young Tim and feeling like he can never let Tim go, or maybe him finding the young boy taking photos one late night.

Dick finding out about (baby!) Damian and stealing him. That's *his* son now.

Him finding Cass and just accepting he has a daughter too. Doesn't even fight it anymore.

Duke? He just sighs and wraps the kid up in a blanket. Alfred's already got a room set up for him by the time they're back at the manor.

Eventually, Tim and Steph date and break up (she gets to finally have a good time as Robin PLEASE) but Dick gets said when she stops coming to family dinner. She starts coming again bc she can't stand the puppy dog eyes. She's his unofficial daughter.

Barbara and Alfred just watching all this go down and staring to place bets on when they think another shows up.

Dick but he just inherits his father's adoption problems.

Ft uncle Clark and aunt Lois with (baby!!!) Kon and eventually a baby Jon.

Ft an unholy amount of angst almost every damned chapter.

[mctvsh]

first post here so i'm quite nervous, but!

all i can think of kidnapped!enemy!medic!reader x poly!tf141

cw: military & war inaccuracies + some medical inaccuracies as well, reader uses she/her pronouns, and is mostly girl based, mentions of religion & prayer, first time writing so it will unfortunately be sloppy 💕

let's just say the boys (mostly one you've come to known as, Ghost) haven't been too kind to you. taken from a random battlefield where you were technically there to help YOUR team. they practically throw you over their shoulder and find some fucked up abandoned building with nobody around to help..

great. now what?

you're mostly terrified, and a little pissed. you've heard a few things about them, whispers around your base which, to be frank, aren't the kindest words you've heard about someone! one of them is bleeding out, some guy with a mohawk and a Scottish accent. some gash on his.. thigh? you haven't really been listening since you're scared out of your mind.

your clothes are sticking quite uncomfortably on you, the wet concrete floor has made your ass numb. until they all come in. staring down at you like you're some piece of prey, holding a limping Scot.

"Fix him, yeah?" mutton-chops.

your eyes snap over to the guy who you assumed is the Captain. huh!?

"Uh- I.. need my tools-" you practically squeak out. avoiding eye contact. your medbag was taken from you the second they basically claimed you as 'theirs.'

you hear a grunt (Ghost, you're guessing) and then, thankfully, your medbag being thrown right at you.

you bite at your now chapped lips and create a makeshift bed with your jacket now on the floor and hesitantly nod to the dark skin. he was pretty, ah — getting side tracked. he was the one holding the Scot up, who had stopped his incessant comments (jokes, but weren't very funny) and was now grunting.

unfortunately, you're a medic, a person who helps people, before you're anything else.

the dark skinned male sets the Scot down, and you can see his shudder.. and you almost begin to feel bad before you feel a gun pressed to your back.

great.

"I can't help him if you're doing that." you swallow, thickly. you'll be killed!? isn't that a damn war crime!?

you feel the gun retreat after a few seconds of silence. you breathe out, albeit shakily, but trying not to give them a chance to know how terrified you were.

you locate the source of the bleeding, it isn't too bad at all. you open your medbag, grab some trauma shears, and you cut through his slacks, big enough to work on the stab wound which wasn't too deep but it still needed stitches.

you grab some gauze, disinfectant, numbing cream, and a thread and needle. okay, time to get to work..

it had been a little over 10 minutes. finally finished up with stitching as you place a bandage around his thigh, his pant leg wasn't fully cut off so it was definitely still wearable..

the second you finish up you're being pulled away by the scruff of your neck (Ghost again), your tools splayed out on the floor, thrown off to the side with a Captain staring down right at you.

"Your name?"

you blink up at him. muttering your name as you shuffle a little closer to the corner of the abandoned building. the dark skin and Ghost hover over the Scot instead. which meant that mutton-chops over here, was gonna grill you.. you think. until he stays silent and gives a hum in acknowledgment.

he would be handsome, kind even, if he wasn't staring down at you like that.

your eyes flick over to a Scot who had now been sat up with the help of a narrow eyed dark skin. you bite down, hard at your bottom lip. drawing some blood. you hear a grunt coming from the Scot who had, unfortunately, been feeling okay.

seems the numbing cream did it's job.. because he's back to flirting and making jokes.

"Thanks for patchin' me up, bonnie."

it's not like you had a choice... you nod at him and continue looking down at the floor.

"We'll take 'er back to base." Ghost.

your eyes widen and you suddenly feel a little more religious, praying to whatever God is up there and hoping for the best.

"Aye, a pretty lass, ain't she?" that damn Scot!

they're talking as if you're not right here!

"We still have hours before there's a chopper coming for us." the Captain, and that's all he says as he brings out a cigar. lighting it in your face as if it's some.. joke.

"Aye." the skull-mask says before his brooding body walks over to a corner, staring down at you with his arms crossed over his chest.

and suddenly, you feel a very familiar lump in your throat.. back to THEIR base!? who knows what they'll do to you..

[acphengene]

Little dove

₊ ⁺ pairing: Jake x afab!reader

₊ ⁺ genre: soulmate!au, sweet asf fluff and the tiniest bit of angst

₊ ⁺ wordcount: 3.2k

₊ ⁺ note: this can be read as a standalone but also as a part of my enhypen soulmate series. let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list

₊ ⁺ Jake ₊ ⁺ Jungwon ₊ ⁺ Jay ₊ ⁺ Sunoo ₊ ⁺ Heeseung ₊ ⁺ Niki ₊ ⁺ Sunghoon ₊ ⁺

When Jake woke up at his 13th birthday, he frantically searched his whole body for any type of physical mark. It was generally known that it was a little easier to find your other half when your mark literally could count down the seconds until you met them.

And right there on the inside of his bicep it said ‘bite your lip one more time’ in fine red letters. He had wondered just why his soulmate would want him to bite his lip, because in the eyes of a child that caused pain and nothing else.

His family had celebrated, and he had been nothing short of excited and hopeful that he would get to meet you sooner rather than later. But as most people he would have to wait.

When he traveled to Korea to live his dream, he hoped that it would bring him closer to you. And when the dream took him to a tv-program he hoped with every bone in his body that you’d be watching and cheering him on.

The tattoo, he made sure stayed hidden, he had no interest in people who weren’t you, saying those words to him.

When he and the guys had debuted, they shared their marks with one another, there was no reason not to, and he felt lucky that he didn’t have to hurt like Heeseung, somewhat jealous that Jay had known his soulmate since he got the mark. And despite him feeling bad for his platonic soulmate, he couldn’t help but be thankful that he wasn’t markless like Sunghoon

Engene loved theorizing when it came to them and their marks. There was no doubt in the fandom that Jake had a physical mark, also no doubt that it had to be somewhere on his arm. He had a habit of almost always grabbing on to his bicep whenever he was nervous.

They could however not agree on which mark it was, but he enjoyed seeing people’s theories on social media. He felt grateful that most of the fandom was so acceptable of it, not all groups were that lucky.

One afternoon he threw himself onto Niki’s bed once again scrolling on weverse to see what their sweet fans were up to.

“Dude seriously? With your outside clothes and everything?” The young man said as he looked at his hyung with judgement in his eyes.

He only rolled his eyes. “Do you think they’ve ever posted on weverse?”

Niki shrugged. “No idea, if I’m being honest I try not to think about it too much. In the end mine is definitely not close by”

“I hope mine is close” Jake said with a far away look in his eyes.

“Wouldn’t that be korean if that was the case?” Niki said as he pointed to the red words.

Jake looked at his arm and sighed. “Fuck, I didn’t think of that”

Niki laughed. “Obviously. But don’t worry too much okay? You’ll find them when it’s time”

“How’s the string?” Jake asked as a diversion.

Niki looked down at his left pinkie, where a red string was neatly tied with a little bow. He followed it out and through the window of the room. Where it’s stretched all the way to the horizon.

“Still tight as ever, wherever they are, they’re in no hurry to get closer” He shrugged. Niki had always had a very casual way of seeing the world, and once in a while Jake needed to be reminded to take it easy.

He was right after all, the Universe had given them a soulmate for a reason, and would pull you together when it deemed fit. But sometimes that could be a little hard to accept.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that, it was more so that he was impatient, he wanted to get to know you, sooner rather than later.

As they traveled for their tours he frantically searched every face in every crowd hoping someone would draw his attention, that he would feel that pull and calmness people so often described.

In a new city, he found himself in a Prada store, looking at a new collection, as they all were picking things out.

“What do you think?” Jay said as he held up a bag.

“Pretty sure that’s a woman’s bag” Jake said with a chuckle.

As the fashionista Jay was, he only sighed. “First of all fashion is gender less, plus it’s not for me… it’s for her. I think she’ll like it”

Jake shook his head with a smile, as he tried to avoid that sting of jealousy he always felt whenever Jay talked about his other half. He knew it was most likely harder than he ever admitted. To know her, but to not have her would be torture in and of itself.

“Do you have this with gold hardware instead of silver?” Jay asked one of the sales assistants.

“We should have one in the back, give me a second and I’ll see if I can find it”

That. Voice.

It stopped Jake's entire world as he quickly turned towards you. And as he saw your eyes and that sweet and polite smile, it was as if the world stopped spinning, and everyone around him disappeared. For a second there was only you.

You went to the back to go and fetch the bag Jay had asked for, and for a second he almost followed you behind the counter.

He stood there as a puppy waiting for its owner, eyes locked on the door you had disappeared through. His fingers drummed on the glass as his heart beat frantically.

“Jake?” Sunghoon said as he tried to get his friends' attention. When he didn’t answer, he laid a hand on his shoulder, but his eyes never left that door.

“Not now” he whispered, and it almost sounded like he was in pain, and then you walked back through the door with the dust bag and set it almost right before him.

His breath hitched when you finally looked at him. He saw how your eyes widened, how your mouth fell open in almost chock. And for a second he thought: my first words can’t just be hey.

Instead he bit his lip nervously, he had always done it. Maybe it was because of the words you were to one day say to him, maybe it was just who he was. Your eyes fell to his mouth, and he saw the subtle twitch of the corner of your mouth.

“Bite your lip one more time…” you almost whispered the words, and as if you just realized what you said your hands flew up to cover your own mouth.

A gasp filled the room from both the guys, but also their bodyguards, and the whole room stilled.

“God I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud”

Jake just smiled like a maniac, as he felt the tears prick in his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere” he said as he opened his arms for you to meet him if you wanted.

You threw yourself over the counter, not caring for the bag you had just put down, not caring for what your manager in the corner might think, not even caring for the horde of people with cameras outside the large boutique windows.

At that moment he had never felt happier. He chuckled as he pulled you as close to him as humanly possible, and the two of you stood like that until your heartbeats had calmed.

He didn’t want to let you go, so as he sat back down his hand reached out for yours and he smiled wider than he ever had when you took it and gave it a squeeze.

“You’re beautiful” he whispered and he saw you turn red almost instantly, he hoped his words would always have that effect on you.

“And you’re a romantic aren’t you?” You asked and he answered with a shrug.

You looked towards your manager who just gave you a smile and a little nod. As to say; “I understand, just go”

Jake held out his arm, and you quickly went around the counter to grab on to him. He pulled you close as the guards made sure to escort you out of the store safe and sound.

In the store behind the two of you stood Sunghoon with the biggest smile as he looked after the two of you. Sunoo was laughing in a corner as he kept repeating: did that just happen?

Jungwon smiled and said: “Finally, he was getting unbearable”

“So this is where I’m staying” Jake said as he opened the door to his hotel room. The two of you had decided it might be best for you to go there, there was no reason for you to dox yourself.

You looked around the room, but your eyes kept finding him, and every time they did his smile got wider, if that was even possible.

“C-can I see it?” you asked as you took a step closer to him. He nodded and got rid of his jacket before pulling up his sleeve, revealing the now golden words etched into his skin.

You laughed as you let your hand trace the words. Jake shuddered beneath your touch. “Oh I’m sorry, is it too much?” You stepped back to give him space, but he quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to him.

“It’s nice, I’ve been wanting this, waiting for this for so long. My hitching breath and shuddering is in nothing if not from happiness and excitement for having finally found you”

The heat once again flushed to your cheeks, and he, that cheeky bastard, he bit his lips once again. You placed your hands on your face.

“I had an idea you might be a hopeless romantic” You said turning away from his gaze.

He laughed. “Why?”

“When you have ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere’ etched into your skin from the ripe age of 13, you cant help but hope”

He felt how your words fucked on his heartstrings. “Tell me everything”

So you did; you told him how excited you were when you saw the words. How lucky your mother had told you that you would end up being because of the sweet nature of them. How your friends had fawned and been jealous.

“I know it’s not a given, and I know not all soulmates are made to be more than just platonic, but I would love to give this” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “Us a real shot”

Your cheeks were blazing hot, but you wanted to say them. In case he felt differently, you’d rather be disappointed sooner rather than later.

His hand snaked up and rested on the back of your neck, firm enough to make sure you knew he wanted you close, but still loose enough for you to get away from him if that was what you wanted.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “I want nothing more” as if he had done it always he rubbed his nose against yours, the gesture so soft and subtle it stole a whimper from your throat.

In that very instant his eyes shot open, pupils dilated, the love he had always felt for you on full display.

“Can I kiss you?” He whisperd. His lips so close to yours he almost did by saying your words.

Instead of answering him, you closed the small gap between the two of you. His other arm snaked around your waist as yours traced his shirt, up his stomache, over his shoulders and around his neck.

You pulled him as close to you as physically possible. And he smiled agains your lips at the way you responded to him.

A knock on the door pulled you from losing your minds, hearts and souls to one another.

“Yo, love birds… wanna grab some lunch? Get to know one another?” Heeseung said on the other side.

The two of you looked at each other and laughed. Jake only raises a brow, and you nodded as a response. You couldn’t wait to get to know him and those closest to him.

Once again he stretched out his arm for you to grab on to and you did without a doubt.

“Let’s go little dove” he said with a wink.

“Wait so I’m the first?” You said with a shocked expression.

Jake had his arm around your shoulder, it felt like his heart would physically break if he were to not touch you when you were so near.

“Yeah, hopefully the rest will come soon…” Jay said with a far away gaze in his eyes.

“You miss her?” You asked him.

“Every waking minute of every day” he answered with a small smile.

Nothing short of pure torture. You thought to yourself and leaned into Jake’s embrace. He kissed the top of your head instinctively.

“God the two of you is gonna be unbearable, aren’t you?” Niki said with a groan as he took another spoon full of the broth standing in front of him.

“Especially when we leave in two days” Jungwon said, trying not to sound to harsh.

The eyes you looked at him with broke his heart. He would have to leave you behind, go on on the tour. He would be in contact sure, but this would end up breaking him and in extension you.

It was common knowledge that the first few weeks, if not months were the hardest to be without your soulmate. It was as if your souls needed one another, after being separated for so long.

“The tour isn’t don’t yet, but I’ll be back as soon as possible. Okay? I promise” Jake said as he pulled you into another close embrace.

Jungwon stole the attention by spitting out his noodles. “Why would she think now is the perfect time for chocolate pudding. I swear it’s her hobby to ruin my meals” he pushed away the bowl, as the guys laughed.

You were thankful for the change in subject, but you couldn’t help but wonder just why the universe would set you up with someone whose job was to travel the world and leave you behind.

“Hey” Sunghoon said, “why dont you just ask if you can bring her along?”

Jake remained quiet as he thought it all through. It was not impossible, he knew that it was impossible to tear some soulmates apart, and Hybe had to accommodate that, but still… you had a life, a job and friends and family. He would hate to pull you from it all.

“Let’s talk about it when we’re alone, how does that sound?” You asked him with a little squeeze of his thigh. The mere sound of your voice calmed something inside of him, and his worried eyed softened.

“As Niki said, unbearable” Heeseung said right before he was snacked in the back of the neck by Sunoo.

“As if you’re gonna be any better than them”

He only shrugged.

“I don't wanna assume you have the possibility of just leaving” Jake said as he fiddled with his fingers. He did want you to come along. He wanted to sleep with you in his arms and wake up to your kisses.

“I don’t think that I do, sure I have a few weeks of vacation left, but it’s just so short notice” you said with a sad smile.

He nodded, “I know… what if I called Prada, or maybe if one of my bosses did?”

You smiled as you stood between his legs as he was sitting on the bed, you pulled lovingly on his long hair as he looked up at you with pleading puppy eyes. God he was beautiful.

Instead of answering you kissed his lips slowly, and his arms pulled you closer. “As much as I would love that, that wouldn’t be fair. Come back to me when you’re done, in the meantime we will just have to figure something out, okay?”

And figure something out you did. Every time you had the chance you were FaceTiming, you fell asleep talking about your childhood, and while he was training you caught up on the hours worth of content.

Hybe had been kind enough to leave you with a bodyguard of your own, but so far you hadn’t needed it. It had, however, calmed Jake’s mind a lot to know you were taken care of.

“When I can’t do it, I need someone else to, okay little dove?” That had been hard to argue with.

He had been gone for a few weeks now and it felt as if your heart had been ripped from your chest, as if you were no longer whole.

You hated every second of it, you hated your stubbornness. Why wouldn’t you take him up on the offer of just going with him? Integrity… fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself as you got the store ready before it opened.

You heard the door open, and as you turned to tell the early customer you weren’t open yet you froze.

“Sunghoon” you said before giving him a bow, you had spent the weeks reading up on Korean etiquette and culture.

He bowed back before he held out an arm just as Jake did. “Come, he’s unbearable and none of us can take it any longer… he needs you” he sent you a smile that never really reached his eyes.

Instead of bolting out the door you found yourself hesitating. You had a life and a job you had worked so hard for. Sunghoon rolled his eyes as he laughed. “Don’t worry about it, we’ve taken care of it”

And for once you chose not to second guess it, and grabbed his arm.

You knocked on the door to the room, despite what the two of you did most days, you had ignored his calls all day. Jungwon had warned you, he had been sulking and sad and as good as impossible to get to do anything. Even eat.

“Go away!” You heard his voice groan from the other side. You knocked again.

“Hee, I’ve told you all day I’m just not in the… mood” he swung the door open without even checking who was on the other side.

In your hand you had a bag of food, he would need something before the concert tonight.

“Surprise?” You said with a unsure smile, cause he only stared at you.

“You’re here?” He said as his voice cracked.

You nodded. “I’m here”

And as he heard your voice once again he broke down in the door to his room, you quickly gave the food to one of the managers in the hall as you joined him where he had collapsed.

He snaked his arms around you as he sobbed into your shoulder. And as painful as it was to see him like this you had also never felt more like yourself now that he was near.

He looked at you as he stroked your cheek. “You can’t leave me again, okay?” He said as he both laughed and sobbed at the same time.

You smiled at his words, as a single tear escaped your eye. He kissed it away as quickly as it had fallen. “I won't,” you whispered.

The two of you heard a groan further down the hall and saw Niki there. “Fucking unbearble love birds” he swore under his breath.

“Language young man!” You both yelled in unison, and a laugh quickly followed.

Neither of you minded being unbearable love birds, as long as you weren’t apart.

Hi! Thank you sm for Reading! Please remember to like and reblog, and let me know if you have any theories about the others or these two sweethearts. Feedback is very much appreciated 🫶🏼

[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!orion pax x human!reader valveplug, minors don't interact!

based on this delicious ask about orion overloading from inhaling your pheromones and some tags provided by @tom-foolery-incorporated <3

word count: 800

Holding Orion’s helm on both sides, you pull him toward you, feeling no resistance from the startled mech. His faceplate lands against your chest, and you immediately envelop him in warmth, letting him sink into the softness of your human body. The familiar shape of your torso and the rhythmic symphony of your heartbeat give him a sense of comfort and belonging, as if, after a long, exhausting day, he has finally found his way home. Orion lifts his optics to you and smiles in gratitude, though you cannot see the expression.

“I missed you,” you murmur tenderly, pressing a kiss to the top of his helm.

“I am glad that our feelings…” he begins, but his words are abruptly cut off by the sudden, unfamiliar scent flooding his olfactory sensors.

It is sweet, unmistakably yours, yet tainted with something unknown — something he cannot name. Has no time to analyze it before the scent overwhelms him, urging to flee, to pull away before it does irreversible damage to his processor. Escaping should not be a challenge; after all, you are not restraining him, granting him full freedom to move. But the problem is that he hesitates to run.

One breath. Then another. And another. Each inhale draws the scent deeper, seeping into his very core, coating his spark, his tank, until it finally reaches the most sensitive parts of his frame, teasing them mercilessly. It creeps behind his interface panel, wrapping around his spike and valve, luring them into a dance with the desire that consumes him in an instant. Just moments ago, all he had wanted was to hold you close, whispering sweet words in your ear, but now — now, the image of sliding his spike into your tight, burning-hot folds is the only thought left in his processor. The only thing he wants to think about. The only thing he can.

Orion takes another involuntary breath, stress-induced from the sudden onslaught of overwhelming need, and it seals his fate.

“[Name]!” he cries out, voice breaking. His concealed spike spasms, and from its tip, thick strands of pink transfluid spill out, splattering against his panel before slowly dripping downward, seeping into the seams, finding their way out. Some rivulets trail down his thighs, while others pool onto the floor beneath him.

“Orion, did you just come?” you ask bluntly. Watching the way his back arches, his optics roll upward, and listening to the symphony of his stifled moans, you are certain of the answer. You should be surprised — after all, you had barely given him any real stimulation to get him to overload — but you know your partner well enough to have learned just how little he needs to unravel. Still, the meaner part of you, the one that always surfaces when Orion is deliciously pathetic, wants to see undeniable evidence of his overload.

“Move your head. I want to see.”

“Ah!” Orion whimpers. “N-No, do not look,” he pleads, suddenly ashamed of the intensity of his own desperation.

His embarrassment does not last long, though, because Orion does not want to pull away. He does not want to lose this intoxicating sense of helplessness, this loss of control that breathing in your scent grants him. He wants to stay right here, drunk on your sweetness.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now you’re getting shy? Please, I’ve seen you worse.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles, barely processing your words. He inhales again, this time intentionally, and just like before, your scent floods his body. His still-hard, aching spike throbs, pleading for another overload, and his valve clenches around nothing, echoing the demand. He has no choice but to take in more of your scent, to drown himself in it. He presses himself against you harder, as if trying to meld into your body, rubbing his faceplate against your chest in a desperate chase for another untouched, hands-free climax.

Forgetting his own immense strength, he unwittingly forces you several steps backward, making you struggle to keep your balance.

“Hey!” you yelp, giving him a light, scolding pat on the helm. “I almost fell!”

That, finally, seems to snap him out of it — at least for a moment. Orion lifts his optics to meet yours, guilt flickering in his gaze. “A-apologies,” he murmurs, but his focus does not last long. He immediately buries his faceplate back against you, sensitive olfactory sensors dragging over your torso, trying to provoke another overload.

“Ah! [Name], please, help me!” he whines, his voice raw with need. He has to be inside you. Needs to ground himself, to find something solid to cling to, or else he fears he will completely lose his mind.

You sigh, feigning exasperation. “As you wish, love.” and Orion hurriedly retracts his transfluid-slick interface panel.

[gojopill]

The sun has long since set. Midnight deepens as Nanami finally, finally, slips through the cracked bedroom door. In the pale gleam filtering through the window, he notices you—or rather, the you-shaped lump curled up under the comforter. As expected, it is late, and despite your unwavering insistence on wanting to wait up for him, Nanami shot it down every time, ordering you to listen to your body’s sleepy signals. Eight hours are important, he’d remind you—and he meant it. He meant it, and yet, that pesky, fleeting spark of selfishness lingers, because if he were truly honest, Nanami would’ve loved to ask you to stay awake and greet him.

He shuffles through an unhurried routine, quietly shedding his clothes—first his dress shirt, then his belt, then pants and undershirt, and finally his socks and garters—all balled up and tossed into the hamper. Tomorrow morning, first thing, Nanami will start a load of laundry. But tonight? He just wants to lie down with his beloved after a long, hard day at work.

He peels back the comforter just enough to slip beneath, instantly melting into the enveloping warmth your body has left behind. You lie nude, belly-down, arms woven beneath the satin pillow. In the dim ambiance, Nanami admires you in your peaceful slumber. A delicate touch glides along the slope of your back, slowly descending to that shapely ass. Despite the ravenous exhaustion of a ten-hour workday, a lecherous claw grips his core, urging him to surrender to the aching need to feel you. A brawny arm slithers beneath your torso and with all the tenderness in the world, Nanami maneuvers your limp body onto its perfect side and reels you in until your back is flush to his broad chest. Guilt pricks him when your breath stutters and your shoulders twitch with drowsy awareness. “Kento?”

“I’m sorry,” he coos into your sleep-tousled hair, smoothing a palm down to stroke the soft pouch of your stomach. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You mumble quietly, unintelligibly, moaning as you stretch your leg, ending with your calf nestled between his. "It’s okay." Falling back even further into the nest of Nanami’s hot body, you murmur, "It’s good. I wan’ed to be up for you." Lithe fingers fit in between the gaps of his thicker ones; you give him a loving squeeze.

"Oh, is that right?" Nanami’s coy question came without any real cockiness. He speaks against your neck, carving into the crevice beneath your jaw. "I was curious where your pajamas went."

Your smaller hand slips from his, and you reach back, cupping his stubbled cheek. "Figured you’d enjoy it."

"I do," Nanami responds eagerly, catching your wrist. His head tilts to the side, to your hand, and he playfully nips at your fingertip. "I’d enjoy you in anything... even a trash bag."

“You would not.”

“I would.” Fitting your hand back against his face, he hums something deep and rich. “My gorgeous wife.” You’re blushing, he can feel the warmth emanating off your nape. He presses his mouth to the heat source.

Your sticky mouth smacks, finding the muddy consciousness to string together coherent words. “Good day at work?” It’s a cute question, really, but not nearly enough to deter Nanami’s laving tongue against your neck.

“Mm.” His focus never drifted from the quarter-sized space behind your ear—getting mauled there always reduced you into a dwindling little fawn. “Was alright. My six o’clock—” kiss, “dragged, the printer—” lick, “had a malfunction and made one-thousand copies instead of one-hundred, but other than that…” Nanami trails off, nosing a slow and languid path up towards your ear. “I just really, really missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you respond, breathless and pawing at the back of his skull, drawing his face deeper into the crux between your head and shoulder. “So much.”

Pure, mammalian expression materialized in the form of Nanami’s erection. Thick and stiff and bulging against his briefs, finding a home rutting in between two soft ass cheeks. “Do you want to have sex?” A hand groping your thigh outshines his exhausted bluntness. Nanami doesn’t make much of an effort to mend his broken filter. “You can say no.”

“Why would I?”

Popping up from another chaste kiss, this time to your cheek. “Say no?”

“Mm.”

Nanami pets higher on your waist, tracing the hinge of your leg and following the line down; he wedges his hand between your thighs and cups your bare pussy like he owns it. “I was trying to be considerate towards the fact that you’re sleepy, sleepyhead.”

“I have enough energy to sex you up baby,” you mumble lazily, matching his sly playfulness, and your husband exhales a gust of giggling into your hair. For good measure, you wiggle your butt back into the seat of his crotch, “this was my plan all along.”

“I should’ve known.”

[hitlikehammers]

(not your average) seven minutes ⏰ ♥️

or: what if Steve had been ‘playfully’ locked into a room by his drunken not-friends at that infamous Halloween party in 1984, for 💕Seven Minutes in Heaven💞!

…and no one realized Eddie Munson was already hiding inside 🫥

Steve just wants to get the fuck out of this place, this party, this fucking…bullshit life he’s found himself in. He’s not at his best, under-fucking-standadably, so when the drunk-ass Halloween masses push and shove and giggle as they lock him in an upstairs bedroom for—oh god, Seven Minutes In Heaven, what are they, goddamn twelve—he’s going to fucking scream, he— “Not quite what you were expecting behind Door Number One?” Steve spins, a little jump in it when he looks for the source of the voice which sounds familiar and then also, not, because Steve thinks he should know a voice like that, because it’s a good voice, a really good voice, it’s not too deep but it’s smooth and it’s— It’s a good voice, basically. And when he finds its owner, shadowed by the curtains in the corner, well. The leather jacket would’ve given him away if the mess of frizzy curls weren’t kind of an automatic tell: Eddie the Freak. Half-hidden as he flips a clear antique of a lighter too fucking close to the gauzy drapes and it…it does something. To Steve. It does something to Steve.

rating: t ♥️ tags: s2 era, alternate meeting, that ONE HALLOWEEN PARTY (you know which one), steve meets eddie immediately after nancy does her drunken bullshit thing, seven minutes in heaven meets truth or dare, (weirdly more effective than you’d think), first kiss(es), fluff, humor, boys being boys, climbing out of windows (like a ninja🥷), getting together (?) ♥️

again: originally a fill from @eddiemunsonbingo forever ago, and I’m only bringing it over here NOW because it’s going to have a sequel show up soon for @steddielovemonth—which I thank profusely for giving me the kick in the ass required to revisit and actually try to finish this series!

“Oh my fucking god.”

Steve honestly doesn’t know if he’s going to start crying or throwing up quicker, like which one’s closest to the surface; keeping his balance as the shock, the jagged parts that draw blood when your heart gets crushed to shards leaving him susceptible—pathetic, fucking pathetic— to the pushing and pulling and grabbing of the throngs of trashed partygoers shoving him away from the front door, pushing harder every time he tripped up the stairs, laughing and yelling and chanting and fuck, fuck he doesn’t need this, he doesn’t want this, and he doesn’t even know what the fuck it is, just that it’s not his car, and then his house, and then his bed where he can…let it all come crashing down and not have a fucking audience, just: goddamn.

As soon as a door’s thrown open and she’s shoved to stumble hard, catch his nails to bending, bleeding against the light switch as the lock clicks behind him—well fuck.

He gets it now.

Fuck.

“Not what you were expecting behind Door Number One?”

Steve spins, a little jump in it when he looks for the source of the voice which is familiar and then, not, because Steve thinks he should know a voice like that, because it’s a good voice, a really good voice, it’s not too deep but it’s smooth and it’s—

It’s a good voice, basically.

And when he finds its owner, shadowed by the curtains in the corner, well. The leather jacket would’ve given him away if the mess of frizzy curls weren’t kind of an automatic tell: Eddie the Freak, half-hidden as he flips a clear antique of a lighter too fucking close to the gauzy drapes but…it does something.

It does something Steve doesn’t want to dwell on, the kind of thing he’s kinda been working really hard and doing pretty fucking well and not dwelling on but then…maybe like, any other night, any other hour of any other night? Steve maybe would have turned, and at least tried to force the door open; maybe he’d have pushed it down like he’s been getting real good at, almost to the point where he doesn’t even have to think about it, the thing itself or the pushing it down: in fact he’s absolutely sure he’d have done just that. Any other night. After any other fucking night.

But it’s all bullshit anyway, so like, why even bother, what does any of it even matter, Barb’s dead, blood’s on his hands apparently for a pool he doesn’t even fucking pay for, his love’s fucking nothing and the voice from the corner, hell, even the jawline the flame’s casting sharp every other second, every flip open then stealing away with every flip closed: that’s something and so, like.

Any other night. It’d be different.

But it’s this night.

“I wasn’t expecting any door except the one on the front driver’s side of my goddamn car, man,” Steve sighs and throws his weight against a dresser—plain. Really plain—kid’s room. Not too young. Boy’s room. Little brother of…fuck, Steve can’t even remember whose house they’re in.

“I can see where this would definitely count as,” Munson’s tongue runs almost contemplatively over his lips as he tips his head; “a deviation from the plan.”

Steve snorts; he means it to sound amused, because he is that. Honestly he is.

But it sounds like it get halfway there, before it nosedives a little into a half-stifled sob.

Goddamnit.

“You okay, Harrington?”

Oh. So not only is he recognizable, he’s also recognizably not fucking okay.

That’s just great.

“My girlfriend says I’m bullshit,” Steve has no fucking idea what makes him just say it, to basically a stranger at that, and fuck, no, not a stranger: this stranger, who Steve knows enough of but who Steve’s pretty sure knows too many things about him for comfort, just—he doesn’t know what makes him say it. “That loving her is bullshit.”

Actually: probably that’s it. Bullshit, versus something. Munson’s eyes stay fixed on him the whole time, even as he keeps flicking the lighter.

“Does,” Munson starts, and in his good-voice, he sounds almost, like, hesitant. Which isn’t a way Steve really associates with the guy, if he associates anything with him at all but apparently yeah, he does, because he’s absolutely certain this shit’s out of the norm: “like, not to be a dick, seriously,” yeah, yeah: this is like a gentle voice. Careful. Care…caring?

And, like…why?

“But does that mean she’s still your girlfriend?”

Oh. Pity might be why. That’s fun.

“Shit,” Steve rubs his hands over his face, fucks his hair up even more than it’s been which is possibly not even possible. “Probably not.”

Munson lets out a breath that’s almost a whistle, and looks genuinely regretful—again, why, most of the people he hangs out with would probably celebrate Steve’s suffering, so like, what the fuck—

“That sucks man,” Munson says, honest, like, really honest as he para down his…surprisingly tight jeans until he extracts a pre-roll from the front picked and holds it out in offering: “on the house.”

Steve needs that shit bad enough for it to be maybe the only thing he doesn’t question in all of this.

“Thanks,” he says as Munson holds out a light and Steve leans in; the guy smells of party sweat and too many bodies, of Kate autumn air and cheap cologne. He smells…

It’s a good smell. It matches his good voice.

“You wanna?” Steve offers on impulse after he takes a lungful and maybe a little more, maybe a little too much—greedy, needy, bullshit—and holds it back to Eddie as he breathes out slow, tries to keep it all in as long as he can but not…not in a pushing-it-down kind of way. More a making-the-most kind of way.

“Do you wanna?” Munson asks, eyes so wide, like a baby animal or something. Like a cartoon character. Steve just keeps holding the joint out to him, close enough that his lips will touch Steve’s fingers if he wants them to, and in Steve’s head he feels like he’ll call him Eddie, in his head, if his mouth brushes his skin.

It does.

Eddie it is, then.

And Steve’s real good at shoving down things like the way his heart skips and fucking jumps, runs a little—he’s good at it.

But not tonight.

“They always double the time, ‘specially when they think they’re being funny,” Steve licks his fingers where Eddie’s mouth had touched because why the fuck not, and he slides down the simple preteen dresser and leans back on the palms of his hands as he sighs out the words and the remaining smoke in his lungs, but let’s go of none of the taste he’d lapped off the skin around his knuckles. Not that. “Probably longer than that if they’re as drunk as they looked.”

“Ah,” Eddie kinda, almost, hums through the purse of his lips before he offers the smoke back Steve’s way, and if Steve makes sure his lips drag over Eddie’s fingers, what fucking of it. It does make the space between his inhale and Eddie’s willingness to say any more words out loud a long quiet pause where Steve’s pulse runs high between his collarbones but it’s…it’s not bad. And Steve kinda wants to keep that in his back pocket, for later: the thing he’s gotten so good and pushing down might not feel so goddamn bad, up near the surface where it’s still able to breathe.

Huh.

“So you’re up here on a mission,” Eddie finally says, a little choked but not like you choke on a weird drag, y’know? Different choking. Steve feels the urge to smirk and while he doesn’t give into it?

It’s definitely there.

“As far as they’re concerned,” Steve says with��Steve doesn’t know what he says it with. How he says it. How he means it.

“You don’t look drunk,” Eddie saves him from dwelling on that particular unknown, lets him course correct with a little scoff.

It also distracts him from how Eddie sits next to him. Not too close, but still pretty fucking close.

“I know my limits.” Which is why he takes back the joint without a single thought and does the maybe-too-much thing, because it feels good, and lets himself look for the taste of Eddie on the paper: salt and a tang of something and then sweetness, like fucking candy.

It’s a good taste.

“I’m probably a little drunk,” Eddie declares without sounding it at all, and taking to the eeed again without a secondly hesitation; “more like tipsy, really, if that, but still, totally not my style,” he frowns, like it really isn’t, like he’s disappointed in himself. It’s kinda…cute.

Fuck.

“I don’t touch shit at these parties but I was thirsty as fuck,” Eddie gestures with his free hand, and it’s the first time Steve’s notices how his run at glint: good hands; “haven’t eaten all day and thought I’d beat the punch spiking.”

“Aww, man,” Steve moans on Eddie’s behalf, sympathetic; “the punch is always pre-spiked.”

“Duly noted,” Eddie nods, holding the joint to Steve’s lips straight on this time, and Steve thinks nothing of breathing in without touching it himself, letting Eddie decide when to pull it back. “Point being, on an empty stomach, even one such as myself,” Eddie gestures broadly at his person with the nearly-spent smoke: “is not immune.”

Steve huffs a little laugh; he kinda wants it to be bigger but he’s feeling…soft. Nice.

Good.

“So we’ve got somewhere between seven and…” Eddie glances at his wrist as if he’s expecting a watch there; Steve wants to know if he forgot one he normally wears or if it’s all for show: “thirty minutes, by your estimation?”

“Thereabouts,” Steve shrugs. You can never really know for sure.

“You umm,” Eddie ventures after a few seconds; “you want to talk about, umm,” and he trails off, but the implication is clear.

“Not,” Steve’s saying before really thinking;“not really.” It’s actually kind of weird how much he means it, too. “I was trying to get home.”

“Drown your sorrows?” Eddie surmises, but Steve shakes his head.

“Wasn’t even gonna bother,” and his asshole father’s got the good shit, too; Steve probably could have managed a decent bit of wallowing with minimal hangover. “Just wanted to get out, clear my,” he clears his throat, though he’s not sure why, doesn’t really thing he needs it: “head.”

Then Steve turns to look at Eddie only to find Eddie already looking straight at him.

That’s…that’s something.

“Then they shoved me in here because they’re all fucking assholes,” Steve chuckles a little, does his damn best to make it clear he’s only calling the dickheads downstairs assholes; not…not Eddie.

Like it was an asshole move to shove him in here but, not because of Eddie.

Like, at all.

“And drunk off their asses,” Eddie grins, a very good grin, and Steve matches it as best he’s able because it means his comments landed okay, the right way; “swear I didn’t sell anything hard enough to be the culprit.” Steve snorts, and Eddie matches that and all the matching feels…it feels.

“It’s funny though,” Eddie comments, a little idly once the laughter’s echoed out. Steve tilts his head, all question.

“No one knew I was in here,” Eddie gestures to the whole of the not-very-big room. “It’d be one thing to prank you and shove you in here with me, ha ha,” he tosses his head back and forth and sticks out his tongue like Steve knows he’s done on the tables in the cafeteria more than once but it’s softer, here, it’s almost warm or playful and maybe a little self…deprecating? Steve thinks that’s the word but whatever the word is, Steve doesn’t love that it’s there alongside everything else.

“I mean, insulting as shit to you, so they probably wouldn’t have done that to you,” and Steve frowns because yeah, these parts are thinks he loves at all; “you’re still royalty,” and Eddie pops on an accent and bows his head and it’s not mocking like it would be in school, but.

Steve doesn’t fucking love that either.

“Fuck that,” Steve’s quick to kind of…bite out. Like, hard. “And hell, if I am fucking royalty,” he air-quotes the word because fuck it, fuck it all; “it’s not for much longer.”

Eddie settles, and watches Steve almost…careful. Like maybe he’s looking for something. Or else, he’s taking the time to really get something from whatever he does see.

It’s weird. Steve doesn’t know what to do with being looked at to be seen.

“Think I’ll be glad to be rid of it, to be honest,” Steve says, picks at the beds of his nails a little, something he’s learned from all the girls he’s dated for a few days here and there—distraction.

But he means it, he realizes that for absolute certain as soon as he says it.

“Huh,” Eddie finally says, and it’s said…like it means something.

Something maybe…good. Or like it could be. Can be.

Huh.

“Anyway, they would have thought the room was empty,” Eddie picks back up, stretches a little and oh. Oh wow, he’s got a long neck when it’s all stretched out. It’s…it looks good.

Then Eddie cuts his gaze sly toward Steve and smirks: “Who were you supposed to fucking have your seven heavenly minutes with?”

Steve rolls his eyes and smirks lazily back in Eddie’s direction.

“My hand?”

Eddie’s eyes widen a little, and they’re…they’re really close, like, either Steve didn’t notice before or they’ve gotten closer.

Eddie’s lips are…really close.

“Oh, well,” those close lips are saying, but that good voice is kinda too-soft for the tease: “don’t let me interrupt.”

Steve blinks a couple times, to make sure he heard right.

“Sorry, that was—“ Eddie starts to walk it back but once Steve’s done with his blinking?

He fucking busts out laughing. Like…the embarrassing, snorting, pitchy kind of laughter.

“Funny,” he gasps a little, waving Eddie’s concern away because it was, it was: “That was funny, man.”

Maybe Steve thinks it’s too funny. But once Eddie shifts from shocked to something more like pleasantly surprised?

It feels like it was the perfect level of funny.

“Okay,” Eddie says as his grin grows but gets ducked into his chin, as his hand fumbles for a stand of his hair like he can hide behind it, which is silly, and weird.

And…endearing. Steve wants to see what that strand of hair feels like.

Also weird. Maybe silly. Maybe too much, maybe bullshit—

“Hey,” Eddie’s leaning toward him, and if Steve thought they were close before, that was a fucking lie in comparison because holy fucking wow, is Eddie close. He’s got freckles on his nose. Steve never would have guessed. “Want me to be funny some more?” He asks, a little loud, a little too bout any and bouncy and…like he means it, like he wants to be this thing but not so much for himself, or else not just for himself, but for Steve.

No one does shit like that for Steve.

“Your eyes are too pretty to be sad.”

Steve’s eyes aren’t too fucking pretty to nearly pop out their goddamn sockets when those words register in his ears, in his brain, make his chest tight in a kinda fucking terrifying way but such a good way and Eddie looks so scared, and Eddie’s eyes are too pretty to be scared and, oh shit.

“Truth or dare?”

The question kinda just pops out, which is…not ideal but better than his eyes doing that, so: win. And Eddie’s eyes shift from scared to stunned, confused—both better options. Double win.

“What?”

Steve clears his throat this time because you genuinely fucking needs it. “Gotta do something to pass however many minutes they leave us here, don’t we?”

Because it was definitely a seven-minutes-in-heaven set up. And Steve doesn’t know how long they’ve passed so far but he wants it to be a while longer that they’ve got left and distractions, distractions to keep from dwelling—

“Truth.”

Oh. Alright.

“Just my eyes?”

That, Steve clocks right after saying it, is the exact opposite of not fucking dwelling. He feels a little sick.

But his heart’s leaping like it’s never been free of a fucking cage until this moment, so it’s confusing.

Eddie looks confused too, so on top of it: Steve’s not even alone. In being confused.

And Steve’s alone so much. This is…kinda nice.

Kinda good.

“Is it just my eyes that are too pretty?” Steve says, for clarity. And Eddie swallows so hard Steve can hear it; fuck, he swallows hard enough it has to hurt.

“No,” Eddie says, tiny and faint before he straights his spine and looks Steve straight on: intentional.

Bracing for impact.

“Truth or dare.”

Steve’s kinda tired of being daring on principle. Generally. He’s terrified of the truth but…shit.

“Truth.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” Eddie doesn’t say it mean. But he does say it in a way Steve couldn’t have lied to him about if he wanted to even try.

He doesn’t though. Want to try.

“Literally or, like, figuratively?”

The implications of that answer hit a little belatedly and Steve feels his cheeks go read as Eddie’s breath punches straight out of his lungs:

“Jesus H. Christ—“

“No, to both,” Steve answers quick before he loses his nerve, because maybe the truth was as daring, more daring even, than anything else. “Not even a little bit. For either.”

Eddie’s throat works around words he doesn’t say for a long stretch of seconds. Steve’s heart’s in his throat so, he thinks he kinda gets the feeling.

“Truth or Dare,” he forces out. Because it’s his turn.

“Dare,” Eddie barely breathes. Steve wasn’t expecting that, but the ready response makes it clear that deep down, he was hoping.

“Give me my seven minutes.”

Eddie freezes. Coughs. Pales a little before he stumbles over words less like he’s avoiding anything and more like he’s really that unbalanced. Shocked out of sync.

“With your hand?” he asks, a little squeak in the pitch of his voice. “Like, turns my back, cover my ears?”

Steve huffs a nervous little laugh. Nervous but…undeniably fond.

“No, dipshit.” The implication is…pretty fucking clear.

“You’re heartbroken,” Eddie points out.

“Maybe less that I thought I’d be,” Steve answers honestly, surprises himself; and maybe that’s for a damn good reason, too. “You’re ‘tipsy’.”

“Increasingly less so by the goddamn second,” Eddie confesses, his eyes fixed to Steve’s lips before flickering back up, so so wide:

“Harrington,” he whispers, sounding kinda lost; “I don’t—“

“It’s fine, if you,” Steve’s quick to regroup, even though his pulse is trying to choke him—stupid, needy, idiot, too much, greedy, dumbass, fucking bullshit; “you can forget it.”

Steve would like to forget it, kinda immediately; letting himself want. Letting himself try.

“I don’t,” Eddie starts again, but Steve can’t stand it, can’t beat it: that good good voice trying to make this anything but a goddamn catastrophe.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t like, mean to,” and fuck, Steve’s not only clearly suggested some very dangerous things about himself he’s only starting to even be willing to think about coming to grips with but what about what he’s assumed, implied about Eddie, guys don’t take lightly to that shit, oh fucking hell; “I don’t, you know, like, do this,” he tries to salvage, and even he knows it’s a pathetic attempt; “like this—“

“I don’t fuck around with straight boys as a rule, see,” Eddie blurts out in a rush, color high on his cheeks; “keeps my poor squishy gay heart from bruising.”

And Eddie; oh, oh—

Those eyes are too damn pretty to look so scared.

And maybe it’s less about truth being safer than a dare, maybe both are a risk in their own way and maybe…maybe both just require that you’re brave.

Steve can try to be brave, maybe. Just this once. This one night that’s different, where he’s not pushing it all down.

“If I told you,” he says slowly, so slowly because it’s hard to fight what he knows so we’ll; “if I said I didn’t know, yet, how much of a bend there might be in my kind of…straight?” Steve frowns, brow furrowed; that came out so goddamn weird, but he makes himself look at Eddie when he asks:

“Would that change anything?”

Eddie gapes at him, a little like a fish, and Steve goes back to the beginning: he’s equally likely to start sobbing as he is likely to throw the fuck up—but Eddie blinks, and his head tilts and he reaches slow, tentative, like he doesn’t know if he’s really allowed but also like he wants to make sure Steve can cut and run before his hand meets Steve’s cheek.

He is allowed, though. He’s…Steve is pretty sure he’s fucking welcome.

“Would,” Eddie murmurs incredulously, thumbing Steve’s lower lip before he does the slow thing, leaning while leaving an out but Steve doesn’t want a goddamn out.

He moves forward in a blink and kisses Eddie with all the skill and know-how he’s woven together into making the people he kisses feel good, and he puts his whole self in, all the concentration and focus and investment he’s got to make it…great, if he can.

But then something kind of wild happens.

Because it kinda feels like Eddie is…doing the same thing. Like Eddie wants Steve to feel all those things just as big and sure.

Steve doesn’t…Steve’s never been kissed like this. Like that. Like his half of the deal isn’t just a given.

Eddie’s tongue in his mouth, though: Steve has to run on pure instinct; his partner never does that shit first.

It’s fucking amazing. And given the moans he gets, the wet sucking sounds and the panting before they reconnect again, then again: Steve’s willing to bet his instincts are pretty solid.

They finally break for more than a second and Eddie’s hands come to Steve’s chest for balance as he gasps, as his hair falls in a curtain between them and Steve’s barely got the breath in him to speak yet when he covers one of Eddie’s hands with his own and half-whispers.

“Come on,” and he’s tugging Eddie to standing, both of them a little wobbly on their feet for a second or two before Eddie stills.

“We’re locked in,” he seems to remember in real time, like the whole kissing thing—not quite seven minutes; maybe more than seven minutes; not e-fucking-nough either way—knocked reasonable thought out of him for a second, there.

“The window,” Steve’s prepared for it, leads him over with their hands still kinda just covering each other, kinda holding one another, kinda a lot of things. “I’ve been here before, we can get out,” because yeah, he knows the house even if he still doesn’t remember who it belongs to; “and you haven’t eaten,” Steve remembers that clear as day, frowning at Eddie, almost scolding him.

Eddie lights up, though. Like maybe there are things no one’s really ever thought of for Eddie, too. Like, maybe Steve wasn’t the only one finding out someone could…pay attention.

Like he was worth paying attention to.

And like…Eddie? Steve doesn’t know exactly what to do with all the things that are tied up in everything he pushes down, where they’re bubbling up and seeping from his pore or some shit, but what he does know, without a doubt?

Eddie Munson is very much worth paying attention to.

“What the hell’s even open,” Eddie says, and Steve takes a second to add it up—food, he needs food—and he grins, and like…he kinda can’t help it? He definitely doesn’t think about it before he kisses Eddie, hard and quick and more smile in it than…he kinda remembers having, or giving, like…

More than he remembers. At all.

Huh.

“Benny’s if we’re quick,” Steve breaks off and pushes the window open; “otherwise the kitchen at Casa Harrington makes a hell of a TV dinner this time of night,” he tosses a grin Eddie’s way that’s nothing like he uses on the girls, he can tell, can feel it: it’s goofy and sincere and…yeah. “Probably got like a Salisbury steak one.”

It’s Eddie who leans, quicker and more like he’s stealing it, like he’s sneaking it and jumping back quick just in case he gets caught and it’s in doing that exactly that Steve has the incredibly clear sense, amidst all the unclear shit in his chest and his brain and his everything, that he…wants to catch Eddie.

“Fancy,” Eddie grins, and oh fuck.

Oh fuck, those dimples.

“Only the best for my honored guests,” Steve pokes one of those heavenly fucking dimples and oh.

Oh.

Steve’s making sure the window won’t fall on them as them climb down when Eddie leans close, looks down, and talks really close to Steve’s ear:

“They’re a reason we didn’t bail from the get-go?”

Steve wouldn’t hide the way he shivers if he tried.

“Honestly?” Steve chuckles, light with it, maybe…and he’s not sure okay, he could be making shit up and talking out his ass but, like, maybe he’s…

Free with it. Free with it?

He looks at Eddie who’s still grinning, dimples and all.

Free’s close enough.

“I don’t know, wasn’t really thinking,” Steve admits, and then tries the brave thing one more time: “truth or dare?”

Eddie’s answer is immediate, leaned close again against Steve’s shoulder, close at his ear:

“Truth.”

“Will you be angry if I said I wasn’t mad,” Steve turns, and their lips are so close: “that I didn’t think of leaving from the start?”

“Oddly enough?” Eddie grins so near that just the motion brushes their mouths. “Not even a little bit.” Then Eddie leans closer, means to, and doesn’t run like he’s stealing anything this time when he kisses Steve like he means it.

Then he’s speaking straight against Steve’s lips: “Truth or dare?”

And fuck it; everything’s been mixed up, shattered, rebuilt, turned inside out tonight. So far it’s turning out way better than Steve could have guessed. Definitely so much better than it started.

Might as well keep running with it.

“Dare.”

Eddie grins but there’s a heat to it, but then alongside, there’s something…mischievous. And then Eddie’s bumping his head into Steve’s and murmuring close:

“You climb down first and catch my ass when I inevitably fall halfway,” he issues his challenger; “I’m uncoordinated as shit.”

And Steve was wrong before.

The kiss he gives Eddie has more smile in it than he’s ever had, or shown, or shared before; not once in his whole goddamn life.

He could get used to it.

🧡

also on ao3

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[baphometsss]

I'm also going kind of insane over the romance description for Solas in the customise Inquisitor section of the CC. Like what do you mean 'even the Dread Wolf did not know what it would mean to fall in love'?? I'm frothing at the mouth!!!!

I mean, now it's had a few months to stew, it actually makes perfect sense. Solas doesn't seem to forge relationships in the same way as an elf as he did as a spirit. We know he loved Mythal and Felassan, but his relationships with both had rather different dynamics. Mythal had known him for the longest, and understood his spirit nature better than anyone. They spent a long time reflecting each others' spirits back and forth. Felassan we can assume was another Wisdom spirit (going by his eye colour), which once again tracks because Solas seems to connect with other Wisdom spirits very intensely. Nonetheless, there's a distance between them; they need each other and they share a common cause, and although Solas loved Felassan dearly, he was still able to kill him in The Masked Empire.

However, the thing that these two relationships have in common is that they both relate to Solas's spirit-self. All the dynamics are some kind of echo of how he behaved and related as a spirit. The person he is at the beginning of DAI is who he has been for a very long time. He is, despite everything, a little stagnant.

With the Inquisitor, he literally doesn't have a choice but to change, to connect not just as a spirit but as a man. Prior to that though... remember how spirits are asexual, like Cole is if you don't make him more human? Yeah. I don't doubt that Solas had physical relations with others after manifesting, but I think the feelings would've been absent as he doesn't connect romantically with them; a legacy from his spirit self, which he clings to dearly.

Weirdly enough, I think that this lack of romantic or relationship experience is what the romance in Inquisition actually hinges on. He's only able to take that chance specifically because he doesn't know what romantic love feels like. He may be a manifested Wisdom spirit, but this is something that must be experienced to be understood. He takes the chance in the end because he doesn't know how deeply it will affect him. Also as Wisdom, he can't help but be curious anyway. Clearly he underestimated how much of an impact it would have on him. He didn't expect to be known and loved so fully for who he was, after a life of being forced away from his purpose, who he truly wanted to be. To be given the space to exist as Wisdom is one thing, and certainly it would've been enough for him to maintain his love for his friends in the Inquisition alone, but to be loved for it? To be able to express these new, very earthly and yet somehow still spiritual feelings of love? Everything lining up, singing the same? Things he could never have experienced as a spirit? It's a union of the spirit and body that he likely never felt before. That has to have been overwhelming, a beautiful gift he never expected to receive. 'In all Thedas I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade'--quite literally, 'I never thought I would want such an earthly thing'. I'm not surprised he almost threw away his plans for it. It's like a whole new world opening up.

It also makes his 'I would not have you see what I become' line more poignant. He doesn't want this beautiful, unique thing he's found to be marred by the actions he will take. He doesn't want his heart to see the wounds in his soul. So when the Inquisitor says they want to join him, it literally stuns him. When he warns them that he's got a lot of terrible things waiting for him in the Fade, it's his last, weak attempt to make them reconsider before they see the wounds on his soul laid bare. By responding that it won't be so bad if they're with him, the Inquisitor is also saying that being together will heal him, that those wounds will not be so terrible when shared.

That line from the elven poem Trick wrote from Solas to Lavellan: 'do not be sad, my heart, our love's endurance is a blessing, our love will be our joy' everything is so new to him brb crying :'<

[lovekawaas]

picnic date w/ college boyfr! choso

cw: smut (MDNI), public sex, sub! choso, blowjob, facesetting, 69, unprotected sex, p in v, afab reader

wc: 2k words

spring semester was halfway done. and your boyfriend decided that you deserved a treat for all of the hard work that you had been putting in these past few months.

the weather couldn't have been more perfect, with bright blue skies and the sun's beating rays ever present. a cool breeze blew your sundress up and you tightly grasp the handle of your picnic basket clutching it close to your chest, hoping it'll anchor you so you don't blow away.

choso, just a few steps ahead, finds what he deems to be the perfect spot to set up. with a swift throw, he lays the blanket down right under a tall tree atop a hill giving you guys a mixture of shade and sun. he turns to see you further off in the distance.

"sweetheart do you need any help?"

"i'm right behind you cho!"

and with that, you make your trek up the hill, watching for cracks in the dirt so as not to slip and fall. upon reaching the top, you gazed out at the view of the field. total seclusion. far far away from the whirlwind of univeristy life. no professors, no exams, no term papers. spring was in full bloom and it was beautiful. the wind brushing through the tall grass making it sway back and forth. it's almost like it was moving. like the field was alive.

a soft palm places itself on your shoulder, drawing you out of your thoughts. you quickly turn your head to see that it's only choso. he smiles softly at you, his kind eyes causing your cheeks to pull the corners of your lips up as well. a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips.

"i'm so happy to be here with you right now"

and another kiss makes its way to your cheek. your face flushes with heat. he always knows exactly how to make you swoon. and without even trying. that's just choso. his soft gestures and gentle care melts your heart time and time again. however, you know how you can make him swoon harder.

"are you ready to eat?" he asks as his hands head for the basket. but you grab his wrist before he can open it. "sorry cho, but i think that i'm hungry for something else". small hands grasp at the knitted material of his sweater, yanking it towards you to pull him in. you don't kiss him. instead, you lick a long slow stripe against his neck drawing out the sweetest whines from him.

choso is stunned. "y/n..." he quietly exhales. so soft you almost don't even catch it. "y/n, we're in public someone could see us". "there's no one around choso". how could you be so bold? surprising him once by drawing him close with such swiftness. and then again by the touch of your tongue.

he shudders beneath you, turning red in the face and hot all over. but he knows that you're not done with him yet. you're pressing soft lips from the collar of his sweater, working your way up to the top of his neck right beneath his jawline. "and if anyone comes by—

let them watch".

dropping his sweater, choso stumbles back from you dazed from just your lips. nimble fingers intertwining with his, you pull him down onto the blanket with you. basket set aside, you press your palm to his chest feeling his toned body protrude through the layers of his clothes.

pushing him down until his back hits the ground resting gently on the fabric placed earlier. eyes connect to his belt buckle, almost blinding you as it glints in the sun. you reach forward to undo it, unzipping his pants, pulling the waistband of his boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free.

"y/n" choso breathes out feeling the cool spring air hit him.

but you don't acknowledge him. instead, you look at the little beads of pre cum dribble down from the tip of his dick. the way the light hits them makes it look almost like pearls. and you can't help but want to get a taste.

tucking your hair behind your ears, you lean forward to suckle the substance off the tip. a little salty but that's okay with you. you tug his boxers further down to have full access. your lips press a soft kiss to the tip. and that's the only notice you give choso before going all in.

cheeks hollowing and teeth hidden behind your lips, you swallow him whole. not even daring to breathe, immediately gagging at the intrusion as he hits the back of your throat. feeling the clenching of your passage he can't help but writhe beneath you. you pull your mouth off of him gasping for air. coughing and sputtering. but it doesn't stop you.

no.

you go back in again. bobbing your head up and down. drooling on his cock like a dog letting any escaped saliva pool down on the exposed skin of his thighs. his whimpers like warm honey, entering your ears moving all the way down to your cunt. thighs clenched together beneath the skirt of your dress. rocking your hips backing and forth on your heels for any sense of friction to aid the throbbing you feel. your cunt clenching around nothing from just his whines.

meanwhile, choso is a mess.

your lips are just so tight. sucking him so well. warm throat engulfing him whole. choso thinks this is it. this is how he dies. with his beautiful girlfriend sucking his dick in a field. or maybe he isn't gonna die. but he's definitely going to cum.

he's thrusting back now surprising you as his tip rams into the back of your throat. "fuck y/n...ngh...i can't....i'm gonna...i'm gonna", but before he can finish his sentence, you remove your lips not wanting to please him just yet.

"y..y..y/n?", choso utters.

wordlessly, you crawl closer to choso's face. you kiss him fervently, passionately, mixing both of your salivas with the salty taste of his cum left in your mouth. you drink up his moans like it's water. breaking from the kiss, you sit back on your haunches. rising up to your knees, you grabs the ends of your skirt and lift it up to your waist letting the breeze wash over your bare skin. his jaw drops.

"no panties y/n?"

and you smirk. he had finally started to piece together your plan. you swing your left leg over his head facing towards his cock and sit down, muffling any protests he might have with your cunt. you rock your hips back and forth hoping to relieve yourself on his mouth. and who would choso be if he didn't help his girlfriend pleasure herself.

his thick arms clamp around your plush thighs to sturdy yourself on his face. his tongue jolts out of his mouth to lap up at your cunt, slurping up all of your slick. you're breathless, eyes rolling back at the sensation. cunt weeping down his chin. you decide now is the perfect time to repay your doting boyfriend.

you lean forward, softly grabbing choso's still hard cock and press your tongue to the bottom of his shaft dragging it all the way to his tip. the almost cries he releases reverberates into your pussy, vibrating, bringing you bliss. you suck him off, pulling him off every few bobs to tap his cockhead against your tongue. fondling his balls, you can feel the throbs and twitches of his penis in your mouth.

he's close.

and so are you.

tears creep up at the corners of your eyes as choso refuses to let up. he laps at your cunt like he had traveled through the desert and just found fresh water. dragging your pussy lips across his face. nibbling at your clit, pinching it the smallest bit with his teeth zapping you with a pain that was just delectable. the two of you chase your highs in each other, choso invetibly beating you to the finish line but you not far behind.

he cums into your mouth. one sharp thrust. and then another. and then another blowing load after load into the back of your mouth until you feel his body go slack beneath you. but choso is no selfish lover. despite you taking all of him, he continues his attack on your clit.

pursing his lips to create a suction, suckling your sweet nub until you crack. and you cum. hard. back arching as all of your muscles tense up. head whipping back as you practically scream. and then you go limp against his thighs, panting as you try to catch your breath.

you roll off of him, flipping around to lay next to him. you turn your head to face him and see the light sheen covering his face dripping down his neck staining the blanket beneath his head. you squirted. right into choso's mouth. and he doesn't even mind. he just looks back you with loopy, pussy drunk eyes and lazily smiles. "y/n, thank you".

and all you can do is smirk back at him because you're not done. you use the remaning bit of your strength to sit up and move to hover over his hips. you take one hand and bunch up your dress. your other moving to align his cock with your hole, giving it a pump or two letting it harden again.

you slam yourself down his cock. the two of you moaning in unison at the intrusion. your pussy already well lubricated from the work his mouth did earlier. his cock well coated from your tongue. the stretch so delicious as he penetrates you.

"fuck y/n...ngh...fuck....its....it's too much!!"

"don't you wanna make me proud? we just got to dessert cho".

you begin to bounce on his dick. thighs quickly growing tired, you start to ride him using all of the power that you can muster up. you roll your hips against him, clit bumping against his pubic bone. moaning uncontrollably letting his penis fill you whole.

one of his hands reach out to grab your waist, guiding you as you rock back and forth. the other reaching for the top of your dress to pop a tit. you audibly gasp at his bold gesture. and once he's pulled it out, he pulls you into him so he can suckle on the breast he's just revealed.

"fuck y/n", he breathes out. "it's too....ah...ahh...fuck...it's too much!"

all you can do is respond with your own moans. the feeling of his tongue swirling around your perky nipple. the way his cock fills you up. you swear you can feel it pounding into your tummy. your eyes rolling back into your head as you breathe through him fucking you.

the new angle of you leaning forward hitting spots that hadn't been reached before. and then, choso bends his knees, planting his feet into the ground to fuck up into you. jackhammering his hips into your hole, hitting the special spot in your pussy over and over and over.

"cho please....ah....please baby...come with me".

and it breaks you both. his hips stuttering as he wails out to you. "FUCK Y/N...AH...FUCK!". his cock twitches, straining to pump out another load into you. and you clench choso's cock as tight as you think you ever have. tightening up so hard until you feel like you can't anymore. your climax hitting you like a train. eyes closed, you fall against his chest, mouth slack as you try to catch your breath. cum seeping slowly out of your pussy.

while his dick begins to soften in you, you feel a large hand brush your dress down to cover your behind. soft lips press a gentle kiss to your head. the two of you lay there. choso's arms coming to wrap around you, gently soothing your muscles as he rubs against your back.

with no words, you both let the sun beat down on you. of course, a soft wind passes through to cool you guys down. catching your breath, you close your eyes and melt into choso. it's perfect. this is the perfect spring day.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Finding You

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Summary - The night that You and Bruce first laid eyes on one another.

Warnings - Pre-Relationship, First Meetings, Dancing, Alcohol, Age Gap, Older Man/Younger Woman.

A/N - Same 'verse as Sippin' on Sunshine and Morning Glory. As always, this fic is a standalone and does not require any previous fics to be read in order to be enjoyed.

Word Count - 2.2k

From the second that you entered the room, Bruce has been unable to take his eyes off of you. It’s not the half a million dollar jewels hanging from around your throat or the matching set of earrings. Nor the designer dress that is way too scandalise for an event like this that has him staring. 

Sure, they drew his eye to you to begin with, but that’s true of the whole room. While most people have returned their attention back to what had hold of it before, his eyes keep coming back to you and he’s really doing his best to not appear like a leering old man.

In all honestly, he couldn’t care less about the jewels or the dress. He can certainly appreciate an attractive woman, but it’s not the sole reason he’s watching you. What has him enchanted is the way that you carry yourself. 

You’re what? Half his age? At the very least? Yet you don’t bat an eye at the gossiping or the remarks that everyone has about you or your dress. One too many people bringing up one of those playboy shoots you’ve done in the past, rather loudly at that, but you don’t care. In fact, you’re smiling about it. Thriving off of it even, but not in a narcissistic way.

Bruce isn’t a betting man, but if he was he would be willing to bet half of his fortune that his was the sort of rise that you wanted out of these people tonight. 

The only thing he can’t figure out is why. What do you get from all of the negative attention you’re drawing toward yourself? Most people try to avoid that, but here you are embracing it. 

And there’s the way that you hold yourself with such grace. A grace that most of his own kids still haven’t learned, but not for the lack of trying on Alfred’s part.

The woman in front of you has no idea that you tuned her out ages ago. Your ability to keep up the look that you’re listening, with a nod here and an “oh I know what you mean,” there is impressive. Your smile is perfect. It’s practised and one that Barbie would be jealous off. Not an ounce of boredom to be seen anywhere on your face or in your posture. You know every step to this boring dance and you haven’t drunk a single thing. At least nothing alcoholic. Even Bruce, every once in a while, finds that he needs a drink to deal with it all, but you appear to be completely unaffected.

There’s two ways how he knows you’re feining interest with the woman. 

The first one being because, unbeknownst to everyone here, he’s the World’s Greatest Detective. Noticing such things is second nature to him. The second one is because, more than once, you have met his gaze. You’re not glaring daggers at him like you have at every other man here tonight. No. The look you have for him is one of curiosity.

One of the men he’s talking to starts to laugh, snapping Bruce’s attention away from you and back toward him. The rest of the men are either smirking or looking at him like they’re all in on a joke that he isn’t. It has his skin pricking with irritation.

“Oh, I wouldn’t look her way, Wayne,” he says. “Girl’s more frigid than that man in the icebox! You would have an easier time getting into the Queen of England’s bed!” 

All of the men around him laugh loudly. As if it’s the funniest thing that they have ever heard. While Bruce has to take a deep breath and remind himself not to cause a scene by clocking someone. That doesn’t stop his tongue from lashing them, weaponised with the things that he had observed from these men early on in the evening.

“Or, perhaps, she just isn’t interested in lecherous men that touch women without their consent.”

It’s satisfying to watch as as their faces drop and they all fall silent at his response. Eyes filling with realisation that he’s not one of them as their stomachs drop because he’s heard and seen the things they have said and done tonight. Bruce could truly ruin them. Have their names and companies’ reputations smeared for all time and make sure that no one ever does business with any of them ever again. He is a Wayne after all and when he speaks the world holds its breath and listens. 

Hell, he will do exactly that. Perhaps even throw Batman into the mix. Right now though that’s a matter for another time. One for when he isn’t in the middle of a ballroom.

Bruce doesn’t stick around to hear any of their retorts. If there are any retorts to be had to begin with.

He downs the rest of the champagne as he walks away and places the empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray. He decides that he needs something stronger than the champagne being served. Batman’s off duty tonight, his responsibilities entrusted to his eldest son and youngest daughter so he can afford to have a stronger drink. 

If he’s standing by the bar, it might also make him more approachable than being surrounded by a group of men that you have a very clear distaste for.

As he crosses the room, Bruce can’t stop himself from looking in your direction. Once more, your eyes meet his. You’re still looking at him with that same look. Like you’re not quite sure what his game is at. You’re trying to read him like he’s trying his best to read you. He quirks an eyebrow at you, a small yet genuine smile playing on his lips. He only holds your gaze for a moment before he’s turning away again. 

Once the bartender has poured him a glass of whiskey, he decides to stay at the end of the bar. It’s quieter and he has had enough of mind numbing conversations with men whose names he can’t fully remember no matter how many times he meets them.

He really is hoping that this will make him more approachable. Anything so he can have a conversation with you.

It’s strange. He hasn’t wanted anyone’s attention like this in a very long time. Not since Selina… 

Yet, here he is. Hoping like a schoolboy that this works.

As he sips on his drink, he’s all too aware of the women and men around him. All of them desperately trying to get his attention. They’re batting their eyelashes and trying to lean close to him to strike up a conversation. Some even going as far as to grab ahold of him and calling out “Brucie!”.

Bruce pretends that they aren’t there. His eyes glued to the dark amber liquid in the crystal glass. Fortunately they all give up quickly, some muttering under their breaths about him being stuck up, as they walk away. 

The sound of heels approaching him catches his attention and he perks up. Suddenly his drink is no longer as interesting as all of his focus now zeroes in on you. The sound of your heels is quickly followed by your voice.

“Mr Wayne, right?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” Bruce replies. He turns to face you, pleased that his plan has worked. “You can just call me Bruce.”

“Well, Bruce, did you know you’re the only person who hasn’t once stared at my boobs tonight?” you ask. An older woman nearby chokes on her drink at what you ask.

He chuckles softly. “Well, that would be rude. I don’t even know your name.” 

For a moment he wonders if he has misread things and has gone a little too far because you fall quiet. That quiet doesn’t last long though as, before he knows it,  you’re laughing. Even going as far as to step into his space briefly, your hand gently gripping his arm. Which, for the first time tonight, he doesn’t mind. 

Already he can see the articles and hear the shit the vultures will have to say about tonight. Even from this one small interaction, but since when has he ever cared what they think? 

“I’ve heard a lot of one liners, but not one that has actually made me laugh.” Your eyes shine with amusement, like it’s the funniest thing you have heard.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as he returns your smile. You introduce yourself to him and he repeats your name, testing it out on his tongue.

“That’s a pretty name,” he tells you. “And I have a bunch more one liners that you’ve likely never heard.”

“But?” 

“You’ll have to agree to go on a date with me.”

He, honestly, doesn’t even know why he wants a date with you so badly. He had sworn off dating anyone ever again. Happy to spend the rest of his life alone, considering what he had lost. But here he is. Doing his best to get a date with you. 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “That’s it? All I have to do is agree to go out with you?” 

He laughs softly. You’re good at this. “I mean, I would like it if you did go out with me, but you don’t have to if you really don’t want to. I won’t hold it against you.”

You look at him for a moment. The gears in your mind turning. At the same time the music in the room changes. It’s the sort of tune that’s perfect for dancing. Something that you don’t miss as you look away from him for a moment, your eyes searching for something in the room. 

You hum softly, looking back at him. “How about this instead. You dance with me and I give you a date?”

A quick glance to toward what should be the dance floor shows no one dancing, but you don’t seem to care about that. You want all eyes on the two of you and he’s happy to oblige.

Bruce sets his drink aside and takes you by the hand, leading you toward the dance floor. Your eyes light up at him actually taking you up on your counter offer.

You already know the steps, easily settling into rhyme with him as he moves you around the dance floor. All eyes are on the two of you, but he honestly doesn’t even notice them. You don’t appear to either.

All of his focus is on you and all of your focus is on him.

As you dance, the dancefloor doesn’t remain empty for long. Other couples join in. After all, if dancing is good enough for him, why shouldn’t it be good enough for them?

Even with the dance floor filling up, the two of you remain the focus. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see women, both older and younger, leaning in close and gossiping as they watch you and him glide across the dance floor. 

You and Bruce are going to be the talk of the world and he hasn’t even taken you out yet.

Has that been your plan all along? To get him out in the open with you? You want the attention, that much he’s figured out already. And this is going to come with a lot of that. A lot of it negative from the journalists that hate his guts.  The rest of it, he can’t figure out. You are completely unreadable to him. It’s a good thing he has always enjoyed a good challenge. 

The music ends far too soon for his liking and you are stepping away from him. 

“Can I have your phone?” you ask him. “I want to give you my number.” 

“Of course.” Bruce doesn’t hesitate as he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out his cell. He unlocks it and hands it over to you.

"You'll text me the time and place?” you ask him, your fingers moving like lightning on the keyboard.

“Of course,” he replies. “I’m looking forward to it.” And he really is. For the first time in a long time, he’s actually looking forward to a date.

“As am I. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very early start tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, Bruce.”

“It was nice to meet you, as well.” 

He expects you to just walk away. Leaving him waiting and wanting more. 

Instead you step back into his space and press a kiss to his cheek. As quickly as you entered his space, you’re gone again, this time turning around and walking away. He can feel himself blush and he’s sure that there’s lipstick staining his cheek now. 

The men that he had been talking to early are looking in his direction, their jaws almost on the floor. It really wasn’t the aim, but Bruce can’t help feeling a little smug over it. Since he wil likely make more of mess trying to wipe it off, he leaves the mark there and returns to the bar for a fresh drink. 

He can’t wait until the next time that he gets to see you.

[mixingandmelting]

Hey so how do you think Tim and Dick would deal with going to this specific: Bar/cafe/coffee/candy shop to buy something just to have the excuse to see another customer they started crushing on after a conversation the first time they went there and at some point down the line after asking this customer s/o out, they find s/o’s stash of goodies from the place in a draw in the kitchen at s/o place and s/o walks in on this “I forgot about those in there. I needed an excuse to talk to you”?

A/N: The temptation to write a full out fic for Tim was so real. 😭😂Honestly, this is by far the cutest request I've gotten

Dick:

The original purpose of going to the animal cafe in Bludhaven with Damian was so he could get the teen off his case. For ten days, he would come and terrorize him every night in an act of revenge for all the crap he was given by the whole family for getting grounded. Yes, as the eldest sibling he shouldn't have teased him so much but come on. The teen ran around Gotham, taking down each criminal while holding the giant Bat Signal in its lit state. How could he not? 

Promising to take him there for a whole week, it was on the first day of the seven he met you and the gray rabbit who would eventually become his wingman in winning you over. Resembling Haley, it was as if the rabbit knew the two of you were meant to be when the small thing hopped from you to him, then turning his head towards you to beck you over so Dick could get guided on how to hold and properly pet him. Every day, the rabbit would do this, leading the two of you to get closer to one another where soon, it started to come as natural for him to walk up and sit next to you. 

He knew he was completely hooked as Damian had once come up and whispered with disdain how he was “ogling” you, to which he still argues he was admiring. It was what led to him to start bringing Haley to the cafe on his days-off, smiling as he always saw you with the same fluffy, gray rabbit in your lap, munching on a carrot whenever he entered the shop. All to take a chance and worm his way into your heart.

Now he’s happily living with you under the same roof. Along with becoming Haley’s other parent,  you’ve been helping him get situated with the newly adopted rabbit he saved during his last mission (though he has yet to bring up that the rabbit was actually illegally acquired and was formerly used to energize a bio weapon). 

For right now, he’s helping you find your library card, scorching the whole unit from bathroom to the living room. 

“Did you check your desk yet?”

“No, I didn’t get that far!” 

While you go through the dresser, he stands behind you and goes through your desk. Keys, notepads, paper clips, oh wait. Maybe? Pulling a card out from between your notebooks, he opens his mouth to tell you he may have found it only to stop from recognizing the logo and the date written on it. 

“Did you find it, Dick?” You ask when you don’t hear any shuffling from him for a while. 

“No. But,” he waves the card at you as you turn to face him, “I didn’t know you had a crush on me for that long.” 

His smirk stretches wider into a grin, gleefully watching your confusion and frustration merging into horror as it registers what exactly he’s holding. 

“I… completely forgot I left that there.”  Your voice barely above a whisper to which he nearly tells you it’s fine since he got you to flush from head to toe. 

Instead, he takes a step forward, his fingers gingerly wrap around your wrist before pulling you towards him. Nuzzling his cheek into your hair, he occasionally lifts his head up and presses lips on your forehead, nose, and cheeks.

“Cute”, “precious”, and “I love you”s are what he says in between each one before planting one last kiss on your lips. 

He chuckles from the random noise you make when you duck down to hide your embarrassment. Then sighs in content, words unable to express how he’s fallen head over heels for you all over again.

Tim:

The day he first met and had a crush on you was definitely a memorable one. It started as two random, sleep-deprived students standing in line at the only coffee shop closest to campus. Until he, his sleep deprived mind, and caffeine withdrawal spilled his coffee onto you as soon as he got it off the counter. Great first impression he left as you both went into full out panic, you trying to tell him it was fine while he kept apologizing and promised to, at least, pay for your drink. 

He still cringes at the moment, especially when he later found out once he was on friendlier terms with you, that you were more upset that it was your favorite shirt that had gotten ruined. Your Red Robin shirt to be exact. But now looking back, had it not happened he would’ve never gotten your number, nonetheless talked to you. It would’ve become another normal day in his life without the person who currently gives him joy in his life.

He lost track of how many times he went to that coffee shop just so he could bump and get closer to you.  For a while, coffee became his go to for caffeine when Babs had asked once why he was pouring the coffee from her coffee pot rather than drinking his usual energy drink during a Batfam meeting. 

As the saying goes, hard work pays off. Currently, he’s helping you pack so you could move to what you affectionately call his “dingy old” boat to which has upgraded to becoming somewhat habitable after you visited him more and helped organize his space and belongings. 

“Hey, did you pack your stuff in the drawers?”

He picks up the word “no” coming from the bedroom. Giving you the heads up he was going to start working there, he grabs another empty box and continues to open the drawers in the kitchen. Nothing stands out, the typical utensils organized in their respective holders until his hand nudges onto something in the very back corner that holds your silverware. 

A tiny smile dances on his lips as he pulls out and recognizes your stack of punch cards to the coffee shop the two of you now frequently go to together. You did mention you always liked that place long before the two of you dated. Never thought it was this much. Giving it a good look, he starts considering where he should place it since it was obvious that you were keeping them until the date on the very top card registers in his head. 

“Tim? What are you doing? Do you know how many times I called you-”

His fingertips matching the same red as his neck and face, he wordlessly turns towards you. Slowly your face starts turning the same color, your lips in the shape of a tiny “o” from recognizing what exactly he was holding and what mostly just occurred.  

“You… liked me?” He couldn’t manage uttering the “for that long” part out loud. Thankfully, and another reason why he loves you, you’re quick to catch on what he means as you start looking everywhere but him. 

“Y-Yeah.” It comes out so softly yet he can hear it loud and clear. “I, um, needed an excuse to see you again.” 

He doesn’t know what expression he’s making when he walks up to you. Nor did he have any thoughts in general. His head is in the clouds  right now, finding out how much he’s loved back that makes him love you even more. Adore you even more. Softly he brushes stray hair away from your face. 

“I love you.”

And he leans forward to seal his words in both your and his heart.

[creolefatu]

Crash Out

***After thinking you were out with another man, Joshua confronts you only to realize he’s trippin***

This is my first time writing like this please be kind lol hope you enjoy

SO YOU REALLY OUT HERE TRYNNA MAKE A NIGGA LOOK DUMB! the voice on the other end of the phone was Joshua, of course. Over reacting as usual. What did I do now?! I thought as he continued to rant.

Josh idk what you’re talkin about, I’ve been home all day! You always callin with some bs. I responded. When he gets like this it does annoy a small part of me, but damn hearing him all fired up like that made my pussy jump and drip.

So now John just lyin on you? So you callin my brotha a liar now! He ain’t got no reason to lie on you Y/N!

Wtf yo messy ass brotha said now? I swear he always got some dumb shit to say and hear you go blowin my phone up with the bullshit Josh!

Dating a twin is not for the weak! If I’m not caught up in their pranks then it’s their drama or pettiness!

So you ass wasn’t in the mall all hugged up with some nigga in Nike? Cause that what my bro said he saw!

Josh listen to yourself! Do you fuckin hear how you sound? Why in the fuck would I be out in public with another man if ima play you? Especially knowing you have eyes everywhere?! And stop all that damn yellin before I hang up!

You gone hang up on me?! Bet!

I could feel the vibrations through the phone of the low growl in his voice when he said it

Bet!

**boop boop boop** was the next sound Josh heard cause I surely did hang up

Walking around my house in a XXL YEET shirt I heard the familiar sound of a truck engine in my driveway.

Y/N OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR RIGHT NOW GIRL!

He was so damn sexy when he was mad 💦

Josh stop banging on my door like that! You’re gonna break it!

Then open it tf up!

He hit the door again this time I heard the frame crack a little

Ok ok ok just stop beating on my shit!

Josh came in looking around before his eyes settled on me

Bae calm tf down! Look at you, you all swole in the chest!

I’m telling you right now y/k if you lyin to me I swear…

Bae look around… I been here in yo shirt all day taking a lazy day.

You’re right I see the ice cream on the counter, the blankets and the movie goin, it’s just John called said he thought he saw you and I lost it! Idk what I’d do if I ever lost you. Just the thought drives me crazy

I grab his face in both hands, he grabbed my wrist and kisses the palm of my right hand.

You know it does something to me when you get like that bae

I’ll crash out any time, any place over you, and over this

He reached bw my legs and lightly grazed my clit

Damn! You ain’t got on no draws for big daddy Jey?! Let me see!

He lifted my shirt off and began to kiss my neck as he slid his hand below my waist and found my soft pussy lips soaked.

You wet for me too, you like when I get like that over you. You my nasty freak

I’m in heaven, his warm kisses on my neck , his thick fingers working their way into my tight wet pussy, finding my g spot and applying pressure. I wrapped both arms around his neck as my legs begin to give way to the pleasure. He walked me back against the wall and never missed a beat. Fingers stroking me, moving in and out to the rhythm of my heart beat. I could barely breathe

This my pussy? Tell me it’s my pussy.

Yes! It’s your pussy baby! It’s daddy Jey’s pussy

Josh pulled his fingers out and sucked my juices off, then pushed them into my mouth to give me a taste.

I want you to taste why I’m ready to crash out behind you bae

His big hands gripped my thighs and lifted me up, I wrapped my legs around his muscular waist. He pulled his pants down and I could feel his 8in dick pop up and slap my ass.

You feel that? You got me feeling like this

Put it in, please I need to feel you in me

He grabbed the shaft and begin slapping my pussy with the head of his dick. It made me absolutely feral! I begin to grind my pussy against him as he continued to tease me. My pussy dripping with anticipation. Then I felt him press his body against mine as he pushed his thick head into me. I gasped… it was what I was begging for. My pussy gripped every inch as he slowly entered me. Once fully in he griped my thighs to hold me up against the wall. The strokes started off slow, moving his hips in a circular motion. Sending me into another dimension.

This what I been needing. When I’m in you, I know you all mine he whispered into my ear.

I could feel every stroke grow stronger, I clawed shoulders as I was looking to readjust my grip on him. The sound of skin smackin and macaroni filled the air, I gasped as he sped up his pace. I could feel him throbbing in me as he grew harder. The growl he made as he pushed deep into me made me even wetter.

You like how I handle that pussy baby?

Mmhm was all I could say. I couldn’t even talk he had me so gone from the dick.

You gone cum for big daddy Jey? He didn’t have ro say no more. I was already there. But he already knew that. This man knew my body like that back of his hand.

Mmmmhm ahhh fuck! You strokin me so good bae

My body begin to shake and my pussy squeezed his dick and I begin the have the best orgasm anyone has ever given me.

Damn baby you bout to make me cum with you

He pressed me harder against the wall and he bottomed out inside of me. He let out a primal growl that made me want a round 2 immediately. Still holding me up he kissed me wildly and passionately. He lowers me to the floor and we both collapsed into each other arms and onto the couch. As I lay on his chest listening to his heart beat he held me tightly and whispered.

Yeah I’ll crash out a million times a day behind that lil pussy.

And I’ll do the same behind that dick

THE END

[moonmaiden1996]

Thoughts on first time sex with Shanks? 🙏

OF COURSE I WILL WRITE THIS....I mean I guess I could ;)

One Night with Shanks

Shanks is a manwhore—a rogue who drifts from island to island, drinking and indulging in whoever catches his eye. He isn’t one for romance, not that he wouldn’t be up for it… I can dream.

But tonight? Tonight, you have him.

The dim glow of candlelight flickers aboard the Red Force, shadows dancing across the wooden walls as the scent of salt and aged rum lingers in the air. The heat between you is smoldering, thick with anticipation. His rough, calloused hands—ones that have held a sword, stolen treasures, and commanded the seas—are now devoted entirely to you.

His lips tease at first, barely grazing your skin before tracing a slow, torturous path down your neck. The way he looks at you—intense, laced with mischief and hunger—sends a shiver through your spine.

He’s in no rush. He never is.

He lives for the chase, the build-up, the slow, agonizing unraveling of restraint. He’s going to have you begging, breaking around him.

"Are you sure about this?" His voice is husky, his lips hovering just above yours, teasing, testing your resolve. But the hunger in his gaze betrays his own restraint.

"Sure you want to give yourself to me? You know what they say about pirates—once they have their treasure, they never let go."

When you pull him in, he loses the battle. His kisses grow deeper, more possessive. The weight of his body presses you into the mattress, solid and unyielding. You feel the strength beneath him—years of battle-hardened power barely contained, held back only by his desire to make this first time unforgettable.

His single hand roams expertly over your body, mapping every curve, every reaction. He’s learned to compensate for his missing limb in ways that make your head spin.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice thick with smug amusement. But he doesn’t wait for an answer.

He plunges into you, too impatient to draw it out. Foreplay can wait—that comes later, when he spends his days getting drunk on the nectar between your thighs.

This? This is about making you his woman.

This smarmy, insatiable pirate knows exactly what he’s doing, pushing you toward insanity with relentless precision. When he finds that perfect spot, he doesn’t stop—he works you until you’re writhing, teetering at the edge, only to pull back at the last second, leaving you a whimpering mess.

And that smirk—the damn knowing smirk he wears so well—flickers across his face as he flips you over, letting you take what you need.

"Come on, sweetheart," he drawls, lazy and cocky. "Show me how bad you want it."

Shanks isn’t lazy—he’s strategic. He conserves his energy, making you work for it. He wants to watch you bounce on his cock, tits rising and falling, head thrown back in pleasure while his thumb lazily circles your clit.

And when your climax overtakes you, he relishes the sight—watching you break above him, breathless, legs weak, body marked with evidence of his passion.

As you collapse against him, his chest rumbles with a deep chuckle.

"Well, love," he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction, "I’d say that was worth the wait."

Lazily, he kisses you, shifting beneath you. But he isn’t done.

"Now… my turn," he purrs, wrapping his arm around you.

His hips snap upward into your soaked core, drawing a gasp from your lips.

And he doesn’t stop—not until he’s completely sated or until you’re crying his name, begging for mercy. Either way, this? This is just the beginning.

But If He Knows You're a Virgin…

Everything changes.

The teasing glint in his eye softens, replaced by something deeper—respect, tenderness, and just a hint of restraint. Shanks may be a rogue, a pirate, a man who takes what he wants, but with you?

He slows down. He savors.

"Ah," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your cheek as he studies your face. "So this is your first time?"

His voice is low, warm—but there’s no mockery. Only a quiet sort of reverence.

"I knew you were something precious."

His fingers skim down your arm, impossibly gentle, despite the way a thick digit is already buried inside you, working you open—one finger, then a second, then a third.

"You sure about this, sweetheart?" he coaxes. But the gleam in his eyes tells you—he has no intention of stopping.

He’s going to work you open nice and slow. Then he’s going to take you. Make you his.

The way he calls you that—sweetheart, soft yet possessive—sends a shiver through your spine. And when you nod, his smile turns dangerous.

"Then I'll make sure it's something you'll never forget."

He takes his time, watching, memorizing every sigh, every arch of your body against his. He cherishes it.

His lips move with unhurried devotion—kissing down your neck, over your collarbone, making you feel wanted. Not just as a conquest, but as something precious.

He learns your body with the skill of a man who’s spent years mastering pleasure. You like your neck kissed and bitten? He lingers. You like your nipples teased? He’s more than happy to oblige.

His single hand—strong, calloused, yet impossibly tender—traces your skin like it’s the rarest treasure he’s ever held.

"Just relax, love," he murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. "Let me take care of you."

And when the moment finally comes, he holds your gaze, letting you see the heat, the control, the silent promise that this is about you.

His forehead presses against yours, his breath ragged but patient.

"If it hurts, tell me. I’ll stop, alright?"

Slowly, he inches in—stretching you, filling you, until he reaches that final barrier and slides in completely.

It hurts at first—he’s thick, large—but he makes sure it doesn’t for long. He’s slow, deliberate, coaxing pleasure from you with skill only a man like Shanks possesses.

And when you finally surrender to the sensations, gasping his name, he groans—his restraint snapping—and he takes you—but never without worshiping you first.

He won’t stop until you’ve come at least twice, his voice thick with satisfaction as he rolls his hips again.

"See?" he murmurs, "Told you I'd make it unforgettable."

He groans as his movements grow sloppy, his release inevitable—until you feel him spill inside you, filling you completely.

With Shanks, your first time isn’t just sex—

It’s the kind of night that lingers—a memory burned into your skin, your heart, your soul.

You belong to him now. Forever

[woozinhos]

Hii can I request for pregnancy sex with jeonghan?

Notes: guys I’m so back this is great! This was so cute to write enjoy!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

Jeonghan watches you as you move around the house, your pregnant belly prominent. He can't help but feel a surge of desire every time he looks at you, but he's hesitant to act on it.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" he asks for the third time that day, concern etched on his face. You smile at him and nod, placing a hand on your belly. "I'm fine, Jeonghan. The baby and I are both healthy." Jeonghan lets out a sigh of relief, but his eyes still linger on your stomach. He's been struggling to control his urges, wanting nothing more than to take you right then and there.

As the day goes on, Jeonghan becomes more and more restless. He finds himself constantly touching you, his hands roaming over your body as if he can't get enough of you. You can sense Jeonghan's growing need, but you don't comment on it. You know he's been holding back, afraid of hurting you or the baby. As the evening draws near, Jeonghan finally can't take it anymore. He pulls you onto his lap, his hands resting on your thighs.

"I need you," he whispers, his voice hoarse with desire.

"I know," you reply, a hint of amusement in your voice. "I could tell." Jeonghan groans and buries his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. "You have no idea how much I've been wanting you," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin.

"I'm scared," Jeonghan admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to hurt you or the baby." He pulls back to look at you, his eyes filled with worry. "What if we do something that's not safe for the baby?"

You cup his face in your hands, your expression gentle. "Jeonghan, we'll be careful. We can figure it out together." Jeonghan looks at you for a moment before nodding slowly. "Okay," he says, his hands moving to your waist. "But you have to promise to tell me if anything feels uncomfortable or wrong." Jeonghan carefully helps you into bed, making sure you're comfortable before he climbs in beside you. He pulls you close to him, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks again, his voice laced with concern. You nod, leaning into his touch. "I want this, Jeonghan. I want you." Jeonghan takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. It has been a while since he's been intimate with you, and the thought of it is both exciting and terrifying.

"I just... I don't want to disappoint you," he says, his voice shaking slightly.

"You could never disappoint me," you reassure him, running your fingers through his hair. "I love you, Jeonghan. No matter what."

L Jeonghan closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. "I love you too," he whispers, his heart racing in his chest. "I just want to make you feel good." Jeonghan slowly undresses, his eyes never leaving yours. He's acutely aware of the changes in your body as you watch him, and it only fuels his desire further.

Once he's completely naked, he stands there for a moment, letting you take him in. You can't help but admire his toned body, your eyes roaming over every inch of him. He's still just as beautiful as the day you met him, and you feel a rush of affection for him. Jeonghan moves closer to you, his hands tracing the contours of your body. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his lips finding yours in a deep kiss. Jeonghan takes his time undressing you, being careful not to put any pressure on your stomach. He peels away each piece of clothing, his hands roaming over your skin as he exposes more of you to him.

"You're glowing," he says, his eyes darkening with lust. "Absolutely gorgeous." Jeonghan takes a moment to compose himself, trying to control his desire. He positions himself between your legs, his hands on your thighs.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay?" he says, his voice low and gravelly. You nod, biting your lip in anticipation. Jeonghan slowly pushes into you, his eyes locked on yours as he watches for any signs of discomfort.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice strained. You take a deep breath, adjusting to the feeling of him inside you. "I'm okay," you say, your voice shaky. "Just... go slow." Jeonghan nods, his movements slow and deliberate. He keeps a close eye on your face, looking for any signs of pain or discomfort. As Jeonghan continues to move, he starts to relax a bit more. The feeling of being inside you is overwhelming, and he can't help but let out a low moan.

"You feel so good," he whispers, his fingers digging into your thighs. "I've missed this." You moan in response, arching your back as he hits a sensitive spot. "Jeonghan... harder." Jeonghan's eyes widen in surprise, but he quickly complies with your request. He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming deeper and more forceful.

"That's it, baby," he groans, his hips snapping against yours. "Take it. You're doing so well." He leans down to capture your lips in a messy kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he loses himself in the moment. You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body tensing with pleasure. Jeonghan senses it too, and he reaches down to rub your clit with his thumb.

"Come for me," he urges, his voice rough with need. "Let go, sweetheart." It doesn't take long for you to reach your climax, your body shaking as you cry out his name. Jeonghan follows soon after, his own release spilling inside you. Jeonghan moans loudly as he cums, his body trembling against yours. He buries his face in your neck, riding out the waves of pleasure as he fills you up.

Once he's done, he stays there for a moment, his chest heaving as he tries to regain his composure. "God, I needed that," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You smile and run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the feeling of him still inside you. "Me too," you say softly. Jeonghan lifts his head to look at you, a look of pure adoration in his eyes. "I love you so much," he says, his voice filled with emotion. "Thank you for letting me do this with you." Jeonghan pulls out of you and quickly rolls onto his side, apologizing to your stomach. "I'm sorry, baby," he says, pressing a gentle kiss to your belly. "Daddy didn't mean to get so carried away."

[cheralith]

characters ; yukimiya kenyu || contains ; spider-man!au, college au!, gn!reader, no pronouns used. word count: 1.3k a/n: whipped this up in like thirty minutes as i fight sleep so apologies for any errors made lawl

spider-man!yukimiya tends to keep a close eye on you at all times when he's on patrol, finding himself a bit distracted whenever he sees your figure walking home from your evening lectures. he insists it's just to keeping another civilian safe... even if that particular civilian just so happens to be his best friend and crush for the past few years.

he swings from building to building as quietly as possible, just being a few meters above and behind you to watch your every move, all the while wary of anybody that may encounter you and have bad intentions. you eventually reach an isolated bus stop, away from people and the busy streets, waiting for the bus to pick you up and drop you off at your designated location.

yukimiya watches closely from atop a close restaurant's building, his suit blending in with its colors. there's a man a few feet away that's walking his dog, and yukimiya concentrates his gaze on him to make sure that he won't be doing anything to his beloved best friend while you're all alone (seemingly). what he doesn't know, however, is that you've pulled out your phone and have dialed his number, just to ensure that tonight's plans were still into place.

he lets out a soft yelp when his ringtone plays out from his suit pocket, his concentration on the man that eventually passes you wordlessly broken as he scrambles to silence it to not draw attention to himself.

from the bus stop, you pause and pull your phone away from you to properly hear the environment around you. you swore you could've heard the echo of a familiar SEKAI NO OWARI song, but when the air falls back into a familiar silence, you shrug, blaming it on your tired self hearing things.

yukimiya's breath that he had been holding as you were examining for the source of the sound heaved out in relief. he watches as you text his contact from your phone, only to freeze at the text you send.

(y/n) ♡︎: hi :3 are we still on for tonight's movie? omw to yours rn

(y/n) ♡︎: eta like ~15 min?

he chokes out a sound from his throat, cursing to himself in frustration. he was so caught up in catching a particular pair of robbers tonight that had escaped from jail for the nth time, that in the adrenaline that caught up to his brain, he completely forgot about your friday movie nights with him. your dorm was only a few blocks from his own, so he thought you were simply heading back for the night to rest, disregarding what today was.

in a flash of a second, yukimiya makes a route for himself that would allow him to clean his room up then clean himself up in the span of only fifteen minutes. while he wants to watch over you to make sure you get home safely, he also still wants to present himself in a better manner than covered in sweat and grime from all the fighting he did earlier. he's watched you take the route home dozens of times before, so he's sure that you'll be safe in the fifteen minutes you're out of his sight.

the bus eventually comes and you board it, leaving yukimiya alone on the desolate block. with shaking fingers, he texts you back in a rushed manner, his normally corrected typos not being granted a mercy of correction.

kenyu (⌐⎚u⎚): Hi! I'm still down fro movie night :)

kenyu (⌐⎚u⎚): Might have to give me a couple of minutes tho sry

kenyu (⌐⎚u⎚): Need to wahs up from the gym

sweat clutches onto his skin as he swings in a reckless manner. it stains his palms and he nearly slips from his grasp from his webs multiple times from them, so much so that in his final swing, he ends up tumbling through his tiny dorm room window and landing a little too harsh on his shoulder. yukimiya groans, but bares the pain, quickly shoving off suit and shoving it under his bed before he scrambles and clears his room by stuffing everything in his drawers and closet.

with six minutes left to spare, he rushes into the bathroom, takes an unsettling fast shower, applying much more deodorant than usual in an attempt to cover up the city smells that usually lingered onto him, and opts for what he can pray to be a clean t-shirt and shorts from the ground. they smelled fine... so surely—

knock knock. "kenyu? it's (y/n)!"

shit, shit, shit! yukimiya panics and quickly shoves the clothes on before rushing to the door and opening it for you.

"hi! hello!" he babbles. "hi there."

"hiya...?" you greet with a questioned tone, a little taken aback at how... frazzled your best friend seems. "i know you're a model, but are you making a fashion statement by wearing your shirt inside out today by any chance?"

"huh?" yukimiya glances down and notices that the tag of the shirt is just grazing his chin. "oh! oops!"

you softly giggle as you let yourself in, landing yourself comfortably on his bed. yukimiya quickly takes his shirt off and fixes it up, not noticing the way that you're staring at him. there's a splotch of purple that seems almost fresh which blooms on his shoulder, as well as a couple of stray scratches that adorn his back. he's been getting them a lot lately, injuries of all kinds. he says it's simply from the gym, but you're not sure what kind of exercises lands a harsh blemish on his arm like the one you saw the other day.

"that's a nasty bruise you've got there," you murmur softly, tapping your own shoulder to indicate where it is on him. "... gym again?"

"oh, yeah, haha," he says breathlessly, scratching the back of his neck. "just got injured using a machine, that's all."

"kenyu," you start worriedly, "you've been going to the gym quite a lot lately. is there something going on?"

he looks at you blankly with a tight smile on his face, attempting to play dumb as best he can. he can't tell you what's really been happening behind the scenes. he wants to, so desperately, but he can't.

"nah," he shakes his head as he climbs into bed with you, pushing away a visible remnant of his suit further under his bed. "i've just been a bit stressed lately, and going to the gym kind of helps me out."

you don't seem convinced, given the way your stare doesn't falter, but your lip juts out. "are you sure it’s not something else? you can talk to me, y’know."

his eyes soften as he recognizes your concern. as much as he wants to tell someone that he's spider-man oh so very badly, he knows that he shouldn't. you're his best friend and you and him have always shared everything and anything with each other, but he loves you simply too much to put you in danger with the knowledge of him being your city's number one vigilante.

he'd never forgive himself if something happened to you. so he bottles everything up per usual and paints on a false smile.

"yeah, i swear i'm alright. you've got nothing to worry about," he says gently before grabbing the remote and trying his best not to look at your sad, puppy-like pout, knowing he's rather weak to your whims.

"so uh," he starts, grabbing the remote and turning on his tv, "did we ever finish the princess diaries last week?"

yukimiya internally sighs in relief as the topic quickly distracts you from him.

you snort, settling into his side comfortably as he wraps his arm around you. "pft, no. 'cause someone fell asleep halfway through."

he gawks at your accusation. "hey! i pulled an all-nighter the night beforehand!"

"that's literally no excuses to not know the queen that is mia thermopolis," you huff with a roll of your eyes.

"actually," yukimiya points out cleverly. "that's amelia mignonette thermopolis-renaldi to you."

you gasp in delight, your smile settling a warmth within yukimiya as your disdainful past countenance fades. "so you were paying attention!"

when it comes to you, he always does. it doesn't matter if he's yukimiya kenyu, full-time college athlete and model, or spider-man, the city's beloved vigilante. his attention is for you and you alone, and he'll love you regardless of who he faces you as.