#live on a tight budget meaning

[unheavenlybody]

damn i rly gotta worry abt buying groceries every week for the rest of my life... only 23 and i've had enough. you buy stuff you eat it and then ur fucked all over again!!! noooo 🫠🫠🫠😖😖😖

[havegaysex]

My dad telling me about the new horse he just bought when I'm crying over car repairs and making my car payment really just pisses me off so much

[httpsserene]

𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 - 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒 | 𝐒𝐎𝐒 |

𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 - 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

summary: you can't complain about being paid to soak up the heat of the spanish sun and serve drinks— if you can ignore the flirting middle-aged men. however, this summer could be your last. you need to decide if you're returning next year by the end of the day. if only there was a sign to help you make up your mind.

content warning: fluff. light flirting. world-building and backstory. ignore my questionable spanish. no beta we die like summer silly season 2k24.

pairing: poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student fem!black!reader

from, serene: just a little teaser, a lil prologue, to establish the vibes and vague characteristics of the reader ! i’m using my light understanding of spanish (as an unfortunate no sabo kid) to get through this, so pls ignore thx.

⌕ join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents | sip of sunshine | next ↻

The sweat beading along your hairline causes your edges to curl and lift. The cooling effects of the portable fan dangling around your neck are negated by the suffocating humidity of a mid-August summer day, yet it enhances the scent of sweat, sunscreen, and the hints of your faded perfume. Your appreciation for the dry-fit fabric of your uniform is refreshed; if it wasn’t moisture-wicking, your resignation email would’ve been submitted with haste.

But, the uniform does its best to protect you from the Spanish heat, and the pay (and tips) are satisfying. You make enough money to live frugally and cover any expenses that your financial aid and scholarships don’t during the school year. This meant you didn’t have to juggle being a full-time student and a full-time worker to survive. Working the beverage cart is perfect—you can’t be mad about serving drinks to men who have more money than they know what to do with, and even though you despise the fact that they freely flirt (terribly, at that) with a wedding band shining bright on their left ring finger—it pays your bills. As much as that disgusts you, this was always meant to be a temporary job, a stepping stone. You weren’t planning to continue working here after you got your undergraduate degree. And now, after graduating, a fancy company has hired you and is offering to pay for you to get a PhD. So, of course, you accepted their offer of free education and a job. This means there’s no reason for you to continue working as a cart girl at Golf La Moraleja in Madrid.

But, it’s Spain! Summer in Spain, at that, it’s a massive difference from a monotonous school year back in America. And, you don’t even have to pay for an apartment in Madrid (which is out of your tight budget, anyway) because your parents live here, and they’re always desperate to have you at home rather than out living on your own. The shining summer sun keeps your melanin strong, too. You’ve made friends out of colleagues, good friends. You’ve made good memories, a good resume, stupid choices, near-death experiences—you’ve made a time out of your early twenty-somethings. You don’t want to let it go.

Yet, it seems like it’s time. You don’t need the money, even though having extra income would be terrific in this economy. It would probably exhaust you during a break that’s supposed to be relaxing from your PhD studies. You’ve regained all fluency in the Spanish language that you lost growing up in the States. You’ve been a cart girl for four years, maybe it’s time to start a new chapter and leave this behind. The cart bounces over a bump in the pavement and breaks your train of thought. Your body tenses at the sound of the cans and bottles clinking together louder than you’d like. You do not want to stay late on your last day cleaning out melted sticky alcohol from the cooler. It’s ironic—you would think that with your four summers of experience, you wouldn’t let your mind wander while driving. The clock beeps its warning of fifteen minutes till the end of your shift, and you sigh. Directing the cart back towards the first hole of Course One, you’re aware that if there’s anybody present who wants a cold drink, they will be your last customer of this season or even your last customer for forever.

You lift your foot off the gas pedal as you see three figures become visible on the green, readying yourself for what could be your final service. You halt the cart, turning off the engine and smoothing out the skirt of your uniform as you stand and walk out a few steps.

“¿Qué puedo servirles de beber?”

You catch the attention of one of the men, an older gentleman who greets you kindly and informs you that he needs something strong if he’s going to be dealing with the other two for eighteen holes. You laugh politely, glancing at the men who have yet to notice your presence. The taller brunette is annoying the shorter, poking and prodding at his stance, seemingly teasing him about his form. Your smile brightens at the sight before you redirect your focus to your current client, and you begin to talk him through his options for the stronger alcohol you’re carrying today.

He easily downs a shot of whiskey and takes a bottle of beer with a lime off your hands before he turns to gather the others’ attention.

“¡Mijos!” The men at this point, have dissolved into boyish squabbling that carries over to where the two of you are standing by the cart. They silence easily at the older man’s call, heads snapping in your direction with widened eyes. Oh fuck, that is what your brain thinks at the view.

The taller, tanner one, is handsome. He’s built—broad shoulders, plush lips, a strong nose, wide brown eyes, and long eyelashes that he has no reason to have. The shorter, paler one, is beautiful. Pretty, even. He’s not quite grown into himself yet, you can tell. But, the youthful mischief lingering in his blue eyes is alluring, especially when paired with his cute sunburnt cheeks, and the big grin showing the cute gap in his teeth—did you say he’s cute already?

As they near the cart, you notice that Brown-eyes (you’ve decided on using descriptors because of the lack of names) shares the same eye shape as the older man you’ve served. He must be his son, or related to him at least. Blue-eyes must be a friend, or family, you suppose, if he acquired all the recessive traits during his genetic raffle. You exchange greetings with the two, dismissing the shakiness of the younger’s voice as shyness.

“¿Algo que quieran beber, señores?”

“Can you ask her if she has anything non-alcoholic?” The British-accented English spills from Blue-eyes’s mouth, and you understand that his greeting sounded nervous because of his lack of fluency.

“I do have a selection of non-alcoholic drinks—,” you start, smiling as all three men look surprised at your code-switching, “—That I can tell you about in English if you’d like?”

“Oh, I would like that very much, please,” the words tumble from Blue-eyes in one breath, the Spanish men laughing at his relief of being able to communicate in his native tongue.

“Not fluent in Spanish yet, huh?” You tease him lightly, with a soft smile to communicate your lightheartedness.

“I have terrible teachers,” Blue-eyes laughs pitchily, and both Spaniards gasp in faux-dismay of his words as he continues, “If you couldn’t tell.”

“I am not a terrible teacher,” Brown-eyes clarifies, accent curling around his words,  “You just do not listen to me when I try to teach you!”

“That’s not my fault! How am I supposed to stay focused when I’m talking to you?”

Brown-eyes seems surprised at that response, his eyes appearing to widen even more at the words. Blue-eyes realizes what he said during the pause of banter, his cheeks flushing even redder beneath his sun-baked skin.

“Well,” you clear your throat, eager to dismiss whatever that was about, “While I don’t know if he’s a bad teacher or not—I can assure you that I’m a great teacher when it comes to the non-alcoholic drinks I can serve you today!”

All three men seem to relax at your seamless dismissal, and you can feel Brown-eyes look at you thoughtfully as you ramble a relaxed script about what you're carrying to Blue-eyes. There’s a brief moment where Blue-eyes turns to his(?) father, for his opinion on what he should order, and you look away, making eye contact with Brown-eyes. His eyes are softer, and he nods at you, as if in thanks for your earlier redirection. You do the same, and shrug your shoulders lightly as if to say, “All good.”

Blue-eyes’ voice calls for your attention as he orders a refreshing virgin cocktail, and you turn to start mixing it for him.

“You know,” you think aloud, “If you ordered an alcoholic drink, I wouldn’t believe you’re old enough to be served?”

“Hey! I’m twenty-one, I can even drink in America now!”

You turn to look at him with narrowed eyes, tilting your head to the side dramatically before shaking your head as if you don’t believe him. Brown-eyes and his dad (you’re confident in their relationship), chuckle at this interaction, in a way that leads you to believe they’ve heard it before.

“Aww,” you coo, as you salt the rim of his plastic cup, “Twenty-one! You’re such a baby! I would think your I.D. is fake if I ever saw it.”

“I’m not a baby,” Blue-eyes pouts, his eyes brightening as he thinks of a response, “Wait—well, you look too young to be serving alcohol!”

“I’m taking that as a compliment, not an insult since I’m older than you. Beautiful brown skin like mine doesn’t show age, at least that’s what my mom says. Anyways—there’s nothing wrong with being baby-faced, it means you look young for longer.”

Blue-eyes ponders that train of thought as you add a slice of lime as garnish. You hand the drink off to him, waiting for him to take a sip to see if it’s to his liking. His eyes flutter shut as he swallows, with a tiny moan of approval following, and wow, that sounded like a different type of moan. It’s enough to cause your mind to drift to other scenarios where you may be blessed to hear that noise in, and you make the mistake of letting your gaze cross Brown-eyes again. 

There’s a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and his eyebrow is raised at you slightly—like he’s aware of your train of thought. Hmm, you think, is that because he’s experienced the same train of thought as yourself, or is it because he’s gotten to hear that beautiful sound in the way you want to? It’s also possible that he thinks you’re just desperate, too. You blink at him, forcing your expression to remain innocent, before Blue-eyes speaks gleefully, breaking the tension once more. 

“This is the best drink I’ve ever had!”

You’ve heard those words hundreds of times on the course, but hearing them from him has you suddenly feeling bashful, waving his words away with a hand before you address Brown-eyes.

“¿Para beber, señor?”

“Please, cálmate. I thought you were talking to my father,” he responds, and the older gentlemen, confirming your suspicions about his relation, laughs.

“And—there’s no need to call me sir. Not in this context.”

Blue-eyes chokes on his drink next to you and it’s enough to distract you from responding to whatever that was supposed to imply. Okay, you panic internally, you’re either just a freak, or these two fine men are freaks themselves, and they’re not hiding it. Maybe, they even want you to join—okay, calm down you harlot. The men roughly pat his back to clear his airways and Blue-eyes reddens, you hope it’s due to embarrassment and not lack of oxygen. When it’s clear that he isn’t at risk for dying, Brown-eyes does take a bottle of beer off your hands.

“Have you been working here for a while?” The dad inquires, pulling you away from that mind-boggling exchange and into another bout of small talk while you dispose of the bottle caps.

“Sí, señor. This is my fourth summer here.”

“What?!” The two younger men, both exclaim, shocked at your answer.

“We’ve been coming here regularly since 2019 and we’ve never run into you before?” Blue-eyes continues, perplexed.

“Really? Wow, that’s terrible luck. I guess I’ve only worked shifts when you all aren’t here,” you theorize, cleaning out the shaker you used for his mocktail. 

“Why would it be ‘terrible luck?’” Brown-eyes asks with a painfully cute, confused tilt to his brows.

“It might be my last day,” you nod sadly, as all three men indulge you with sounds of dissent, “I know, sad, isn’t it?”

“But, why?” asks the dad, “Are they treating you badly here? Because I’ll talk to them for you. You seem like such a hardworking young woman.”

“Nonono, they treat me very well, there’s no need for threats! I’m just too hardworking. It’s just—I think it might be time for a change, you know?”

“We don’t know, actually,” Blue-eyes, offers smartly, “But, I wanna know. I like you, I think you’re interesting, and I’m invested now.”

You force the urge to giggle hysterically down as your brain screams, He said he likes you! That sounds like he’s in love with you! The cacophony of your subconscious gnawing at the bars of its enclosure rattles around your skull. 

You stare at them for a second, determining whether or not you should share your personal life with three strangers you're being paid to serve drinks to on a golf course. So, of course, you explain your very simple dilemma to the men. Do you quit your summer job because you’re afraid it might be too much to handle on top of getting your PhD and working an office job? Or, do you continue to work on the green because you’ve genuinely only ever enjoyed your time here, because it’s extra money in your pocket, because you’ve fallen in love with Spain, and because it keeps you near your family?

“I think you should stay.”

“Obviously, stay.”

“Sí, stay.”

You laugh abruptly at the answers. You’re ninety-five percent sure their answers are drenched with an ulterior motive—well, the two younger men's responses are.

“You like it here,” Blue-eyes starts earnestly, “I figure that getting a PhD is a lot of hard work, but why don’t you at least try it out for one more summer? If it’s too much, you don’t have to come back after that, right?”

The clock inside the cart blares its alarm for the end of your shift. You reach inside and shut it off before turning back to look at Blue-eyes thoughtfully, “I guess you’re right.”

“And…if you stay for another summer, there’s a chance we will see you again, no?” Brown-eyes jumps in.

“I would say the odds are pretty low, as this is the first time I’ve served you guys over four summers,” you joke back. That’s the reality of the situation, though. The first time you run into hot men who are your type and around your age range. You have to cope with the fact that you’ll never see them again. You’re the one with the terrible luck.

You tap the ledge of the cart off-handedly as you begin to ring up their drinks in the mobile register, pausing briefly to look up with a polite smile, “Is there anything else I can get for anybody before I head out today?”

Blue-eyes and Brown-eyes turn to whisper to each other, the older gentleman snorts, exchanging thanks with you and well wishes for your future before he walks back over to their equipment, leaving the younger men to close out the tab.

“Yes,” Blue-eyes clears his throat, “Can I have a ‘Sip of Sunshine?’”

You can’t recall ever carrying any beverage with that name and telling him as such, “Sorry, I don’t think we sell that. Is it a beer, or a cocktail—”

“You’re the sip of sunshine,” Brown-eyes interrupts you, twin smiles of pride painted on both men’s faces.

You laugh freely. It’s the most pleasant experience you’ve had being flirted with on the green. “I think that was the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard!”

Brown-eyes rolls his eyes at your response lightly, giving you his credit card to pay, while Blue-eyes cheeses at you, “It made you laugh though. And, I think it made you blush too.”

“It did, but, the blush might be more of sunburn though,” you grin back at him, handing the mobile register to Brown-eyes for him to sign and tip, if he chooses. You avoid looking at the screen as he hands it back, placing it securely in the cart.

“Wait,” Brown-eyes calls, as you slide into the driver’s seat, “We never got your name?”

“You mean you never read the name tag that’s been clipped to my collar the entire time we’ve been talking?” You pester back, amused.

“We were too busy being distracted by how pretty you are,” Blue-eyes counters.

“Ah, that’s unfortunate,” you giggle, your flushed cheeks a definite result of the conversation and not the radiating sun, “I never got your names either?”

“Carlos,” Brown-eyes answers, “He’s Lando.”

“I can speak for myself you know,” Blue-eyes, Lando, sasses back. He pinches Carlos’ arm, causing the man to yelp and pull away from his side, and Lando takes the chance to address you again, “Will we see you next summer?”

“Oh, I hope not,” Carlos and Lando’s mouths drop open incredulously, “I don’t know how much more of your terrible flirting I can take!”

You smile at your own words, starting the cart and driving away from the green with a self-satisfied wave in their direction. You pray for your boss to still be in his office—you need to let him know that you’ve finally come to a decision about returning next year.

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© httpsserene 2024 - photo in header from pinterest (edited by me).

[fictionismyreality3]

Learned your lesson? (18+)

Simon Riley x Reader

Tags: Smut, daddy!simon, angry!simon

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, thigh riding, daddy kink, face slapping, slight impact play, spanking, face fucking, hair pulling, choking, exhibitionism if you squint

Notes: absolute dEBaUchErY 🤪 but I have no regrets 🤭 gimme a chance and I’d let Simon ruin my-

In hindsight, the situation you were in was probably your fault.

You hadn’t meant to make Simon angry, and he wasn’t really, but you were being a brat. In your defence, having him away from you all the time got a little lonely, and you could only fuck yourself with the dildo he got you so many times before you started wanting the real thing.

That’s why you had blown up his phone all day, sending him video after video of you fucking yourself in every room of your apartment, moaning his name as you came. In the back of your mind, you knew it was a bad idea, but it felt so deliciously good to imagine his eyes widening as he stood on base and got all your little gifts, especially when you were riding the dildo with his t-shirt on.

Your hands gripped the black marble countertop of your shared bathroom as you bounced your ass back against the wall, the hyper-realistic dildo hitting you just right. When Simon showed up with a clone-a-willy kit in hand before a long deployment, you nearly spat out the soda you were drinking.

“What the fuck is that?” You managed to sputter as you coughed, trying not to spit soda all over the living room carpet.

“Your stress reliever, luv’.” Simon’s eyes sparked behind his balaclava as he chuckled with mirth.

The rest of that night consisted of you whispering in his ear and tracing his neck with your tongue, keeping him hard as you carried out your diy sex toy production.

And now, as you fucked yourself on your clone of Simon’s cock, your phone propped up to record, the dildo did its job, but it wasn’t Simon.

It wasn’t him.

That’s why you made sure to look directly into the camera as you felt the familiar sparks building up in your core, and when you came, you let him know how much you missed him.

What you couldn’t have known, was that the wifi on base was horrendous. You’d think with the budget going towards the military, they could at least invest in a new router, but no. Simon often had to struggle through paperwork, which he already detested, waiting for the tiniest files to load. In your eagerness to tease him, you sent all the videos at once, but couldn’t have known that they’d take ages to get delivered.

By the time they reached their destination, blowing up Simon’s phone all at once, it was hours after you’d initially hit send. It was nearly impossible for him to be away from you as it is. As soon as he saw your face the day you met, he knew that he’d be needing you for the rest of his life.

He didn’t like leaving you and he didn’t like sharing.

Two weeks away from the only reminder of having a normal life was already painstaking. It was the last day on base and Simon was counting down the minutes till he could get home and show you how much he missed you. The time spent rubbing himself in the barracks bathroom, jerking his cock to the thought of you, all it had done was provide temporary relief. He needed the real thing.

He needed to be buried so deep in your tight little cunt that he made himself a part of you with each thrust.

Simon was counting down the minutes as he sat through the last briefing of the day, just a few hours away from getting to let out all his pent up tension, when his phone began to buzz endlessly. His heart spiked, threatening to burst from his throat as he saw the texts from you. Instantly, the worst case scenarios of what could’ve happened ran through his mind. He wasn’t a paranoid man by any means, but when it came to you, the only thing that mattered more that keeping you happy was your safety.

What if something happened? What if you were hurt? What if you’d been taken hostage and someone was sending him videos of you being tortured?

Okay, so, maybe a little paranoid.

Not wanting to wait in agonizing curiosity, he clicked open the attachment.

Within seconds, sounds of your wanton moaning filled the room, your breathy whimpers of his name silencing the rest of the 141 who had been debriefing. All eyes snapped to Simon as he fumbled with his phone, dropping it to the floor in his haste to mute the video. This interrupted Soap’s guffawing, as his eyes locked on the screen, the video of you riding the dildo he got you playing on repeat.

“Jesus Christ, Lt! Tha’ yer woman? She’s a sight to-” Gaz smacked him upside the head as Price tried to avert his eyes, clearing his throat.

“Watch your fuckin’ eyes, Johnny, before I rip ‘em outta your skull.” Simon snapped.

Finally, he managed to switch the video off, but the damage was done. Even though he sat as still as a statue for the rest of the brief, his balaclava hidden face betraying no emotion despite Soap’s repeatedly cheeky comments, Simon was livid.

From the time he first took you, he ruined you for anyone else. Nobody could replace him, nobody could break you or make you scream like he did. But you’d ruined everything else for him too. And just the thought of someone else getting to have you, getting to touch even an inch of your skin, was enough that he had to ball his fists so as not to throttle Johnny’s neck.

He trusted his guys with his life, even if he’d never tell them that. But this was different.

This was you.

While you giggling conspiratorially to yourself, thinking about the fun you’d have with him when he got home, Simon was whiteknuckling the wheel of his truck, trying not to break the speed limit to get home to you faster. His cock was achingly hard as he ran over how he planned to punish you again and again in his mind. You’d love every second of it, he always made sure you did, but he wanted to tease you just like you did him.

This is what he loved about you. How you were so eager to please, but so eager to rile him up, it was the perfect combination to make Simon’s cock scream at him to fuck your pretty throat.

He nearly ran a stop sign imaging cumming in your greedy mouth.

His dirty girl.

His greedy girl. He definitely couldn’t give you the usual treatment this time. The thought of your ass marked up with his handprints after a spanking was tempting, but you would enjoy it far too much. He wanted to see you struggle to get even the slightest bit of relief after the stunt you pulled.

The rumbling of his truck signalled his arrival to your keen ears, and you jumped up from the couch, running to the front door of the cozy house you’d bought together to stand on the porch waiting for him.

Simon got out of his truck. He knew you were standing there, where you always were to welcome him home after a deployment, but he didn’t look at you. Getting his gear bag from the back, he slung it over his shoulders and trudged up the front stairs. His kit was well over 100 pounds, but he still managed to carry it with one hand. The other hand shot out to wrap around your throat, causing you to stumble on your feet.

“Simo-” Your greeting was cut of by your now restricted air supply, and your hands instinctively clawed at his grip on your throat. He didn’t utter a word, only reached around you to open the door, pushing you inside as he followed, closing it with his foot.

You were pinned up against the wall as soon as his gear bag had hit the ground, and you could already hear his ragged breaths.

“D’you have any idea,” He huffed, trying to restrain himself from just fucking you against the wall. “how much shit you’re in for… love?” He ground out the pet name like it took effort for him to keep from swearing even more.

You quickly ran through everything that you could have done wrong in your mind. Sure, you’d been a brat all day, but Simon liked when you were bratty from time to time. Nothing you could think of could explain the tightly contained anger that was rippling off of him.

“What? Did you not like the videos?” You managed to say breathily, the grip on your throat keeping you perched on the edge of loosing your breath. “Did I not like the-” Simon stopped to let out a low, raspy chuckle, his head dropping to the crook of your neck.

“I loved the videos, sweetheart. An’ so did the boys.” He whispered slowly into your ear.

Immediately your face scrunched up as you tried to decipher what he meant.

“What do you mean, Si? I only….oh.” The reality of your mistake hit you all at once.

Oh.

How could you have forgotten that Simon would probably be around the rest of the 141, not to mention how inept with technology he was. No wonder the rest of the team saw you. Your swirling thoughts were broken up by Simon releasing your throat, only to grab your arm, and roughly drag you over to the couch.

“‘Oh’ is right, luv’.” He murmured as he sat down, pulling you on top of his lap to straddle him. Your hands instinctively went for his balaclava, wanting to take it off and see his face, a permission only you were granted.

Before your fingers could even meet the fabric, Simon was grabbing both your wrists with one hand, pinning them to your lap. You really had poked the bear in all senses of the word. Simon was utterly massive, and he could easily palm any part of you that would take most people two hands to hold.

With his free hand, he pushed his balaclava up so it rested just underneath his nose, his lips free to kiss you. Your stomach was churning with a mix of apprehension and excitement. You knew the look in his eyes, the look he only got when he was going to break you. It was nearly impossible to keep from leaning down and pressing a kiss to his inviting lips, but you knew that you were already in as much trouble as it was.

With the way you were straddling his lap, the thin material of your shorts allowed you to feel his cock growing ridged underneath you. Heat bloomed in your core and Simon’s grip on your wrists suddenly felt electric.

“You’re a greedy cockslut, aren’t you?” He slipped the hand which wasn’t keeping your wrists trapped underneath your shirt. “So desperate you jus’ had to be a brat, hm? Had to let everyone see wha’ a needy girl you are.”

The low, condescending tone of his voice made your head swim, and your breaths began to come faster and faster as he palmed your tits, beginning to play with your nipples. You couldn’t exactly be sorry when he was making you feel so good, but there was still some guilt in the back of your mind for putting him on the spot.

“Simon, I’m-” Simon’s large hand slapped you lightly across the cheek, tugging your hair to refocus your gaze on him. “Don’t fuckin’ call me that.” He pinched your nipple hard, causing you to reel forwards into his chest.

“What’s my fuckin’ name, huh? Only good girls get t’call me Simon.” He dug his fingers into the skin of your wrists, the pain warning you of what would come if you weren’t more obedient.

“…daddy?” You tried quietly.

Simon’s grip on your wrists lessened instantly, and his hands began to tease at your tits again. The whiplash of pain to pleasure was something that he had perfected, and he loved the way you’d bite your lip as you struggled to catch up. All it took was just getting you to call him daddy and he could already feel you melting in his lap, your eyes getting half lidded and foggy.

“That’s right, bunny. And daddy teaches his baby how to behave doesn’t he?” Simon said expectantly, beginning to peel off his t-shirt you were wearing.

“Y-yes, daddy.” The cold air hit your skin, sending a shiver through body as you were left in just your thin pajama shorts, straddling your hulk of a boyfriend. Without the t-shirt in the way, Simon had easy access to your gorgeous tits, and took the opportunity to take a nipple in between his teeth, his other hand running up and down your back.

He was rock hard by now, the feeling of your soft skin on top of him sending his mind into a buzzing haze of desire. All he wanted to do was rut up into that precious pussy of yours and make you cum around his cock. But he had to be patient. He had to make sure you knew what you did wrong.

As soon as he felt you begin to rock your hips, a movement so imperceptible that only those who knew you would realize what you want, he gripped your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. Simon’s eyes were narrowed in warning, and a dark chuckled left his throat.

“You’re so greedy.” He growled, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Show daddy you’re more than jus’ a needy little girl.”

“How, daddy?” You breathed.

A whine fell from your lips as you slipped further away from being rational, your head fuzzy with want as you felt Simon’s cock pressed underneath you.

“Can’t get off without my cock, hm?” He thought back to the videos of you fucking yourself on the dildo he got you. Simon loosened his grip on your hips, allowing you to move, only to shifted you so that he could tear your pajama shorts off. He lifted you slightly so that you were straddling one of his thighs instead.

“You wanna cum s’badly? You need it s’much that you’re a brat?”

“Fuck yourself on my thigh then, luvie.”

Your breath left you in one big whoosh, and the moment Simon gave you permission to move, you were grinding down on his thigh. The fabric of his jeans rubbed against your clit, sending little jolts of pleasure through you.

Simon watched as your eyes got droopy, half opened through your haze of pleasure. He was still angry but right now all he could focus on was how pretty you looked. Your cheeks all flushed from his words and the exertion of grinding on him, your little hands holding onto his shoulders, and the wet spot on your panties.

“That’s it, pretty. Jus’ like that.” He groaned.

His cock felt impossibly hard, raging with need every time he looked at the way your tits bounced. Fumbling with his belt, he pulled his cock out. The noise caught your attention, and you faltered, going to reach for him. You didn’t get very far, because as soon as Simon felt you stop moving, he delivered two quick spanks to your ass.

You cried out in surprise and pain as he fisted one hand in your hair, and the other around his leaking cock. His hands were so big it made him look normal sized, but you knew he was easily almost ten inches.

“Such a whore.” He whispered, pulling your hair so your head was forced back. “Jus’ had t’get my cock in your mouth.”

Simon stroked himself lazily, savouring the wave of heat which coursed through him every time he ran a thumb over his tip. It wasn’t your touch, but it would do for now. Your gaze was forced to the ceiling as Simon kept you locked in position, observing you like his own personal work of art. The sound of his quiet groans filling your ears was torturous knowing you weren’t allowed to touch him. You could feel yourself leaking into his jeans, and knew he no doubt felt it too.

“Are you- oh, gonna be a good girl f’me?” His mouth latched on your exposed neck as he sucked a hickey into your skin, marking you as his. You were panting, practically trembling as he forced you to keep still. Simon was closer than he’d like to admit. It had been weeks since he’d touched you and just seeing you writhing on lap, trying to get whatever friction you could, made his cock leak.

“Say it, bunny.” He rasped into your ear, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“I’ve learned my lesson, daddy. Please, can I…” You trailed off, afraid that if you asked for his cock you’d seem ever more needy.

But Simon was thrilled.

Having the love of his life, almost naked on his lap, desperate to touch him was like a dream. The hand in your hair pushed your head down, his palm big enough to cover the back of your head.

“Suck.” He growled.

Rubbing the head of his cock along your mouth, demanding entrance, you parted your lips. Simon pushed inside of your mouth, heavy on your tongue as he let out a long, drawn out groan you wished you could have on repeat.

“Shit, sweathear’- oh, fuck..” He hissed. You could feel him twitching in your mouth.

He tried to focus on anything but the warm, wet-

Oh, god.

Simon bucked his hips up and began to fuck into you without warning, sending your hands shooting out to his stomach to catch yourself. His cock hit the roof of your mouth and your throat tightened on reflex as you tried not to gag. You could feel Simon’s nails digging into your scalp as he bobbed your head up and down.

“Sorry, luv’ I jus’,” He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of your lips around him. “Been achin’ for you, bunny. All those videos y’sent me.” He moaned, no longer able to keep himself from being gentle.

“Let daddy cum in y’mouth, sweetheart.”

The words flooded your pussy with heat, and Simon took notice of the way you moaned around his cock. He was strict, but he wasn’t cruel, and you had been good so far. Taking a little pity on you, Simon used his free hand to grab your hip, bouncing his leg so you could get a little relief. The sudden stimulation sent your dripping cunt into overdrive, and as Simon rammed his cock into your throat, you began to rut against his thigh.

He would’ve told you to keep your eyes on him, but they looked so pretty rolling back into your head.

“Yeah, yeah jus’ like that.” He said, his voice raspy as he tried to hold himself back. “Be good for daddy. Get close, luv’.”

You didn’t have to try with the way your cunt was clenching around nothing. Every bounce of his leg rubbed your clit against his jeans, and he pushed you further by holding your hip to help you grind against him. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, and Simon knew it too with the way you were moaning around his cock. Every noise you made sent a vibration through him, and he began to fuck your mouth with abandon, his balls tightening in anticipation.

“Oh, god. Oh f-fuck, bunny keep-” He spasmed in your mouth. “Keep suckin’ just like tha’. Daddy’s gonna cum in your pretty lil’ mouth.”

His words made your head spin. The only thought on your mind was drawing as much pleasure from him as you could, so you took his balls in your hand, rolling them a few times to push him over the edge. Your core was fluttering with need as you rutted against Simon’s leg, which he kept bouncing, hitting your swollen clit mercilessly. It was too much for both of you after weeks without each other.

Simon’s hand left your hip so he could tangle both hands in your hair, the need for his own pleasure taking over. You managed to glance up, wanting to see his face as he came.

“Luvie.. luvie, oh sweatheart.” His mouth hung open as he let out a noise he didn’t know he could make. The sight of you grinding desperately against his thigh tipped him over the edge.

“Oh, fuck. Bun-”

Ropes of hot, thick cum shot down your throat, filling your mouth and spilling past your lips. The taste of Simon on your tounge was enough to break you. Your mind shattered as you began rutting on his thigh, not caring how needy you looked, the heat in your pussy sent you spiralling. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, and you gushed all over Simon’s leg as he pressed himself so deep into your mouth that your nose hit his stomach.

He sent the last of his load down your throat and pulled your head up as you gasped for air. The world was fuzzy, but you felt two big, strong arms pulling you up from where you’d collapsed forward onto Simon’s stomach.

Taking you into his lap, he ran a hand through your hair as he rubbed your back in slow, comforting circles. His cock lay resting against his stomach, big even when it was getting soft. Simon’s hand found your chin and he turned your gaze to his, helping you come back to reality by taking off his balaclava to let you see his face.

“Did so good f’me, pretty.” He pressed a kiss to your nose, making you giggle.

“Thank you, daddy.” You managed to say, your eyes getting droopy as sleepiness began to creep in.

“I think you learned your lesson, sweetheart.” He mused, noticing your breaths begin to slow. “Jus’ rest here, luv’.”

“Daddy’s got you.”

Simon watched with reverence as your head rested against his shoulder, your flushed cheeks making you look even cuter than you did choking on his cock. This was good. This was right. He’d take care of you forever, he knew it from the moment he saw you. You didn’t realize yet, but you had one hell of a guardian angel on your side.

[delulustateofmind]

Married to Fire (One Shot!)

Summary: You married Eris a decade ago! Sweet moments with your mate :)

A/n: ALRIGHT! Who ordered the Eris fluff, oh wait that's me because there's like NONE out there. Okay there's a couple. Anyways, I wrote this puppy up before some drinks, so it is unedited. I'm currently on summer break in case you were like how are you writing so fast. It's because I am bored out of my delulu mind.

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: SUPER FLUFFY, mentions of keir *vomit*, drinking, mentions of gambling.

****

Eris, who was now a High Lord after the death of Beron, was somehow your mate. You, the daughter of a poor parsnip farmer, had found yourself bound to the High Lord who did not judge your upbringing. The balance, however, was difficult—getting used to living in a massive castle and all. With your mate constantly busy with his duties, he still made time for you the best that he could.

Even with your petty arguments...

"No, my flame," Eris drawled as he lay in bed reading budget reports. The velvet comforter rested below his hips, exposing his muscular chest. You, however, stood in the doorway with a huff, your twelve hunting dogs leashed up and tails wagging aimlessly.

"Please, it's cold out there, and imagine how warm they would be in our sheets," you pouted, batting your lashes and giving him your best doe-eyed look.

"They're dirty, and I don't think twelve dogs could even fit in our bed," Eris replied, raising his gaze to you. His reading glasses rested on the bridge of his nose as he continued, "Don't even think about it during my business trip to Hewn City next week either," his tone scolding as if you were a child.

You sighed dramatically, slumping against the doorframe, fake exaggerated tears pooling out. "But they're so lonely without us," you whined, giving the dogs' leashes a small tug as they all stared at Eris. Their eyes were not so pleading, as they probably did not understand the situation, but it was still an effort.

He chuckled and rolled his eyes, running a hand through his amber hair. "My flame, my love, oh how I adore you and your...enthusiasm. But twelve hunting dogs in our bed is simply not practical." Eris drawled out, setting his reports to the side, completely understanding that he would not be getting work done this evening.

"I could wash their paws?" you offered in a small voice, the pout remaining on your face as you looked at him.

Eris chuckled before replying in a teasing tone, "And their asses too?" You grimaced as you looked away, your cheeks heating up. That was something you would rather not partake in.

You looked away for a moment before relenting with a sigh. "Fine...but I ordered them all dog beds with their initials," you said, looking back at him with a challenging look.

Eris's lips twitched into a small smile. "If that's what you want to spend your allowance on instead of fancy dresses and jewels, then by all means, go ahead," he teased as he patted the space beside him on the bed, a silent invitation for you to join him.

A maid ushered the dogs away, perhaps thankful that they were all so well-trained, as she shut the door behind her. You smiled as you began to crawl into bed next to Eris, nestling into his warmth and feeling his arm wrap around you.

"Please don't cause too much chaos while I'm gone, alright?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You grinned as you nuzzled closer to him. "No promises, I have to keep you on your toes, High Lord."

*****

Eris was not cut out for manual labor; could he sword fight? Of course! Could he help your family harvest parsnips? Hell no.

Eris grunted as he lifted the basket full of parsnips into the wooden trailer. You were helping your mother harvest from the fruit trees, yet your gaze constantly shifted to him. The way his muscles flexed under the autumn sun, drenched in sweat, and those leather pants so tight around his thick thighs—Mother above, save you. Your mother gave you a look that said, "Stop gawking and get back to work," causing you to roll your eyes as you picked an apple from the tree.

Eris walked over to you after loading the last basket. Using his tunic to wipe off the sweat, his amber gaze fixed on you.

"My sweet little flame, you know I could hire people to do this for your family, right?" he grunted as he pulled you into an embrace and planted a kiss on the top of your head. You pretended to be grossed out by the sweat, pulling away from him. He gave you a mocking smile and a deep laugh. "Seriously though, love, your family could move into the palace. I mean, we have more than enough space," he continued, furrowing his brows.

You shrugged in response. "This is how they like to live; it's honest work after all. My father likes to brag at the market that the High Lord loves our produce," you flashed him a cheeky smile as he rolled his eyes. "Plus, they wouldn't know what to do with themselves. They wouldn't feel like they belonged. I mean, hell, sometimes I don't—"

Eris stopped you by flicking your nose. "You do belong in the palace," his look was stern as he gazed down at you, the heat in his eyes resembling a flame. "If anyone ever dares to make you feel like you don't belong at court, I will...do unspeakable things to them," he breathed those last few words. You just nodded and pressed against his chest. Eris still had some trauma to work through, but he was better now after the years you two had been married.

Later that evening, when Eris had to go to Hewn City...

With a plop of a turnip onto Keir's lap, Eris entered the room. "Sorry I'm late," he said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He still had to maintain relations; without Keir, he wouldn't have been able to execute his father.

"Bath or something, you smell like a farm," Keir grimaced.

Eris smirked, taking a long sip of his drink. "It's called honest work, Keir. Something you might want to try sometime."

Keir rolled his eyes. "I've heard of it, thanks. But really, what were you doing?"

"Helping my mate's family with their harvest," Eris replied, leaning back in his chair. "They're good people. And it was...refreshing, in a way."

Keir raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "High Lord of Autumn Court, sweating it out in the fields. Never thought I'd see the day."

Eris took a long sip of his whiskey, feeling the burn slide down his throat. He glanced at the glass as he learned back into the armchair. “I’ll take that bath, Keir. But don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten why I’m here. Let’s get down to business.” 

******

Obviously, Eris could handle a drunken mate.

When you drank, you drank like a sailor. Eris would just blame it on your upbringing—how you were so used to drinking at taverns with rogues and mercenaries.

With a tug of his embroidered vest, Eris walked into the loud tavern. Dancers swirled on the stage, their scarves dancing in rhythm with the beat of the drums. In his younger days, he might have enjoyed this scene, but now, with you, well, that was all he could ask for. His eyes traveled the room until they rested upon you, chugging a pint of beer on top of a table.

By the Cauldron, you were a handful.

The crowd was cheering, "Chug, chug, chug!" as you finished and set down the glass next to fifteen others. You cheered triumphantly with the crowd.

Dear heavens, this was his mate. With a scowl, he walked over to you. You cheekily smiled at him, but some members of the crowd backed away, sensing the tension.

"Eris!" you exclaimed, your voice slurred but filled with joy. "Come join us! The fun's just getting started!"

Eris sighed, reaching up to steady you as you wobbled on the table. "My flame," he began, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement, "you know how much I adore you, but this is not exactly the best place for you to be showcasing your drinking talents."

You pouted, hopping down from the table with his assistance. "But they love me here! I'm like a legend!"

Eris couldn't help but chuckle, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you steady. "A legend, indeed. But perhaps it's time to head home?"

You gave him a pout as he continued, “You do know gambling is outlawed, correct? You wouldn’t have been betting right, on perhaps who could drink the most?” 

Your eyes widened innocently, but the mischievous glint remained. “Who me? I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said, attempting to sound so sincere yet clearly failing at the task. 

Eris cocked a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Because I swore I saw a few coins being exchanged after you finished that glass.” 

You bit your lips, unable to suppress your nervous giggle, “Alright! A little, teeny-tiny bet.” Showing him your fingers how small the bet was. 

Eris sighed with a groan, shaking his head, “my flame, you really keep me busy, you know that?” 

You grinned as you leaned against him, “That’s why you love me.” 

With a hum he nodded, “Let’s avoid anymore gambling tonight, alright? I wouldn’t want to banish my own mate.” He smiled as you laughed, so bright and carefree, “Let’s get you home before you decide to challenge a mercenary to a duel alright?” 

The crowd murmured in disappointment, but no one dared challenge the High Lord as he guided you through the tavern. You leaned heavily against him, your steps unsteady.

"Eris," you mumbled, looking up at him with bleary eyes, "I love you, you know that?"

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I know, my flame. I love you too. Now let's get you to bed."

You giggled, your head resting against his chest as he led you outside. "You always take such good care of me."

"And you," he replied softly, "always keep me on my toes."

As the cool night air hit your face, you shivered slightly, and Eris pulled you closer, his warmth comforting against the chill. Despite the chaos you often brought into his life, he wouldn't have it any other way. You were his mate, his love, his flame, and he was more than willing to handle every drunken escapade, every wild adventure, just to see you smile.

Reaching the palace, Eris helped you into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. As you drifted off to sleep, he sat beside you, watching your peaceful face. The tavern escapade is already a fond memory.

"Sweet dreams, my flame," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "I'll always be here to catch you when you fall."

[photmath]

Secret Santa | Trent Alexander-Arnold

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Female Reader

Summary: A Secret Santa exchange leads to a rekindling relationship.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: BLOWJOB (18+), secret santa/christmas themes, situationship somewhat, cursing, idiots in love, soft trent

Note: I had massive brain fog and covid while writing a good chunk of this so sorry, also wanted to have it posted before christmas but when have I ever posted something on time. Happy Holidays and readings!

As the night winded down, the group of friends were already thinking about their next hangout, you just happened to be there as they begged you to join in on their Secret Santa exchange.

“Oh come on, it’d be an even number with you!” Sara chimes, you swigging the chilled drink in your hand.

“You don’t need an even number for Secret Santa,” you correct and the boys let out a tut.

“Just this once, there’s a budget,” Jude begs, his beady eyes widening. “It’s thirty bucks.”

You roll your eyes bashfully, “Okay, count me in then.”

Your eyes don’t mean to land on Trent but they do anyway. He’s tucked into the sofa next to Jude, his mouth covered with the red cup he has resting on his bottom lip. His locs stop just above his eyebrow, and the black hoodie he has on looks comforting. You two maintain eye contact until he looks down.

Ben gathers everyone’s emails before you and Sara head out for the night. You had rode with Sara, living in the same apartment complex, but she lags behind telling the others bye. You do the same, mumbling goodbyes and giving out sidehugs.

It had been a while since you hung out with them all at once again. After a year's worth of studies and the summer, you had kinda mingled away from the tight group of friends you were once a part of. It didn’t help that you and Trent had a huge fight that catalyzed you from stepping away from the group, and no one seemed to notice just how close you and Trent were for them to suspect it was because of him. He played a part in making you keep your distance, but you were also so much more busy than before. You had a demanding job while still having to manage your uni classes, so those late nights hanging out with them became scarce.

It was beginning to get chilly while you waited for Sara outside on the front patio. And just when you thought it was her stepping out of the front door, Trent came out and your shoulders sunk.

“So, you’re back,” he states, slipping the hood over his head and then shoving his fists into the jumper’s pocket.

You nod, “Yeah, looks like I got dragged into doing Secret Santa, sounds fun.”

“When are you leaving?” His voice is small, almost like he doesn’t want to know the answer but asks anyway.

Pulling your thin jacket tighter, you raise your hands, “Um, I’m waiting for Sara.”

“You aren’t gonna stay?”

“What do you mean?”

“The boys,” he points back into the apartment and scratches his head bleakly, “we’re having a sleepover. The other girls are staying, I mean if you want to.”

“Oh,” you say. You had heard about it but you definitely didn’t intend on staying over, not in their scary, germy apartment. Trent, Jude, Ben, and Aaron were great, but they desperately needed a deep clean. “Um, Sara isn’t staying though.”

He shakes his head, “Doesn’t mean you have to leave too.”

You narrow your eyes at him, he nonchalantly shrugs. “Would you be okay if I were to stay?”

He raises his hands up in surrender, “I’m just glad to see ya. It’s been a couple of months.”

“We saw each other last month.”

“We didn’t talk though,” Trent chirps, licking his bottom lip. “Come on, stay. Walk with me to my car, I have to get some blankets.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea, Trent?” you ask. It slips out of your mouth much more ominously than you intend.

He gives you a dubious look, “What? Think I can’t keep my hands to myself?”

“Trent!” you gasp. He grabs your arm and leads you down the stairs in front of his apartment. Your hand slips into the groove of his elbow, him locking your hand in place.

You two ended during the summer break, you deciding to put an end to the back and forth flings you both had going on. Sneaking around each other wasn’t hard to do, but denying you having feelings for him was. He didn’t feel the same, and wanted to keep what the two of you shared strictly between sex, but him singing songs in your ear while he’d be on the cusp of sleep, caressing your skin so tenderly afterward, and trying his best to cook breakfast for you in the morning or even late at night, it was hard not to fall in love with him. Especially when you would catch him across the room and he’d beam so brightly. He would be mid conversation with someone, but the moment he saw you, he was grinning ear to ear.

“I’m sure these blankets are really in your car,” you say sarcastically. There was always something in his car. It would be his way of sneaking you off for a quickie, but god were you in the mood to do that now? You couldn’t deny it, the idea of you sneaking off like old times did tug a heartstring but you couldn’t. Now was not the time to think with something other than your head.

Trent opens up the back seat of his car, revealing four neatly-rolled, holiday blankets, “Get your head out of the gutter, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, helping him grab two of them although he could carry all four. You hated just how nostalgic it felt to visit his car, his black Range Rover, its windows always fogged after the two of you stepped out of it. A part of you was glad that he didn’t try to do something while you were out here, but another part of you was…disappointed? Had he really moved on three months later? While you were left in sputtering sobs—

“Hey,” Trent calls out, his breath billowing out in front of him. He’s standing a couple of steps in front, looking back at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you muster and catch up to him, not realizing that you had stopped following him. The sound of his car locking rings through your ears as he wears a sincere smile while he waits. He lets you pass him to walk in front of him.

Sara is making her way down the stairs by the time you two arrive back, “Hey! Are you ready?”

“I changed my mind,” you smile meekly, “I think I’m going to stay.”

“Oh, okay!” Sara says, bringing you in for a hug. For a moment, you were glad of her agreeable personality because she wasn’t going to ask why you changed your mind and you weren’t sure what you’d say if she put you on the spot. You were staying because of friends, right? “I’ll see you in a week!”

Sara hugs Trent briefly and then the two of you make your way back upstairs quietly. Trent’s phone pings and you feel the buzz of your own phone in your pocket. The both of you pause to read the notification, an email from Ben with your Secret Santa assignments.

You raise an eyebrow at Trent as the both of you glance at each other. Unlocking your phone, you quickly find the email and open it, reading that you’re assigned Delilah. That should be easy, you knew her like the back of your hand.

“Who do you have?” he asks.

“It’s a secret.” Slipping your phone into your pocket, you peer up at him. He looks down at you with a smirk, his lips glistening from having just licked them. “Get chapstick or something.”

He chuckles, opening the door. Delilah and Ava are cuddled up on their sofa in their pajamas, their faces shocked but then quickly filled with excitement when they see you.

“You’re staying!” Ava cheers. The next movie they have lined up is How the Grinch Stole Christmas, a Christmas classic. And of course the only open two seats on the sofa is next to an unsuspecting Jude.

Trent hands out the blankets but keeps one to himself, plopping down in the spot next to you, unfolding it over the two of you. A part of you would’ve pushed away the blanket but even in your pajama pants you were cold.

“Thanks,” you mutter, ignoring the arm that lands over your shoulders. Trent was suddenly being a lot more vocal than he was earlier, maybe it was the confidence from the alcohol he had drank, but just two hours ago he had trouble looking at you.

It wasn’t awkward, but it was definitely a sudden switch. All it took was you almost leaving for him to chat with you like nothing happened.

Throughout the movie, you all laughed during the funny scenes, Jude nearly clutching onto you because of just how hilarious the Grinch was. Trent didn’t shy away from letting his arm fall and grasp your shoulder occasionally, but seriously, what was up with him? Earlier at his car it piqued you with interest to be talking to him, referencing the past, but now he seemed to be adamantly ignoring it.

Something sour bursts in your mouth as you shrug Trent’s arm off your shoulder, excusing yourself off the couch and to the guest restroom down the hall.

Trent’s bedroom was the only bedroom downstairs, planted right next to the guest restroom, so it shouldn’t have shocked you to see him in his bedroom with the door wide open, but still, it did. He was pulling his black hoodie over his head, left shirtless. Look away!

Trent catches your stare through the hallway and heat rushes to your cheeks in an instant. He smirks, kicking his door open wider and then slipping on a white tee. His red plaid pajama pants hang dangerously low.

You had to talk to him anyway, so you walked inside and closed the door.

“Hey,” he says, eyebrows raised, but his eyelids hood the closer you walk to him. A part of him knew you would come into his room.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure.” He sits down on the edge of the bed patting the spot next to him but you stay standing.

“We’re good…right?”

His eyebrows furrow, “What do you mean?”

“Okay,” you blow out a raspberry. “Last time we spoke, I told you I had feelings for you and then we argued, and then you pranced off. You basically said you didn’t feel the same and that we should stop, but during the movie you put your arm around me making me feel confused.”

“I can’t just rest my arm?”

Your jaw drops, you knew it was dumb. Knew it was haste. Knew that you didn’t really have something to talk about him. Maybe a part of you was still hurt from his rejection, hoping that he felt the same. That the months apart left him a dull ache, but here he was staring at you with those same serious—but blank—brown eyes that broke your heart months ago.

“Unbelievable,” you mumble and turn towards his door. His hand is on your wrist before you can even reach the exit.

“Wait.” Facing him, you pull your hand out of his grip. The seriousness from his eyes moments ago is gone, they seem on edge. “I’m sorry. I was joking, sorry. I—I’ve missed you.”

“Trent—”

“No, I’ve really missed you. I would’ve told you sooner but I thought you moved on.” The confusion is etched on your face that he continues, scrambling for words. “I saw Jack’s arm around you at our first football match and I thought you had moved on, or were trying to, so I didn’t want to come back and tell you that I felt the same way.”

“What?” you exasperate.

He licks his lips, briefly looking down, “I like you too. I know you probably don’t feel the same way anymore because it was months ago and that’s okay, but since we’re talking now, yeah…I like you.”

Trent’s nervousness practically seeped out of his pores. His voice seemed so fragile, his hands anxiously playing with his pajama strings. And his eyes were anywhere but on you. He was pouring out his heart in the most shy way he could, his way.

Another reason that drove the two of you away was him always keeping in his feelings. Even when it was just about sex, he didn’t communicate well. So for him to talk right now, you wanted nothing more than to throw your arms around him, heart swelling at him confessing his feelings.

But it had been months. Did you still feel the same for Trent? Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him, but you also hadn’t seen him that much so the distance mended your heart to some extent.

“Oh,” you say. “I really wish you said that earlier, wow, um—”

The more you search for words, the more you notice the sudden panic in Trent’s eyes grow.

“I don’t know if I feel the same,” you confess, pretending to ignore the droop of his shoulders. “We’ve been separated for so long that I don’t know if I still feel that…I’ve missed you too, a lot, so maybe I do. This sounds dumb but can you give me time?”

And who were you kidding? Because the moment he nods, you knew that you still had feelings for him. He was too patient for his own good.

“Of course,” he forces out a smile. You aren’t sure what to do at that moment so you hesitantly reach out for him and give him a hug. He tucks his head into the crook of your shoulder, pulling your body closer to his and then giving you a squeeze.

“Trent,” you squeal.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “I’ve missed our hugs.”

“I missed them too.”

There's a brief moment the two of you share after you pull away from him. His hands are placed gently around your elbows, his head hanging down towards yours. Your nose bumps into his and he pulls away just barely and whispers, “Are you sure?”

You nod, “Yeah.” Trent places a chaste kiss on your lips, sighing through his nose like he’s granted some kind of relief.

His hands slip onto your waist, tugging you closer and you wrap your arms around his neck. He kisses your jaw and neck slowly, basking in the feel of your body pressed against him once again.

You aren’t shy to give his neck a kiss or two back, a rumbling laugh escaping his chest as you find his unusual tickle spot. His thumbs feel the sliver of skin where your shirt rode up, aimlessly rubbing circles, “We should head back.”

“We should,” you glance at him once more, planting a kiss on his cheek and then fumbling out of his bedroom. You can hear his laugh as you exit.

You sit back down next to Jude who still seems so engrossed into the movie, so he doesn’t bat an eye when Trent follows suit afterward. He fluffs the blanket over the two of you and keeps his hand lingering on your thigh. If you were stronger, you would’ve pushed it off, but you liked having his soothing touch on you again.

-

In the middle of the night, you stirred awake, shivering. The blanket you were wrapped in on the boy’s sofa wasn’t sufficient enough to keep you warm and you couldn’t bear another minute with your teeth chattering. Grumbling, you wrap the blanket around your body and tiptoe to Trent’s bedroom. He wouldn’t have minded, had basically whispered in your ear countless times to come sleep with him before you all went to bed.

As you open his bedroom door, you hear him shuffle around in his blankets, barely able to make out him rubbing his eyes while looking at you.

“I’m freezing,” you mutter, shutting his door. Trent understands immediately, doesn’t have to be told twice as he opens the blanket for you. It doesn’t take much for you to realize he’s shirtless, but you don’t care when you wrap your body around him and hold onto him like a koala.

“Your feet are cold,” he chuckles, his voice hoarse and throaty. “I missed you.”

“I know you did, now please finish tucking the blankets in and hold me.”

“Yes ma'am,” he mumbles. He makes sure you’re securely wrapped in the blanket and that there isn’t a pocket of space open somewhere. His arms slither around your back, and he presses a sleepy kiss to your forehead before shutting his eyes. “Night, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Trent.”

-

It takes you a couple of seconds to realize where you’re at in the morning, Trent’s white walls are a stark difference from your decorated covered walls. And his semi-hard dick pressed against your butt is certainly an unfamiliar feeling. Well, unfamiliar for only the past few months.

His hand is tucked tightly underneath your shirt, resting between the valley of your breasts. It was a position he resorted to all the time mid-sleep, and maybe you should’ve remembered that before crawling into his bed last night, but the shallow, labored breathing fanning across your neck lulled you back to sleep that your wind went fuzzy. All rational thoughts vanished.

Trent’s hips buckle up as he lets out a deep sigh, his dick only pressing further into you that you had to wake him up or separate. Gently, you slide his arm down, biting down your bottom lip as his hand brushes your nipple.

His eyes flutter open and he groans at the roll of your hips, “Stop moving.”

“You hurt,” you whisper.

“Yeah, you're hurting me,” he mumbles, pulling his hips back. He takes notice of his hand, sliding his hand out from underneath your shirt. “Fuck, sorry—”

“No, you’re hurting me, asshole,” you say at the same time. Trent’s cheeks are burning because he knows what position he was in, having always found himself in that same position every morning after being with you.

“I’m sorry,” he sits up, grumbling at the pain in his pants and embarrassment spreading to his face. He didn’t want to ruin the progress he had made, the two of you just sharing a kiss last night.

You sit up immediately with him, noticing the tension in his bare shoulders as he looks around his bedroom, debating his next move. You grasp his shoulder softly and he lets out a small gasp. “Hey, it’s okay. I was joking around. I’m not actually upset.”

Trent’s panicked eyes simmer down, “Okay.”

“Do you want to lay back down? It’s barely seven in the morning, I doubt the others are awake,” you continue, suddenly feeling nervous. You only started getting nervous in front of Trent after you caught feelings, before, you never had a problem poking jokes at him. You still had them, but they were much more tamed and timid.

He nods, letting out a shaky sigh as he gets back underneath the blankets. He crosses his arm, not daring to peer at you because he knows it wouldn’t help his ever growing erection. That burning hand you placed on his shoulders, sent him haywire for the thirty seconds it was on him.

And you hated the way you knew his body like the back of your hand. You knew how his long eyelashes would bat, his blown pupils, and why he bit onto his bottom lip almost drawing blood. The line of sweat that brimmed his forehead, his ragged breaths—god, you weren’t strong enough. It all went straight down to your core, making you squeeze your thighs a little tighter, and the second the bed dipped, Trent’s breath hitched.

“Do you,” you swallowed, “need help?”

Trent’s bare stomach caved in as he sighed, the bunched blanket barely stopping above the hemline of his pants. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he threw his crossed arms over his eyes, “Sweetheart, please don’t tease right now.”

What was once semi-hard was now raging and throbbing, way too rigid that even his breathing made him hurt. He felt your watchful eyes on him earlier, making him only grow harder as he tried to ignore it. Even if he were to scramble to his bathroom, it would hurt way too much that he would rather just sit and wait it out. But you were not making it easy, not when he could smell your shampoo still.

“I’m not teasing,” you say, voice a little louder laced with confidence.

Trent sucks his breath, “You’re cruel.”

You roll your eyes, “Do you want me to suck your dick or not?”

An eye peaks over his crossed arms, “Well when you put it like that—”

“And here I was trying to be nice and a little romantic.”

Trent chuckles as his arms flop down beside him, immediately grimacing as the force travels down, “Please just kiss me.”

He’s still facing the ceiling as he relinquished, eyes dancing around his bedroom and you. You stir beside him and he pouts. You snicker as you roll by his side, “So needy.” You press your lips on his pout and he’s immediately devouring you, slipping his tongue into your mouth as he grips your neck. Your hand barely had time to slide down the back of his neck. Meanwhile his other hand is gripping a fistful of your shirt.

You force your head back, out of breath, “Okay—”

Trent lets out another guttural groan, his eyes squeezing in frustration, “I’m really fucking hard right now, so if you’re playing around just tell me so I can blow this load myself.”

“I’m not playing around, you said to kiss you! I didn’t think fucking tongue!” you yell, almost wanting to laugh at your two’s situation. You were being a little slow on purpose but come on now, it was a little funny at just how much the tables were turned. On so many occasions, Trent decided to be a dickwad and tease the hell out of you, and you relished the few times you were able to tease him back.

His bottom lip jutted out again, almost by reflex, and the vein popping out of his forehead didn’t make your building laughter any more suppressed. His fisted grip on your shirt loosened as he stirred.

“Okay, okay, no foreplay,” you conclude, pecking his pouty lip and pulling down his blanket. His eyes bulge and he attempts to pick up his head but immediately slams it back down with an agonized groan.

Jesus.

You pull down his tented pajama pants to his ankles, not bothering to take them off completely, and then eye him through his black briefs. He was rock solid, a small, darker spot of precum encircling near his tip. And once you pull down his boxers, it springs out, hitting his stomach. The tip glistened with precum.

He lamented after he was finally out of those constricting boxers.

“Everyone is still sleeping out there,” you warn. He nods frantically, grabbing onto a piece of the blanket and biting onto it. His bedroom walls were thick but with the silence of the morning, noise was bound to travel.

You seriously wanted to tease him on just how desperate he was behaving right now, but you didn’t want to add more frustration than what he was already feeling.

With one stroke of Trent’s leaking arousal with your hand, it doesn’t take long for you to put him out of his misery with your mouth. His own precum lubricated much of himself that he didn’t need your spit, so you gingerly lick his tip as he lets out another groan as he grips the sheets.

Your tongue lapped around his tip as your hand stroked what couldn’t fit in your mouth. You could feel him practically swelling with each pump that it wasn’t going to take much longer to come.

His stomach caved in rapidly as you slowly sunk your head down on him. It had been a while and your teeth may have grazed him by accident as you adjusted to his size but he didn’t care. He was too much in a haze with the feel of your lips and tongue.

Once you found your rhythm, you bobbed your head faster, licking and sucking him off until tears welled in your eyes. His hands were immediately prying at your head and neck as his hips bucked, his tip nearly hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck, I’m about—” Usually you’d back off and dump his seed onto his stomach but you decided not to this time, lapping up his shaft one more time before circling his tip with your tongue and then prodding the slit. He winced as his hand grew tighter around your shoulder, his other hand stifling the moan that threatened to come out.

Trent’s hips buckled once more and finally you felt the steamy ropes of his seed fall into and around your mouth, you were not fast enough to catch him entirely. Feeling his entire stomach grumble as he came, you caressed his thighs as you swallowed what you could. He handed you the small towel he had near his bed and you really would’ve cringed if the circumstances were different, but his room wasn’t necessarily tidy. There were a couple of shirts strewn on the floor and he did seem to have just recently washed towels since there was a pile of them on the floor next to his bed.

His breathing was heavy as he tried to calm himself down as you cleaned your chin and the remnants that dribbled down onto his stomach. And the second you pushed his briefs back on him, he sat up straight immediately, attacking your face with a hungry kiss. You giggled as you fell back, him landing on top with a chuckle as his hand gently slipped down your neck.

He pulled back, a wide grin on his face as his locs unstuck from his sweaty forehead, “I think I had blue balls.”

“You think? You came in like two seconds,” you laugh.

He shushes you, “Don’t say that so loud—”

“You were all whiny and couldn’t even get up!”

He rolls his eyes, his hair flopping with his exaggerated roll, “I knew you’d laugh.”

“I helped you, didn’t I?”

He rolls his eyes again, “Yeah, you did. Thank you, let me return the favor, yeah?”

“Hmmm,” you ponder. “Okay, go for it.”

He laughs, kissing you cheerfully. It doesn’t take long for you to be undressed and gripping onto his shoulders tightly with your thighs while his hand covers your mouth to stifle your moans.

-

Delilah taunts the group with her makeshift mistletoe, it hangs from the end of her long stick as she walks around. She had yet to stop on anyone—or pair rather—but you knew the moment you got up to get a drink from Trent she’d follow. And that’s exactly how you wound up in the position with everyone chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Your face radiates with heat as Trent smirks. You hid your nervous smile with your cup as Jude’s chant got louder. They crowd the kitchen, not daring to let up as the two of you get circled.

Trent nudges your hip with his, removing the cup from your face as his hand goes to your cheek and jaw. His eyes read yours briefly before dipping his head into a searing kiss. It wasn’t necessarily brief but it wasn’t long either as they erupt into a chorus of hoots and shocked gasps. Once he pulls away, he lets you bury your head into his chest, hugging you. His chest vibrates with his chuckle.

Your hands went through his unzipped brown fluffy sweater, head resting alongside the white sweater he wore. He looked so soft and comfy in the outfit, you had been dying to just give him a giant hug the moment you saw him.

He kisses your forehead tenderly, “You okay?”

“Mmhmm,” you mumble, releasing him. His gentle and attentive eyes almost make your knees buckle, so you don’t notice everyone staring at the two of you because it felt like it was just you and him. You chuckle, “Surprise?”

Trent’s grip falls from your shoulder to your waist, a simpering smile as he pulls you closer to his side.

“I knew it!” Aaron yells and Trent shakes his head. “You’re such a liar.”

“What?” Trent feigns.

“I always said it looked like her car was out there and you always said that I was wrong,” Aaron says, taking a swig of his drink. Trent chuckles from behind you, throwing his arm across your shoulders as he forces you to fall back into his grasp.

Jude narrows his eyes, “Fairs.”

The girls direct their questions at you all at once but you don’t understand a thing. Trent kisses your forehead once more before letting go to let you have your space with the girls.

Ben whistles to get everyone’s attention for the Secret Santa exchange so the only question you get to answer is Sara’s: “How could you not tell us?” You sit next to the girls while Trent plops down on the couch next to Jude and Aaron.

One by one you all go in a circle exchanging gifts, you starting first with Delilah. You had gotten her the paint-by-numbers kit that she wanted the longest and pink slippers. Delilah gifts Aaron headphones; Aaron gifts Sara a new jewelry box that Ava helped pick out; Sara gifts Jude sunglasses; and Jude gifts Ben a new pair of Adidas boots and a box full of rubbers. Everyone laughs and momentarily gapes at this box full of condoms that Jude filled all the way to the top.

Ben then gets up and grabs his gift for Ava. Ava unwraps her highly anticipated book that she spammed the group chat with to get her, marveling at it. She then hurls Trent his gift and he chuckles at the new sweater he now has. It’s a long white knitted sweater that he’d probably look adorable in and you can’t help but to beam at him from across the room. The Christmas tree’s lights produce a glimmer in his eyes that makes you swoon when he locks eyes with you.

You didn’t even notice that you were the last one to yet receive your gift from…Trent. It doesn’t take long for you to realize he’s all who’s left, but the thought of who had you escaped your mind because you were too busy fawning over everyone else’s gifts.

Trent saunters towards you, a neatly wrapped white box with a red ribbon tied in the center. He sits down onto the side of the couch and hovers over you. His warmth radiates onto you that the urge to take him back into his room to cuddle him is so strong, but the others were staring as they waited for you to open the box.

You tear off the wrapping paper and open the box, inside is a neatly folded pink hoodie. Just from the sheer size of it you can tell it’s thick and cozy.

“I know how you always get cold,” he whispers.

You smile brightly, cheeks feeling warm as you pull it out. Underneath it is fuzzy red socks and you gasp, “This is so cute, thank you!”

For whatever reason, as you look up at him your eyes are nearly filled with tears that you have to blink them away rapidly. He chuckles, bending down to kiss your smile. Needless to say, you had made up your mind. This man held your heart in the palm of his hands.

Meanwhile, Ben stuffs a handful of rubbers into Trent’s palm and he laughs as he drops them into your box.

“Way to be romantic,” you scold, peering up at him.

Trent bends down to be level with your ear, “Saying that when you had my dick in your mouth hours ago.”

You slap his jean-clad thigh, “Trent!”

He may have looked like a sweet cuddly bear in his outfit but he was anything but, especially when the night was still young.

----

Note: OKAY I promise I will steer away from friend groups in my next fic LOL.

[cooliestghouliest]

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

plot summary: It’s Eddie’s birthday! He said no presents but you said fuck that. He’s getting two.

word count: 4k+

cw: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI; this is smut; porn with plot; Eddie being mean to Gareth; handjobs and blowjobs and Gareth unknowingly being a bystander of both; there’s some cum stuff in here, too.

notes: set in early 1990s. reader and Eddie are both in early/mid 20s. let’s pretend the PlayStation had co-op online gaming so this story makes sense. a part two may be in store. let me know what you think. 😈

Working overtime at The Hideout was not something you necessarily wanted to do, but with Eddie’s birthday coming up, it was something you had to do.

As much as you would have liked them to, bills wouldn’t simply pause just because you wanted to save money to buy Eddie a PlayStation. No, you had to use your math-inept brain to start budgeting, getting some help from Steve, who’d just recently been hired to work at a local accounting firm.

While you were hoping Steve would magically find money hidden somewhere in your finances, you were annoyed but not surprised at his only solution:

“You need to pick up more shifts.”

You and Eddie had moved into an apartment just outside of Hawkins after Eddie had finally graduated, you having helped him through that dreaded English class so you could both walk the stage together. That had been three years ago now. Money was tight, sure, but the two of you never went without the essentials. There was always dinner to be had, clothes to be worn, cable to be watched.

Between you bartending and trying to get a degree part-time, and Eddie dealing and working at the auto shop part-time, you both managed to make just enough to stay afloat.

Sometimes Eddie would score a few hundred playing a gig with Corroded Coffin, and he’d use that to wine and dine you like the fancy little lady you were. His words, not yours. You knew Eddie liked to spoil you. You knew he hated he couldn’t do it more.

Many stoned late night conversations had been had between the two of you where he fantasized aloud about taking you country to country once the band made it big, fucking you in soft, plush, expensive hotel beds, and spoon feeding you gelato while watching the sunset on a balcony, your bodies wrapped in silk, name-embroidered robes.

Eddie was a total lush at heart. The most broke rich man you’d ever met. You assumed this was because he came from virtually nothing. You didn’t need everything he wanted to give you, but he made it clear on more than one occasion that once money wasn’t a barrier, he would treat you like a queen.

You felt like he already did.

This is why you sucked up the hatred you had for The Hideout and told Roy, your boss, you’d work whatever shifts he could give you for the next few weeks. You endured handfuls of handsy truck drivers, pretended to flirtatiously banter with beyond drunk bikers, and held back the powerful urge to gag while stroking the egos of middle aged business men who chose to go through their midlife crisis in a seedy, dimly lit bar.

Seeing the look on Eddie’s face when you slid the wrapped package across the small dining table in your kitchen made all of the extra hours of rum pouring and forced salacious smiles worth it.

He had been mid-sentence, talking about a client at the auto shop who he’d spent an hour after hours with, the guy telling him all about medieval torture devices. This didn’t surprise you. Eddie’s fascination with the macabre was one of the things that had drawn the two of you together in the first place.

The first time you’d officially met was in English class your junior year, his third senior year. You’d told him you lived in a funeral home because your dad was a generational mortician, and that one day you’d probably own and operate it once your father retired. You also told him your mom was a self-proclaimed psychic who held seances for family members of the dead following their services. Eddie open-mouth stared at you for at least an entire minute in silence before telling you that was the creepiest fucking thing he’d ever heard, and that he would never feel fulfilled in life until you invited him over so he could experience it all firsthand. 

The rest is history.

“What is this?” Eddie asked, brown eyes wide as he observed the gift in front of him.

“I know we said no presents this year so we can save for the new car, but... you know how I had all those late night study groups I had to go to this semester?”

He nodded, long fingers toying with the black parchment wrapping paper.

“Weeeeeell, actually, I was working overtime at The Hideout,” you admitted, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth. You knew he wasn’t going to be happy to hear you hadn’t been honest this past month, but you figured once he saw what you’d bought him (and what you’d had planned for the rest of the night), maybe he’d decide to let bygones be bygones. Not likely, as Eddie thoroughly enjoyed teaching you lessons as punishment for bad behavior, and you figured lying for weeks on end about attending study groups qualified as pretty bad behavior. You rushed out the next few sentences, smiling innocently and tilting your head to try and appear as cute as you possibly could, “It was so I could buy you that. For your birthday. Happy birthday, Eddie. Love you.”

Eddie’s brows lifted toward his hairline at your admittance, slow blinking a few times as your confession set in.

“We are definitely going to revisit all that at a later point,” Eddie warned, a ringed finger pointing at you. “Because that is so not okay. But -- ” he couldn’t help the excited, boyish grin that enveloped his features. “I really wanna open this and see what it is.”

You giggled in excitement at his eagerness, drumming your fingers on the table. “Okay, come on! Open it!” You would enjoy these few hours of spoiling him as he so frequently spoiled you, and you’d worry about whatever punishment he’d dole out when it came later.

And right now, the look of elation on his face as he unwrapped the PlayStation was worth however many studded belt spankings or denied orgasms you had in your near future.

“Fuck! Baby! No way!” he practically squealed, jumping up from the chair. It fell to the ground behind him with a clatter, but he paid no mind. He held the gaming console above him in awe. “You’re fucking kidding!”

“No, no kidding,” you answered, even though you knew his words were rhetorical. You could feel your cheeks growing sore with the smile stretched across your face, basking in his reaction. “There’s a real PlayStation in there, I swear.”

He laughed and protectively cradled the console under his arm, hurrying to you to slam his lips against yours in a kiss. No tongue, but plenty of fervor. “God, I fucking love you,” he muttered, placing small kisses on your nose and cheeks. “I mean, I’d fucking love you even if you got me nothing, or just, like, socks or something, but, shit, baby, this is -- I have to call Gareth! We can play King’s Field together now!”

A laugh bubbled out of your lips at his sudden change in direction, knowing Eddie was always at the whim of his impulses. You watched as he ran off to the living room to make the call. You knew Gareth would be waiting for it, as you’d told him to make sure he didn’t have plans on Eddie’s birthday, so the two of them could spend it playing the multiplayer game together late into the night.

It was all part of your grander birthday plan.

You waited until you heard Eddie’s voice rambling off to Gareth in the living room, the sounds of him unboxing the console to start to hook it up mingled into his conversation, before you disappeared into your bedroom to change.

Phase one, complete, success. Phase two, final phase, commence.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

It was about twenty minutes later when you reemerged from the bedroom, wearing nothing but a newly bought matching blood red bra and panty set. It was solid colored with black lace outlining the rim of both pieces, flattering against your skin tone.

Eddie was sitting on the edge of the La-Z-Boy, headset mussing down his wild curls, talking animatedly to Gareth about the skeletons they were currently fighting on the screen.

“No, no! Go left, go left! God damnit, Gareth, do you know what your left is?!”

Eddie was loud and mouthy enough as it is, but add in a game where he had the ability to lose and the whole apartment complex would be banging on their door come tomorrow morning with noise complaints. Hell hath no fury like a twenty-something man’s confidence in his pretend battling skills.

While some might find it annoying, you found Eddie’s unbridled passion for everything he was interested in endearing. He was someone who let himself be totally engulfed by the plot of a movie or a game or a story, attaching himself to the characters and their the ups and downs as if they were tangible and could be found in his own everyday life.

You were happy for his distraction as it gave you time to compose yourself and slowly stalk your way to the center of the living room, where the chair sat directly across from the TV.

By the time you made your way to the side of the La-Z-Boy, finally coming into Eddie’s peripheral vision, he was still berating Gareth for his poor sense of direction.

“I mean, what the hell, Gare, we learned our lefts and rights in, like -- oh, fuck.”

You’d brought you hand out to trail down the exposed skin of Eddie’s arm, watching it goosebump in your wake. He’d taken his shirt off at some point, much to your appreciation. Eddie’s attention was fully on you now, as was evident from his failed completed sentence to Gareth, who you could now hear through Eddie’s headset going, “Oh, fuck? What? What, oh fuck? You don’t even know how to talk, Munson.”

But Gareth went unheard by Eddie, who’s eyes were drinking in the sight of you in your lingerie set. His tongue darted out to lick at his lower lip, which he then pulled into his mouth to sink his top teeth into.

You offered him a playful smile, watching as his neck began to turn red, the color almost a perfect match for the satin set you had on.

Without a word, you dropped to your knees on the carpet in front of him, sitting between his legs.

“What -- what are you doing?” he managed to choke out.

Gareth’s voice through the headset: “What? Dude, I’m fucking going left like you told me to!”

“Shut up, Gareth,” Eddie warned, his brown eyes now full of fire for the sight before him.

He brought one hand to cover the mouthpiece of his headset, the other placing the controller on his lap to reach out and cradle your face. You leaned into it.

“What are you doing, baby?” Eddie asked again, but he knew. Especially from the wicked grin you were giving him now.

“Just play your game, Eddie,” you whispered, careful to be quiet so Gareth didn’t hear. You moved your head to rest your cheek on his thigh, staring up at him with big doe eyes as you brought the fingers of one hand to lightly trace the line of his zipper. “And don’t get caught. We don’t want Gareth to know what a bad girl I’m being, playing with your cock while you play with him.”

His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t believe it.

Not only had you gotten him exactly what he’d been wanting since it came out that prior winter, but now you were going to suck him off while he played it?

Jesus, how did he get so lucky?

“You are a fucking minx,” Eddie said, voice stern but his face lighting up in satisfaction as he readjusted himself on the chair, spreading his legs a bit wider.

He dropped the hand from the headset and picked the controller back up again just as Gareth was saying, “Eddie, man, are you still there? Your character’s been standing in the same place for, like, five minutes.”

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Sucking dick was not only one of your favorite things to do, but it was one of the things you were best at.

You prided yourself on how quickly you could work Eddie into a panting frenzy, how easy it was for him to lose control in your mouth, thrusting his hips to force you to take what you could and to choke back the rest.

But tonight you were taking it slow. Slow and sloppy. And you weren’t letting him do any of the work.

You’d only pulled his cock from his jeans, leaving his balls in the confines of the tight denim. You’d used so much spit that the fabric of his pants was soaking through to his boxer briefs. You watched his face intently as one of your hands wrapped around the thickness of him, stroking upwards in long, drawn out movements. You could tell he was trying to jerk his hips up but was failing, as your other hand was pressed into his side, trying its hardest to keep his body weight back against the chair.

“Greedy,” you scolded, clicking your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

He smiled sheepishly, eyes meeting yours over his hands which were holding the controller against his chest. He stopped the movement of his hips even though he felt as if it physically pained him to do so.

You’d been working him with your hands and mouth for the better part of half an hour now, releasing him entirely any time he came close to coming. He’d let a whine out at one point, to which Gareth asked, “Dude, you good?” and Eddie had to scramble out in his lust addled brain an excuse as to why that type of noise had erupted from him. He didn’t even remember what he’d said to explain it away.

All Eddie wanted to do was come. He wanted to cover you in him, drench your face and chest as you’d drenched his pants and cock in your warm saliva. He kept picturing it in his head, in alarmingly graphic detail, which was making this video game very, very hard to concentrate on.

Eddie got the idea that maybe if you neared your breaking point too, he’d finally be allowed to come. His cock throbbed at the thought, a bead of precum oozing from his slit. You sucked it away. He groaned and rolled his eyes back, controller wobbling in his hand and threatening to fall to the floor.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied his grip again, pressing a few random assortments of buttons to make Gareth think he was still coherent and definitely not getting a blowjob from his girlfriend right now.

“Will you please play with yourself?” Eddie asked, trying to put forth his best pleading puppy dog eyes. This was his big plan. Get you to get yourself off so he could sneak his orgasm in there, too.

He clearly had forgotten to cover the mouthpiece because Gareth’s voice was incredulous on the other end.

“What the fuck, Munson? What do you mean? I can’t play with myself! We’re almost at the end, man! Don’t give up now!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, your head falling back for a moment at the exasperation in Gareth’s voice. Gareth was none the wiser, but just so you felt better, you made a mental note to buy him something nice or bake him those cookies you knew he liked, just for being such an unknowingly good sport during all of this.

Sticking your tongue out a bit, you bit down on the fleshy muscle in your mouth before rising more on your knees, leaning closer to Eddie. With the hand that was previously pushing his hips down, you covered his mouthpiece. “Is this a game you can win?” you asked. Your hand had stopped stroking now, and your fingers were instead running light pressured circles around the head of his weeping cock.

“Wha -- what? Uh, yeah... yeah, I can win,” Eddie stumbled, attention off the game momentarily to watch your hot little mouth move. “Just... fuck up a few more skeletons...”

“Okay,” you said, hand tightening on his member again, this time sliding it down slowly, twisting as you went. He hissed, trying to lean forward to capture your mouth with his own. You backed away, falling back down to your bottom as you continued playing with him in your hand. “Then win and I’ll let you come.”

Eddie huffed, trying to thrust his hips up for more friction but was stopped by your hand reclaiming its spot on his pelvis again, pushing him back down. If he wanted, he could absolutely overpower you. He could grab your wrists and pull you up into his lap, sliding the side of your panties over with one hand before impaling you on his wanting cock. He knows you’d let him. But he likes when you get like this, thinking you’re in control. It makes it all that much better when he finally flips the script and has you teary eyed begging for him to let you come.

“Gareth, I swear to fucking god, if we don’t win this game in the next three minutes, I’m never speaking to you again.”

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

It takes longer than three minutes, and it’s not because of Gareth.

Eddie keeps screwing up, pressing X when he should be pressing O; spamming the start button to bring up the game menu when you take him particularly deep into your throat; accidentally stabbing Gareth’s character with a sword instead of the skeleton because his eyes keep rolling into the back of his head with the words spilling from your filthy mouth.

It’s all, “tastes so good, Eddie,” and “can’t even fit you all in my mouth,” and “I’m dripping on the floor, want you so bad.”

Evil woman.

Evil, perfect woman.

Eddie sees a light at the end of the tunnel. Literally. In the game, the hallway he and Gareth had been running down is opening into the brightness of a lit arena. It’s the final stage. One more fucking skeleton and he can let go. He can turn this headset off and grunt and groan to his heart’s content without having to worry about Gareth thinking he’s a fucking creep.

“I’m almost there...” Eddie’s saying, and he’s kind of talking about winning the game, but is mostly talking about the orgasm he can feel tightening in his balls, swirling in his stomach, clenching in his thighs.

“Yeah, dude! We got this!”

Eddie does not want to hear Gareth’s voice right now. He wants to hear you, pretty and whiny, loving the noises you make when you make him come. He loves how much you love it. You’re not even the one coming, but you’re always right there with him, moaning about how good his warm seed feels inside you or all over you, wherever he decides to finish. You’re not picky.

Just then, Eddie jolts forward in the chair. The head of his hard length hits the back of your throat and you cough a little, sputtering as you move your head. Looking back over your shoulder at the TV screen, hand moving up and down Eddie’s slippery cock, you see the words 'YOU WIN' in radioactive green.

“Fuuuuuuck, yes!” Eddie shouts, throwing the controller in the air. He rips off the headset without saying goodbye to Gareth, dropping it to the ground as he turns his attention back to you.

He looks absolutely wrecked. Black bangs are clung to his forehead with sweat, his chest is heavy with labored breaths, his skin is tinged pink from being so worked up and then worked back down over and over for the past hour. He can’t believe he hasn’t accidentally came yet. He assumes it’s because his mind was preoccupied with the game, because now that his full attention is on you, remembering what you’re wearing, what you’re doing, and how you look so fucking good doing it, he doesn’t think he’s going to last.

“Baby, please, I wanna come,” he’s saying, bringing one hand to the back of your head, tangling it in your hair. He’s not guiding you or helping at all, doesn’t want to be in control yet, he just wants to touch you, needs to have his hands on you somehow. “I won, did you see, I won, I get to come, right? Please make me come...”

You bit back a self-satisfied look at his pleading, bringing both hands now to wrap around the length of him. It doesn’t need it, already soaking from being in your mouth, but you let a string of spit fall onto the head of his cock, making your hands glide even easier over the velvety hardness of him. You can feel him throbbing, his hips finally able to rock up into your touch.

“Are you gonna make me all messy, Eddie?” you ask, tilting your head down to look up at him with wide, faux innocent eyes.

He’s nodding, thrusts finding no rhythm, just trying to reach release. “Yeah, baby, you love it when I cover you in my come, get you all wet and sticky...”

“Uh-huh. Love when you help me clean it up, too.”

And that’s what does it.

Eddie let out a stilted moan, one that changed octaves, and he’s coming harder than he thinks he’s ever come before.

Thick ropes of white hit your cheeks, your chin, your neck, your chest.

You gasped at the contact, then let out a moan that made his toes curl into the carpet, licking your lips to catch anything that landed in tongue distance.

He watches it all. His eyes threaten to close but fuck no, he loves to see you get marked by him in the most primal of ways. Loves to watch his cock paint the prettiest portrait on you.

He brought his hand down to help you stroke him through it, wanting to feel your smaller fingers on his cock as he rode out his high.

Then he gave you what you love, helping you clean it up. He bent his head down and ran his tongue across your hot skin, scooping up as much of his release as he could. He grabbed you by the chin, pulling down until your mouth opened before spitting into your mouth, watching as you let it sit for a moment before closing your mouth and swallowing, your eyes heavy with arousal at his actions.

“Mmmm,” you sound, smiling dopily. You kissed at his lips, your hand still slowly stroking him as he softened.

He licked at your bottom lip before his tongue moved into your mouth and against yours, pulling you into his lap. You melted into his touch, becoming boneless flesh in his arms. He groaned at the feeling of your wet, clothed cunt pressed against his lower stomach. He hadn’t even touched you -- you hadn’t even touched yourself -- and yet you were still so slick for him.

That thought alone was enough to cause his cock to twitch, and he thanked the sex gods or whoever was in charge for gracing him with stamina tonight of all nights.

“Best,” kiss to your nose, “birthday,” kiss to your chin, “ever,” kiss to your lips.

You smiled against his lips, humming happily at his admission. This was exactly how you planned the night going. Surprise Eddie with a PlayStation and an explosive orgasm.

Then he just had to go and throw a curveball.

“I’ll be good to go in twenty minutes,” he conceded, fingers running featherlight down your bare back. “Then we’ll see what we’re gonna do about that lying mouth of yours.”

Damn it. The study groups. He remembered. Part of you hoped you’d sucked all the sense out of him, but apparently not.

“Mean,” you pouted.

Eddie’s eyes flashed wickedly, a lazy grin stretching across his face.

“Oh, I will be.”

[todorokies]

THE ONE WHERE YOU REFUSE TO KEEP QUIET. . !

𝝑𝑒 contents: john marston x female reader, nsfw, modern au (sawry im a sucker for 'em), cunnilingus, fingering, pet names (pretty & darling), pussy drunk john. . . 754 words

𝝑𝑒 a/n: dabbling in a diff fandom for my comeback to writing is crazy ik but i hope u all enjoy regardless :3 im rusty i alr know

“did i ever tell you about what happened at my work last week?”

you let out a shaky breath as you cautiously ran your fingers through the hair of the man who is currently situated between your legs, eagerly lapping at your dripping cunt collecting everything you could offer to him.

there’s a momentary lack of a response from your companion, your question hangs in the thin air as the crude sounds of squelching bounces off the walls alongside with your airy moans that seep out more than intended to.

you rack your fingers once more through his long hair and tug at his roots which aids as a warning.

with not enough force to seriously hurt him, but for a low guttural groan to escape from his chest causing small vibrations against your already sensitive pussy.

he apologetically sucks on your puffy clit before he comes up for air then replaces his hot mouth with two fingers to rub tight circles on your nub, “no, pretty, you haven’t. what happened at work?” he inquired with a strained expression on his face.

his pupils are blown out and unstable as he quickly shifts his focus between your glowy face and your pussy that’s aching to be stuffed by him. however, you were pretty adamant on him eating you out instead.

john ducks his head back in between the plush of your thighs continuing his ministrations, noticeably slowing his pace for you to get your words out.

you whine with a small buck of your hips, “apparently we’re having some budget cuts nggh in a f-few weeks. . . which —oh fuckk— also includes employees.”

“uh-huh?” john mumbles against you. your words enter one of his ear and exits the other, more focused on alternating from long vertical strides from your hole to your clit then skillfully circling around it with his tongue.

his calloused hand grips at your ass pulling you even closer to his face in attempt at get every last drop.

“y-yeah, and my manager had the damn nerve to—mghm keep doing that and i’ll cum~”

your chest heaves as john spreads open your folds to dip his tongue into your pussy, visibly enjoying the way you desperately clench around the wet muscle.

he deeply chuckles and you shiver due to his stubble scratching at your skin, “what did your manager do, darling?” he incoherently slurs his words but you were able to pick it up.

“she broke the news during rush hour. i-i mean what a bitch, right!”

“a bitch indeed,” he affirms as he slowly pushes two fingers in your wet hole, ogling at the way you take his digits with ease, fully coating them with your slick.

you throw your head backwards against the leather couch that’s supporting your back. you once again find residence in his black locks, roughly tugging this time around.

a broken whimper lively dances off your lips as your eyes roll back; you could feel the coil forming in the pit of your stomach.

“feels so good… don’t fuckin' stop..” you mindlessly ushered out. the sensation of his fingers pumping in and out, dragging against your tight walls as well as the added pleasure of his tongue swirling and suckling at your sensitive clit almost has you over the edge.

just when john finally thought he’d shut you up for good this time, your lewd moans and pants get broken down till you find the strength to add another comment about your dilemma.

“a-and there’s talk of my f-favourite coworker—”

“—ya know, how about you tell me the rest of ya little story after i make you cum.” john interrupts your soon-to-be babbling session, stopping all of his movements altogether.

he places a chaste kiss onto your clit and looks at you for permission to continue. you nod with a squeaky whine, already dizzy and eager for him to resume.

“oh darling, what am i ever gonna do with you?” he whispered against your cunt as he continued pumping his fingers at a steady albeit fast pace and quickly reattached his mouth back on your clit.

you soon cum hard on his fingers followed by a few more tugs at his hair to signal you were ready to tap out.

he licks his fingers, maintaining eye contact as he groans loudly at the taste of you. so sweet. . .just for him.

his voice is hoarse as he slips your panties back on and then gives you his undivided attention,

“so…what was that about your favourite coworker?”

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

[poisonedprose]

hi hi saw you’re taking requests so i have this one that i can’t stop thinking about-

re4r!leon as best friend finding out the reader is a cam girl and then just something happens and they’ll make a video of them fucking together with a title “my best friend made me cum twice” or something lmao

btw love ur work ur amazing ughhh keep it up love you !

₊˚✧ you owe me — in which views are low so you do what you have to do

best friend!leon kennedy x camgirl!afab!reader

warnings: 1.8k words, smut, pet names (babe, sweet angel, angel), curse words, porn videos/streams, mentions of creampie, lil bit of sexual coercion, reverse cowgirl, clit play, fingering, (unprotected) p in v, praise, cream pie

masterlists

Views were down, which meant money wasn't coming in as regularly. Much to your dismay, your rent was due in a few weeks, and you barely had enough to pay for it. You couldn't really blame people for clicking off your streams, they all looked the same. The same setup, the same 3 lingeries in rotation, it was all the same. People wanted something new. You knew you had to do something, but everything was out of your budget. 

You sat at your computer, watching other cam girls to get ideas of how to spice up your streams. You clicked through countless streams until one caught your attention, 'My best friend makes me cum!'. You knew it was wrong but you had fantasized of your best friend doing the same to you. Maybe with the excuse of needing money, your dreams could finally come true. 

Clicking out of the stream and grabbing your phone, you call Leon. Butterflies in your stomach made you nervous, almost considering hanging up and pretending like you called him by accident but before you could move the phone away from your ear his groggy voice rang through the speaker. "Fuck, what is it? It's late y'know." He groaned. This probably could've waited until the morning. 

"Sorry, I just need some help..." Your voice wasn't confident, if anything it was shaky. You had guts to ask him for help with this, and for all you know it could blow up in your face and he'd never speak to you again. "Help with what?" He sounded more concerned like he was ready to help you if you were in danger. "It's nothing serious." You start, trying to work up the courage to ask him the burning hot question. "Okay, so what is it?" He asks in the silence.

You take a deep breath. "You know how I'm a camgirl? Well, it's not going so well and I'm kinda tight with money..." You say, unable to bring yourself to actually tell him what you need help with. "So, what? You need money?" He sounds genuine, and you knew he was. You knew if you asked, he'd give you as much money as you needed. He was always selfless like that.

"No, no." You sigh, you were far too prideful to take his money. You were independent, you could make your own money. Were you really independent if you were asking for his help though? "I need help with... Shit, how do I even ask this?" You mumble mostly to yourself. "Just say it." He encourages. "I need you to be in a stream with me." You say quickly like you were ripping a bandaid off. Leon was silent on the other side of the line. 

"Like... for moral support?" He chuckles nervously. You cringe at yourself, regretting ever even asking him. "You know what I mean, Leon..." You bite your lip, eagerly anticipating his next words. When silence hangs over the call you decide to say something. "I'll give you 30 percent of the earnings." You bargain. "I probably make more than that in an hour." He retorts but you can hear the smile on his face. "But, I'd be happy to help. Can't have you living on the streets now, hm?" He chuckles.

Part of you feels prideful. Proud of yourself for convincing your best friend to fuck you in front of hundreds, if not, thousands of people. "Be over in 20?" You ask sweetly, concealing your smile with a hand even though he couldn't see you through the phone. "Yeah, sure." And with that, the phone line went dead. 

You immediately start getting ready. Fixing your hair, putting deodorant on even though you did this morning, unadmittedly shaving anywhere you could, setting up the webcam you use to make such alluring streams, and picking out and putting on a pretty lingerie set. It worked so well with your skin tone, complimenting you like no other piece of clothing.

And almost on cue, Leon knocks on your door, you answer it quickly. Your heart pounded in your chest with excitement and nervousness. "I got work in the morning, let's not take all night. Not that I couldn't go all night if I wanted." He smirks, leaning against the door frame. His smirk falters and is replaced by a look of shock when he sees the oh-so-revealing outfit that's hugging your body perfectly. "Holy shit." He whispers under his breath.

"Short and sweet. Got it." You smile, gesturing for him to come inside. After a second of staring and he finally comes back to his senses he walks in, waiting for you to show him where the magic happens. You lead him to your bedroom, your webcam set up Infront of your bed, cute little stuffed animals shoved in the corner, against the wall. He sits on the bed carefully as you adjust the camera to make sure it's perfect. 

"Ready?" You ask, typing on your laptop, naming the stream. 'Letting my best friend creampie me!' "Oh, we're just going right into it? Yeah, sure." He scratches the back of his neck nervously. You give him a reassuring smile and start the stream, sitting next to him on the bed. You greet the people who initially join, recognizing a few of the names but seeing that the title has already drawn in some new customers.

Leon really doesn't know what to do, but he has a sudden wave of confidence. He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you into his lap. "Let's get started. The viewers are already getting antsy, they must be just as excited as I am~" Your voice was more seductive than when you were talking to Leon alone just moments ago. Leon knew you put on this act to appease the horny and lonely men, and he couldn't deny that he was one of them. 

With you sitting on Leon's lap, you spread your legs. Leon watched on your computer, the stream open and playing on mute. He was entranced by the way you so effortlessly turned him on just by opening your legs. You teased your viewers, rubbing your clit over your panties. You grabbed Leon's hand and placed it over your warm cunt, encouraging him to do the same. This felt like a dream come true to him, he nearly moaned just from the contact.

He rubbed his thumb gently over your clothed clit, you moaned quietly and he couldn't tell if it was just an act or if his light touch really made you feel good. "Don't be afraid to be rough." You whisper to him with a reassuring smile on your face. Oh, god, how he wanted to kiss your face. That gorgeous, perfect face.

He takes your advice, pulling your panties to the side with no warning. Your cunt fluttered when the cold breeze of the night touched your bare skin. He rubbed small circles on your clit, rougher than before. You let out a real moan this time, throwing your head back to lean on his shoulder. You held your panties to the side for him as you read the comments. 

'Fuck, so hot!' 'Wish my best friend did things like this for me.' 'Wanna see him finger that pussy!' 'Do you think he's really her best friend?' The chat was moving too fast to even read all of the comments. It hadn't been this way for months. "Chat, of course, he's really my best friend. Called him 20 minutes ago begging him to fuck me. I just had to stream it for you guys~" Leon grew hard upon hearing your words and you could feel it under your ass. It made pride swell in your chest. 

Leon runs his middle finger and ring finger through your folds before thrusting them into your weeping entrance. You whined softly. You'd imagined what it would feel like to have his fingers inside of you but nothing compared to the real thing. You bucked your hips slightly and Leon chucked. He fucked you with his fingers your cunt making lewd noises from how wet you were.

A ton of gifts started popping up on the screen. People were donating, and it was a lot more than usual. Knowing that people liked watching you get fucked by your best friend, made you like getting fucked even more. "Need your cock. Please." You pleaded to Leon, looking up at him but his eyes were trained on your swollen pussy. "Patience, babe." He taunted, a sly look on his face. He liked hearing the sound of you begging for his cock to fill you up.

You whined, not having any patience whatsoever. "Fine, fine. If you're gonna whine about it." He chuckled and pulled his fingers away from your delicious pussy, a thin string of your arousal sticking to his fingers before breaking when he reaches the waistband of his sweatpants. You only just realize that he's probably in his pajamas which, for some reason, makes this all the hotter.

He pulls his hardened cock out of his pants, resting the waistband under his balls. He strokes himself a few times and you're so eager to ride him until you’re hazed by his cock. You slip out of your panties and look at him, waiting for the okay to fuck him. He nods and brings you closer. He runs the tip of his cock along your folds before letting you sink down and take him fully. Whimpers leave your mouth, amusing everyone watching the stream.

You hadn't even realized how big he was, too focused on just getting what you've longed for, for so long. you might be hazed by his cock sooner than you originally thought. He brought his fingers down to your clit, rubbing tight circles while you got adjusted to his whole length. "Bigger than you thought, huh?" He laughed with a small shake of his head. 

You rolled your hips, making you both moan. You gave him no warning as you started riding him, letting his cock slide in and out of you so preciously. Both of your moans mixed in harmony. The chat went even more wild than it already was. You could only imagine how much money you were making. His fingers continued to work your clit, his other hand holding onto your hip like his life depended on it. You would be surprised if he didn't leave a bruise for you to find tomorrow.

"Could fuck you for hours. sweet angel. This pussy's t'die for." He groans in your ear, matching the pace of your bounces and thrusting into you perfectly. His praise makes you clench around him. A whine coming from your throat and a moan coming from his. Leon was embarrassed at how fast he was approaching his orgasm but it felt too good to resist.

His hot ropes of cum coat your warm walls. You can't even believe that Leon came inside of you. "Shit, sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to, ah~ fuck, sorry." He mumbles as he rides out his orgasm. "Do it again." You beg and he feels like he just entered heaven. "Anything you want, angel." Yeah, you definitely weren't going to have any money troubles any time soon at this rate. Maybe you can even convince Leon to do this with you full-time. 

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎┊ㅤㅤ💋 ㅤㅤ ﾟㅤㅤ ┊‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

[steddiebang2024]

STEVE AND EDDIE MAKE A PORNO  |  Explicit  |  55k

Author: @hitlikehammers

Artist: @hagnoart

Beta Reader: @dontwasteyourchances

[Link to fic]  |  [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, (background Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Nancy Wheeler/Barbara Holland, Jonathan Byers/Argyle; porn film scene pairings indicated in the relevant chapters)

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Chrissy Cunningham, Jonathan Byers, Barbara Holland, Argyle

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Nay: oblivious!BEST friends to lovers, Romcom, Porn, Y’know because shooting a porno is the orienting plot device, Humor, General Shenanigans, Coffee-related Innuendos Abound, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending (not THAT kind), (…okay also a lot of that kind because again: THEY ARE SHOOTING A PORNO)

Trigger Warnings: This fic is inspired by a film where the filming of a porno is a central plot device; sex positivity, orientation positivity, sex-and-pairings-for-aesthetic-appeal-NOT-for-endgame-purposes are the name of the game.

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

Unlikely but inseparable best-friends-since-middle-school Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson move in together after graduation and, honestly? Lead a semi-stable if generally-uneventful life (or not-entirely uneventful, fine, because Eddie takes personal offense to that characterization of anything involving himself): but they make a decent living as minimum wage grunts and they never starve, which of course counts as a win in late-stage capitalism. So what if it’s always been paycheck to paycheck and they’ve only just made it outside their hometown: they still do earn their paychecks, Eddie’s booking more weekend shows to pad his kinda-pitiful record store wages, the cafe Steve works at is expanding and a promotion to senior manager isn’t wholly out of the question, and they did make it out of their back-assward hometown, no matter how far they got. Most of all, through better or worse, bound thicker than blood: they’ve got each other. It’s not the life Steve was raised to expect, but it’s not one he’s trade for anything in the world. 

Which is still true when, due to a very unfortunate lack of communication—with good intentions! It honestly was all above-board and stupidly well-intentioned—they may have entirely unwittingly paved their way into bills-so-overdue-the-utilities-are-canceled. Like: bye-bye-water-mid-shower-canceled. 

Which: fucking late-stage capitalism. Ruining everything. 

And it is ruined: it’s the holidays, which means there are extra hours but they’re being vied for Hunger Games style, and the lack-of-heating thing’s going to be a real problem with the Midwest winter that’s creeping up quick. Basically: ‘up shit creek without a paddle’ is an understatement. 

But then, opportunity presents itself in the most time-honored of professions when they run into the shocker (or: not-really-a-shocker, dude was hella repressed) partner of a straight-laced douchebag classmate at their ten-year-reunion: an adult film star who reveals $100k could be within their grasps—bills paid, debt cleared, money to spare for the first time in forever—if the form of...well.

Shooting their own porno. 

So umm...fucking late stage capitalism? 

And honestly it’s a solid plan, despite being absolute insanity (though that’s honestly unsurprising because, again: nothing’s uneventful when Eddie Munson’s your best friend), but the question that rears its head ultimately isn’t one of revenue, but one they probably should have thought through a little harder from the get-go: when budget’s tight, cast is limited, and promotional value is crucial—alongside everyone banging everyone? 

You’re also probably gonna have to fuck your best friend on camera for cash in the process.

(Goddamn previously unrealized and unacknowledged feelings late stage capitalism, man. Fucks up everything.)

[samwisethewitch]

How I Get the Most Out of Meat When Cooking

As someone who 1.) was 100% vegetarian for ethical/religious reasons until very recently, and 2.) recently had to reintroduce meat for vitamin deficiency reasons, limiting waste as much as possible when I cook with meat is really important to me. For one thing, I feel like I owe it to the animal that died to get as much use as possible out of its body as a way of honoring its death. For another, meat is expensive (ethically raised meat even more so) and I want to get my money's worth.

I recently bought a bunch of lamb for my family's holiday dinner, so I wanted to share my attempt to practice the Honorable Harvest in my meat consumption. This is new to me, but I wanted to document the attempt because it's been a fun learning process for me! If you want to actually learn about honorable consumption I encourage you to read the works of Robin Wall Kimmerer and other indigenous ecologists, since the Honorable Harvest is based on indigenous North American practices. (Though there are other cultural practices all over the world.)

Step One: Sourcing the Meat

I am very fortunate to have enough disposable income to buy ethically raised meat, which tends to be more expensive. This is a privilege. Other people are not able to spend this extra money on their meat, and that doesn't make me better than them. Feeding yourself is morally neutral, and a tight budget is not a moral failing. Most meat alternative products (Beyond Beef, Impossible, etc.) are also pretty expensive. If the factory-farmed meat at the supermarket is the only thing in your budget, use that.

If you DO have some extra funds, local farms are a great place to source meat. The reason we had lamb for the holidays is because a local farm recently culled their herd and had lamb on sale. In the past we've gotten beef from a relative who raises cattle. I encourage you to learn about farms in your area and what they have to offer. CSAs and farmers' markets are great places to start. You can also ask around at local restaurants about where they source their ingredients.

When I say "ethically raised meat," what I'm really talking about is pasture-raised animals. Cage-free animals may not live in cages, but they can still be kept in cramped, dirty, inhumane conditions and be sold as "cage free." Pasture-raised animals are able to graze and forage and generally wander around within a paddock. For some animals like chickens you can also look for "free range," which means the animals are unfenced and are able to wander freely. Since I don't cook meat often, I try to get free range or pasture-raised meat when I do buy it.

In some areas, you may also be able to find certified ethically slaughtered meat, which means the slaughtering process has been designed to cause as little suffering to the animal as possible. That kind of certification isn't really available where I live, but it might be for you!

And of course, hunting or fishing yourself is also an option. If you kill the animal yourself, you know exactly how it died and can take steps to limit suffering as much as possible. Hunting isn't a skillset I have, but if you do more power to you!

Step Two: Cooking the Meat

This is the easy part. Depending on the cut of meat you got and the dish you are cooking, you may need to remove bones or trim fat, but aside from that it's just following a recipe.

For our holiday lamb stew, I used this recipe. I have Celiac disease, so I subbed gluten-free flour and replaced the beer with red wine. I also added rosemary and garlic for a more Mediterranean flavor to compliment the wine.

Step Three: Organs and Bones

This is where the breakdown is for a lot of Americans. We don't cook with bones or organs very often, and we tend to throw away whatever parts of the animal we don't want. That is not honorable consumption. Part of the Honorable Harvest is using every part of the being that died to feed you.

Most organs make great stew meat. My favorite Nicaraguan beef stew is made with tongue, and my indigenous Hawaiian relatives make stew with pig feet. And while I don't like them, lots of my Southern family members love chitlins (pickled pig intestines). Lots of cultures eat organs, and you'll find plenty of delicious recipes if you look!

Bones are typically used to make stock, which can be used as a base for future soups and stews. There are lots of recipes for DIY stocks and broths, but I usually fry some onions and/or garlic, deglaze with wine, and then add the meat/bones and the water, plus salt, pepper, and herbs for flavor. Most animal bones can produce two batches of stock before they lose flavor. (For really flavorful stock, leave some meat on the bones.)

Once the stock is done, you'll still have bones to deal with. Contrary to popular belief, cooked bones are not safe for dogs to chew on. (But raw bones usually are!) Instead, I strip any remaining meat and gristle from the stock bones, give those scraps to my pups as a treat, and then use the stripped bones for something else. With a little extra processing, the bones can be used as a fertilizer in a garden, a calcium supplement for chickens, or a safe treat for dogs and/or cats.

This was my first time processing bones, but after boiling them for, like, 12 hours in water with salt and vinegar, they were soft enough to break apart with my hands. I'm going to grind them to make bone meal.

[lilly-chou-chou]

Lolita fashion: A guide for beginners and love letter to seasoned Lolitas (Fashion guide part ll)

Hello everyone!! Few days ago I had made a guide for people interested and doing gyaru fashion (interested people please visit my account to read about it <3) moving on I was intrigued and ready to take on the world of Lolita fashion as well, I hope this guides helps newer people and makes other old followers of this amazing fashion culture realize that it is all about fun and feeling pretty. Some may agree with this and some may not either way I am posting this <3

(Kindly please stop sending d#ath threads regarding this post. Kindly also refrain from sending comments saying I deserve those threaths please 🙏🏼)

My guides start from here on. So as a lot of people know, this culture of fashion was started by taking inspirations from Rococco and Victorian era. Over the years this subculture of Japanese fashion has definitely evolved and this subculture has given birth to many sub styles like most famous being sweet Lolita, gothic Lolita and hime Lolita.

So now that you know the gist of this style let me educate you further that the reason Lolita fashion exists is purely just for fun. People especially women wanted to feel that elegance and olden time beauty and dressed up in Lolita just for fun!! So no. 1 rule of Lolita is to have fun. Enjoy what you wear and buy.

Yes, when you first begin it is necessary that you browse through the summary but make sure to ONLY browse through the history of Lolita fashion. Never pay too much attention towards rules of Lolita because again just like gyaru fashion it was and has always been foreigners who police others and are way too anal about rules when as a matter of fact the whole reason Lolita and gyaru existed was to have fun! Of course but only gyaru had a backstory of opposing with stereotypes of women in Japan.

I am here to tell you that I have lived in Japan during the hype of Lolita and gyaru (also being an avid follower of both fashion culture since the age of 4) and having talking with foreigners and locals I suggest you to only LIKE ONLY listen to locals because they truly know what's up. My guides are filled with my experience and what they have told me.

So let's talk about rules like lace and materials and shit. What I have been told and have been doing my life is that pick any lace design that you feel pretty in because in the end even back then Lolita fashion magazines and shows would only tell you what a typical Lolita would wear like poofy dress and small details like pretty wigs and such but people in streets be it Harajuku or Shibuya or etc etc didn't follow these rules themselves and they were covered in latest Lolita trends from head to toe.

The magazines and such only give you an idea of what you can do or typical image of a Lolita fashion follower. That doesn't mean you have to do exactly that. Things like "stop wearing that" "your lace is ugly" "wow you purchased dress from Amazon? Fuck you" "that dress quality sucks you are NOT a real Lolita" is all doing of foreigner Lolita fashion followers.

I am so sorry if you ever encountered any of these people but Lolita girlies in Japan will never harass you like this.

Plus buying stuff from Amazon is OKAY because even though these days there are many affordable Lolita dresses and accessories, it is okay to still look for options and I understand that some people don't have budget and just because you are tight on budget doesn't mean you should be left out. YOU ALSO DESERVE TO FEEL PRETTY! Amazon might not be authentic if that's what you can afford atm then go for it please, enjoy and have fun because you were to meet other Japanese Lolitas they will say things like "wow I didn't know these days Amazon sold such good quality Lolita dresses" never feel guilty for buying off brand.

What people don't tell you is that these days even brands break some of the rules from Lolita fashion and honestly if the household brands break them then you also shouldn't feel bad about messing up. I just want Lolita fashion culture to be welcoming and I don't want beginners to be afraid and I don't want old members to feel the need to be always classic authentic.

Even the queen and ambassador of foreign affairs kawaii aka president of Japan Lolita Association Misako Aiko who has been doing Lolita fashion for 25 years also mixes and matches from different fashion and breaks so called rules like poofy dress shape, owning few dresses with no laces, hair usually styled in a simple way, not always wearing a blouse or a head wear etc etc.

In conclusion if the president of Lolita fashion and household brands are breaking rules then you should also not feel guilty for few little things here and there. Aim of Lolita fashion is to feel pretty and have fun. You are the prettiest person alive, embrace it and have fun with this style. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Do what makes you happy and don't ever feel guilty about buying off brands because sometimes food, shelter and bills is important and that is understandable.

I love everyone of you. Hope my guides help you a lot <3

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 鬓边不是海棠红/Winter Begonia

Winter Begonia is the tale of the intertwined lives of a wealthy, westernized businessman and a bratty, dramatic Peking Opera performer as they navigate the historical landscape of 1930s China.

It is a slow historical ramble of a show, to the point where I couldn't really say it has a single plot. Events just happen in their lives, and the show follows them with a pleasant steadiness. Characters go away, and sometimes they come back. Interpersonal conflicts rise and then get resolved. Sometimes you just get to sit and watch part of an opera happen. The last third of the show develops a slightly more cohesive narrative, but even then, it's still mostly a loose constellation of events related to larger goings-on in the culture.

So if you're looking for tight plots and fast-paced action, you'll want to look somewhere else. But if you're the kind of person who likes to wrap up sometimes in a gentle warm blanket of a beautiful show, I have five reasons you should give this one a try.

1. Oh, they're in love

Perhaps the most notable thing about Cheng Fengtai and Shang Xirui is that they spend the entire show smiling at one another, staring longingly at one another, and/or making each other laugh.

A lot of danmei couples depend on having at least one partner who, if not outright tsundere, is at least stoically long-suffering -- which is romantic, sure, but also exhausting in real life. These two read about as married as any danmei pair I've ever seen because they make one another smile all the time. They're incredibly touchy and affectionate from basically the moment they meet. They're not just in love, they actually like one another.

Now, don't get me wrong: These two are both absolute exhausting gremlins who deserve one another so they don't have to be anyone else's problems. But they're good-natured enough about their respective gremlin natures that when one of them lets loose with his rascality, the other tends to think it's hilarious.

They don't even have the mandated danmei breakup! They're never mad at one another for more than the length of an episode. Most of the time they're just refreshingly normal about one another (or, you know, about as normal as two drama queens can be). And when they're being not normal about one another, it's because the circumstances they are currently enduring are not normal either.

They're so in love that by the time you get to the last episode, everyone in their lives is like, gee, those two sure are in love. For the main couple in a Chinese-censored BL adaptation? That's pretty darn in love.

2. The costumes!!!

Of course I have to gush over the costumes. Several major characters are professional opera performers, and their wardrobes are just stunning in complexity and detail -- and accuracy, apparently.

But they're not even where all of the wardrobe budget went! Everyone looks great, from the dapper upper class to the household servants to the street performers.

I also can't get over how everyone looks so cozy in their winter outfits. The show really wants to hammer home how cold Beijing is, and so most non-opera clothes are either heavily quilted or furry. Not a single outfit in this show is slimming (except maybe for some of the gorgeous gowns Cheng Meixin wears). It's all about conserving body heat, which means a lot of people walk around basically wearing mildly tailored quilts all the time. I love it. I envy it.

3. Oops! All bottoms!

This is a show of very soft men. It helps that very many of them have spent their whole lives playing female roles, but even those that haven't tend to be pretty darn soft.

(And I'm not even talking about the way people keep handing Cheng Fengtai babies and he loves it.)

Du Luocheng and Shang Xirui are absolutely what happens when you get two soft gay guys who are kinda into one another, but they're both too lazy to top, so they just become best friends instead.

Fan Lian stands as a testament to how you can be the only heterosexual in the show and still be soft as hell.

The old married gays. Softness level: off the charts.

Chen Renxiang's role is that of the opera frenemy, and he's incredibly soft about it. (This actor is also apparently in the Sha Po Lang live-action adaptation! Maybe someday it will be released...)

Opera underling La Yuehong hardens up later in the show, but even when he does, there's still a tragic softness to it.

Even the baddies are soft! Pretty much all the rival opera bitches fall into the "love to hate" category -- and nearly all of them win at least some sympathy from you before they leave the story for good.

There's one more soft boy whose presence surprised me, and that is Xue Zhicheng/Kujo Kazuma, a sympathetic Japanese character. Every other Japanese character in the show is sinister somehow -- not surprising, considering the drama is set during the brutal Japanese occupation of Beiping/Beijing.

But this little guy is a gentle, well-meaning opera fan who just wants to watch his favorite performers! When his actions cause trouble, it's only because he's so well-meaning that he couldn't see how anyone could disapprove of his attempts at cross-cultural undertanding. He even comes to the rescue a few times, at significant personal cost!

Moreover, the show uses him to make it clear that there's a difference between the Japanese occupying force and Japanese people and culture. In fact, the show is pretty critical of people who conflate the two and use interest in the latter as evidence of support of the former. That is not a level of nuance I've seen from other dramas set in this time period, and I was pleased to see it.

In conclusion, the critial war shortage in 1930s Beijing was not food or medicine or ammunition, but tops.

4. A whole lotta ladies

Again, not even counting the fact that one of the two main guys, many of his buddies, all of his heroes, and several of the antagonists professionally dress as women.

The most notable of them is Cheng Fengtai’s wife, Fan Xiang'er. They've been married for years by the time the show starts, and they have a son together. Theirs is an arranged marriage that they've managed to make work so well that they've actually wound up liking one another ... most of the time. Remember what I said earlier about his being exhausting? She knows that better than anyone.

(Sidebar: If you are uncomfortable with a love story where one of the participants is canonically married to someone else, this may be one you want to skip. That said, there are several male characters in this show who have multiple wives and/or mistresses, so the metric of what counts as infidelity in this setting is ... loose.)

Beyond her, though, there are many more female supporting characters in this show, from all different socioeconomic levels, in all different kinds of situations.

A caveat: Some of the women (one in particular) are at times frustrating as hell because they're too often written as jealous shrews who believe all the terrible gossip they hear and act on it without having actual adult conversations with anyone first. I dislike this trope, mostly because it relies on making some smart women artificially very stupid for the sake of forwarding the plot. I have little patience for situations that could have been solved five episodes ago if somebody had just been willing to ask clarifying questions.

That said, I can't be too mad about that, because there are many, many more women who are not written like that. Some of them are good and loyal! Some are sneaky and self-interested! Some are callous and manipulative! Some are meek and traumatized! Some make terrible decisions! Some make terrible decisions but, like, you get it! You know, just like in real life?

The answer to better representation is almost always more representation. When a character is the only one of whatever they are, everything they do is kind of an indictment of that category, especially when that category has a history of stereotypical negative representation. When there are several others, the characters stop being representatives of that category and start being just plain characters.

5. It just feels good to watch

Don't misunderstand: This is not a happy fun time show where everything in sunshine and roses all the way down. There are plenty of tense and emotional parts. Not everyone we like makes it out of the drama alive. Not all love stories get a happily ever after. People disappoint one another all the time. Awful things happen when soldiers occupy civilian populations. Poverty is a bitch.

But the show itself remains a nice viewing experience. It's absolutely a feast for the senses, what with all the music and costumes and sets and props and old-fashioned cars and everything.

The story is very straightforward. It's never trying to do any complex schemes or mislead you before some big reveal. I imagine this could be a good show to put on in the background while you're doing something else. You're never going to be too desperately confused about what's going on if you zone out for a minute -- and if you are, just hang on for a bit, because by next episode, it'll probably be onto whatever storyline comes next.

I have not read the novel, and I cannot judge anything against its standards. However, my friend who has read parts of the novel tells me that the adaptation is much preferable, because in the novel, you get to hear everyone's internal narration -- and everyone's internal narration makes it clear they're all bratty, insufferable assholes. That is not the case here! Or, rather, they are often bratty and/or insufferable, but from outside their heads, it's a lot more charming.

Finally, it's legitimately a very good love story. Shang Xirui is the only person in Cheng Fengtai's life who loves him for who he is, not what someone else needs him to be. Cheng Fengtai goes from being enraptured by this beautiful little weirdo to basically wanting to wife him. They spend a lot of time taking care of one another, sometimes in the only ways they know how. They're capable of operating independently -- there are several episodes where their storylines diverge completely -- but they'd prefer not to. They've just each found their soulmate, and that's all there is to it. (The red thumbprint in the palm is about the most romantic thing I've ever seen.)

I'm a little surprised by how little I hear English-speaking fandom talk about this one, especially since (see below) it's a widely available, high-budget show that even has a Shang Xirui figurine, and there's no question about how in gay love these two are. But if you hop over to AO3, there's only 257 works total in the Winter Begonia tag, a scant 57 of which are in English, and if you've tried looking into the Winter Begonia tag on Tumblr, you know it's pretty quiet 'round here.

I can't be sure, but I'd assume that's partly because this is both a) a relatively low-stakes drama, and b) so enmeshed with actual historical events and concepts that you'd have to do at least a baseline amount of research before making any fan media. I would imagine that for some folk, this is a barrier to entry.

And it is 49 slow, gentle episodes long. I saw Tumblr posts asking which episodes are important, because the posters don't want to or can't commit to watching the whole thing. But the answer is ... all of them? none of them? There's no plot you'd be getting or missing with specific episodes. There are very few things I can think of that would even qualify as spoilers. It's just a walk through a couple very eventful years in the main pair's lives. I understand if folk aren't up for that, but if you are, this is really a gem.

Have I convinced you to give it a try?

I would say that Winter Begonia is perhaps the most easily watchable of any c-drama I've come across. Here's where you can find it:

iQiyi

Viki

Amazon Prime

YouTube

We watched most of it on YouTube, where the subs were perfectly fine. However, there was one episode where we had to switch platforms because the English subs were all out of synch, so we went to Amazon and they were fine there too. Other than that, I don't really have a sense of which translation experience is the best. Try them all!

(PS: If you feel like putting on a tinfoil hat, I'm just going to say, they look at one another like that in real life, too.)

[shuttershocky]

what do you make of samurai remnant so far? As it's a weeb game, I don't expect any of the normal review sites I trust to cover it

I /hate/ Musou combat and I'm sick of Servants, so me avidly talking about this game means it's way better than even my biases can overlook.

Here's the thing: the vast majority of Type-Moon games fucking suck, because they make visual novels, not video games. "The story's good enough to make you play through this abomination" is the battlecry of Fate/Extra fans. If it wasn't for Melty Blood they might not even have any games where people play for the actual game.

This is not the case with Fate/Samurai Remnant. It's not here to blow your mind out of the water, but it's clearly a title made by people who are both great fans of the source material and are very experienced with producing games on a budget. Solid execution all-around from combat design to character art to environments.

The most notable thing about FSR though is that this game cares a lot about how things are supposed to feel. I've talked enough about how great it is to have Servants feel like real powerhouses again, but this level of care exists within the rest of the game.

"How would it feel to be partners with a superpowered being?" is the defining question informing the majority of the game design. If there's a high place you can't climb without a ladder, Saber simply throws you up there with their superhuman strength. If you're squeezing through a tight alleyway, Saber simply reappears via magic on the other side, sometimes getting ahead of you and waving mockingly while Iori can only grumble and slowly pull his fleshy human body along a tight crevice. There is actual destruction in the aftermath of the first Servant battle that you can see for yourself, which informs Iori's motivation of putting an end to this death game. Iori's neighbors express relief that he's safe because they saw his house explode, or tell him about the whereabouts of his sister Kaya, making the town feel just a little bit more like a setting Iori actually lives in.

As Iori's relationship with Saber grows, the game also tacks on more and more mechanics involving their cooperation. At the very start, Saber cannot be controlled whatsoever and is entirely dependent on the AI. As you progress though, you unlock the ability to give Saber commands and even play as them for a short time. But that's not all, Saber's AI will also start to cooperate with you, following up on enemies that Iori knocks away with a finishing move, or calling for special partner moves called Link Strikes. When you're in trouble, there's even a chance Saber will come rescue you, activating a quick time event where they lock blades with the enemy, attempting to push them back.

This is what the whole game is like. Samurai Remnant doesn't have the resources of an AAA game with an army of developers to create features like ultra HD 4k textures for all environments or realistically shrinking testicles, but you can feel most ideas started with a question of "What would it be like to have Saber here and how do we depict that in some way?" Saber would be fascinated at modern (17th century) Japan, so they often run from place to place pointing out new things to gawk at and demanding explanations from Iori. They didn't have food stalls, paper, or money in their life, so Iori has side missions to buy from every food stall to satiate Saber's hunger, which murders your wallet in-game as you are a poor ronin living hand to mouth every day and need odd jobs to make money.

It feels good to play, and not even as a Type-Moon fan where a lot of these things are something I've been asking for. I mean it's good to see another mid budget game that's neatly focused on simple, solid execution. Most review sites are giving it around a 7.5-8/10, and I'm telling you this isn't a 7.5 from a Type-Moon fan pleading with you that playing Fate/Extella's Altera route makes it actually worth it, this is a 7.5 from people seeing a decently hefty, well-made title.

[thesoftboiledegg]

Rick and Morty if Autism Speaks and Autism Moms focus-grouped it to death:

Rick: Everyone, I have a terrible confession to make. Summer [scrolling through her phone]: Sure, Grandpa Rick. How many planets did you blow up today? Rick: No, Summer, it's much worse than that. I... [sighs and sticks his hands in his pockets] I just got back from the doctor's office. I...I have autism. [The entire family gasps in shock. Summer drops her phone. Morty's hands fly to his mouth.] Beth: No! Rick! Why didn't you ever tell us? Rick: I didn't know, sweetie. Bird Person noticed that I'd been flapping my hands a lot and said, "Mubba rubba nub nub," which means, "I'm going to give you a referral for an autism diagnosis." I just got back from the clinic. I'll be honest with you--when the word "autism" came out of the doctor's mouth, I couldn't decide if I wanted to hide the truth from you or crash my ship directly into the building, killing me instantly. [Jerry stares at him. Summer starts sobbing. Beth glances at Morty with horror and disbelief.] Beth: But--what about Morty? He flaps his hands sometimes, too. Do you think that--maybe--oh God, I don't even want to say it-- Rick [looking at her sadly]: I don't know, sweetie. Autism is a genetic disease, and it's not looking good. Morty: No! NO! Why, Rick? This is the worst thing you've ever done! Rick: I'm sorry, buddy. I wish I could go back in time and delete the autism from my genes. Summer [sobbing]: You've ruined our family! I always knew I was the one normal child, and now you've just confirmed it! Beth: I'm sorry, Morty, but I won't be able to look at you the same way again. I knew there was a reason I favored Summer all these years. And Rick, well--I don't know if you can keep living here. Our budget is already tight without you spending $500 a month on math textbooks and model train sets. Jerry: Wait, hang on. If I can get meta here for a second--doesn't Dan Harmon play Bird Person? And isn't he, you know...in that way? Rick: Autistic? [Beth and Summer gasp at the sound of the word.] I don't know, let me check. [He opens a portal and disappears, then returns a few seconds later, his eyes heavy with sadness.] Yes. Dan Harmon is autistic, which means...Bird Person is autistic, too. I'm sorry. [The entire room is silent.] Beth: Well...at least you'll be able to get together now. I know you autistics can't date normal people. Summer: Autistics can't date anyone, period. Sorry, Morty, but I guess Jessica and Bruce Chutback both dodged a bullet. [Morty bursts into tears. Beth rubs his shoulder.] Beth: It's okay, honey. Look at it this way--you'll be able to go on lots of adventures with Grandpa since we have to separate both of you from the general population. Jerry: And "different" doesn't mean "worse." I mean, in this case, it absolutely does, but it doesn't mean that in other contexts. Morty: I'm sorry that I'm burdening everyone. [glances up] Hey, um, Rick--maybe you can find a cure, right? [smiles weakly] Some planet out there must've found a cure for autism by now, right? Rick [forces a smile]: You've got it, buddy. I'm sure there's a universe out there that's...found a cure for this tragic disease. [Everyone looks silently down at the table. Morty stands up.] Morty: I'm going to sit in my room for a while. Let me know when you've decided if you're going to keep me or put me up for adoption. Beth: We'll let you know, honey. [Morty walks upstairs. The rest of the family turns to Rick, who sighs.] Rick: Well...I guess I'll go to the garage. The noise-cancelling walls will protect you from the sounds of my incessant stimming and hand-flapping. I know you don't want me back in the house, so you can turn my room into extra storage space. Jerry can even turn it into a man cave if he wants. I don't care if he does. I don't care about anything anymore. Summer: Neither do we, Rick. Neither do we... [Rick walks into the garage and sits quietly on the stool. After a few minutes of silence, he hesitates, then reaches inside his coat and applies a sticker to his ship. The camera zooms in to reveal a puzzle piece that reads Autistics On Board.]