#or maybe not out of touch exactly but he has a taste for slightly more expensive things and....doesnt care LOL

[willowser]

Just a lil hc but I definitely bakugo is the type of boyfie who likes helping you get ready. I mean he won't come and ask if he can help no no no. He'll just stand there, staring at you... and then randomly walk over hand you an earring and go "this'll look nice with that dress" and just go back to lurking XD but also when you DO WEAR what he choses for you he just feels so happy inside and go "heh she's weaing what I chose for her :>" but on the outside he makes an expression like he suddenly got food poisoning lmao.

(also I think he'll probably have atleast an above average fashion taste since his parents are both fashion designers~)

aww i think this is how he gives you gifts too 😌 just hands you a brand new pair of earrings like, "should wear these," trying to be all nonchalant LOL and i think he is so proud of himself when he sees you wearing something he picked out !! like he knows you well enough 😌😌😌 like you agree with his input 😌😌 and i also think he has an eye for fashion !!! bc that's the household he grew up in 🥺 i like to think of him as a kid, bothering his mama while she's working until she kicks him out LOL but !! yes !!! he's like, upper class, i think, so his tastes are a lil on the higher side !! not as upper class as todoroki but.....did you see his house.....his parents are fashion designers.....LOL how sweet 😌😌😌

[moonlight-prose]

For the touched starved scenarios maybe Logan with "hesitantly tugging the other's fabric of their shirt or sleeve, testing the waters ^^ the other notices so they pull them into a hug, smiling as they just watch them melt"?? I think it would be so cute with logan finally breaking his own barriers, reaching out to the one he adores (or*cough* is very much in love with *cough*) bc HE doesnt realize how touch starved he is and becomes slightly nervous at initiating contact at first😫

how it lingers

a/n: have i shoved this into the small world i made with the previous ask from this list? probably. but they're just so cute and i'm in love. plus just the fact that reader is also probably really timid to initiate contact with him physically. but logan finally reaching out for touch (cause he's so starved for it), and getting a response such. just let this man be happy and in love.

summary: when affection is coupled with pain logan learns it's not worth asking for. what does he need with it? but a difficult mission has him seeking the warmth of a lover in the arms of a friend.

word count: 0.7k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: fluff, blooming romances, the start of a relationship, soft logan.

It happens after a mission gone wrong. Tension hung thick in the air when the X-Men entered the front entrance, their suits charred and ripped, faces lined in pinched frowns that said far more than they wished. Logan hung back on the porch, smoking the cigar to appease the growing anxiety building in his chest. He'd never been a fan of the crowd this group accumulated—especially not when kids were involved.

But somewhere in the throng of people stood you, waiting with hope in your chest and a light in your eyes that beckoned him closer. Charles held your attention for a moment, Jean meandering over to explain in grave detail what exactly happened. You did your best to cling to every word. Even as your mind wandered to the man still stuck outside—his hands curled into fists and eyes shut to the rest of the world.

"We aren't sure what happened," Jean mumbled, a dazed expression glossing over her eyes. "If it wasn't for Logan well…Scott and I wouldn't be standing here."

The echo of his name shot through your heart—his pain bleeding into your veins the longer you stood there listening to Jean explain what happened. He saved them. He was the hero. So why was did he remain outside? Entirely separated by the people who would happily welcome him in—the ones he silently considered family.

"Is he hurt?" you asked hesitantly, entirely aware of his healing capabilities.

Nothing could hurt the Wolverine.

Not physically anyways.

Jean shrugged, fatigue settling over her face in a darkened cloud that might take days to pass. "He's…Logan."

Which meant he was taking this time to shove away emotions he didn't want to feel—things that would wreak havoc on his mind. He pushed down things he didn't want to feel; the parts of himself that left him with the bitter taste of fear on the back of his tongue. So he smoked to distract himself and left everything else up to the rest of the team.

He found it was easier to mull over his actions alone. Safer.

You tuned out the remainder of the conversation, eyes catching on the subtle shift of the crowd as Logan finally made his way inside. He clung to the wall in the hopes of going unnoticed. A familiar act of self preservation he often grew fond of at times like this. He never liked being the center of attention—why would that change solely because of one mission?

“I’ll meet you guys later.” Their responses went directly over your head, your body drawn to the man who attempted to vanish into the corner beside a plant desperate for more water.

“Bub,” he greeted, arms crossed at his chest—face turned away from your welcoming smile, from the warmth you tried offering to keep the darkness at bay.

“They said you saved them.”

He grunted, eyes flicking back to see your shoulder slump forward an inch. Barely noticeable to others in the area, but Logan clung to every slight shift of your body. Each look and half hearted smile. He tucked them into his chest in the hopes of one day wiping them away. All the stress of being a professor, of choosing to get to know a man who barely spoke more than a few words at a time.

His hand tugged at the sleeve of your cardigan softly. Barely a brush against your arm, but the grin you gave in return lit a fuse he didn’t know resided at the back of his heart. Over the years he understood what connection meant. How to form them, why he should. But staying in solitude favored him best; he couldn’t hurt anyone if he avoided them.

Until you offered him a smile bleeding enough warmth to soothe his aching heart.

A silent agreement passed between your eyes, loud enough to echo in the back of his mind as your arms curled around his neck. And with a blissful sigh filled with contentment, he melted into your touch, hands clasping around your back—arms tight and strong across your waist. Logan hugged you with his whole body, a swathing blanket of heat that poured out of him and enveloped you in love.

“Thanks bub,” he mumbled into your shoulder, head ducked as he shifted back to the corner—still tightly wound around your body.

You smiled, burrowing your face in the soft leather of his jacket. “Anytime Logan.”

[yuwuta]

AFTERGLOW. — JJK BOYS + JEALOUSY

❝tell me that you’re still mine, tell me that we’ll be just fine, even when i've lost my mind  

featuring. gojo, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu

content. a character study in jealousy, no content warnings, no smut in this version, fem reader

word count. 2.8k

SATORU GOJO You’re attempting to finish getting ready for the evening and Satoru has taken his favorite activity: filing through every crevice of your room like he’d been hired as a private investigator. Even though he knows that you know that he’s nothing more than a nosy idiot, Satoru claims that it’s an important and intimate routine that he should know the ins and outs of your living space just as well as you know his—“You know exactly where I keep my boxers, and I don’t even think I’ve seen the inside of your closet—oh, hey, this is cute,” he grins, sticking out his impossibly long arm to shake a thin, lacy bodysuit on a hanger, “How come you’ve never shown me this, huh? Maybe you should wear this instead, it seems easier to take—ouch.”

He groans at the impact of your hairbrush against his shoulder, then swiftly proceeds to pout and whine about how mean you are to him when you return to ignoring him in favor of applying the final touches to your makeup. Your closet seems to be of little interest to him after that, as Satoru crosses the room to hover around you at your vanity instead. He leans in too closely, as if watching you apply bronzer was a novel sight to him. You flip your brush quickly, barely tapping at his nose and laughing at his scrunched reaction.

“Your reflexes aren’t so sharp today,” you tease. You’re prepared for a witty response, and when you glance, there’s a familiar mischief shimmering in your boyfriend’s eyes; but, then his gaze ventures slightly past you, and all signs of playfulness drain from his face. Instead of getting revenge, or annoying you further, Satoru reaches over your body and into a shallow jewelry dish to pick up the bracelet he’d spotted. It’s a dainty little thing, thin gold with a small heart in the middle glittering with shiny stones, that he threads along his fingers with scrutiny before standing up straight to dangle it in front his face for further inspection, “This is new to me.”

Perhaps you’d spoken too soon, because only Satoru would spot that one piece of jewelry amongst the others swimming the tray. His eyes flutter between the bracelet and you, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head, and the accusation he won’t say outloud—did you buy yourself heart-shaped jewelry, or is there something else going on here?

You sigh and keep your expression and voice neutral, your attention seemingly still focused on the finishing touches of your makeup, “It’s new to you because I haven’t worn it in years,” you tell him, “My ex gave it to me.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you occupy yourself with your mascara, before Satoru speaks, “That makes sense, it doesn’t look all that promising. What is it—barely gold plated?” he taunts, sweeping away his air of concern with one of mockery, standing up straight to twirl the bracelet around his index finger, “Figures your ex boy toy had no taste for the finer things in life. You’re worth more than this, my darling.”

You shake your head with light laughter, patting in the remnants of your setting spray before standing. Satoru continues on, rambling about the poor construction of your commercially produced bracelet—holds it between his index finger and thumb like it’ll poison him if he exposes it to too much of his skin, and you can’t help but smile as you reach for the lapel of his blazer to pull him down for a kiss. He has no words of objection to this, pulling you in by the waist for another and another and another, before you finally pull away, “Come, let’s go. I don’t feel like getting lectured by Utahime for your tardiness again.”

You’re too preoccupied for the rest of the evening to notice the item missing from your jewelry dish. What you do notice, two afternoons later, shortly after Satoru has left to pick up Nanami from the airport, is a blue velvet box with your name written in pretty, gold cursive along the top—and inside, a gold tennis bracelet, glittering with diamonds, with a necklace to match. You have no doubt they’re legitimate, if not for the way the sparkle, then by the text that rings through on your phone after you question Satoru:

from: satoruwu 🫧🩵 — only the best for my baby <33

TOGE INUMAKI

Toge knows that the price of coffee has gotten way out of hand, but what bothers him more is the decreasing pace of said coffee getting made and the increase of crazy, caffeine addicted people who feel the need to be loud around him while he’s waiting for his drinks. You, however, seem to take pleasure in his suffering, as you always thank him and coo, saying he looks cute despite his grumbly demeanor, “You always look like you fought a war for two cups of coffee, Toge.” 

He rolls his eyes as he steps into your apartment, not minding the sound of your giggling behind him. He sets the drinks on your island, and pulls out a stool to sit on. You round the marble, reaching him just as he’s pulled down his mask for a thank you kiss to his cheek. He wants to make you suffer for longer, but when you lean against him, he can’t help but to return the hug and kiss your forehead—you’re welcome, always.

Still, he pokes at your head, waits until you dig your head out of his shoulder with curious eyes, before he points to the Keurig sitting in the corner of one the wall-mounted counters, and moves his hands to sign, “Why keep that if you spend all my money on coffee?”

“Rude. I offer to pay all the time,” you chide, poking at his collar bone and standing straight. You make your way back to the opposite side of the counter, and reach to a drawer to fetch a straw, before shrugging, “My ex left it here when we broke up. I keep it for the aesthetic—I’m not even sure if it works.”

A myriad of thoughts runs through Toge’s mind—most importantly: had your ex left other things here, and how quickly could he get rid of them?

“Besides,” you break his murderous train of thought, “None of the pods make good espresso. Couldn’t even make my hot girl latte if it worked.”

“Your ‘hot girl latte’ is iced,” Toge signs.

Under normal circumstances, a comment like that would earn him a flick to the forehead, but you can tell that behind the sarcasm, Toge is actually upset. So, in lieu of teasing him, you walk back over to him; settling yourself behind his stool to give him a back hug. You lean your cheek against his shoulder and press a small kiss there, “You’re cute.” 

Toge huffs, shaking his shoulders for dramatic effect. You laugh, leaning up to give him another kiss on the cheek. “You’re cute and you have nothing to worry about. It’s an old coffee machine.” 

He hums, taking another sip of his coffee before turning, barely bumping the top of your forehead, so you can see his raised eyebrow. You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, “You’re cute, and you have nothing to worry about, and I love you.” 

He finally smiles again, content, and grants you another kiss to your forehead. With his mood back to normal, the two of you finish your coffee and carry on with your scheduled study session as normal (normal being Toge leaving you alone for all of twenty-seven minutes, before he starts taking videos of you with various outrages Snapchat filters on).

However, the following day when you return from your classes, there’s four new items on your kitchen counter: a silver espresso machine, a reusable Starbucks cup (already filled with your usual drink), a neatly folded apron decorated with cartoon Shiba Inus, and a small card with Toge’s bubbly handwriting on it: “Don’t worry, I’ll still pay for you $6 pink drinks, but if you wanted to thank me by making coffee in just the apron, then I wouldn’t complain ;)”

KENTO NANAMI Kento is a rational man; he favors using logic to carry out decisive actions, rather than letting his emotions get the best of him. So, the rational part of him knows that it’s not a big deal that the lunch bag and bento-style tupperware you bring to work was a gift from your ex-girlfriend; but there’s a small, ugly, green part of him overrun with jealousy and another bitter-tasting feeling he can’t quite name.

Because it’s not that important. It makes sense that you keep using them—the lunch bag is nice, leather, sleek, and insulated, and the tupperware is sturdy and functional. The whole system is sustainable, practical. It was a good present, one that objectively serves a good purpose whether or not it was given by an ex or not.

Maybe that’s what he hates so much. That this person still has room in your life, even though you haven’t spoken to them since you’ve met him. Kento doesn’t like that reminder—that there are people out there who might be a good fit for you, a better one than him. Those ugly feelings aside, there’s a sour taste in his mouth when he packs your lunch now; knowing that the food he cooked for the two of you—the meal you’re both going to indulge in—sits in a container gifted to you by an ex-lover.

Irrational to the point of being unfocused, he doesn’t realize how close the glass is to the edge of the counter, and when he turns to scoop more rice, he accidentally knocks it over with his elbow. It breaks into tiny pieces on the ground, the small portion of rice and chicken spilling onto the ground. The sound draws you out of your bedroom, mascara wand in hand and robe still on to call for him, “Kento? Everything okay?”

“I… it was an accident,” he explains, setting the spoon down in favor of reaching for a napkin, dropping to his knee with a light sigh, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break it.”

Your laughter surprises him, prompts him to look up at you with broken glass shards pooled in his palm, “You don’t have to worry so much! It happens, we have a million more.”

There’s something about the way you don’t seem to acknowledge it being special to you in any way—Kento’s not even sure if you recognize what broke—that reassures him. Because it really was an accident, but Kento doesn’t mind that he managed to break this particular plate. 

When he shoos you back to getting dressed, he finishes picking up the broken glass shards. There’s a certain lightness to his actions now, petty as it may be, he’s happy. Spends extra time writing a note for you to see when you unpack your food before he retires to the bathroom to start getting ready himself. 

Maybe he could do something about that lunchbox next. You don’t seem to mind.

YUUTA OKKOTSU Thursdays are Yuuta’s favorite day of the week because on Thursdays, you two meet up at your spot, which is really just a set of twin benches in the west quad, but it’s your place and Yuuta loves it. You will have reserved a study room in your favorite library, and Yuuta will buy snacks for your study session before you both head to the library in an attempt to finish up your work for the week in order to keep your Friday evenings free.

Yuuta usually gets to the bench before you, a combination of the engineering building being a little bit closer, and his legs being a lot longer. He doesn’t mind waiting for you, as it’s usually his first time seeing you in two days (your Tuesdays are too packed for anything other than a shared coffee break between lectures, and Wednesdays are his hell days), and spotting you through the crowd of dissipating students always brings a smile to his face.

You look cute today, an oversized sweater enveloping your frame that Yuuta can imagine you cozying into and nearly dozing off in your dreaded microbiology lecture. He laughs to himself at the mental image, just as you stop in front of him to ponder, “Something funny?”

Yuuta shakes his head, leaning down to kiss your forehead with a proper greeting. “Nothing,” he reassures you, reaching around to pull your backpack off of your shoulders, and slings it over one of his, “You look cute. Did you mean to buy a sweater big enough to double as a blanket?”

“The oversized look is in,” you scrunch your nose and roll your eyes, letting Yuuta take your hand in his despite his teasing, “I don’t even think I bought this, honestly. It might be Todo’s? Or Toge’s—it might even be Maki’s at this point.”

Yuuta freezes. He feels the world stop and a million different emotions surge through him at once, but the most prevalent of them all is something ugly and green. He could deal with Toge, though he doubts he’s the culprit. While you two shared a penchant for oversized clothing, Toge was more often than not the thief, rather than the lender, and he’s pretty good at keeping his collection of stolen goods under lock and key. Maki was out of the question, too, because you shared a class with Nobara earlier today, and there’s no way you’d have made it out of there wearing her girlfriend’s sweater.

So it probably was Todo’s. And Yuuta had said you looked cute. Though he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole, his moment of self-pity is waning, and overcast by something steely, something too-hot bubbling in his chest. The question of why you have it goes over his head—he’s not concerned with that, nor will he fault you for it—the matter at hand is that you’re wearing it. And, sure, Yuuta thought you looked good in it before, but he could name sixteen other things you’d look better in at this very moment.

You’ve gone on to ramble about something that happened earlier, but Yuuta’s not listening. He drops your hand first, then both of your backpacks on the bench behind him, before tapping at your wrists. You don’t seem to understand him, cocking your head to the side with a pensive expression, but Yuuta only taps at your wrists again with a simple command, “Up.”

It doesn’t seem like you understand, but you follow anyway, and Yuuta is pulling the sweater up and off of your body before you can question him. He tosses it onto the bench with little care, then removes his white jacket and places it atop your backpacks. “What are—” you don’t have time to finish before he’s pulled his own hoodie off his body, and slid it over your head.

Yuuta smooths out the fabric under his palms with a satisfied grin on his face. Much better.

“Aw, Yuuta!” you bring a hand to tug at the strings of the hood, a wicked smile replacing your dazed blinking, “I didn’t know you were so possessive.”

You tease him until he’s red up to his ears, embarrassed and borderline bashful, a complete 180 from the looming jealousy that took over him moments before as he shimmies on his jacket again and picks up your back backs. He huffs, as you tease him, circling an arm around his as you begin to walk to the student center. He doesn’t know if he agrees with your declarations of him being a possessive boyfriend, but he does know that he’s your boyfriend, and your boyfriend only.

“So, you think I look cute, still?” you question, picking up a pack of gummy worms. Yuuta lets out a breath of laughter, pressing another kiss to your forehead, “Even cuter than before.”

(Two days later, Todo can be found screaming wildly to Itadori when he comes across a familiar hoodie strewn across a random bench on campus—who considers visiting the Student Health Clinic to make sure an eardrum wasn’t ruptured—because, “Bro, what the hell? I swear I fucking lost this thing!”)

[peachdues]

someone get a crowbar and pry these two off each other jfc

MDNI. Explicit sexual content.

COMPASS MASTERLIST HERE

Whenever you’re around, Sanemi has a hard time keeping his body to himself.

Your physical relationship is intense, especially throughout those first few weeks. Sanemi can hardly keep his hands off you, and you’re no better. Not even the layers of each other’s clothing is enough to dissuade you, when the mood strikes. All it takes is one brush of his hand against your waist, or a touch that lingers slightly too long, and the two of you are on each other like a pair of spring rabbits.

Naturally, the fact that the two of you have to sneak around to a degree only further excites you both. It’s an extra layer of exhilaration, the feeling that what the two of you do is somehow forbidden, and that makes makes it all the harder to resist sneaking into corners of the bookstore to have it out.

And have it out you do.

Never in his life has Sanemi had as much sex — or consistently gotten off as quickly — as he has with you. Maybe that’s because he’s with his dream girl and he’s so in love with you that it makes him stupid. Or, maybe Sanemi has just finally found someone whose sex drive outpaces his own. Either way, he’s thrilled about it.

And the more time you spend exploring one another, the more your confidence grows. No longer is he the only one initiating; by July, you have no qualms about telling him exactly what it is you want — what you need.

Like that afternoon he’d managed to sneak over to the bookstore. It’d been about five days since he’d last seen you, and truly, he hadn’t walked into the store with ulterior motives. He’d only wanted to see you, maybe steal a kiss or two before his title reminded him that before he was yours, he was the Corps’. All he’d wanted was a little taste of your love; of what waited for him when he could finally stash away his crowbar and pretend he was anyone else.

Naturally, what he wanted and what you had planned were two very different things.

The moment you’d laid eyes on him, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and towed him to the back storeroom. Once safely inside, you’d pushed him down, forced him to sit atop a stack of shipping crates, and crawled right onto his lap.

“Need you inside me, baby,” you cooed against his ear, rolling your hips against his with a breathy, impatient little whine that never failed to drive him up the fucking wall with desire. “Need you to fill me up.”

He hadn’t been able to respond; you wouldn’t allow it, not when your fingers were already loosening his belt buckle. Besides, a strap of your sundress had fallen down your shoulder — what was he supposed to do, not suck your pretty tit right into his mouth? How else could he have smothered his groan when you finally sunk down on his throbbing cock, and began riding him without mercy? He’s only a man, and a fucking weak one at that, as the last few weeks had made clear. Especially when it comes to you.

He came embarrassingly fast that time, only just managing to bring you over the edge with him before he unloaded inside you, fast and hard.

“More”, you’d demanded, even before he’d finished spurting his release in you. “More.”

That’s another thing: you love him cumming in you. And he’s helpless to watch as years of common sense and diligent avoidance of the consequences of unprotected sex flies right out the damn window. Whatever higher level of reasoning he may have had, it’s fucking useless when he’s balls-deep inside you, feeling you squeeze and milk him for every last drop.

Besides, he can’t help but be entranced by the face you make every time he fills you up; it’s nothing short of pure ecstasy, and it’s consistently the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He hadn’t had much choice other than to obey your command. So, still buried deep inside you, he’d lifted you up and walked you across the storeroom to one of the sturdier supply shelves, and pressed you against it. And then he fucked you again like the dutiful boyfriend he is.

Thank god you’ve somehow ended up prescribed what can only be the most elite form of birth control.

He’d asked you, once, to take a pregnancy test earlier on, in a moment of anxious weakness. The idea of fucking raw as often as the two of you did with only a small pill to prevent any accidents was foreign to him, and Sanemi had made his resistance toward kids well known to you.

You’d agreed without hesitation or judgment.

Since then, he’s insisted on paying for your prescription. It’s only fair. Besides, it does help you with your monthly period cramps — he never wants something as trivial as cost to prevent you from getting the care he knows you desperately need.

But, god help him the day you ever run out, or somehow, the market for birth control dries up. Sanemi knows the chances he has of falling back on condoms or pulling out are slim to none.

Like he said: he’s fucking weak.

[nuemanfilms]

STARVED | S.W

Summary You and Sam don’t exactly have a balanced sex life due to your hunting lives, but you can make arrangements.

Warnings oral (female!recieving), praise, pussy drunk!sam, soft dom!sam, deans in the next room, fingering, Sam winchester is a pussy god, hair pulling, let me know if i missed anything

A/N i am back with a 1k word thingy drabble

16+ I am not responsible for the content you consume under this age.

Having sex in the motel room while Dean was asleep in the room next to you wasn’t exactly on you nor Sam’s to-do list, but the man did have needs. It’d been days, maybe even weeks Sam would exaggerate it as.

Your sex life on the road, accompanied by your boyfriend’s brother wasn’t exactly the best. Quickies done in the back of the impala did the job sometimes, but you couldn’t keep doing that. Dean obviously caught on to it soon enough and was pissed just by the idea of you both having sexual intercourse in the back of his vehicle.

This was possibly the only time you could even get a release.

“One time, please? I need you- I need to taste you so bad..” Sam begged, his lips were leaving kisses on your collarbone. While his pleads were muffled against your flesh, you still could make out what he was saying.

“Sam… Dean’s just in the next-“

“I know.” He cut you off, his hand slithering down to cup your sex through your panties that were clearly soaked. He could feel how wet you were for him, “You’re soaked though, baby… you want this too, right?” You squirmed at his touch, “C’mon, Sweetheart… ‘s okay, I’ll deal with him in the morning.” He reassured you, sighing, you relented.

“Just- be gentle, Sam.” You said, although you didn’t really need much convincing. Honestly, if he moved away, you’d be begging for him too. That was the power he had over you.

”Fuck, baby..” Sam groans, he almost instantly drops to his knees. Settling himself between your slightly parted thighs, his hands are tugging your jeans off faster than you can process. He’s prying your legs open just so he can get a clear view of the mess you’ve made for him, he could come in his jeans just from the sight.

You were soaked.

“Do you know how hard it is, honey?” He starts, you help him kick your jeans to pool around your ankles. He let out another groan at the sight of your lace panties, completely ruined just from the filth spilling from his lips. Sam’s lips make his way up to your inner thighs, starting to place gentle kisses on the skin there. Sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh, but it wasn’t enough. He was purposely teasing you, trying to rile you up even more. He wanted you a desperate mess by the time he was done, and he was doing a damn job of it.

“Sam—“ you whine, your hand ran through his locks and tugged. Directing him where you needed him most. He moaned at that, his breath fanning over your heat.

“Needa taste my girl’s pussy, yeah? You're gonna let me right, baby?” Sam says softly, you nod in response.

“Words.” He demands, it’s still in a soft tone but firm.

“Yes, god yes- Please, Sam.” That was enough for Sam to take both his hands to give him more access to your cunt. You were dripping with arousal for him, and he was lapping it up like a starved man.

He flattens his tongue against you, relishing in the cries of pleasure that escape from you. You can feel his pride against you, his grin. His hands cupping your ass to pull you forward against his lips. Seeing this large man, this fierce, strong hunter at your feet has you nearly coming undone at the sight. It was making your head more frenzied and fuzzy, your words becoming more incoherent.

Your mouth opens in a silent moan when his middle finger slips inside of you, “God- fuck, Sam!” You nearly scream in ecstasy and he hasn’t even added a second finger. The previous worry of Dean overhearing you both was pushed to the back of your mind. You couldn’t care less who heard you right now.

He adds another finger, he’s working at a steady pace, yet it’s enough to have you chanting his name like a prayer. The way he’d suck your clit in between his lips, it was so fucking filthy— yet it felt so good.

Sam Winchester was a sex god.

Your hands tug at his strands, the heat in your stomach was building, the knot tightening. Sam wasn’t letting up anytime soon. When his eyes met yours, you let out another pathetic whimper. He looked so drunk, yet so beautiful at the same time.

“so good— Sam, it feels too good… please-“ you panted, your breathing was heavy, and Sam didn’t relent. He kept his head buried between your thighs, letting out an occasional hum at your juices hitting his taste buds.

He pulled away for a split second, his fingers still scissoring inside of your cunt.

“Let go, Honey… you can, ‘s okay, I’ve got you.” He mumbled before flicking his tongue out at your swollen pearl again. Your face was an embarrassing shade of pink, but that didn’t matter when the man beneath you was giving you this insane amount of pleasure. Sam was just as loud as you. His sounds were lewd against your core, yet his need was so clear.

Your legs trembled as you came, your hands slipping out of his hair to hold onto the bed sheets in an attempt to steady yourself. His fingers were still curled inside of you, rocking you through your orgasm.

When he pulled away, his face glistened with your arousal. He brought the pads of his fingers to his mouth, god, he looked like a fucking masterpiece. He pressed a final kiss to your bud before trailing his lips up to your own.

“Did so good for me, baby…” He praised, a smile painting his lips. You were out of breath, flushed red like a tomato. Heavy pants still wrecked your body but you managed to press your lips against his. His now fully erect length pressing firmly against you.

“Dean’s gonna kill us,” You managed to add some humor in your tone. Sam chuckled, “Yeah, but i’m not done just yet, Sweetheart.”

[solxamber]

This is quite a silly holiday event ya have there..😼 Diasomnia, 2 comedy?please and thank youu!!

Have a great dayyy!! 😸

Culinary Fear || Lilia Vanrouge

For the Holiday Event! || Theme: Baking/Cooking together ; Genre: Comedy

The kitchen is a war zone. Flour dusts every surface like freshly fallen snow, splatters of vibrant, unidentifiable liquids cover the counters, and there’s a distinct smell of burnt… something.

“Ah, doesn’t this just scream holiday cheer?” Lilia exclaims, holding up a bowl of what might once have been dough. Now, it’s a questionable neon green, with little black specks swirling ominously. “This will surely bring joy to everyone!”

You glance at the bowl and then at Lilia, who looks positively radiant with pride. “Lilia… what exactly is in that?”

“Oh, just a pinch of everything that felt festive!” He winks, sprinkling what looks like crushed candy canes into the mix. The bowl fizzes slightly. “Cooking is about creativity, my dear!”

“Cooking is also about not poisoning people,” you mutter, grabbing the bowl from him before he can add anything else to his holiday concoction of doom.

Lilia claps his hands. “Nonsense! This will be a masterpiece!”

You sigh, glancing at the tray of cookies in the oven that somehow looks worse than the raw dough. The candy cane stripes have melted into a tie-dye of neon colors, and one cookie is bubbling like a witch’s cauldron. It’s both fascinating and terrifying.

“Alright, Lilia, I’m stepping in. Let me… adjust a few things.”

“You’re doubting me?” Lilia places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “But very well. I’ll trust your touch.”

You carefully add ingredients to salvage the taste, though there’s no saving the appearance. When the cookies finally emerge, they look like creatures from a low-budget horror movie. The colors are nightmarish, some pieces are oddly misshapen, and one even has what looks like teeth (you refuse to ask how).

Just as you’re contemplating throwing them into the Abyssal Dark for safety, Sebek marches into the kitchen.

“YOUNG MASTER DESERVES THE FINEST HOLIDAY TREATS! WHAT IS THIS AMAZING AROMA?!”

You and Lilia exchange a glance, neither saying a word.

Sebek grabs a cookie that looks like it’s staring at him and bites into it. Everyone freezes, waiting for the inevitable meltdown.

But then…

Sebek swallows, his eyes widening. “IT’S… IT’S DELICIOUS!”

Lilia’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “I knew it!” he exclaims, puffing out his chest with pride. “My culinary instincts are unmatched!”

You cough, trying to hide your laughter. “Uh-huh. Instincts.”

Sebek takes another bite, blissfully unaware of the side-eyes Silver and Malleus are giving him as they peek into the kitchen.

Malleus steps forward cautiously, his gaze fixed on the monstrosities on the tray. “Are these… safe?”

“Oh, come now, Malleus!” Lilia laughs, shoving a cookie into the prince’s hand. “Have a little faith in your old man!”

Malleus holds the cookie like it might explode. Silver steps back, looking at you with the kind of betrayal usually reserved for war crimes.

“This is your fault,” Silver mutters under his breath.

“What?! I saved them from tasting like nightmares!” you protest, though your argument falters when you remember the teeth-cookie.

“If this is what saving looks like,” Silver deadpans, “then perhaps we were better off before.”

Malleus, to his credit, takes a dignified bite. There’s a long, ominous pause.

“…It is… acceptable,” he says finally, though he places the rest of the cookie on the counter with more care than necessary.

Lilia beams. “Success!” He grabs another mixing bowl, already tossing in a whole stick of butter, an uncracked egg, and something suspiciously green. “Shall we start the next batch?”

“Wait, wait, wait!” You rush over, attempting to wrestle the bowl from his hands. “Lilia, maybe we should, uh, celebrate the success of this batch first before we make more?”

“Nonsense!” Lilia says cheerfully. “The holidays wait for no one!”

Malleus leans closer to you, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Are you certain you are not working to eliminate my lineage through unconventional means?”

Silver sighs, rubbing his temples. “I think I’ll go on patrol.”

Sebek, meanwhile, is scarfing down his fourth cookie. “YOU SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR MASTER LILIA’S EFFORTS! THIS IS A GIFT!”

You stare at the chaos unfolding, caught between laughter and despair. The next batch is already forming in the mixing bowl, glowing faintly as Lilia hums a holiday tune.

This… is going to be a long day.

Masterlist

[spncvr]

HIII I kinda suck at writing so maybe you could take my idea and use your amazing writing skills and make something of it? (Only if you want ofc!!) hear me out yk how Spencer rambles about random facts and everything at the bau imagine if he had a partner (was a profiler as well) and that knew a lot about musics or movies and would ramble about it to him?

Ignore this if it sounds stupid 😭

rambles | s. reid

summary: you talk a lot, spencer doesn't mind.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: okay so idk if this counts as gn!reader?? but reader wears a dress lol. drinking, and again my terrible english,, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: hey beautiful!! this deffo does not sound stupid i had fun writing it but this is so bad im sorry i didn't do u justice *crying emoji* also im so sorry this took me forever to finish LMAOOO

masterlist

YOU CAN FEEL it.

In your spine, in your ears. The song’s quiet but it had you in its grip, tight and firm—music’s always been like that to you. It didn’t matter if it was Hendrix, Queen or even Chopin; it has always been the one thing to make you stop dead at your feet. It’s a feeling you can’t quite put your finger on. There wasn’t a word in the English language that could possibly describe how it made you feel. Perhaps, you think humorously, you ought to learn another language, or two. 

You’re wearing this dress. This sweet, white silk thing that sweeps against your knees each time you take a step. The taste of expensive wine sits against your lips, lingering. The glass rests idly around your hand and your grip is careful. Expensive red wine and a cheap dress don't usually mix well together. 

“You okay?” 

You smile, teeth and all. Spencer who’s found his place next to you, furrows his eyebrows worry painted against his soft features. He looks tired. But he’s here, with the rest of the team; he always is.

“Fine,” you say, blasé. “You, Dr. Reid?”

His eyebrows raise slightly, “Yeah, fine.” then, “nice dress.” It’s a small whisper. 

You brush your tongue against the wine on your lips. The comment catches you off guard—especially when he’s dressed like this and looks at you like that. So, all that leaves your wine-stained lips is a small: “Oh.” then, because you remember your manners you say, “Thank you.”

The song changes, and Spencer smiles, “The songs—” he says “they’re nice.”

“I—” You stop yourself from rambling because really, they’re more than nice. It’s Elle Fitzgerald. She’s—Her voice, her instrument is clear as a bell, with diction that’s almost impossible to misunderstand. Her rhythm is— well it’s, you can set her as the metronome for her own band. Which, well, isn’t exactly easy to do. The way she’s able to scoop and bend her pitches with such precision is, beyond, nice. So the song, really it’s, more than nice, it’s a masterpiece it’s—

“Uh, yeah, s’nice.” you pause, “More than nice, really.”

Spencer smiles, amused, “More than nice?” he echoes.

You clear your throat, “It— yeah. I mean, it’s Fitzgerald, you know…”

“I don’t know,” he says simply.

Figures, you think. “No, yeah. She’s, like, got this tone in her voice, you know? And it’s like she’s the one leading the band— with the rhythm, I mean. As in like, instead of the drummer, which isn’t exactly easy to do. You know, actually, some people say she — she’s got the voice of an angel. Or something along the lines; can’t really remember and—” you pause, slightly embarrassed at how much you’ve been talking.

“Er, sorry,” you mumble sheepishly. The edge of your shoes had suddenly become increasingly interesting. “didn’t mean to go on a tangent.”

Spencer kisses his teeth, and you look up to find him grinning. “No, uh,” he scratches the edge of his eyebrow. “You don’t need to apologize for talking about something you like.” He seems to think about his next words as he brushes his hand against your arm. It sends a shiver that lingers longer than the touch itself. Spencer Reid could be so cruel sometimes. 

“I love listening to you talk.”

Your dress ends up wine-stained, anyway.

as usual my inbox is always open for requests (or just to talk lol) but it will take 192374 years to actually finish it,, reblogs are soo appreciated !! (u guys r always so kind idk why im asking for them) so is feedback btw!! (despretely in need of some)

[larcenywrites]

How do you think the first time young!Tony eats you out would be like? Specially if it's like the first time ever he's eating pussy 🥴 like, what would he do/how would he eat you out, what would be his thoughts during the whole thing, is he gonna cum just from that, does he want to just keep going and going and make you cum a dozen times just with his tongue and fingers?

It turned into a little more than I thought it would, buuuuut 😘

It’s a bit silly at first.

“You can’t make fun of me,” Tony suddeny speaks up, interrupting his own trailing kisses that ended a tad frustratingly above your panties.

“Hm?” You hummed, lifting your head to stare at him in confusion. And a little worried you’d made him insecure somehow. His slightly parted lips closed tightly, nervously. Before you could voice any concern, he answered your question, and quietly. “I’ve never done this before.”

You kept your eyes on him, probably now a little surprised. Tony wasn’t exactly innocent, and this definitely wasn’t your first sexual encounter with him, but surely he’d had some experience with it at some point, right?

“Never?” You finally asked, matching his quiet tone. He shook his head a little.

You smiled, perhaps a little mischievously, and reached out to affectionately play with his hair. “Do you need any help?”

“No,” he answered quickly, eyes pouting. “I’ve seen porn,” he continued matter of factly, already pulling at the thin material clothing your waist.” “And I’ve thought about how to do it,” he sassed, glancing back up at you as he began to pull your underwear down. You didn’t get to see his loving smile when you fell back onto your pillow with a laugh. “What? You’ve seen me lick icing off of a cupcake.”

He did love to make you laugh, but right now he’d rather hear your moans.

He’s eager, but doesn’t want to disappoint.

He wasn’t new to tossing your panties to the floor, nor was he unfamiliar with the sight of your pretty pussy. But he hesitated, instead placing a long kiss to the side of your knee to play it off. He’d been so confident in the way his wet kisses had trailed down your body with an obvious purpose, but now that he was here, he worried that maybe he didn’t quite know what to do after all. To keep up the facade, Tony dragged his kiss into your thigh. You can probably tell he’s a little nervous and stalling for time, but as soon as your meant-to-be-soothing-and-reassuring touch scratches over his scalp, he quickly snaps out of it and gently dives straight into your pussy. He doesn’t need any help. His lips know where he usually puts his fingers, and to test the waters he tries to copy them, using his kiss to play with your nub. But it’s when his flattened tongue laps down to your dampened entrance and flicks up your clit that he feels your grip tighten in his hair and your legs twitch around his head. His mind nearly blanks from your warmth and smell enveloping him, making him only want to nuzzle in more, and your taste making his mouth water and only wanting to explore.

Luckily, he’s always been a quick learner.

His excitement has his heart beating and dick throbbing. He always pays attention to what he does right… so he does it again, slowly, dragging over your twitching clit, smiling when he gets another similar response. His confidence is back, in the form of his tongue swirling and massaging your well-wet hole, and in a moan when the nudging bridge of his nose against your sensitive nub is replaced by the suckling of his lips tongue. His own pleasure from pleasing motivates him.

When you cum, so does he.

He’s instinctively grinding himself against the mattress with the sting of your nails and the moans from your throat. He’s familiar with what the tightening of your legs around him means, but this time they’re closing around his head, pushing him into your pussy. His grip on your thighs only grips harder, as if to keep you there. It has him moaning, hot breath and vibrating voice enough to finally push you over the edge, and thankfully he doesn’t stop the pace of his tongue and lets you ride it out, holding onto you shaky legs and all. Shamelessly he humps the bed, wanting to desperately to cum with you and frustratingly hard. He excitedly leaves your clit alone just a tad too soon to instead get a taste of the dew pooling out of you. He’s tasted you from his fingers before, but this is different. He practically licks you out, taking it straight from the source and close to making you come again just from the slurping sound he makes when he exits to clean up his mess a little better. His back arches with the tingles your nails on the back of his neck sends down his spine, and his string of panted moans between sloppy kisses through your folds and bruising fingertips digging into your thighs lets you know he’s finally spilling in his jeans. But even as he’s still thrusting a few more times against the bed to finish himself off, he’s already starting over his softly-starting assault, both of you now overstimulated but beyond turned on from your new game, but not before coming up for a wet kiss, not even giving himself time to catch his breath.

[lovesick-wonderland]

Saccharine || c.yj

Summary: In which Yeonjun is addicted to your sweetness.

Warnings: DARK CONTENT, 18+, corruption kink, drugging, noncon, posessive yeonjun, jealous yeonjun, dom yeonjun, unprotected sex, naive y/n, y/n wears dresses and skirts, y/n has a vulva

Minors please DNI

Dislcaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. I do not condone the actions of any characters in this story and the actions do not reflect the idols in any way.

You're not his usual type, Yeonjun tells himself.

You're too sweet with your soft voice and doe eyes. Your pretty skirts and dresses. Too sacchrine that you drown out his other senses with your honeyed voice and personality.

But something akin to jealousy blooms in his chest when Beomgyu whispers something in your ear and you giggle or when you curl up in Soobin's chest when you watch a movie with him.

He reassures himself that you're not Soobin or Beomgyu's type either. Soobin always preferring older, more mature people while Beomgyu preferring someone with a bit more bite to them.

But that doesn't stop jealousy from rearing its ugly head.

Part of him hates it. Part of him hates the grip you have on him but he can't help himself being drawn to you like a bee to nectar.

But you're just too sweet he can't help but indulge.

It's not hard to slip something in your drink when you invite him over for your weekly hangouts.

You're cute when you're drowsy, fighting sleep, eyes fluttering curled up in your shared blanket with him on the couch. You even let out a small yawn and apologize to him before you finally fall asleep.

Yeonjun is estatic when he finally hears your breath slow and grow heavy. Quickly carrying you to your bed, veins buzzing with excitement.

You're finally his. Not Soobins, and especially not Beomgyus.

He drops you on your bed, climbing on top of you, taking in the sight of your cute sleeping form.

God he was going to ruin you.

Yeonjun captures your lips in a kiss, hands cupping your face. It's intimate, a kiss fitting of a lover and Yeonjun almost wishes you're awake. Would you kiss back? Would you be blushing? Or would you be forward? Would you freeze? Or maybe you would react with disgust, pushing him away?

Yeonjun moves down your neck, sucking hickies into your skin, marking you as his as he ghosts his hands up and down your body. His members will know exactly who you belong to.

He sits back and takes in your slightly disheveled appearance. You're so innocent and pretty like this, hair sprawled out, eyes closed, sleeping away without a care in the world or knowledge of what he was doing to you. Your skin starting to turn red and splotchy from the hickies, your lips swollen and slicked with saliva.

Yeonjun doesn't bother fully undressing you, skilled hands pulling your top up and fully discarding your bottoms and underwear. He doesn't fully bother undressing himself either, only taking off his bottoms and leaving his shirt on.

He pecks your lips before prying your legs open and trailing his lips down.

Fuck you look delectable.

He licks a stripe down your pussy, checking for any reaction. He lets out a groan at your taste before diving in and eating you out like a man starved.

He can hear your soft moans and light breaths as he continues. His hand gripping your thighs to keep you open as you approach your high.

He can feel you tighten around him as his tongue swirls inside you. He leaves your cunt, wanting to see your face when you cum. He replaces his tongue with his fingers as he watches you. You squirm slightly from his touch, letting out a whimper.

"It's okay sweetheart, be good for me and let yourself go." Yeonjun murmurs.

Yeonjun thinks it's cute as you cum with a whimper, your face flushed and body slightly sweaty, half undressed with your shirt pulled up to expose your chest.

He quickly removes his fingers and kneels between your legs, tugging at his already hard leaking member as he lines himself up with your slick hole.

Yeonjun lets out a huff as your tight walls engulf him, trying to move slowly as to not wake you. He lets out a moan as he feels himself bottom out, bumping against your cervix.

He begins thrusting, short and shallow, trying to carve himself into your walls.

You just feel too good. Your walls hugging him tightly, sucking him in deeper. Your small moans and breathy whimpers spurring him on.

It isn't long before Yeonjun's self controls slips away. How could he when you were just so addicting and sweet?

He folds your body into half, legs pressed against your shoulders as he fucks into you hard and fast.

Too caught up in his pleasure, Yeonjun doesn't notice it when your eyes begin to flutter open, awoken by the jostling.

"Jjunie? What's going on?"

Yeonjun freezes as ice fills his veins as he sees you gazing at him with your sweet bleary eyes. This was not supposed to happen.

His hand leaves your leg and comes to stroke your hair.

"Shhh, just go back to sleep. It's just a dream."

You slowly nod and lean into his touch, head not fully processing things as you mumble something incoherent as you doze off again.

You're so adorably naive, Yeonjun thinks to himself. Never questioning him and always obeying him.

Yeonjun resumes his previous pace before you awoke, chasing his high. He can feel you're close, hand snaking down to rub your clit in rough circles.

It's not long before you reach your high, taking Yeonjun along with you.

"You want my cum that bad? You're so good for me, aren't you? Take it like, it's all yours." Yeonjun speaks, out of breath.

Yeonjun's eyes roll to the back of his head as he cums inside you, feeling your walls pulse around him, milking him, begging for his cum.

Yeonjun pulls out slowly, eyes focused on your ruined cunt and how his cum oozes out of you.

He scrambles for his phone, quickly taking a picture of you and then one of your ruined pussy.

He lets out a small 'tsk' as he scoops up his cum and pushes it back inside of you.

He captures your lips in a sickly sweet kiss, his form suffocating your body.

"Not that innocent now, hm? You're just too sacchrine for me to resist, aren't you?"

[matchavellichor]

Just This Once Pt. 3

dark!Ominis x f!MC - NSFW - 3.1k words - ao3

A/N: final part!! left it a bit vague/open-ended but i hope the sneaky mc is implied enough 🫣

Tags: Pining, Requited Love, Obsession, Slight Somnophilia, Thigh Riding

Part 1, Part 2

Ominis stirs to a warm body curled against his, her face tucked into the crook of his neck, soft breathing sending little shivers of pleasure where it puffs against his skin. Maybe he’s died and gone to heaven. Considering everything he’s done, he quickly dismisses the possibility.

Realization steadily dawns on him on who exactly he’s holding and his arms tighten instinctively around her waist, as if he can somehow defy the laws of physics and mold her figure with his own. Her smell is all over him, a dizzying and intoxicating aroma, and he buries his nose in the crown of her head, inhaling deeply and praying her scent will forever be impregnated on his sheets.

He hopes it’ll be a while before she wakes. 

He contemplates the longevity of the dose he’d given her last night as his hand trails up her arm, tracing smooth planes he’s far too familiar with by now. That usual pounding in his chest awakens with the contact, almost like clockwork, sounding deafeningly in his ears as he takes his time exploring. His heart is in his throat by the time he dips his finger under silk ever so slightly, slips the thin little strap of her negligee down her shoulder. Something inside him tells him he shouldn’t, but his brain hasn’t woken up enough to pay any heed to its warnings. 

His fingers dust over exposed, sleep-warm skin and he revels in its softness, a sensation that fills him with the strange desire to ruin. To bite, and mark, and take, to make his. These urges don’t faze him anymore at this point, and he’s long accepted his own fallibility by the first time he’d had his hands all over her. Denying it any longer would be absurd, even for someone as delusional as him. 

Before he can consider it properly, he tilts his chin down and presses his lips to the sensitive juncture of her neck and shoulder, imagining this is something he has some sort of right to wake up to every day, some right to wake her up to. She’s so devastatingly warm, and he earns a surge of adrenaline from the feeling of her pulse pressed right against his mouth, almost beating in synchrony with his own.

She doesn’t stir as he trails up her neck with feather-light kisses, but something else does, a far too recognizable sensation. That familiar aching fire he feels in his gut, that seeps down lower and lower towards his groin, sears his very nerves and courses red-hot heat through his blood. He used to feel some level of revulsion, self-reproach, shame. Now all he can feel is how perfect she is pressed so tightly against him, too overwhelming to preoccupy himself with any other thoughts.

His tongue dips out to lick a stripe under her jaw, but he only tastes her briefly before he stops himself. He’s so achingly hard in his trousers already. He should be embarrassed—he would if he had even the slightest sense of shame. He doesn’t. 

The only thing stopping him from unsheathing himself, indulging, slick and warm in his own fist, is the thought that she could wake at any time. Even then, it’s only faulty hesitations that stop him, waning and flimsy in the face of his overwhelming desire. 

He lets his cheek press to the top of her head and closes his eyes, focusing on her soft breathing against the underside of his jaw, trying to gain some level of self-restraint. It’s like she was made to exhaust every last shred of it.

Some sick part of him is tempted to dose her with more of the potion lying on his bedside table. Pry her mouth open and keep her pliant for him for a few more hours. He could have his way with her again, stretch this blissful moment out as long as possible.

Rationally, he knows he can’t. Reason steadily seeps into his infatuated brain and dismisses any fantasies he has of holding her all day, touching and caressing, and taking advantage, to the fullest, sickest extent of the word. He knows that their friendship dangles over a precipice by a thread at the moment, that any moment she’ll wake and realize where she is and what he’s done to her, and she’ll be repulsed by him.

The thought makes his chest tighten, douses him in a bucket of cold water and finally pushes him to carefully, reluctantly, disentangle his body from hers and pull away. The loss of her warmth is like a knife being driven into his chest, but almost immediately after he unwraps his arms from her waist, she wakes, blinking drowsily at him in the dimly-lit room.

“Ominis?” His name on her tongue is quiet and sleep-rough, and the sound only serves to worsen the tender wound in his heart, making the urge to pull her back into his arms almost unbearable.

He clears his throat, his chest pounding as he scrambles for an excuse after clearly having been so close to her. “Sorry, I’m–I’m sorry, I was just—”

“Will you come back to bed?”

He stills. He has half a mind to imagine he’s misheard her, or that she’s still under the influence to request such a thing. When she doesn’t get a response she sinks back against the pillows, shifting towards the edge of the bed and patting the open space beside her. 

“Please?”

His body moves of its own accord before he can properly rationalize any part of this. She’s obviously not in any right state of mind—she can’t be. She’ll be disgusted with him as soon as she comes to her senses. He can’t fathom being wanted, not like this, much less by her. Despite these thoughts, he climbs under the covers beside her, his heart stuttering in his chest when she immediately tucks herself into his side, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

He goes rigid as a board. The notion that he’s died and gone to heaven suddenly seems more plausible again, even if all parts of him imagine the notion absurd. There’s no part of him that doubts that the figure snuggled around him is anything less than an angel, however. 

He hesitantly pulls one of his arms over her body, holding her, but not in the way he truly wants to. He restrains himself, even if his willpower feels bent to the brink of snapping with how warm and soft she feels. 

“Is–Is this alright?” He asks, something he’s admittedly unaccustomed to doing. The words sound foreign in his mouth. 

She nods against his skin, soft hair tickling the underside of his jaw. “You can touch me,” she murmurs, voice small as if she’s admitting to a secret. “I like it when you do.”

She sounds so sincere. It rips Ominis apart. 

Those simple little words are enough to knock all the air out of his lungs, devastating —in all the good ways the word can be. He presses his nose to her temple so his next inhale will be nothing but her, wanting his lungs filled, hoping she’ll occupy every single cavity. He doesn’t know what to do with so much unrestrained permission to touch. Hesitantly, inevitably, he indulges.

Her skin feels novel under his fingertips as he ponders the incredulous reality that the reason he’s holding her is because she asked him to, and not because he’s forced his will again. Any exhilaration he’s felt exploring her before is incomparable to the sensation he feels with the simple brush of his thumb over her collarbone knowing she actually welcomes his eager hands.

He isn’t sure what he’s ever done to deserve this. 

He’s absolutely certain of all the things he’s done to never be even the smallest fraction worthy, however, and the sudden feeling of guilt begins to encroach on the bliss he should feel in the moment. Her chest pressed against his, her breathing ghosting his cheek, it slips him back to all the ways he’s violated her trust. Taken from her what she now gives him so willingly. 

He should confess. He should be honest with her about everything, if he wants even the slightest chance at redeeming himself. He should—

His brain whites out when she shifts to hitch a leg over his waist, and he suddenly becomes acutely aware of just how bare she is underneath her chemise, pressed right against his thigh. What was it he should be doing again?

His heart skips a few beats, and then a couple more, and then his hands are flying to meet her waist, to stop her from doing any more adjusting and sending him to a much-too-early grave via cardiac arrest.

Did he not put her knickers back on her last night? How could he be such a fool? Does she realize? She must, he posits. Yet, miraculously, she hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t made a single comment about her bareness. In fact, she seems perfectly content, blissfully comfortable as she stretches her body out over his, infuriatingly unaware of how terribly she’s ruining him.

Ominis’ thoughts of doing the right thing, of redemption and conciliation, of treating the precious thing in his arms the way she deserves to be treated, disintegrates along with the last vestiges of his self-restraint. He trails a hand over the thigh bracketed over his hips, and rests it there, still and neutral, and very much not taking advantage, he tells himself.

But then she sighs, a gratified little sound, and he shatters.  

He lets his palm drag over her skin, lower and lower towards her knee before making its journey back up, stroking tenderly, tracing every contour with his thumb. He lets his other hand rub comforting circles on her back, basking in the warmth that seeps through the silk of her gown. A smile tugs at his lips at the quiet hum of approval she gives him, making him feel all more justified in his decision to touch. 

“Feels nice,” she murmurs, voice still drowsy, just the way he likes her.

“You feel nice,” he confesses. 

He doesn’t ask for permission when he drags his hands higher up her thigh, thumb brushing over the dip of her hipbone, peeking under satiny silk. She doesn’t protest, almost as if she’s used to him not asking by now. 

“Always feel so nice,” he murmurs aimlessly before he can stop himself, words drenched in admiration. “So soft. Never felt anything so soft”

He lets his hands drag higher, under, her breath hitching from the contact, a little gasp let out where she tries to hide her face against his neck. So shy. He wonders if she’d be so demure if she knew how eagerly he’d already explored all those intimate parts of her, both with his lips and with his fingers.

His palms find purchase on either side of her hips and he barely has to apply any pressure before she’s shifting on her own accord, pressing herself against his thigh, her body seeking him out even if her brain hasn’t caught up to the notion yet. He intakes a sharp breath and exhales a curse against her shoulder.

She stills, as if she isn’t currently straddling his leg, as if her nails aren’t leaving little red crescents on his forearm, and her traitorous breathing isn’t revealing everything she feels at the moment.

He knows what she needs, and gets a strange thrill out of being able to give it to her, even if she doesn’t know how to ask quite yet. Lucky for her, he’s very good at taking without asking. 

He only needs to apply a little pressure for her hips to move. Just a tiny push, a barely-there nudge for her perfect body to grind right up against him, bare mound rubbing against the soft cotton of his trousers. Her cheek is searing where it’s pressed against his shoulder, chin tucked at his collarbones, shame painting her face a pretty red.

“It’s alright,” he reassures, voice low and tender as if he’s soothing a startled animal. As if he might break her out of the spell he finds her in. “You’re okay. Just let me take care of you. You don’t have to do a thing, angel.”

She doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need her to. He plants a kiss to the top of her head and slowly guides her movements, little stuttered rolls of her hips against his, an excruciatingly languid pace, but he’s never had more patience in the world. She rocks herself against his thigh until there’s a wet spot on his pants, the realization making his entire world tilt left and his head spin.

He has her. Actually has her. Grinding on his lap, muffling pleas against his skin, soaking through the material of his trousers. There’s a surreality to the entire thing that guides all of his actions, makes him more unabashed, his fingers digging into her hips and paying no mind to any marks he might leave.

He seeks his own pleasure as he helps her seek hers, fixates on all the ways he can make her toes curl against his calves, where that sensitive little part of her catches on something punishing and she keens. 

“Just like that,” he encourages, voice hoarse, a burning that only comes from true, unashamed passion. The slightest hint of mirth bleeds through his tone, depravely satisfied. “You like this, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, still playing coy. He finds he likes it when she pretends.

“You do,” he whispers, lips pressed to the shell of her ear. “You think I can’t feel how much of a mess you’re making on my trousers, hm?”

Her response is a stifled cry, body shuddering under his compelling hands, clinging to every praise he whispers in her ear. He’s never felt so unashamed before, so disgustingly bold, drunk on the arousal he feels from her lithe body humping his.

“You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?” He asks, teeth scraping at the sensitive lobe of her ear, dragging down her skin until she whines. “My sweet, sweet girl. I’ve wanted you, too. Wanted you for so long.”

She unburies her face from his neck, cheeks flushed a crimson hue, stray hairs sticking to her temples. He can’t see her, but her stuttered breathing against his lips is all he needs to know she’s a mess.  

He wants to reach out, cup her face, stroke her skin, but she doesn’t grant him the opportunity. In the very next moment, she’s surging forward to capture his lips in hers, desperate and urgent and wholly unashamed. He groans into her mouth, an almost tortured sound that her lips rip easily from the back of his throat. 

This kiss is different. 

Far better than anything he could ever have experienced before, any reciprocation that the Imperius could hope to replicate, any softness he could strive to receive from her sleeping form. 

This kiss is enough to destroy him, leave him gutted and flayed open, and evidently it’s enough to do the same to her, as she’s pushed almost immediately over the edge of ecstasy. 

Her whole body tenses, perfect and rigid yet somehow still so unbelievably malleable against his, a delicious contradiction. He swallows every last moan she lets out against his lips, every hitching gasp and strangled whimper. Her fingers curl into the front of his shirt for support, and his hands never leave her hips as he guides her through her high, in the same fashion his mouth never disconnects from hers.

Only when she manages to grow even pinker in the face, lungs burning and chest heaving against his, do they finally break, hot and heavy pants puffing against swollen, kiss-bruised lips. Ominis feels he might faint.

Miraculously, he only lets his head fall back against the pillow as he tries to gain some level of motor coordination. She huffs a soft, pleasure-drunk laugh against his cheek, mumbles something he can’t quite hear over the ringing in his ears.

Only when she finally moves, shifting over his body to a more comfortable position, does awareness flood back into him. Slowly, she pulls herself from his limp-muscled body, unslots herself from his now cum-slick leg. Ominis mourns the loss of the wet-hot heat of her, but she quickly rectifies it with a kiss against his cheek and her arms clinging tight around his waist.

“You’re perfect,” she whispers, voice quiet but far from meek when she says it. It sounds almost like forgiveness, but he can’t begin to fathom the meaning behind it in the state he’s in.

He feels too drunk on sheer euphoria, an involuntary smile pulling at his lips. He’s shared something beautiful with her, something good for once. Something he thought he was incapable of for the longest time. Overwhelmed by the feeling that all he can do is destroy, hurt, ruin. 

There’s still that contrite voice in his head, but it's soothed now, a mere whisper, acquiesced by some strange sense of absolution he’s received from her. The itch to say something, to confess, to ask for forgiveness is there, but it’s faint. Bearable. 

“I’ll never hurt you,” he says in place of an admission, a promise more to himself than to her. He leaves out the again even though the word rings slightly in his ears. Guilt is an easy thing to ignore when you have the object of all of your desires swaddled in your arms. “I swear it to you.”

She pulls back to study him for a beat, the slightest hint of knowing behind her eyes, before she smiles and presses her forehead against his own. “I know that, silly. I’ve always trusted you,” she noses at his cheek, lips tilting down to press against the corner of his mouth, brief and reassuring. “Always.”

The smile he returns her is rueful, forced. He feels the words catch on his tongue again, a heavy knot that he tries to force down, but every swallow sticks to his throat. He kisses her before she can decipher the remorse behind it. 

Her kiss melts his worries away like sugar cubes in hot tea, dissolving into insignificant little particles. Before, he wasn’t sure if he’d be okay with her never knowing, but now he thinks he can manage keeping a secret if it means he can keep her. Forever, indefinitely, as long as time will permit it.

He presses his lips to the top of her head and lets his eyes flutter closed, in a state of genuine peace for the first time in months, years. Somewhere beneath the tranquility, possession broils quietly in his blood, a litany of mine, mine, mine—a sense of blissful conquest. She seems to sense it, somehow, welcomes it.

There’s the slightest quirk of her lips at the corner, a soft smile. One he wouldn’t be able to see anyway, even if she weren’t hiding it against the crook of his neck. Quiet, cunning, yet intrinsically content. Like the cat that caught the canary, or even, a particularly sly snake that had found its way inside her garden. 

[redocity]

Hiii i love your writing!! Currently keeping me alive 😩 im begging for some angst hurt to comfort. Maybe something involving abby but ultimately a happy ending?

MOVING ON - E.BUCKLEY

buck was finally taking the step to move out of abby’s apartment, except it’s not exactly that easy.

WARNINGS: buck has a minor breakdown oops, minor abby slander, happy ending

buck x fem!reader II hurt/comfort Il 2.3k Il requests open!

a/n: thank you for the request! і love writing angsty stuff

₊ ⊹ masterlist!!

Buck had finally decided that he’d had enough.

He wasn’t going to wait for Abby to come home anymore. He needed to move on. It’d been almost five months since she’d left, and five months of the team trying to convince him she wasn’t coming back.

He’d given up trying to convince them all that their relationship was just ‘unconventional’ by now, and after a particularly lonely Friday night he decided it was time to make a move.

"Can you believe it? After five months? I’m finally moving out of her apartment." Buck lugs a half filled cardboard box over to the dining table, dropping it down with a thud.

“I’m proud’a you,” You tap his shoulder with your hand as an indication for him to move, laughing with a roll of your eyes. “Glad you actually got to this point,”

He makes no resistance to your silent instruction, shifting to lean his back against a clear area of the table and watching as you rifle through the box to properly organise his horrible packing job. "I know you were all sick of me moaning about her. I still can’t believe she just up and left me like that."

“It was definitely a dick move, but if we’re being honest here she didn’t deserve you anyway,” You wave off his unspoken apology for talking your ear off for the last few months with your hand.

“I just thought we were really something you know? Then she up and leaves out of nowhere,” Buck sighs. He was sick of her, he was sick of the fact she’d left him with nothing but a half-arsed explanation and an empty promise of them staying in touch.

But sometimes he can’t help but reminisce on how she used to make him feel and believe that maybe she really was going to come home. “She was supposed to be the one, I can’t believe I was so stupid."

“Unfortunately Buck,” You reach over the table to grab the packing tape, it making a harsh noise as you rip off a piece to tape the - now neatly organised - box. “That how real dating works,”

"No, this wasn’t ‘real’ dating. Real dating doesn’t involve her leaving after she said I could move in, she didn’t even say a real goodbye, I had to find out that she wasn’t coming back from an Instagram post of her kissing some random guy in Thailand." Buck’s voice plainly displayed his emotional exhaustion.

He didn’t want to think about Abby anymore, but it was just so hard to get her out of his head when he really thought that their relationship was going somewhere.

“Head up mister,” You tap your middle and index fingers against the underside of his chin with a sigh. “There’s plenty more fish in the sea,”

Buck laughed exasperatedly. He hated that quote, it always felt so insincere. Then again that was probably because he’s used it so many times in the past when turning down his previous hookups who wanted a more serious relationship.

Now he was on the other end of it, and it just felt ironic.

“You just don’t get it, we were a perfect match for each other,” Buck exhales dramatically, turning his head up to the ceiling. "She was beautiful. She was kind. She was smart. Our sex life was perfect, she was exactly who I was looking for but she left. She just up and left."

“It happens unfortunately,” You shrug your shoulders slightly. “Especially with someone who was dealing with so many personal issues like she was,” You give up on your organising for now as you entertain Buck’s want to get everything off his chest.

“Looks like you finally got a taste of your own medicine hey?” Your attempt at lightening the mood a little is met by a roll of Buck’s eyes and a sigh.

You had a point to an extent, he’d never really dealt with a real breakup before even though he’d been with plenty of other women. "What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everyone’s gotta experience heartbreak at some point, it’s part of your character development,” You mirror the way he’s leaning against the dining table yourself, pressing your lower back against the wood with your arms crossed.

"I don’t think I needed that character development," Buck sighed once again, "I wish I wasn’t experiencing it right now. I just wish she’d call me or even send me something, anything. Tell me she’s not coming back properly you know?"

He’d probably try to convince her into a long distance relationship if she did call him. But he wasn’t going to tell you that part. He was supposed to be moving on.

“I deleted her number from your phone so… she’s not going to,”

“You did what?” You could hear the immediate hurt in Buck’s tone at your confession, demonstrated further by the way his eyes turned to you in astonishment. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, you are trying to physically move on,” You gesture towards the cardboard boxes that are littered around the apartment containing Buck’s belongings. “But you haven’t mentally moved on, you need both otherwise you’re gonna crash,”

Buck hated that you were right.

You were always right.

You always knew what was best for him when he didn’t even realise what was best for himself.

"I hate that all you do is say the right things at the right time."

“It’s a talent of mine,” You nudge him gently with a smile, again trying to lift up the mood a little.

Sometimes he hated that you were so kind too.

Some twisted part of him wished that you would do something wrong, that you would say the wrong thing and give him an excuse to let out all of his pent up frustration without feeling bad about it afterwards.

But you never did. And he didn’t know whether it was a blessing or a curse.

Then he started thinking about Abby again, of course he did. She was like a parasite that had burrowed a little cavity in his brain and wouldn’t leave no matter how many times he hit himself over the head.

He’d never had a truly vulnerable conversation with her when they were together. Not without the sole focus being on her or her mother’s health. He couldn’t remember a conversation that they’d had that was actually about his problems.

He couldn’t hate her for that. Of course not. She was going through a lot. But it really put into perspective who was the primary giver of their relationship. And it’s starting to make him question whether it was authentic in the first place.

Did she see it as a proper relationship like he did? Or was she using it as a distraction from all of the stress she had looking after her mother all the time?

He didn’t even realise he was tearing up until a drop of water hit the back of his hand.

“Are you alright?” You turned your head towards him after noticing how he’d gone quiet, his head lowered to a point where you couldn’t fully see the expression on his face.

“I don’t know-” His words said one thing, but the way he shook his head said something else. He was very clearly not okay.

“Buck…” You sigh softly at his tone, sounding a little forced as if he was scared of his voice breaking halfway through his sentence.

“Can I have a hug? Please?” He asked his question hesitantly, no longer trying to hide the wavering in his tone. He felt stupid for feeling like this over something that was seemingly so trivial to him in the past, but right now he didn’t feel like doing anything but crying until he physically couldn’t anymore.

He felt even stupider acting like this in front of you of all people. You’d dealt with enough of his baggage already, and he didn’t want to do to you what Abby had done to him in essentially using you as a human diary.

You don’t hesitate in your answer at all. “C’mere,”

You barely even open your arms before the space is filled by Buck, his head hidden against the shoulder of your t-shirt to hide his expression from you.

You lean your weight fully against the edge of the table as you envelop him into a hug, rubbing your hand up and down his back in your best attempt at physically soothing him as he lets out a soft cry into your shoulder.

A fully grown man crying into the arms of someone half his size because he couldn’t handle a breakup. Who would’ve thought?

The longer you held him the less he felt like he had to be embarrassed about it. Somebody had his back, and he didn’t ever want that to end.

“You’re gonna be alright,” The hand that wasn’t gently rubbing soothing lines over his back cupped the back of his neck, holding his head securely against your shoulder.

You knew he was going to break down eventually. You were just glad he had someone present during it.

"Thank you," Buck whispered to you as he began to calm down, "Thank you so much."

Embracing you felt like home, the first time in a long time that he’d felt like he had support. Like he could be himself.

He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to let go, and for the first time in a while he felt as if everything would be okay.

“Don’t mention it,” You make no move to pull away from the hug once he’s calm enough to speak to you again, content to wait until Buck was comfortable enough to pull away in his own time.

He didn’t seem like he was going to let go any time soon.

“Can we just stay like this forever?” Buck’s voice is muffled against your shoulder as he speaks, and he links his arms together behind your waist. “That would be nice,”

You laugh shortly at the question, your shoulders shaking slightly as you do and in turn jostling Buck slightly in your arms. “I think my legs would give out after a while, you’re heavy you know,”

"They’d get stronger eventually," Buck muttered, "We could work out together. I could train you."

Buck was enjoying this more than he wanted to admit but, as usual, his mouth spoke before his brain had a chance to control it. He was just glad that you hadn’t actually pulled away yet.

“You can’t train me to do anything if you won’t let go,”You continue to laugh softly at his proposition as your hand scratches gently at the hairs at nape of his neck.

“You can just hold me then,” He drops the idea almost immediately under the favour of staying securely in your arms.

He’d never hugged any of his friends like this before, although he supposes he’s never actually wanted to. But here he is nonetheless, and it was probably the most comfortable he’d ever been in his life.

He just wanted to stay in the little cocoon your arms provided him away from reality for the rest of his life, maybe longer than that. The only question was whether you’d entertain his idea of abandoning everything productive you were supposed to be doing so that he could satiate his desire to stay exactly where he was.

“Not standing up,” You shake your head against the side of his with a small chuckle. “My legs are already starting to hurt,”

“On the couch then? We can watch that movie you were talking about,”

“We still have packing to finish Buckley,”

“Tomorrow,” Buck shakes his head as he makes a move to separate himself from you, although not fully as his hands still lay carefully positioned on your sides. “I genuinely cannot do any more packing today,”

You raise an eyebrow at him and he tilts his head at you with a sigh. “Come on, humour me here I’m emotionally vulnerable,”

He slips one of his hands towards your wrist and gives it a small tug, his grip loose enough that if you wanted to pull your arm away from him you could do so with minimal effort. You don’t of course, allowing him to tug you forward until you’re not leaning against the table any more, your weight fully supported on your feet. “We can watch that movie, order a pizza and I can wallow in my emotions for a few hours until I’m mentally fit to continue packing,”

“Sounds like you’re just trying to procrastinate,” You furrow your eyebrows accusingly, but the smile on your face betrays your feigned scolding, just grateful that he was sound enough to joke about his own misery now that he’d actually had the chance to vent his emotions.

“Oh I definitely am,” Buck’s smile mirrors yours emphatically, and he starts towards the living room with your wrist in his hand so you’re ‘forced’ to follow him. “I hate packing, it’s boring and everyone always tells me I’m doing it wrong,”

[fuctacles]

I'm honoured, but why isn't Steve the best man?

After Vecna the party slowly accepted the dullness of monster-free life and went their own ways. They kept in touch and met up every now and then but rarely in the complete assembly.

But a wedding invite creates an opportunity to get everyone together again. Eddie has been touring most of the time, trying to get his band to pop off. Metal off. The point is, he's been a bit behind on what everyone's been up to, Henderson being his only source of updates and exchanged greetings for the better part of last year. In a month he can hug him in person, and he can host a short campaign in lieu of a bachelor party Dustin didn't want. He will ask Buckley about college life and Harrington about his disastrous love life in person.

He will ask why he was Henderson's best man, not Steve. Dustin was weirdly cryptic about it when Eddie asked and briefly wondered if they had a falling out and maybe Harrington wasn't invited at all. But that sounded ridiculous and impossible so Eddie scrapped that thought and curbed his curiosity until he was there himself.

Suzie's maid of honour turned out to be a girl named Eden. And to Eddie's surprise, she recognised him. Her slightly brooding and bored expression brightened a fraction when they got introduced.

"You play in Corroded Coffin, right?"

"Yep! The rest of the band is gonna be here too if you wanna meet them."

They joked about their similarities in the names, and the music taste until it was time to see the venue and do the wedding rehearsal. Eddie was surprised to find out Lucas was the one supervising it.

"I would give my right hand Harrington would be here to fuss over his favourite kid's wedding," he started nonchalantly as soon as he got him out of earshot.

Lucas eyed him with a weird expression.

"Well, the favorite kid isn't here so..." he trailed off pointedly.

"Ah. He's just fussing somewhere else, then. That makes sense."

"Yep," he nodded eagerly like the topic was exhausting him. But that wasn't going to deter Eddie, no sir.

"Why isn't he the best man, though?"

"What, you don't like it?" Lucas raised an eyebrow, his hands dropping to his hips. A stance he certainly learned from the babysitter himself.

"Of course I like it!" Eddie quickly assured him. "I just thought-"

"Listen, Dustin wanted both of you to be here. But for... personal reasons... Harrington had to step down."

Eddie didn't like the way Lucas was measuring his words. And he absolutely hated hearing him use 'Harrington' in place of 'Steve', like all the kids called him. There was something happening here and it didn't sound good. He frowned at his friend.

"Listen, bud, you're not exactly helping my worries here."

Lucas sighed like he was tired and while Eddie could understand that, considering he was helping with the wedding preparations, he had a feeling it was more targeted at him specifically.

"Look, I promise you," and he paused to look Eddie directly in the eyes, his gaze fierce and earnest. "It's not as bad as it sounds, okay?"

Eddie searched his face for a second but he couldn't find anything, any indication of insincerity. So eventually, he nodded.

"Okay," he said. "I trust you."

His friend's shoulders dropped with relief, lips curling into a small smile.

"Cool. Let's wrap it up here, then. Last run, everybody!"

////

Eddie watched the guests gather in the church benches. It was very out of his comfort zone and he couldn't remember the last time he was in any sacred place, but for the sake of his friend, he was gonna suck it up this once. Even if he had to spend even more time there as the best man.

The first rows were for the closest family. On Dustin's side, he could already see the party and teary-eyed Claudia. Next to El sat a tall woman Eddie had not seen before. Or maybe he did? She seemed familiar. Perhaps he saw her recently during wedding preparations or she was an old friend who changed with time. He certainly wouldn't recognise El these days, all grown up and with long hair, if he didn't have Max sitting on her other side to jump-start his memory.

His eyes drifted further, finding Jonathan, Nancy, Hopper, Joyce, and Argyle. The whole squad was here. Or it should be.

He scanned the crowd, skipping through the unfamiliar faces of Suzie's family before returning to the mysterious woman. Was she someone's girlfriend? But Will was gay, he came out to them a couple years ago. Lucas was still dating Max and Mike couldn't pull someone this gorgeous even if he wasn't in a vague situationship with El. Maybe she was waiting for someone? Steve? Or maybe Buckley finally lucked out?

He realised he was staring only when the girl's gaze met his. Her eyes widened, which, rude. For once, Eddie looked like an upstanding citizen, thank you very much. He has been forced into a well-tailored suit and he cleaned up well, got his hair braided on the sides and wore his normalest earrings.

But then she smiled at him, all shy and sweet and holy shit Eddie hoped she wasn't anyone's girlfriend. He doubled his efforts to remember her because he had to know her, the hair was too familiar, and that smile scratched some memories in his brain he just couldn't grasp. After the ceremony, he could get closer, see her features better. Maybe he knew her from high school? Or she's someone he's only seen photos of, or-

Someone sat down next to her, leaning down to kiss her cheek and whisper something. She turned, her smile widening at the sight of one Robin Buckley and Eddie looked around because where was Robin there was Steve too so-

The girl pointed at him with a smile and Robin waved at him excitedly and it all clicked, hitting Eddie like a rogue mine cart at Moria.

She was Steve Harrington.

Steve couldn't be the best man, because Steve wasn't a man anymore.

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

[wrathofrats]

Hi, hello, it's me again! How are you? I have a rather odd request (at least from my perspective) that I don't actually see much of.

Trans ftm Dew x Swiss? Pretty please? I haven't seen much of it, at least with Swiss that is

-🌟

Hi hi! Sorry it’s been a while, but I’ve saved this for mushy may!

I’m doing well my icon. Not an odd request at all! (But I do love and encourage odd) and obv we love trans ghouls over here

Day 8- sex turning into making love - Swissdew

As always thank you to @forlorn-crows for the prompts and @ghuleh-recs for the banner (:

Warnings for a small amount of degro. This is smut. But obv Swiss is super sweet at the end ok I promise it turns into fluff

There were certain things about Swiss that dew tended to crave.

A sick need for a harsh and loving hand, to be made to feel small, lesser. To be put out of his own head and taken care of when he felt especially out of control of himself. Dew liked to fight for it, so he himself didn’t have to admit he needed help. And Swiss always knew exactly what he needed. He was always there to force him into submission when dew couldn’t disassemble that roadblock himself.

“Maybe if you didn’t whine like a bitch droplet I wouldn’t have to treat you like one” Swiss laughed, watching as dew squirmed when Swiss ran two fingers along his folds. The slightest touch to his clit made him clench and screw his eyes shut, sensitive and already abused.

It’s how Swiss always got him before allowing dew the privilege of being actually fucked. Writhing, begging to be full but shying away from any contact because it was always borderline too much. Dew loved it, needed to be forced out of his head and put at Swiss’ mercy in order to genuinely stop thinking for an hour or two.

“Think you’ve earned it yet?” Swiss coos, sucking on dews release that threatened to drip down his fingers. “Are you dumb enough to get my cock yet baby boy?”

“Please-“ dew moaned, strangled and barely coherent.

Swiss can’t deny him like this. Hes pretty, spread out and desperate. Small tears cling to his lashes and threaten to fall down his face as he digs his fists into the bed sheets when Swiss finally pushes in.

There’s always a strange sense of pride that wells in Swiss’ chest when he has dew in his bed. He’s more than glad dew trusts him enough to let go of his own ego and inhibitions to allow Swiss to be in control. He deserves to be taken care of, even if dew usually insisted he enjoyed being somewhat of a loner when it came to needing anything.

“God you’re beautiful like this dew” Swiss mumbles when he bottoms out before he can think twice about it. His tone is calm, loving, a gentleness that isn’t expected and leaves dew feeling dizzier than he already was.

“What?”

“You’re just -“ Swiss starts, staring down at dew with what can only be described as infatuation.

The harsh grip on dews hips soften, thumbs soothing over the more than likely bruised skin. His hands more than engulf his waist, just slightly kneading into where they hold him.

“I love you, you know that?” Swiss pulls out, watching as dew gasps and throws a palm over his mouth to stifle his whine. He leans over to kiss dew on the chest, trailing up along his neck. Dews thighs are pushed up against his abdomen, practically bending him in half as Swiss starts to fuck him in earnest.

“Kiss me- Swiss please need your lips” dew whimpers as his hands tangle in Swiss’ locs for some sense of grounding. Swiss happily obliges, capturing dews mouth with his own.

Their lips slot together perfectly, dew tasting of smoke and spice as he always does. Something about the neediness in how sloppy dew forces his mouth onto Swiss’ makes his stomach do flips, a sweet tinge of desperation in his panting breaths when they have to pull apart.

Swiss fucks him slow, hitting him deep but showing dew a gentle courtesy he knows he doesn’t get extremely often.

“Faster” dew cries, Swiss can feel a gush of slick around his cock when dew clenches down.

“Wanna take my time with you droplet, let me savor having you like this”

[teyums]

we need softdom!neteyam 😩

pairing: adult!neteyam x fem!navi reader

warnings: mdni 🔞 softdom!neteyam, petnames, slight daddykink, description of events wc: 638

“Why don’t I take these off for you, hm? How’s that sound?” Neteyam’s sultry voice silks through your eardrums, your lips wetting with saliva as your eyes flutter to a close, arms thrown over your head and mind melting into a puddle of fantasies while you yearn for all he’s going to do to you.

Long fingers hook under the band of your loincloth, his breath warm as his open mouth ghosts over the unblemished skin of your neck. It won’t last for long, though. Neteyam takes pride in garnishing your skin with endless examples of his love for you— declarations the hopeless warriors who pine after you will be able to recognize with ease.

Your hips lift for him and your tweng is swiftly tugged down and off your body, a low hum of approval rumbling his chest. You’re silent in your compliance but immediate, and it makes Neteyam groan in anticipation, sharp canines grazing just below your jaw while the space in his own covering depletes with each passing second.

“You’re such a good girl for me, yawne (beloved). Such a good girl.” He purrs, a knee wedging between your trembling legs to part them as he hovers over you, watching you writhe beneath him in want, like you need his touch to be able to breathe.

He applies pressure just where you want it and a gasp sputters from your throat, back bowing and nails sinking into the smooth skin of his forearm. A large hand caresses your cheek, just before his thumb dips into the shaky ‘O’ your agape mouth has formed.

The sound of your delicious little mewls are muffled as your lips close, coming to a pucker around his digit, but it’s worth it when he sees the look in your eyes as you look up at him, wet tongue swirling around his thumb, just like it would to the tip of his cock and he’s starting to second guess his plan of taking his time with you.

Your swollen, slick-moistened clit rolls over the area above his knee and you squeal, brows bunching in the middle, a desperate plea for him to give you more than what you’re getting. The exigency for release is starting to become more than you can bear, your hips struggling to buck towards his as a strong hand keeps them planted.

“Shh, my love. Don’t worry, you know I’ll take care of you.”

You do know, and that’s exactly why you want it so bad.

He begins kissing his way down your torso, intense eyes never breaking contact with yours as he leaves a dampened trail along your stomach while he descends. He stops just at your navel, tonguing at the skin there because he knows it drives you crazy, and his theory is only proven when your hand sinks between his braids and keenly tugs at them.

“Neteyam, please…”

“I know, I know.” He chuckles lightly, licking his lips as he positions himself to lay on his stomach, a full view of your glistening cunt on display and you shudder when he growls. It’s primal, feral, and has your pleasure-famished hole clenching around nothing, to which his eyes glint with hunger in response to.

He’s got the underside of your thighs in his hands, keeping them open for him because he would hate to be interrupted when you involuntarily bring them to a close around his head. His nose scrunches slightly as he takes a large, long inhale, and he holds the intake of your enthralling scent in his nostrils before he exhales loudly, tail flicking behind him excitedly.

“I can smell you, sevin (pretty). So sweet… May I have a taste?”

You’re not sure why he asked, the answer is always the same. Maybe just to hear the impatient split of your voice when you muster out a response, or to witness the pool of arousal that seeps down between your legs and onto the cot because he asked you so nicely. You know he’s going to take it regardless, because the flat of his tongue is already lapping at the slick smeared on the skin of your inner thigh, eyes that of a man hungry and starved, and it only makes you wetter for him.

“Words, babygirl.” Neteyam demands, voice soft yet stern, and you whine, legs spreading further.

“Yes, daddy.”

Likes + Comments + Reblogs are much appreciated 💗

©teyums 2023

[wintertime-in-june]

Colonel!König x Shy!Drunk!Reader

(This is my first post/piece of writing so sorry if it is bad.)

Warning: Suggestive MDNI 18+

------------------------------------

The first mission was a resounding success. Pre drinks were in order and the team had headed off to a club to celebrate.

It was later in the night that König felt too hot in that environment. He hadn't been doing much anyway, just standing at the edge of the room, sipping his drink and people watching... or rather person watching.

The new recruit, y/n, she was shy, a good girl in his eyes and she made the mission such a success. She was going to be a very addictive little problem... if she'd let him, but he knows she wouldn't.

He sighed as he put his empty glass on the bar, it was too warm in here, too stuffy, too loud. He didn't care for this many people in such a confined space.

He stepped out to the smoking area, a few people lingered here, he carried on walking round the building, eventually coming to an area with no-one. Much better. He leant against the cold brick taking in the cool night air. Silly, Lieutenant always arranging clubbing after missions, 'team bonding' he calls it but König just finds it tiring... maybe he's turning into an old man quicker than he thought. But this time, it was slightly worth it, to see you giggling, dancing, slightly too wasted for your own good and besides he had to keep a watch over you, keep you safe, make sure no-one touches his little... recruit.

"Hey Colonel..."

The soft voice and small giggle fills his ears as you appear around the corner. You give him a small smile and a cute wave before continuing to giggle and walk a little closer.

"...Calling you Colonel as though it doesn't turn me on every time I fucking do." You say a wicked smile on your face.

And König... he fucking loved it. His eyebrows went up slightly in shock and a smirk appeared on his own face, not that you'd know, under his hood.

He thinks he likes you drunk, letting all sorts of fun bits of information go.

"Oh yeah?" He says in a lowly voice, stepping towards you and bridging the gap.

He pushes you up against the wall, your back lying flush on the cold bricks.

Your eyes shone with want. He lifted up his mask slightly with one hand before gently placing his lips on yours.

You hummed at the contact as the kiss went from 1 to 100 fast. It got deeper, more passionate, quicker, as his other hand travelled from your shoulder down to your hip giving it a squeeze as he pressed himself into you. His thick thigh practically spreading your legs.

When the two of you break apart he takes a small shuffle back as to not cage you in.

You look at him for a moment, heart beating a mile a minute.

Fuck. You think internally.

You had done so well to hide your little crush on the Colonel and now you'd fucked it.

Your shy demeanor returned in almost an instant as you tried to mumble something out but nothing was said. You began to take slow steps away, back to where you came from. The slow steps got quicker as you turned around and scampered off.

"Bye bye little maus..." König muttered as he let his mask fall back in position, licking his lips. Fuck, you tasted amazing, he needed more, but not until you're ready, not until you realise just how badly you both need eachother.

He leaned back against the wall as though nothing has happened and you, you returned to the club. Tomorrow you would debate whether it actually happened, whether you really said that, or if you were in a drunken stupor, but really you both know exactly what happened that night.

Your squeak of "Good morning Colonel." would never be the same again.

[bang-bang-gang]

#4 of the OT3 dialogue prompts for HangMoxRenee?

prompt:

"I need attention." "And I need to focus right now. Go and annoy Person C, that's why there are three of us."

Thank you for sending this in, this was so much fun to write lol. Featuring neurodivergent Mox!

(read on AO3 instead)

--

The best way to approach Renee at a time like this, is by bending over to bring your head down low and bonking it against her shoulder.

“I need attention.”

“And I need to focus right now,” Renee answers. Well. Mox never claimed his approach would actually work out. “Go annoy Adam, that’s why there’s three of us.”

Mox’s eyes go wide. “But we’re at work.”

Renee looks up from her notes just to roll her eyes at her husband. “So what? Everyone’s terrified of you and him both right now. No one will dare to bother you.”

She’s got a point. Mox leaves her be, making sure that on his way out, he shoulder-checks RJ City, who’s been cowering in a corner. Just makin’ a statement.

It doesn’t take long to find Adam. The space that’s set up as a makeshift gym isn’t very big, and there’s not much equipment available. Mox is sure Adam could have glared someone down to hand over the weights, but instead, his boyfriend opted to do push-ups on one of the mats. Shirtless.

Mox allows himself a full thirty seconds for staring. That’s when he notices those girls, the Renegade twins, off to the side and giggling between the two of them. Hey, they are totally allowed to enjoy the view, but Mox kinda needs Adam right now or he’s going to burst.

The goat-like headbutt isn’t going to work on someone who’s basically horizontal already, so Mox sinks down to his haunches next to Adam. “Hey. Got a moment?”

Adam doesn’t look up from his exercise, the thick muscles in his upper back contracting as he lowers himself with a heavy sigh. “I’m in the middle of my set.”

“I need you,” Mox says in a low voice. His eyes scan the room: the Renegade twins have fluttered away, and everyone’s staunchly looking away from them and avoiding eye contact. Good, they’re all scared. “Renee told me to come find you.”

That gets Adam’s attention. He stops and sits back on his knees. “But we’re at work.”

Mox waves it away as if that’s not exactly what he said fifteen minutes ago. “It’s really important.”

Adam’s curious eyes flit down Mox’s body. “Then we better go somewhere more private, huh?”

Mox doesn’t really care about the place they have this conversation, honestly: in fact, he wouldn’t mind Adam continuing his work-out as eye candy for Mox while he talks. But he supposes a quieter spot makes more sense, so they don’t raise any questions with the way they’re all buddy-buddy all of a sudden. What he doesn’t understand, is why Adam drags him into a supply closet, of all places.

The space is cramped, but at least the light switch works. Mox turns to face Adam, and before he can get a word out, their lips crash together.

Every fucking time. Adam tastes like something so sinful, it makes Mox want to carve his name into his flesh and carry him on his skin forever. Or maybe he’d settle for a tattoo to match the one he has for Renee. He allows Adam to lick into his mouth, groaning into the kiss as his hand tangles in blond locks.

Adam tears away from him, panting slightly with his eyes wild. “Tell me what you need.”

Oh. Right.

Mox lets go of the other man and straightens his shirt. He smiles. Nearly got distracted by Adam’s lips.

Anyway.

“So, there’s this book,” he starts, leaning back against a cabinet before he realizes he’s about to make a mess of the cleaning supplies and quickly standing up straight. “And it’s just total bullshit? I hate how the author set up the central conflict, and it just keeps dragging on and on and on. Like, get to the point already, you know? I haven’t finished it yet so it’s not like I can go online to talk about it, there’ll be spoilers, and I was wondering if you… would you please…?”

Adam blinks back at him, eyes wide. A very, very slow hand reaches up to touch his lower lip, spit-shiny and red from the kissing. His eyes trail down Mox’s body before looking him in the eye again.

Just when the silence starts to get uncomfortable, Adam speaks up. “You want me to listen while you infodump about your book?”

Mox nods fervently.

Adam takes a step back, bumping back against the door, and very much still in Mox’s space on account of the room being too small to allow otherwise. “When you said you needed me, I pictured something very different.”

“Oh.” Mox’s eyes widen. The cramped space and sudden make-out are starting to make sense. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be sorry,” Adam says, his lips curling into a smile. “I love you. I just thought you wanted to have your dick sucked. You can totally talk about your book, of course.” His voice grows softer, more gentle. “Guess your book club has kinda dissolved, huh?”

Mox casts his eyes down. Man. He just wants to rant about this stupid book, not reckon with the consequences of his own actions.

“Tell you what,” Adam says, reaching out to hold Mox’s hand. “How about I blow you while you talk. I’m very good at active listening when there’s something in my mouth.”

Mox doesn’t even have to think about the offer, he’s nodding yes immediately. “You are the perfect boyfriend.”

“I know,” Adam says with a smirk, already on his knees and looking up at Mox as he works his pants open. “Now tell me about that book you’re reading, baby.”