#really fun to write :3

[obsesssedblerd]

Smau: "I want you back." ☹️❤️‍🩹

The guys getting you back after a breakup. ♥️

(nanami, geto, choso, toji, sukuna, and gojo)

contains: angst w/ happy ending, fluff, a bit of crack

a/n: thank you all so much for 100 followers! here's a little treat. 🥰

[sunny-knight]

THIS IS HOME

@forgettable-au Fan-Animatic ⭐️

The stars welcome him with open arms…

Work and Progress + Analysis below!

You can find the work in progress things here! because I wanna show the sketch animatic and you can only upload one video…

The entire idea was inspired off of THIS lovely little qna written a bit ago! havnt forgotten about it since! Despite what the AU might have you believe And recently I decided I could just draw out the fun part instead of go through the pain of storyboarding and cleaning up a nearly 4 minute long song 👍👍👍

Thats the idea though, theres no real plot, so no real context I can give other than the things the comic itself already provides. “This Is Home” just works incredibly well for this poor childs trauma, and it was a great opportunity to practice my composition and storytelling!!

Onto the deep analysis of every frame individually!!! (this is normal. this happens every time.)

The idea that Wingdings just eventually- gave up. Trying to connect with anyone. HURTS ME DEEPLY. I’m not sure if thats specifically because he just couldn’t get the font thing down, but I imagine that was a big contributing factor. But thats what specifically stops him here. He eventually slams his keys down on the board and says “IM DONE” and throws himself into a thing he can purely enjoy on his own- science. Even at a young age, I feel he only had 2 lives. One with Sans, and one with science. Then when those worlds combined when he became the royal scientist uhhh- I imagine it got worse.

Speaking of his young age, In these shots he’s also notably a tad older than the later depictions of his younger self with the scarf. Less full of joy and whimsy

“His mind is in a different place” is taken a tad more negatively than in the context of the song I feel, as he’s more or less isolated himself from everyone (but Sans) now in this “giving up” phase of his childhood. I wonder how Sans noticed/took that and if he tried to convince him otherwise, but in this case he just thinks he needs some time to himself.

Also let it be known that the words being crammed in at the “Give him a little bit of space” bit is on PURPOSE and a SILLY LITTLE JOKE/VISUAL GAG GIVEN THE LINE. I AM SO FUNNY.

The colors are also notably dark blues, that get greyer when Wingdings has given up. The light that Sans lets in ((looks into the camera, tearing up)) is still pretty cold despite it being brighter.

The berating is also in uppercase to show most of this is from Wingdings’ pov- I know he speaks in proper casing at this time, but I NEED SOME SORT OF INDICATOR, WORK WITH ME HERE. His main issue was his own self consciousness and desire to communicate properly, since it was said before on the blog that no one really picked on him for his inability to talk to them.

Then we have Papyrus!! The colors are similarly blue, but a lot brighter and a touch purpler and greener. Its from the same world, but not the same person. Also he’s wearing a yellow vest which is the complimentary color to blue ☝️

Papyrus is more heavily associated with warm colors in contrast to Wingdings, but this takes place very early on when he was very confused where his place was (or at least I assume thats what happened). He’s associating with warm colors (yellow) but is somewhat weary about it and still subconsciously clutching onto the comfort in familiarity.

The scene ofc depicts Papyrus being incredibly uncomfortable about any photos of himself as a child. It still definitely…looooks… like him. it just feels really wrong.

Similar thing to last time with the fonts as well, uppercase, Papyrus’ pov, he just wants to know who/WHAT he is.

I enjoy the colors in the photo and how they reallly stand out from the rest of the shot, just another emphasis that the photo feels otherworldly to Papyrus.

This is the part where I start weeping pitifully. The tiny Wingdings to Gaster comparison- it’s just so upsetting, I want to know what this poor child would think if he saw what he ends up as 😭

Wingdings enjoyed dreaming about the real stars he MIGHT get to see one day with Sans. The scene is dark, as it still hasnt happened yet, but still bright and hopeful as he stares up at the light! Its always a possibility. But then we have Gaster, who finally did it. He reached the stars, he gets to look up and say “wow…. I really did it”. Staring up at the void before him. Without Sans…I feel he wouldn’t ponder on it much, and consciously he doesn’t see anything bad about his circumstances, but the crack going down his eye that elludes to a tear says otherwise in the suppressed emotions.

The world Wingdings lived in when he was small, seemed so endless…Despite the underground being small compared to the real world, his imagination was endless. He could dream, he could imagine, and create things, get and give new ideas! But now as an adult that just so happens to be a lovecraftian entity, everything is much more simple and straightforward. At least from his perspective…Gaster may be able to DO way more than he ever could as a small child, but his mind is pretty one track at this point.

I wonder how Gaster feels…Now that they’ve gotten to the surface. without him

Im not sure how Papyrus in the game or even in the comic feels about stars, but Sans for one doesnt have to daydream anymore. They’ve also “done it” just like Gaster, but the hug insinuates less of that and more a “we WON”. They share in this moment together more emotionally than anything.

Again, compared to Gaster and them, they enjoy the moment in their own ways- Gaster just the action of seeing the stars, and Papyrus in what the moment itself means. I feel those are the 2 wants Wingdings had and thats a lot of what Papyrus and Gaster are. 2 halfs of Wingdings’…whole…thing

Also the stars welcoming him with open arms is both in reference to Sans but also Papyrus welcoming/accepting/loving himself…

IN CONCLUSION:

…yknow ive never asked before, but if anyone has any questions or needs clarification im happy to-

[ricky-mortis]

They’re so!!!

[sillyzlaurr]

do you have any voice claims for Tenna and Mike?

SPINEL STEVEN UNIVERSE FOR TENNA 100%. But uh.... actually.... I um... Tried to voice her by myself🥹👉👈 (omg zlaurr's voice reveal) Sooooo I think it's her canon voice for now???

It's my first time doing something like this so don't judge me🥹 it was really fun to try anyway!!!

As for Mike well.... Don't have any voice claims for now but he has very gentle yet deep voice i think (im not strong enough to voice a man lol). One anon headcanons Engineer from TF2 for him i think that voice might suit him too

[mee1414]

Solar farmer

Day 11 - Pearlescentmoon

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[yeonjune]

Yeonjun about the strain he felt while preparing for his debut solo project ✙ "GGUM" MAKING FILM

[yaekiss]

𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆?

꩜ Room Content: GN! Dom! Reader x Male! Sub! Sydney the Faithful, no gendered terms for reader, no mention of reader's anatomy, prostate milking (Sydney receiving), fingering and use of sex toy (Sydney receiving), lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: def tried making this smut fic a lot more lovely-dovey than my usual ones as per the donator's req! hopefully it doesn't come across as too cringy/cheesy >< !! and thank you to the donator for being so niceys and understanding <33 once again, "800-1500 words" qi says. harharhar (2.5k words orz...) ANYWAYS hope you like the fic and thank you so much for donating !!!!!!! ꩜ This was written as part of my Care for a Fic fundraising event for Gaza! If you would to request a fic of your own, do check out the linked event post above ^^

Sydney supposes that there are stranger things than working in a sex toy shop (that's owned by your parent) with your partner. However, these things aren't really coming to mind when there's a patron who's definitely oversharing about their Friday night plans while he's trying to check out their items at the cash register. 

“I've read rave reviews about this model online from people who've bought it before. I can't wait to try it out and y'know, see how many it can wring outta me,” they continue to ramble on cheerily as Sydney tries to key in another product code manually for the umpteenth time today. (Curse you broken barcode scanner.)

“Maybe I'd even beat my personal best of-” The grating sound of the receipt printer working cuts the patron off. 

“Oh oops, my bad, feel free to forget everything I said!” The patron quips with a hearty laugh. “I really do overshare too much sometimes. Thanks for not cutting me off, huh. And for ringing me up.”

Whistling as they leave, the patron finally heads out of the shop, leaving a poor Sydney to stew in silence alone with everything he's heard for the past few minutes.

Unfortunately for him, Sydney does more than stew in silence for the rest of his shift. He finds himself staring off into space while daydreaming about certain activities more often than not, causing the diligent blond you know to make some rather uncharacteristic fumbles. Namely, bumping into your back whenever he follows behind you into the inventory room to restock merchandise. Or accidentally mistyping product codes repeatedly at the cash register.

Concerned about your lover's distracted state today, you pull him into the privacy of the inventory room when the both of you go for a quick break.

“You alright out there? You seem pretty out of it today Syd,” you start off, voice tinged with worry.

“Huh?” Sydney tilts his head before his brain catches up and he processes your question. 

“If you're tired, I could cover for you today while you rest up,” you offer.

You really are too sweet, he thinks. Worried that he might be tired when, in actual fact, he's been too busy thinking about you wringing out orgasm after orgasm from him until he's milked within an inch of his life. 

Heat rushes to his face when he realises that he should probably confess the truth to you in order to reassure you that nothing's wrong. Sucking in a deep breath, he starts rattling off the whole story a mile a minute, eyes trained anywhere except on you.

“...So that's why I've been so distracted and it's because all I can think about is you. Or your hands on me. Or your fingers in me! Whichever works! Ah I've said too much!” 

The silence that drags on after his near incoherent rambling is unbearable. When he finally hazards a glance back up at you to gauge your reaction, he certainly didn't expect you to look this interested.

“Let's ask if Sirris will let me stay over in your room tonight.” 

The remainder of the shift passes by in a blur with the prospect of what's about to happen later on. When the both of you clamber into the back seat of Sirris' car after closing up shop, you politely broach the topic of a sleepover with Sydney. And when they agree, you feel Sydney reach over and give your hand a light squeeze, a shy grin on his face.

“Why don't you shower first and get ready while I prepare?” Shooting him a reassuring look, he kisses you on the cheek before heading off to the bathroom. 

After getting everything ready and establishing a safeword, you instruct your lover to lie on the bed.

“Let me know if anything gets uncomfortable, yeah?” Reaching over to his bedside table, he hears you open a container of lube. Sydney waits with bated breath as you spread the thick substance around on your fingers, simultaneously warming it up. Once you've made sure that the lube isn't too cold, you also apply a generous amount to his entrance.

“Relax for me Syd.” He nods, inhaling before exhaling slowly. Your other clean hand goes to hold his as you massage the surrounding area for a bit. Eyes trained on his expression to monitor for any discomfort, you gingerly breach past his rim with a singular finger. Carefully, you slip more of your finger in, occasionally wiggling it and prodding around to loosen him up more. Each little movement causes Sydney to suck in a short breath, his gaze peering down at where you’ve entered him. Before long, you’re knuckle deep in him.

“Feels kind of strange,” he murmurs to you after you paused to let him adjust to the sensation, “but you can keep going.”

Your second finger enters without too much trouble and once more, you take it slow. After it's fully in, you start with some scissoring motions with both your fingers. This time, you get a bigger reaction out of him. You’re rewarded with the cutest breathy gasps and pants, and when you look back up at him, Sydney’s pupils are dilated whilst he sports a lovely light blush on the apples of his cheek. It’s a good look on him, one you’re keen to see unravel even more as the night progresses.

Belatedly, a thought occurs to him as it rises through the growing pleasing buzz in his brain, He dazedly realises that you’re probing around for something, the pads of your fingers dragging and tracing along his walls. It’s at that second, it hits him, in every sense of the phrase. Something akin to electricity shoots straight through him when your fingers find his prostate. Sydney gasps and jolts beneath you, eyes flying open at the foreign feeling, and that's when he notes how your eyes light up with a devious glint.

Wasting no time, you get to work, honing in on that spot. Immediately, you have your lover’s back arching off the bed as you rub and bully his prostate. Pitchy keening and moaning fills the room as you watch him begin to fall apart on your fingers. 

“Feeling good?”

“U-Uh huh…!” He nods dumbly, words suddenly starting to become too hard to string together.

The filthy squelching noises have him flushing all the way to the tips of his ears. When he squeezes down on your fingers, it's like everything feels too full, too good, too sinful. In the far back end of Sydney's brain, where he hasn't yet lost himself to the throes of pleasure, he realises that he's been grinding down on your fingers, chasing his own high mindlessly. For him to already be reduced to such a state this early on, he wonders how fast it'd take for you to completely ruin him tonight.

He feels the heat building up in him at the thought of placing himself wholly in your hands. Yours to wreck, yours to love. Only you could see this side of him. Sydney's pulse thunders in his ears, with every strategic movement of your fingers threatening to make him spill over at any moment now.

You know your lover well enough to spot the telltale signs that he's going to cum soon. The jagged, raspy groans, eyes rolling back before shutting tight, soft pants of please, please, please. Picking up the pace, you alternate between hitting his prostate dead on and rubbing circles into it. And when Sydney's whole body goes taut, his cock bobbing as white splatters onto his belly, a long, drawn-out moan ripped from his throat, you know you're done with your first round.

You’re gracious enough to let him recover for a bit, pulling your fingers out briefly to reapply another glob of lube onto them. During this downtime, Sydney manages to sluggishly peel open his eyes to peer up at you. Sweat causes his hair to stick to his forehead, but it doesn’t stop you from shifting over and leaning down to press a chaste kiss onto his flushed skin.

“You still with me?” Your clean hand goes to pet the crown of his head. He swears that if he could purr right now, he would.

“Yeah,” he says between languid lazy blinks, “I’m good. Thank you.”

With this confirmation, your two fingers return inside, drawing a breathy gasp from him at the sensation of being filled again. Additionally, you gradually try to fit one more finger in him to stretch him out even more, bringing the number up to three. Once you’ve made sure that he’s adjusted to the extra digit, you instantly resume the brutal pace you had earlier. Still sensitive from before, your dear blond blubbers and pleads for mercy, his head thrown back as he’s plunged back into pure ecstasy again without warning. 

“C'mon, you can give me another one Syd,” you coo out sweetly. The smile on your face is gentle. However, your ministrations are anything but. 

“Ungh! Ah, ah-!” You give him no respite from the growing pressure in him, working him just the way he likes. Always so attentive, eyes constantly watching all of him, learning what things makes him lose his mind. His thighs tense and he clenches tight around your fingers, losing himself to the euphoria clouding his mind.

He's shaking as another orgasm racks through him, eyes rolling into the back of his skull at the onslaught of pleasure. You're ruthless, he thinks, and that's exactly what he wanted.

Heavy panting fills the room as your dear Sydney tries to catch his breath but you don't give him a chance to. You pull your fingers out of him, eliciting a pitchy whine at the sudden loss, before it's quickly replaced by something else prodding at his rim.

Blearily, he looks down and sees that it's the toy that the patron had bought earlier, the exact brand and model they were rambling about. Turns out you swiped it from the inventory room while the both of you were closing up the shop. (“I'll just say we were testing out the shop's products. See if it was good enough to be stocked on the shelves,” you explain to Sydney the next morning.)

Slowly, you ease the toy into his hole after you applied a good amount of lube to it. It's just slightly thicker than the three fingers you had in him earlier, but the stretch doesn't hurt judging by how he's already subconsciously trying to fuck himself on it.

My, such an impatient lover you have here on your hands. But you suppose that this simply makes it easier to give him just what he wants. 

You continue pushing the toy in and angle it directly at the spot that he's trying to hit. His fingers grasp at the sheets underneath him as it ventures deeper within him. Sydney feels it all, the slow drag of the ribbed shaft against his walls, your thumb rubbing circles where you hold him at his waist.

When the tip of it bumps up against his prostate and starts vibrating? Sydney swears he sees heaven.

The effect that the toy has on him is immediate. As soon as you switched on the vibration function, all the breath was punched out of his chest. And the best thing was: It wasn't even on the highest setting yet.

“Ack! Too muh- hnn -much! No more!” Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he begs pitifully.

“You know the word to say to get me to stop Syd,” you say cupping his cheek gingerly. All he does is lean into your touch, nuzzling into your hand as if all he wants to do is to melt into you.  He cracks his eyes open, gazing at you with nothing but trust and adoration.

“Want me to keep going?” Your voice is impossibly tender and Sydney's heart pounds at the intimacy and affection of it all.

“Keep goin’, hah! Please!” He hears you laugh at his pleas and he doesn’t think he’s heard anything else more beautiful.

With his heightened sensitivity from all the previous rounds, it's not long before he's squirming, his mind melting into goo as the familiar heat within him is growing yet again. Instinctively, one of his hands shoots out and goes to find your unoccupied one, lacing your fingers together.

“Kiss me, p-please, please, ah! Needddd you!” Sydney's unintelligible babbling mixed with the whirring noises of the toy in him. Unshed tears glitter on his lower lashline, beautiful strawberry blond hair splayed out around him like some sort of divine angelic halo. How could you not want him, not need him?

Diving in for a kiss, he meets you halfway, his arms going to wrap around you tight as your lips crash together. He can’t believe he’s so lucky to be able to be yours. After holding back for so long, you’ve managed to coax out this side of him, introducing him to things he’s never even dared to want for. Perhaps, you truly were some sort of angel. One that, by chance, crash-landed into his life. One that’s loving enough to promise themselves to him, one that he can’t help but promise himself to.

“Hng! Love you! Looove y-you!” He all but slurs as he quickly approaches his peak. Burying his face into the crook of your neck, a string of unrestrained moans and muffled “Thank you! Love you!”s escape from your lover, punctuated by sharp hitches of airy gasps. It doesn’t take too long before his body is drawn taut as a bowstring, tongue lolling out from his mouth as he tips over the edge. As he rides out his high, Sydney grasps onto you like a lifeline, like he needs you to breathe. 

Turning the toy off, you let Sydney lay back down onto the bed before removing it from him and setting it aside. You give him a once over before smothering his face in kisses.

“You did really well, Syd,” a quick kiss pressed to his lips, “You with me? How’re you feeling?”

The hazy fog in his brain clears a bit and allows him to answer, “Mmm… Tired.” Lazily, he sits up, leaning against the headboard of the bed. You nudge a bottle of water into his hands, one which he very gratefully takes.

He downs half of the water, then bumps against your shoulder lightly, “You drink some too. Are you also feeling alright?” Sydney’s hand laces with yours.

“I’ll be better after a shower,” chuckling, you point at the terribly messy state of him, “and I think you could use one too.” Pulling him off the bed, you lead him to the bathroom for the both of you to wash up. (You definitely did not laugh when you saw how wobbly Sydney was on his legs after all that.)

Once dried off and the both of you are tucked into his bed, cuddling without leaving any space between you two, you see Sydney’s eyes threatening to close.

“Go to sleep, Syd, g’night.”

“Good night beloved,” a yawn, “Do you think we could beat our personal best we set today?”

“What?” Sydney’s question snaps you out of your drowsiness and you open your mouth to ask him how many rounds exactly he wants to try going for next time but it’s too late. He’s already snoring lightly against your shoulder.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

If you'd like to request a fic of your own, do consider checking out my event post!

[skibasyndrome]

Oooh could you try "This was a bad idea." "Then why are you still kissing me?" 👀

Thank you :)

Hi Helen! Thank you so so so much for sending me one of these!!! 💜💜💜 This was a lot of fun <3

Whatever song is playing right now, Simon couldn’t possibly muster the brain capacity to recognize it. He’s gone, nothing else matters, he’s 50% butterflies and 50% wobbly knees. Simon doesn’t know how they ended up like this. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Wille crowding him against the wall in the most closed off corner of Felice’s living room they could find. How he ended up with his fingers threaded through Wille’s hair, with his lips moving against Wille’s. But, god, Wille’s kissing him. Wille’s lips are so soft, feel even softer than they look, and whatever Simon has spent the past months imagining doesn’t even compare to the real thing, to having Wille close like this. Closer than they’ve ever been before.

When Simon feels Wille’s tongue gentle nudging against his bottom lip, his breath hitches. No day-dreaming about his best friend could’ve prepared him for the feeling of them deepening their kiss. It’s- everything about it is so very Wille, that Simon feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest. He’s gentle, he’s soft, but there’s an underlying urgency there, there’s Wille leaning into Simon, Wille cradling the side of Simon’s neck. Wille is kissing him like Wille does all things, with care and attention to detail, but with a determination that Simon has always found unfairly attractive. When Wille pulls away, Simon wants to whine. Thankfully, he seems to muster a last shred of self-respect, keeps his eyes shut firmly to stay in the moment for longer and oh, oh. Wille isn’t leaving. He nuzzles his nose against Simon’s, his breath tickles Simon’s lip and. Well. How is Simon supposed to resist. He tugs Wille closer, blindly finds his lips again, feels his pulse hammering loudly in his ears when he gets another taste of Wille. Just… Wille. And some mint from his chewing gum, and- sweet and fruity like the shots Maddie was handing out earlier. A knot of dread lodges itself between Simon’s ribs. This isn’t- this isn’t how any of this was supposed to go. Fuck. Right. He’s an idiot. He’s an idiot who got impatient and who might’ve just blown his one chance at doing this the right way. He’s fighting his every instinct when he pulls back, immediately misses Wille’s mouth on his. “This was a bad idea." His voice wavers, shaky, unsure. God, he can’t even convince himself. Wille’s hand on his neck stills, and Simon immediately thinks he’s made a mistake.

And because he’s an idiot, because he can’t help himself, because it’s been too long and because now he might never have the real thing, he lurches forward again. Desperate and needy and acting like he’s gonna find the air that’s suddenly gone from his lungs on Wille’s lips. But this time it’s Wille who stops him, who gently pushes Simon away after a brief touch of their lips. Just far enough for Wille to rest his forehead against Simon’s. "Then why are you still kissing me?" Wille sounds more sober than he’s done all evening, sounds… Simon can’t place the tone, and he suddenly feels like he’s going to cry.  He’s kissed his best friend. His drunk best friend. His drunk best friend who does this. Casually, from time to time. Who he’s seen kissing Maddie and Felice and Nils and who always ends up a giggly, beautiful mess afterwards, only to never kiss them again. Only to go back to being their friend. And now Simon is going to be another friend he’s kissed while drunk at a party and will never kiss again. It takes everything inside of him not to let out a pathetic little noise of frustration. “You’re drunk,” he forces out instead, saying nothing at all. He shakes his head.  “We’re drunk,” he corrects himself and suddenly curses every decision that’s lead him here and curses his earlier self for ever thinking those shots would be a good idea. Maybe without them, he wouldn’t have- All thoughts desert Simon’s brain at once when Wille lifts a hand up to his cheek. Every fingertip is warm and comforting, and yet Simon feels like he’s breaking apart under the touch. But Wille is still close, so close, his breath is everything Simon hears, his cologne everything he smells, and a silly, silly part of him is still clinging to the illusion. “Did you not want to kiss me?”

Something about the way he asks it, nothing but earnestness, is so very Wille that it cracks Simon’s chest right open. He doesn’t think he could lie to Wille, ever, but especially not now. So he nods, accidentally brushing the tip of his nose against Wille’s. “I did,” he breathes. But, because that’s not quite right, he tries again, with his heart beating so fast he thinks he might have to sit down.  “I do. Do wanna kiss you.” For a beat, there’s nothing. Just Simon, suspended in a vacuum, one second from falling to his death. But then he’s back, Wille is back, is somehow closer, is pressing small kisses against Simon’s lips, his nose, his cheek, and Simon can breathe again, sucks in the air that smells like Wille. “Then kiss me again,” Wille says, lips somewhere near Simon’s ear, then on his cheek. “Please.” Simon thinks he can taste the single syllable on his tongue when he pulls Wille in again.

[oceisastar]

Skott x male reader with belly bulge? Imagine a reader that is much taller than him and larger in size, I want to see how Skott accepts the reader while he lightly presses on the resulting bulge 🤤

MDNI (male!reader x skott; skott is an IPC employee & reader is his superior, skott is drunk and mouthy, petplay, spanking, minor belly bulge, mention of breeding, very brief feminization ("cunt"), brief moment where skott says "no" but not seriously, they have a safe move and he does not use it)

do not repost / translate / re-use my work in any shape or form. this is strictly for entertainment purposes/fiction and is not intended to support or endorse these power dynamics irl!

*** Skott is quite the pain in your ass. Insolent, two-timing, and a whiny brat at that.

Still, he has his redeeming perks. you first noticed him when Caelus made him get on his knees and bark in front of everyone at Aurum Alley.

That certainly caught your attention. He’s rather cute, even though he makes your life a living headache. His loyalty to the IPC is never in question, though his methods are often crass.

You remember having to bail him out when he got caught with a bunch of IPC mechs at the Xianzhou Luofu docks. He was making all sorts of fuss at first—until you helped him get out of being thrown in prison for suspicious cargo counts.

He tried to explain, stutter and justify until finally he mumbled out a, “Thank you,” bright red with embarrassment.

It was nice, to see him so obedient. like a dog.

One night, Skott approaches you, obviously drunk. “You… hey! Yeah, you!”

You incline your head. This is certainly not the way an IPC employee speaks to his superior.

“You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, ‘cause you’re so big and smart and hot and… hot!” He jabs a finger in your direction.

You catch his wrist, lifting his arm up.

“I would watch your tone, Skott. Someone else might misconstrue this as you trying to come onto me. And that would be an HR violation, wouldn’t it?”

Skott’s cheeks go bright red. “You’re insane! You have no idea what you’re talking about! I’m just pointing out how unfair it is that you’re getting preferential treatment.”

“Am I?" You tower over him, your shadow looming over him. "I would call it observant. I see how you look at me, Skott.”

His eyes go wide. "What are you talking about?"

“I even caught you sniffing one of my jackets the other day. But I let it go, because I’m a kind man who cares about my subordinates.”

Skott looks like he wants to melt into the earth.

“I know what you get up to, Skott.” You press your lips to the shell of his ear. “Nothing you do gets by me.”

He shudders, letting out a broken whine in response.

“I—that wasn’t me. It was a-someone else.”

“Was it?" Your fingers skirt his collarbone, tugging at the chain around his neck. "I distinctly remember seeing your dog tag when I was walking away.”

To your surprise, Skott shifts, trying to hide the growing bulge in his pants. You smile licentiously.

“Skott… don’t you know it’s bad to lie to your superiors?”

Your hand slides down to grab at his waist. It’s so small, fitting perfectly against the curve of your palm.

“N-now, wait a minute! What do you think you’re—”

“I think you deserve to be punished.” Your hand slides down to knead at his ass. He jolts forward, chest pressing up against the broad planes of your chest.

"P-punished?! Now you're just talking nons--ah!" he moans unintentionally, turning bright red as he squirms.

"You stole my jacket. That's IPC property. And we don't take lightly to theft."

“It... just happened. I—I didn’t mean to.” He says miserably, looking into your eyes. His eyes are watery, wide and repentant.

“I know you didn’t. You just need someone to teach you better. To show you how to take it like a good boy. Or should I say, a good dog?” You smile at him.

His cock strains against his pants, now unmistakably visible.

“What do you say, Skott? Are you in the mood for some training?”

There’s a long silence before he swallows, cheeks blushing.

“Yes… sir. Please punish me.”

________________________________

Skott is on all fours, ass up in the air as he yelps, your hand coming down swiftly to smack him over and over.

“T-thirty one… thirty… ah!”

“Ah, ah, Skott. You lost count. Such a bad boy.”

“D-don’t make me do it again, please! This is the… third time!” He hiccups. He’s nearly soiled his pants through with how aroused he is, glasses slipping down his nose.

“I would make you go again, but since it’s our first time, I can grant a little reprieve. That poor cock of yours needs a little mercy, hm?”

Your hand slips unapologetically below his boxers and cups his aching cock.

“Ah—oh! Sir!” He calls out, jolting forward. You begin to jerk him off, shoving off his pants until he’s about to burst.

“W-why’d you stop?” He says pathetically.

“Because I’m going to fuck you.”

________________________________

After painstakingly stretching him, his cock dripping all over the floor, his nipples hard from all the attention, you slowly press your cock against his, sliding between his thighs.

“Tell me how badly you want it.”

“I… huh… g-give it to me.”

“That’s no way to ask. I’ll give you one more chance. Try again.”

“I, mmhm, want your c-cock, sir. Please put it in my fat hole.”

“Show me.”

Skott is burning up inside, his hands coming to spread his cheeks for you, showing off the pretty pink treat inside.

“Very good.”

Without another word, you slide inside. Skott wails, clenching endlessly around you.

“You’re so, hrgh, fucking tight.” You grit out, rolling your hips as you try to get used to him.

“Oh god!” Skott claws at the floor, back arching inadvertently as your weight presses down onto him.

“Haven’t been fucked by a cock this big?” You ask, slowly grinding into him.

“N-no,” he sniffles, “you’re the b-biggest, sir.”

“What were you really doing with my jacket, Skott?”

“I…”

You stop moving. He clenches relentlessly, crying out at your stillness.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop—”

“Answer my question.” Your hand pushes down on his back, forcing him to bow further.

“I masturbated to it, okay! I used it and I—I got off with it. But I took it for dry cleaning right after and I—ah!”

You already knew the answer—the strange stain when it came back. Dry cleaning is good, but not for that.

“Ruining a perfectly good jacket for your base fantasies.” Your hand smacks across his ass, watching his cheeks jiggle from the movement.

“Oh, fuck!” Skott cries out, tightening around you, squeezing your length.

You fuck him harder, pressing your full body weight onto him so he melts into the floor.

“Tell me, have you thought about this before? Me fucking you, taking your tight ass?”

“Yes..! Yes!” He slobbers all over the floor, drunk on your heated touch.

“Such a needy dog.” You growl.

Skott cries out, shuddering and shaking. You press your hips all the way, as deep as possible, and he cries out.

Your hand traces the thin lines of his stomach, feeling the bulge of your hardness pressing through.

“S-Sir…” he lets out a broken moan. You press harder, and Skott cries out. “Please! I—I can feel you so deep...”

“Just what I expected from someone like you. You live to take cock, don’t you?”

Skott sobs an incoherent answer. You press him down harder, pressing your balls up against his ass.

“Need a big strong man to breed you, huh?”

Skott claws at the floor, arching his back as you fuck him deeper.

“N-no, sir, too deep!”

Despite his words, there’s no taps on your arm, signaling he’s fine.

“Shut up. You’ll take it.”

You thrust harder, more aggressively, animalistically, taking everything you want from Skott laid bare at your feet.

“Such a good cunt. Made for me.”

Skott weeps, cumming all over himself as he feels you fill him over and over.

“And I’m going to show you how we reward good employees.”

[dgaftilwedie]

I loved your nsfw alphabet!! Namgyu being soft is rare but so appreciated ❤️

(Embarrassed asking this aaaa) Would you ever write more on the stoned giggly sex scenario? 👀

SORRY I'M LIKE JUST NOW ANSWERING THIS!! i absolutely will :33 here's a little drabble-y thingy for you!! it's been a while since i've written for namgyu so i hope this turns out well :D i wrote this in one shot and i did NOT proof read very well, so i apologize for any grammar + spelling issues!! i also tried to write this as gender neutral as possible :3

contains: 18+ content (minors dni as per usual), recreational substances (weed), namgyu being a sap...

ever since you and namgyu started going out, he's been pretty open about his recreational habits. he won't outright say "i do drugs" to you, but the recognizable scent of weed that wafts into his apartment while he stands out on the balcony is a dead giveaway. you've quickly realized that after a long day at the club, there's nothing that namgyu loves more than smoking up and attempting to cuddle you to death.

he'll jump at the opportunity to smoke with you if you ever want to. if you've never done it before, he's more than happy to walk you through it. if you know what you're doing... he's already half-hard in his pants.

"good shit, huh?" he laughs, watching you try not to cough. namgyu holds a water bottle in front of you, shaking it back and forth as if he's enticing you to take a sip.

"shut up." you roll your eyes, grabbing the bottle from him. "you're gonna be the reason i choke."

"you're ridiculous." he takes the joint from you and takes a questionably long drag. he throws his arm around your shoulder, pulling your body close to his. he can't tell if it's the weed in his system or just you being yourself but he's hypnotized. namgyu's staring at you with a starved look in his eyes, scanning your face, looking for something.

"namgyu?" you giggle. "the fuck are you doing?"

"'m lookin' at you, duh..."

without looking away from you, he places what's left of the joint in the ashtray and brings his hands up to your face. he cups your cheeks like you're made of fine china. to him, you're the epitome of beauty. they'd make statues of you in ancient greece, he swears. none of them would be able to truly encompass the sheer etherealism of you, though.

before you can register it, his lips are on yours. namgyu's hands slide down your face, down your arms, resting on your hips. your hands slip through his hair as you giggle against his lips.

"you always get like this, baby," you tease.

"mhm, i know... just can't resist you."

his hands slip up the bottom of your shirt. you expect them to be cold, but they're warm against the skin of your torso. his fingers ghost over the most ticklish spots. you know he's aching to hear you laugh. it's like music to his ears.

namgyu moves like honey - slow and sweet. your senses are hightened so every movement he makes feels like pure ecstasy. he drags his lips down your neck, licking and biting the surface as he tugs at the bottom of your shirt. you take the hint, pulling back to throw it over your head.

"that's what i wanted to see..." he mumbles as his lips connect with your skin again. he taps his fingers up your side before moving one of them to your chest. the tips of his fingers toy with one of your nipples.

"have i ever told you how much i love you?" namgyu's words are slurred, barely audible as his teeth work against the skin around your collarbone.

"once or twice, probably," you giggle, trying to save your whimpers for the main course. he pauses, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes. the look on his face elicits a cackle from you. he tries to hide his laughter with another peck to your skin but it's to no avail.

"you're distracting me," he whines. namgyu slides his hands back down your sides, latching onto the waistband of your pajama pants. in a single motion, he pulls them and your underwear to your knees. you struggle for a second, trying to kick them off, and he laughs at you because "you look so dumb".

"maybe help me next time?" you suggest, kicking his thigh lightly.

"nah, i like watchin' you struggle."

"you're an asshole." your words are loving in delivery, despite the harshness. namgyu knows. oh, he knows.

"yeah but i'm your asshole."

"no you are NOT." you laugh, and so does he. namgyu's yours - that's undeniable, just as much as you're his. he's unable to communicate his feelings without his words coming out as gibberish. he flicks your forehead gently before rocking back on his knees, pulling his boxers to his knees. his cock springs out, already achingly hard and dripping.

"hey, little guy," you tease, waving at his dick. namgyu stares at you, completely deadpan. that doesn't last very long at all. he gets so giggly when he's high... there isn't a single thing that wouldn't make him laugh. you know this. hell, you're playing into it. you can't help it.

"you're so weird," he snorts. his gaze shoots over to his night table. he reaches over, opening the top drawer and scavenging through it to find a condom. he tears it open with his teeth and your breath hitches. it's gotta be one of the hottest things he's done in the past hour.

"c'mon, nam, wanna feel you," you whine. he lines himself up with your entrance. that's what he was waiting for; the desperation, the begging, your sheer need to feel him inside of you. who is he to deny you?

you let out a satisfied sigh as his length fills you up. namgyu presses a kiss to your forehead as he thrusts into you, just once.

"that good?"

"mhm, yeah," you hum, throwing your arms around his neck. his pace is slow, so lazy, but it's just what you need. a hand cups your face, thumb caressing the surface as each thrust sends warm shocks through your body.

"look so pretty under me, babe." namgyu's voice strains, cracking into a moan as his eyes flutter shut for just a second. you pull him down to you, pressing your lips against his. you savor the way his lips feel, every place they touch. it's like you can feel him deeper than every before. every touch isn't just a touch, it's like a connection that you can't explain. it makes sense in your head, you think. that's all that matters.

his lazy pace rocks your body in his pillow, his headboard letting out creaks every few seconds. you feel a little bit bad for his apartment neighbors, but you're to into it to really care. moans spill out of your mouth. namgyu's name is like a mantra. the air is like molassess - all warm and sticky-sweet. this is the rawest your relationship will ever be. you're at your most vulnerable, bared in front of each other like this.

"namgyu," you sigh. his name tastes like sugar on your tongue. "i love you."

"fuck, i love you too, baby." his lips reconnect with yours. you can feel every inch of him on your body. his hands grip your sides and you can feel the metal of his rings against your flesh. namgyu's hair, despite having been tucked behind his ears, brushes against your cheeks. his warmth is all-encompassing and you swear, the orgasm brewing inside of you is going to make you see stars.

"'m close, gyu," you mumble into his lips. he swallows your moans like they're an intoxicating, unescapable substance that he needs to survive.

"me too."

namgyu's hips rock against you, faster, deeper. he always gets like this when he's about to cum. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, a moan leaving his mouth. his hot breath on your shoulder causes goosebumps to run down your body. he lets out a faint chuckle as his hips stutter and it's enough to send you over the edge. the delectable warmth of your orgasm makes you clench around namgyu's cock. your nails dig into his skin as his name leaves your lips again.

"that's it," he mumbles. namgyu buries his cock deep inside of you as he cums, nibbling the skin of your neck as his body faintly shakes against yours. he lets out a satisified, tired sigh as he pulls out of you, rolling onto his side.

he's quick to clean the both of you up. usually he wouldn't rush, but he knows you're getting tired and he wants you to sleep comfortable. namgyu finds a t-shirt for you to pull on, tossing you your underwear before flopping back onto the bed. he throws his arm around you and pulls the covers over the both of you. his lips press into your forehead. you're silently basking in the afterglow, listening to the faint sounds of his tv. you subconsciously match your breathing with his.

"love you," namgyu mumbles, resting his head on top of yours. you fall asleep quickly, and him, not long after. nights like these quickly become a staple in your relationship.

[sysig]

You're still standing off to the side. Somehow, center stage has shifted from under your feet without you realizing, and you're standing in the wings, performing to no one.

Starring Role (Patreon)

[charly-pompom]

Valentine's Day With Levi(s)!

This was a project @blamebonk and I worked on for the valetines event of @obeymevents!

We weren't able to finish it yet and are also way too late BUT we decided to post it now anyway! It was so much fun working on this project, and I'm sure we will be able to finish it at some point! So stay tuned if you want to see the end of the Levi shenanigans hehe

[cherryapplefish]

Summer Thoughts

Caleb x Reader

Rated: E for everyone

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: yah you call Caleb ge/gege in here. no, it's honorifics because your character starts off as 8! view this in the way you guys read about girls calling older guys "oppa" please. it's not meant to be anything more than that. caleb and mc are written as children here half the time. hope this helps.

You never actually learn how to ride a bike. 

And you don’t figure this out till you’re 13. 

At this point in your life, you’ve only gone bike riding with Caleb. He was the one who taught you so of course he’s the one who takes you.

“Why do you need to learn,” he asks, brows furrowing together half in confusion and half in annoyance. You huff and stomp your foot. You’re eight and all the other kids in the neighborhood know how to ride a bike but you’re still sitting on the back of Caleb’s. 

“You can just ride with me. I’ll take you wherever you need to go,” he continues. You roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you try to seem serious. Like a grown up. 

Caleb just stifles a laugh as he tries not to look away but you can see the mirth sparkling in his eyes and it makes you want to reach out and smack him for being so mean to you. You want to be taken seriously and: 

“The other kids left me because they didn’t have a seat for me and I didn’t know how to take yours. Teach me, gege.”

You whine, switching up tactics and latching your arms around his in an attempt to act cute. Caleb usually always gives in if you’re cute enough and when he doesn’t react, you press your cheek to his arm, squirming against him like the child you are. 

“Please. Please. Please.” 

Caleb sighs before a soft smile spreads across his face. He reaches out, fingers ruffling your hair before agreeing. 

That had been then. 

Now, you’re thirteen and stomping back inside with scraped knees and tears tracking down your cheeks. You purse your lips to keep them from quivering and head straight for Caleb. 

He pokes his head out of the kitchen when he hears the door slam and alert him of your presence, his eyes bright. 

“Hey pipsqueak- woah, what happened to you,” he says, setting down the wooden spoon he’d been using to stir the pot of braised pork he’d been making for dinner. He can see the way your cheek is redder on one side compared to the other and immediately makes his way over to you. 

You meet him halfway there and before he can get another word out, you sock him in the arm. You barely leave a mark but Caleb hisses in surprise, rubbing the spot. 

“Hey! What was that for? What happened,” he asks. There’s concern in his gaze as he reaches out to pull a leaf out of your hair. It’s clear you’ve taken a pretty bad tumble and for some reason, it’s his fault. 

“You’ve been using your evol on me when we ride bikes haven’t you,” you ask and he freezes. You can see the guilt flash across his face before he schools it into a practiced smile. The jerk! That was confession enough! 

“You caught me,” he answers, a cheeky grin on his face. He anticipates your movements before you do, fingers wrapping around your wrist that threaten to punch him once more. His grip is tight but not bruising and you huff as you try to pull away but he doesn’t let go and so instead you try the other one. 

Caleb knows you inside and out so he stops that arm too and now, the both of you are standing in the middle of the living room. You, huffing with anger and embarrassment, and Caleb, guiltily smiling with both of your hands in his. 

“Caleb! Do you know how embarrassing it was? I fell. As soon as I got on and tried to push, I fell because you didn’t bother to teach me properly,” you argue and you see the guilty look on Caleb’s face before he pulls you into his chest. He wraps his arms around you, patting the back of your head. 

“Aw, I’m sorry pips,” he says but you can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “I just got scared every time I saw you leaning to one side so I used my evol. I didn’t think you actually couldn’t ride a bike without my help.” 

It’s a half truth, he thinks as he bites back a laugh when you begin to hit his back. It’s fine. He’ll let you get out all your anger as long as you rely on him for help. 

“It was so embarrassing, ge,” you complain before slowly you fist your fingers into his shirt. “I scraped my knees and fell on my face. It hurt a lot.” 

Caleb knows. He’d seen it all when you came in and pursing his lips together, he pulls back to examine you properly. Normally, he’d cup your face and get a good look but he doesn’t want to risk hurting you more than you already feel. 

With a soft sigh, he strokes your cheek. 

“I’m sorry pipsqueak. I really am. I’ll make it up to you and actually teach you how to ride a bike okay?” 

You look away when he pulls back, fingers still fisted in his shirt but you nod anyways. 

As long as he actually taught you. 

-

Caleb is a liar. 

He still never actually taught you how to ride a bike and now, you’re 22 and staring Caleb down as he pats the backseat of his bike with a grin. 

“Jump on, pips,” he tells you and you cross your arms, huffing as you turn your nose up. 

You think back to thirteen and scraped knees and immediately get mad at him. 

“Don’t wanna,” you argue and Caleb laughs. You’re tugged in by nothing but you’ve been around Caleb long enough now that you know he’s using his evol to pull you closer. You don’t even yelp as you’re lifted onto the seat but you do look away as you cross your legs. 

It has Caleb laughing even more. He took pleasure in watching you be an absolute brat. 

“You’re not still mad I never taught you how to ride a bike are you,” he asks and there’s that same sparkle in his eyes from all those years ago. 

After he had promised, he had made excuses. 

He was too busy to teach you. He was too tired to go outside and they could build models instead. He would just take you on the back of his to save time. 

It’d been excuse after excuse and before you knew it, Caleb had gone off to Skyhaven for college and you still hadn’t learned how to ride a bike. 

Could you have learned on your own? Yes but…but it was scary when you didn’t have Caleb around to catch you. And so you’d never learned. 

Now, that unfulfilled promise comes back to mind when Caleb suggests a bike ride along the river. 

When you huff in response, his grin widens. 

“I’ll teach you next time,” he promises and you glare at him and he loves it because at least your gaze is back on him once more. 

“You said that last time!” 

“I mean it this time,” he replies, his grin wide and full of delight. You have to look away in case you melt and agree like you always do. 

He leans over then, one arm wrapped around your waist to steady you as he presses a kiss to your temple. 

“Promise,” he whispers softly into your skin. 

You smack him away, a complaint on the tip of your tongue but you hold back and instead, your fingers curl into his shirt. 

“Just pedal,” you grumble, forcing him to face forward as you press a burning cheek to his back. Your eyes glance over the glimmering river as the last of the sun's rays sparkle across it but you’re too focused on how warm Caleb’s back feels, the sound of his laughter vibrating in his chest. 

You press closer, hold him tighter just as he had wanted, and inhale. 

Somehow, even after all these years, Caleb still smells like home. 

i don't know how to ride a bike and if caleb were real, this is exactly how i imagine caleb would react lmaooo

"You don't need to learn. Just ride with me."

excuses because he wants you to hug his waist hahahahah

[seoulmatez]

𝒸𝓇𝒾𝓂𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓁𝒾𝓅𝓈, 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝒶𝓃

boothill x f!reader. 1.5k wc. sfw. fluff. wild west au. outlaw!boothill. saloon performer!reader. first encounters ♡

a/n: self-indulgent :3 like, selfship fic disguised as an x reader fic self-indulgent :3 pls feel free to ignore lawlz

Outlaws have been a normal occurrence in town for as long as you could walk. That is to say, you aren’t entirely surprised when you find that yet another poster has been pinned up all over town, large bolded letters spelling out “WANTED” along the top pleading for the capture of another criminal—dead or alive. There’s something distinctly different about this one though, and you can tell because instead of passing the wanted poster with a brief glimpse and the mental note to steer clear of the man illustrated on it, you linger at the notice board, eyes glued to the parchment.

There’s no name printed on it and the asking price is fairly hefty—bigger than any bounty you’ve taken notice of in the past—but the one aspect of the poster that truly catches your eye is the drawing. He—or the artist’s rendition of him—is… handsome, you find yourself silently admitting. Contrasting light and dark hair is cut off by the frame—it makes you wonder how long it really is. Some of the shorter pieces hang loosely in front of his right eye, though the left is visible—enough so that you can see two moles right beneath the outer corner. A bullet stylized as jewelry dangles from his ear, metal cuffs hugging his helix.

What sticks with you the most is his sharp, crooked smile. It’s smug and should be off-putting but, for some reason unbeknownst to you, it makes your heart skip a beat.

You can’t put your finger on how long you stand staring at the poster but you don’t make a move to tear your eyes away until you hear someone calling your name from afar.

And even then, you can’t get that man’s face out of your head.

• • •

You’re getting ready in a room too small to accommodate the number of girls in it. It’s typical to fight over a mirror, to bump shoulders every now and then. Curiously, the dressing room feels oddly spacious tonight. As you paint rouge on your lips, you glance around to take a headcount—if anyone is missing, you’ll have more work on your plate this shift.

You count three including yourself sitting on the stools and the rest at the door, practically falling over each other to take a peek outside of the room. They’re whispering about something, their hushed voices only rising loud enough that you can pick out a few words. No way, my goodness, unreal. The gossip makes you frown and rise from your seat. You’re missing out on something, you know it. This isn’t you being nosey, just cautious—if something is happening, it’s best to be informed, you tell yourself as you join the ladies at the door.

“What’s going on?” You don’t bother trying to squeeze your way through—you think it might be even more difficult than trying to take a mirror for yourself.

Your voice, much louder than their faint whispers, is enough to catch their attention. You’re met with wide eyes and even wider smiles looking back at you. Nothing bad, then, not if everyone is grinning like this. You raise your eyebrows in a silent question, waiting almost impatiently for an answer. A couple of them move aside. “Take a look for yourself.”

You accept the invitation, carefully navigating the tight path made for you. Your fingers grasp the frame of the door and you slowly poke your head out, gazing in the direction the girls had been just moments ago. You scan the crowd deliberately in search of anything out of the ordinary but nothing looks unusual. You spot a few regulars as your eyes carry over every face in the place. They stop at the bar where you catch sight of the bartender. He’s pouring something for a patron, one whose head is down and whose face is shadowed by his hat.

You squint as if it’ll help you see better. It’s no use but, as if he could tell you were itching to get a look, he tips his head back, a glass halfway full of an amber-colored liquid touching his lips. You recognize that hair under the lights of the saloon—black and white, two-toned just like in the poster. You suck in a tiny gasp, one that’s inaudible given all the chatter, but you can’t seem to pull your eyes away.

He drinks his liquor leisurely, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with each gulp. The glass is empty quickly and you’re sure you would have heard it hit the counter if it weren’t so loud. One of the man’s forearms rests beside the glass on the counter, his other hand busy wiping his mouth. His thumb swipes away the lingering moisture on his lower lip and as his finger moves, so does his head, slowly turning in your very direction.

Eyes grey like gravel lock onto yours. Your heart skips a beat, just like it had before—and, just like then, you’re frozen, unable to move. Despite having been caught staring, an inkling of happiness sprouts in your chest at the chance to see him head-on, in all his glory.  It’s all there—the two moles, the earrings, and soon enough, that sharp, crooked smile.

He winks at you and the quick movement is all the acknowledgement you need to finally draw back. You do so aggressively, like you had been holding your hand over a fire and the flame finally touched your palm. It’s almost enough for you to knock into the pile of girls you had forgotten were stationed behind you.

They look at you expectantly, not bothering to hide their giddy satisfaction at your reaction. “Cute, ain’t he?” one of them asks.

And a ton of other things—dangerous, off-limits, utterly enticing, just to name a few. You don’t say any of that, though. You just nod and hope your voice doesn’t betray you. “I suppose.”

You seldom find yourself nervous for performances but knowing he’s out in the crowd has your heart racing for the rest of the night.

Time flows strangely during your shift—feeling like it’s crawling at a snail’s pace one moment and flying as quickly as a rocket the next. You feel like you can breathe easier when you’re dismissed for the night, even more so when you leave the suffocating building and are met with a cool breeze outside.

Your relief is short-lived. A voice speaks up from beside you.

“Evenin’, little lady.” 

“Oh!” Your hands shoot up to cover your heart. You debate running—that seems like the best idea given your situation—an unknown man waiting to catch you alone. You take a step away, ready to bolt if necessary.

To your surprise, he doesn’t reach for you.

“Apologies—” he raises his hands in mock surrender, “didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness now and a face you weren’t expecting to see becomes visible. The town’s newest outlaw, here, speaking to you. Maybe you should have run—maybe you still should. Though, for some reason, his raised hands feel like a show of good faith. You’re sure if he had bad intentions, he wouldn’t waste time trying to make you comfortable. “Um, that’s alright.”

“It felt rude not to thank ya for the performance.” He was watching, then. You’ve made a habit of limiting eye contact with your spectators and that much held up tonight. Something was telling you that if you caught a glimpse of him looking at you again, you would end up tripping over your feet and making a fool of yourself. “Would have watched ya all night if they gave ya the stage.”

That grin is back but, now that you think about it, of the very few times you’ve seen him, he’s always wearing it. Almost like it never leaves. Despite that, being on the receiving end of it has an undeniable effect on you. Your heart won’t stop jumping for him. You can’t let him know that. “Yeah, well, everyone’s gotta have their time to shine.”

“Ain’t that a shame…” he drawls. And it sounds like he really means it. “Guess I’ll have to stay long enough to see ya up there again.”

You can’t have heard that right. No singing or dancing could be—should be—enough to make a man risk staying in a town where his wanted poster is plastered all over the place. It’s a decision that toes the line between confidence and stupidity but it flatters you all the same. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire as you hold his gaze. 

“You’d really stay for that?” you ask, but the question in your head is more like; you’d really stay for me?

He takes a step forward toward you and you're surprised that you don’t counter by taking a step back. His hand comes up to hover by your cheek, close enough that you can feel its warmth but far enough that his skin doesn’t touch yours. As quickly as it came, it’s gone. “See ya around, little lady.”

And with that, he leaves.

You lose track of how long you stand outside wondering if that was a yes.

[starving-mimi]

Less of an ask but I just wanna say thank you for drawing wilson as petty little bitch even if only for comedy. Like. You get him. And that pleases me greatly. Thank you, love your doodles.

thank YOU! I love portraying wilson as a kind of petty, eccentric guy with a big hint of misanthropy, and even tho i exagerate it for the comedy, i do really love seeing him that way hehe