#so I imagine this worry is unfounded

[suswous]

The question is: do I bruise easily? Do I bruise often, do to how I behave (being clumsy, being more adventurous, or having a hazardous floor), or is it just that I have a tendency to notice my bruises all at once, particularly when I wear long pants (and frequent flannel)?

[springtyme]

hii!! i saw ur inbox open and was wondering if i could request this; so, imagine dad!simon (or konig idm!!) having his son / daughter see his face for the first time since they were born and theyre just kinda sitting there like :000?? hes so pretty?? while yn is just screaming in the back?? <33 have a great day n thnaks for reading x

𝐔𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ♡

Thank you for the request, I had such a good time writing this! I love writing dad!Simon so much! ♡ but also, ngl, the image of this big bloke wearing a mask in front of his baby seems borderline comical to me.

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: Your daughter finally sees her father's face for the first time.

word count: 2.2k

warning/tag: Mostly just dad!Simon fluff with a little hint of angst. No gendering terms are directly used for the reader, but they are pretty fem coded. It's mentioned that they were pregnant. No use of y/n.

As the soft morning light filters through the curtains of your bedroom, you slowly begin stretching your limbs and blinking away the remnants of sleep. As you slowly settle into wakefulness, you hear the screeching sound of the baby monitor on your nightstand coming to life and you feel how your heart flutters happily in your chest as a familiar sound comes through. The sweet sound of your daughter’s happy coos, accompanied by Simon’s deep, gentle voice, fill the room with sweetness. 

“Morning, sweet pea,” Simon’s voice crackles through the monitor followed by the sound of your baby happily gurgling at her father and then exclaiming a little more whiny sound. “Yeah, yeah, I know you’re hungry, but we have to get you changed before we can make breakfast, lovie.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you lie there, basking in the warmth and comfort of your bed. The love and joy that echo through the monitor remind you of just how much love fills your home. It’s moments like these that make your heart swell with an indescribable sense of happiness.

Your mind wanders, and you find yourself reminiscing about the journey that brought you here. 

From the moment you and Simon first met, there was an undeniable connection, a spark that ignited and grew into a love that was both fierce and tender. However, it hadn’t been that easy to convince him that he in fact was deserving of such love. He had been scared that he would mess it up, mess you up, convinced himself that he wasn’t able to make anyone happy and that he was broken beyond repair. But you had been rather insisting, and he had finally let his walls crumble and let you into his heart. 

And as you had expected, all his worries had been unfounded. He is the best, most loving partner you could ever have dreamt of. 

The love you share with him is a love that feels like home.

And then, the arrival of your daughter added a new dimension to your love story. From the first time you had held her tiny hand, you knew that your family was complete. Watching Simon transform into the most loving and doting father has only deepened your admiration and affection for him.

And as you lie here,  reminiscing on your life, you can’t help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the love that surrounds you. 

With a content sigh, you finally pull yourself out of bed, ready to start the weekend with your little family. 

As you make your way down the stairs you can hear the sound of your daughter’s laughter from the kitchen, filling your heart with warmth and you can’t help but smile and make your way towards the source of the joyful commotion. As you enter the room, the morning sun gently illuminates the kitchen, casting a soft glow over the room, and you are greeted by a heartwarming sight. Simon is standing at the stove, stirring a pot of millet porridge, your daughter’s favourite, while she is sitting in her highchair, which has been moved away from the kitchen table and closer to the counter, so she can see what Simon is doing, clapping her hands in delight.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the comforting scent of the porridge. You can’t help but feel a surge of immense love and gratitude for the man who stands before you, effortlessly balancing the roles of partner and father.

Simon turns towards you. “Good morning, love,” he greets you, his eyes twinkling with warmth, the bottom half of his face covered by a black mask. He had started to wear it around the house again after your daughter had been born.  

“Good morning,” you reply, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and adoration. “I see you two are having quite the breakfast party.”

Simon laughs softly and nods. “We thought we’d surprise you with breakfast in bed, but it seems that someone couldn’t wait,” he says, glancing at your daughter, who just giggles in response.

You walk over to them, planting a soft kiss on Simon’s masked cheek before planting another on your daughter’s, much chubbier, one. “Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed. This is the best way to wake up,” you say, gazing at your little family with a heart full of love.

Together you finish cooking breakfast, porridge for the baby and scrambled eggs and turkey bacon for you and Simon.

You begin to set the table as Simon picks up your daughter, supporting her with one arm as he settles her on his hip, so he can move her chair back to the table, but before he can grab the chair he stops dead in his tracks.

Your little girl has grabbed a fistful of his mask in her tiny hand. She doesn’t seem to be pulling on it, or otherwise trying to take it off him, but she also doesn’t seem to want to let go of it when Simon gently takes her hand to get her to release her grip.  

“Sweetheart, please…” Simon says softly, but he trails off, a wave of emotions flickering over his eyes, but they end up having a sort of determinant look to them as they lock with his daughter’s.

You feel how your heart skips a beat as Simon lets go of her little hand to instead grip the place his mask is fastened.  

With a deep breath, Simon removes the mask, revealing his face to your daughter for the very first time in her young life. You feel goosebumps rise along your arms as Simon’s features come to light. The room falls silent, and time seems to stand still.

Your daughter’s gaze is fixed on Simon, you can see a whirlwind of emotions flickering across her little face. 

It’s a pivotal moment that holds the power to change everything. You can see how Simon, too, feels a mix of emotions coursing through him. 

He has once mentioned to you that he was afraid that his scars would scare her, but you have had a suspicion that something else might be the reason he has kept the mask on in front of her for. 

He does have a few scars from his work, but they are nowhere near severe enough to scare anyone. You do have another theory to why he has kept it on, one he hasn’t directly confirmed, but a conversation from your pregnancy has stuck with you. 

He had voiced his concern that something would happen to him on the battlefield. not because he was that concerned for his own wellbeing, he knew what the risks of his job was, but because he was afraid of something happening to him, leaving you and your little one alone in the world. He had, on the whole, had many worries about becoming a father. 

He had been worried that his past had broken him so severely that he couldn’t be the dad your daughter needed him to be. Like the fear he also had about you and your relationship in the beginning of it, the fear that he couldn’t be the man you deserved. 

He has, in all the time you’ve known him, done everything to disprove that concern, he is the best partner you could ask for and now the most lovable dad to your little girl, but you know that he still has his concerns and that his feelings about them are valid. 

You think the mask has served as a sort of safety blanket for him. Like he thought that it would be easier for you and your daughter to lose him if your little girl couldn’t remember his face, or something like that. You find that thought heart rending.               

You know that his job comes with a risk, you had known it when you got together and you had known it when you married him and you had known it when you got your daughter. Losing him on the battlefield would be your worst nightmare come true. You know that he is smart, strong and capable, but you also know that there are no guarantees in war, which, to you, is just all the more reason for  your daughter to know her father’s face, but you have let Simon choose for himself when he was ready for that.  

But you don’t want to think about any of that right now, so you push those thoughts away, and instead let yourself be completely mesmerised by the sight before you   

Your little girl focuses on his, now revealed, face, taking in every detail. Her eyes widening in surprise, curiosity, and perhaps even a hint of fear, her little mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ of surprise as she absorbs every detail of her father’s face. 

“It’s just me, princess,” Simon tells her, his voice filled with a mix of amusement, nerves and an overwhelming love for his little girl. His eyes, once guarded, now shine with warmth and affection. 

The confirmation of his voice is what convinces her. A wide smile spread across her little face, revealing the adorable dimples she has inherited from Simon, on her sweet, chubby cheeks. She lets out a happy squeal, as she realises that it really is her father who’s now smiling down at her, a set of dimples matching hers on his cheeks.    

She giggles happily, which, to you, is the most beautiful sound in the entire world. Her little hands starting to explore Simon’s face, her tiny fingers tracing the lines and contours of it. It’s a gentle and tender gesture that speaks volumes. You watch in awe as the beautiful moment between your daughter and her father unfolds in front of you. It’s a moment you will cherish forever. 

When she finally seems satisfied with her mapping of his face with her small hand, she turns her head to look over at you with an excited expression on her little face, one that conveys something along the lines of ‘you seeing this too?’ Her eyes lighting up, reflecting the genuine joy that fills her little heart.

“Yeah, baby, that’s your daddy,” you smile at her, and she lets out another happy shriek before looking back at Simon again, happily nuzzling her little face into his neck. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” You continue as you step forward, placing a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles over the dusty rose bodystocking that she is wearing, one that Simon picked out when he got her ready and you still laid in bed.   

You look up at Simon, a soft smile on his lips as your eyes lock. 

“He never wants to believe me when I tell him, but he is actually the most handsome man I know,” you say, with a playful glint in your eyes. “He’s probably the most handsome man in the whole world, actually.”           

Simon chuckles, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Oh, come on now,” he replies, his voice a mix of embarrassment and amusement.“I think you might be a bit biassed there, love.”

You shake your head, a warm smile spreading across your face. “Nah, I don’t think I am,” you state, wrapping your arms around both Simon and your little girl in his arms. “Just stating facts. I actually got the most handsome husband and the most beautiful daughter in the whole wide world.” you say with a content sigh, hugging your little family tightly.  

It’s a hug that speaks volumes, conveying love, affection and acceptance. In this embrace, you know that you truly have the most beautiful family in the world.  

As you finally let go of them you place a sweet kiss on your daughter’s little nose. She giggles joyfully, and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratefulness over what a happy little girl you have. Simon seems to be thinking the same as he smiles down at her.  

But your adorable little troublemaker doesn’t seem to be done with causing havoc yet.   

She reaches out her tiny hand and grabs for the mask again. Simon hesitates for a moment, looking down at the fabric in his hand, the symbol of his past, before letting her have it. The mask, once a symbol of his doubts and fears, now becomes a simple toy for your daughter as she happily shakes it up and down, a cheeky grin on her little face. 

You and Simon lock eyes, and then the two of you burst out in laughter.  

As your laughter fills the room, a sense of pure joy washes over you. You look at Simon, his eyes sparkling with happiness, and you know in this moment, that the love and bond the three of you share is unbreakable, and it fills your heart with an indescribable warmth.

With a deep sense of gratitude and contentment, you take a mental snapshot of this beautiful moment. It’s a memory that will forever be etched in your mind, a testament to the strength of your love and the joy that radiates from your little girl.

As the laughter subsides, you gather your family close again, embracing the love and happiness that surrounds you. In this embrace, you know that you have everything you could ever need.

Your daughter’s laughter and Simon’s unwavering love fill your life with immeasurable happiness, and you couldn’t be more grateful for the beautiful family you have created.

[sunny44]

The exes club

Pairing: Max Verstappen x ex!reader, ex wags x fem!reader

Warnings: ex wags.

Summary: Where all the ex wags are best friends.

Yourusername instagram post

Liked by @maxverstappen, @isahernáez, @charlottesiine, @luisinhaoliveira, @elenaberri, @katerinaberezhna and other 174829

Yourusername the exes club is reunited again

Ps: for sure the best part of ours relationship

Tagged: @isahernáez, @charlottesiine, @luisinhaoliveira, @elenaberri, @katerinaberezhna

Isahernáez I miss this so much

Yourusername and I missed you

Luisinhaoliveira love you babes

Yourusername love you more girlfriend

Maxverstappen I can see you’re having fun

Liked by Yourusername

Love4wags I love that the best wags are bestfriends

Mv33fan I miss y/n and Max together

User81 I hate the fact that y/n explicitly say that she doesn’t like the current wag

F1lovelywags

Model Y/n Y/L/N talking about the comments of her not liking the new wags.

Y/n was Max Verstappen's girlfriend until a few months ago when they decided to end their relationship.

She and the other ex-WAGs were often seen together in the paddock during race weekends, emphasizing that they were and still are best friends.

Fans are now commenting on her latest post, suggesting that she dislikes the new WAGs just because she shared that she and the other exes were out having fun.

Yourusername instagram stories

“It’s race weekend”

I was invited to attend the weekend in Monza.

It had been a while since I attended any races; it lost its appeal after Max and I broke up. We decided it was for the best, as my modeling career consumed all my time, just like his racing career did to him.

We no longer had time for each other, and it was driving us apart. So, the best decision for both of us was to take a break, which ultimately led to the end.

But here I was again, at a race, hoping everything would go well without any stress.

"Excuse me, Miss Y/L/N." I turned around to see someone from SKY Sports. "Could you give a brief interview?"

"Of course," I agreed, controlling to not roll my eyes as giving interviews was the last thing I wanted to do today.

"We saw your statement in your latest YouTube video regarding the comments on your posts. Do you have anything to declare?"

"As I said in the video, I'm not obligated to like anyone, even if that's what fans think. I don't personally know any of the girls, so the comments are unfounded, defamatory, and malicious," I said, looking into the camera. "I've always been friends with the other girls, and our friendship might have started here due to our ex-boyfriends working in the same field. But our friendship goes beyond that, so the fact that these so-called fans are bothered by something so trivial truly amazes me. Once again, I have nothing against anyone, so I ask you to stop trying to portray me as the villain just because you don't like me."

"Very well, thank you Y/n, for your words," I agreed and left.

I continued walking, stopped for a coffee, and on my way back, Daniel waved at me.

"Y/n, long time no see."

"Hi, Dani," I hugged him. "How are you?"

"Good, and you?"

"Good too, just the usual dramas."

"I saw; people don't have much sense.”

"Don't even talk about it. I don't know where people get this rivalry. It's not like I said anything about them in the post."

"Don't worry about it. Fans are just jealous because all of you dated who they wanted. The girls are getting hate now for dating them."

"Yeah, tell me about it," I sighed. "It's terrible for all of us. Max and I aren't even dating anymore, and people still hassle me."

"I can imagine. Heidi sometimes shows me some comments, and they're pretty nasty."

"Well, I need to go, but good luck in the race," I waved. Passing in front of the Red Bull garage, I was pulled inside, and when I saw, I was in Max's driver's room. "What the hell is this?"

"I wanted to see you," he said simply.

"And did you need to pull me in like you were kidnapping me?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you and I wanted as few people as possible to see."

"Why? Are you ashamed?"

"Of course not." He stared at me. "How are you?"

"Look, you didn't pull me in here to ask how I am, and I know it was your idea to invite me, even though you tried really hard to make it seem like it wasn't," I said, and he looked at the floor. "So tell me, why so much effort to bring me here?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you."

"You could have called me or sent a message."

"I know, but I needed to say this in person," I agreed and sat on his bed.

"All right, I'm listening."

"I wanted to apologize for my fans. I heard about what happened with your last post, and I didn’t wanted you to go through all this because of me."

"It's not your fault."

"Are you sure? The fans are mine."

"It doesn't matter; they're not your real fans if they're such nasty people," he agreed. "It's okay."

Max sighed, briefly averting his gaze before fixing it back on mine.

"Y/n, I need to be honest about the other reason I brought you here," I nodded, encouraging him to continue. "I still love you, more than I can admit. Seeing you dealing with all this pressure and drama made me realize that, even with everything that happened between us, I can't just let you go. Not again."

My heart raced, and a smile formed on my face.

"Max, I feel the same way. I think, deep down, we never stopped loving each other. Maybe it's time to give what we had a second chance."

He smiled back, sincerity reflected in his eyes.

"Y/n, I just want to do this the right way, without rushing, and make sure we're both ready." I nodded, feeling a profound sense of relief.

"I'm willing to give it a try, Max. After all, what do we have to lose?"

And in the end, I guess I put an end to the exes club.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername instagram stories

“Ops, I guess the exes club is over for me”

[niki-phoria]

THERE'LL BE NO MORE SORROW / I'LL SEE YOU THERE TOMORROW

pairing: fushiguro megumi x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: hurt comfort word count: 781

notes: very (possibly ooc) megumi heavy, not proofread, mentions of blood/injuries, set immediately after shibuya arc, spoilers for jjk s2 lol, title from txt - i’ll see you there tomorrow

the makeshift hospital in jujutsu high smells like artificial lemons and bleach. the lights above are blindingly bright as FUSHIGURO MEGUMI squints up at the ceiling, patiently awaiting shoko’s return. there’s a dull ache somewhere in his shoulder and his vision is still a little hazy, but his injuries are otherwise superficial. 

unfortunately, the same cannot be said for yours.

megumi bites his tongue. crying will do nothing to help you, but it’s so hard not to. he curls his trembling hands into fists, tightly holding the blue blanket covering most of his body in his grip. his sadness and worry has slowly begun turning to anger. anger towards the higher-ups who sent two teenagers into shibuya with no preparation. anger towards the curse who hurt you so carelessly - leaving your body bloody and broken and bruised. anger towards himself for not being there. not being fast enough. not being strong enough. 

swallowing the lump forming in his throat, megumi stares up at the chipped paint coating the ceiling. it’s a light beige - a colour that reminds him of nanami’s signature suit. nanami. the tears in his eyes slip down his cheeks.

megumi pulls his knees up to his chest, curling his body in on itself. he lets his eyes flutter closed once again, focusing on the slow and steady inhale and exhale of his breathing. 

time passes. hours, maybe? megumi jumps when the door swings open; the once silent room now filled with the familiar clacking of shoko’s heels against the floor. “fushiguro,” shoko’s voice is cold as she enters the room. her piercing glare meets megumi’s gaze, making the boy lower his shoulders slightly in defeat. “i thought i told you to be more careful.”

“i’m sorry.” her concern isn’t unfounded, but it does little to soothe megumi’s worries. 

shoko notices, and sighs. she steps forward to rest a hand against the wooden bed frame. “your injuries weren’t that severe. i’m giving you a few days to rest, and then you’ll be ready to return to your missions.” she pauses. megumi looks up at her expectantly. “y/n is in the room next to yours. they haven’t woken up yet, but their condition is stable. you can go see them whenever you’d like.”

he swallows the lump in his throat. the tension in his shoulders falters, but only slightly. her sharp gaze lingers on the bandage wrapped tightly around megumi’s head longer than necessary. he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze; his hands play with a loose thread on the blanket. shoko’s fingertips nonchalantly flip through the papers with surgical precision. it’s not like there’s any need to keep a record of his injuries, anyway.

“thank you, ieiri-san,“ megumi murmurs. shoko purses her lips. whatever words she wants to say thankfully remain left in her throat. her heels clink against the cold, tile floor as she turns to exit the room, finally leaving megumi alone in the silence once again.

megumi stares at the wall for too long. time passes without him noticing. he waits until his legs ache from the stillness and his eyes burn. the world around him has fallen into silence once again. finally, he stands up on shaky knees, carefully making his way towards your hospital room. 

you’re exactly where shoko said you would be - in the state she said you would be in. megumi notices the bandages wrapped around your arms and the bruises littering your skin in patches. his breath hitches in his throat. 

your room is colder than his was. or, maybe it’s his imagination? megumi isn’t sure. he moves in a daze as he sits down beside your bedside, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. 

megumi leans his head against his hands, sending prayers to gods he isn’t sure he even believes in. he waits for what feels like hours, until-

“megumi?” your voice is quiet and cracks, but it’s yours. you blink a few times, squinting up at him. he stares at you in shock; wide eyes bore into your own before he’s scrambling, throwing his arms around your body and pulling you against his chest. you wince slightly but return the hug nonetheless, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders. 

“megumi,” you repeat, breathless.

“i’m here,” he whispers. his voice is muffled against the fabric of your shirt. tears sting against your skin as they roll down his cheeks in waves, but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care. 

megumi pulls away just enough to look at your face; his teary eyes and flushed cheeks match your own. despite himself, he smiles, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against your cheek. “i’m here.”

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

[roanniom]

What Comes After

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: When Steve waits too long after you give birth to initiate sex, you take matters into your own hands.

Note: I know very very little about pregnancy and the aftermath. Most of this comes from what I read in other fics, what I’ve vaguely heard from my friends, and a 5 min google search about lactation. Sorry in advance if this is incorrect.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, angst that resolves, mentions of pregnancy / babies / parenthood, PIV/unprotected sex, lactation during sex

After you give birth to your baby, you completely assumed Steve would be itching to ravish you the minute your doctor gave the all clear. In fact, you’d been mentally preparing yourself for that since before you went into labor. Those first few weeks afterwards were as rough as people had warned you and then some, but you couldn’t imagine it without your Steve.

Steve who was there beside you for absolutely everything. Late night feedings, mid day crying sessions, general panic attacks about how to do anything right for the first time, really. You’d wake up to hear him in the next room, holding and rocking your daughter back to sleep, his hushed voice soothing her whimpers and in turn lulling you back to rest.

It’s not that you thought the man capable of being such a loving, gentle partner in this new stage of life would turn into some ravenous monster at the first suggestion of sex. It’s just that he’d always been such an attentive, eager, enthusiastic lover, and that had only magnified as your pregnancy had gone on. Your hormones had made you insatiable, especially toward the end. Steve had very much gotten used to you needing to use him like a toy often - sometimes multiple times a day. So it just stands to reason that he would be absolutely itching to get back to it.

But the day of your follow up doctor's appointment came and went and...nothing. You'd come home and let him know the good news, a way smile on your face as you braced for his celebration. Steve had just looked at you over the baby's head where he had her cradled to his chest and smiled.

"Glad to hear you're healing up right, sweetheart!"

And that was that.

You'd assumed maybe he was holding himself back for your daughter's sake. So that night you'd climbed into bed wearing something slightly nicer than the long flowy nightgowns you'd taken to sporting the last few months. You applied a bit of perfume at your pulse points and rubbed a little lotion on your legs. Steve walked in shortly after running a final sweep of the apartment, making sure everything is off and locked up (he's fallen perfectly into the protective father stereotype), and when he crossed the threshold you beamed at him.

"Look at you. All smiley and beautiful and cozy," Steve cooed, sliding into bed beside you. His arms encircled you and pulled you against his body and again, you felt yourself steeling your nerves, ready for the inevitable escalation. So much so that you leaned up to initiate yourself, pressing your lips against your husband's throat. Steve hummed against your ministrations before doing the last thing you thought he'd do - he kissed the top of your head and turned you in his arms, nestling you into a warm, firm grip.

"Good night, baby. Love you," he whispered in your ear.

And that was that.

You'd been pretty surprised by the lack of action. A little rattled actually. But as Steve's breathing evened out and his arms around you became heavier with sleep, you'd reminded yourself that you hadn't really felt ready anyway. Your feelings of rejection assuaged, you'd allowed sleep to take you with him.

However, as the weeks wore on, you were less and less able to ignore the nagging feeling.

With each passing day that your husband didn't initiate sex, you began worrying more and more that he didn't want you anymore. Your postpartum hormones had you feeling wildly unfounded emotions, and you had to keep reminding yourself that they were unfounded because the evidence of Steve's actions didn't line up with your suspicions.

Steve was nothing but physical with you in the aftermath of the birth of your daughter. Constantly coming up behind you and wrapping you in his arms. Constantly showering your face and neck with kisses when he entered any room. Pulling you down to sit in his lap when you finally put the baby down for a nap or for the night. His hands were on you at all times.

Not to mention the fact that you had woken up multiple times in the middle of the night (needing to pee) to the feeling of his hard cock nestled against your curves, his arms pulling you that much tighter against him when you tried to get up.

All of these mixed messaged led to you feeling extremely confused. So much so that you did the first thing you could think of besides confronting the issue head on (because of course you weren't going to ask Steve directly, that would be too mature).

"Why hasn't he...what?!" Eddie's eyes practically bulge out of his head in response to your question. You narrow your eyes at him in contrast.

Steve has run out to get some Chinese food since "Uncle Eddie" has come over for a movie night. The different members of the gang have been coming over each weekend to help you two out and also give you a much needed dose of friendship normalcy. Eddie is sitting on your couch, your daughter in his arms, as you sit beside him with your arms crossed.

"Why hasn't he fucked me since I gave birth?" you repeat expectantly. Eddie does his best to cover the baby's ears.

"There is literally a child - your child - present, you slut," Eddie accuses in a stage whisper. You laugh out loud at that.

"First of all, she can't understand a single word that's being said. And second of all, you can't call me a slut in front of my child." You move to smack him but Eddie ducks, giving you a cheeky smile.

Eddie might be really close with Steve, but you'd very much stolen him as a best friend in your own right. As it stands, Steve has Robin and you have Eddie, that's pretty much the loyalty line. So you attempt to lean on that loyalty to solve your problem.

"C'mon, Eds," you pout. "I'm really dying here."

Eddie's eyes go wide again and he puts his hand back over your sleeping daughter's exposed ear, pressing her other ear further against his chest.

"You're really missing dick that bad?" he whispers. You shrug.

"Not just dick. Steve's dick." It comes out in a whine that has Eddie chuckling. "I'm just worried he doesn't want -,"

"Well shut right the fuck up," Eddie cuts you off with an emphatic shake of his head. "It definitely isn't that he doesn't want you."

"Aha. So you do know more than you were letting on. Spill, Munson." You lean towards him and Eddie realizes he's gotten himself stuck in something he would rather have avoided. He scratches his head with his free hand.

"It's nothing. Really. It's..."

You stare daggers into him and his shoulders sag.

"He's really scared of hurting you."

You blink at that.

"Hurting me?"

Eddie looks extremely uncomfortable, shifting in his seat and looking down at the baby before looking back up at you.

"He read one of those baby books and it said that husbands can...you know...get amorous too soon and..."

You laugh incredulously, but Eddie looks like he wants to jump out of the second story window of your apartment.

"You're laughing, but he mentioned it to Robin and Robin said that it was 100% true and that he could...I don't know...rip you open or some shit-"

"Eddie!" you cut your friend off before he can make himself any more uncomfortable. "I mean, yes. It's true. But I've been cleared by the doctor. It's been like...months since that would have been something to worry about."

Eddie raises an eyebrow at that. The baby fusses quietly in his arms and he automatically bounces his knee to rock her just slightly, soothing her. Despite the nature of your conversation, the whole image melts your heart.

"Look, princess," Eddie says quietly, pulling out his long-used nickname for you. "Steve loves you pretty much more than any one human can possibly love someone. And you know I hate complimenting that asshole."

You snort in response but he continues.

"I'm sure it's killing him, too, to not be...intimate. Have you talked to him about it?"

"I told him that the doctor said it was okay..." you reply, kind of avoiding the question. Eddie groans, dropping his head against the back of the couch.

"This isn't one of those things where you come to me for help and I find out you haven't even tried doing anything to fix it first, is it?"

"Edward Munson, how could you ask me that?" you ask with faux insult. Eddie rolls his head to the side to look at you.

"I can ask you that because of the time you thought Steve wanted to just be friends with you and instead of talking to him you cried to me."

"That's - "

"And that time you thought he'd been sneaking around behind your back, even though all he was doing was planning his proposal."

"Okaaay, Eddie."

"And the time - ,"

"Alright shut up," you snap, not holding back your laughter. You bite your lip and look back at your friend holding your baby, the product of your love with Steve. You chew on the inside of your cheek. "Fine. Maybe I need to do something myself."

"Ya think?" Eddie asks with a grin that says he's way too pleased with himself.

"But you're going to help me."

Eddie's smile turns into an overdramatic frown.

"Why do I have to do anything? It's your sex life, slut."

"Because you love me," you say simply, batting your eyelashes. Eddie goes to respond but in that exact moment your daughter decides to wake up, stretching and giving the cutest tiny yawn in the entire world, melting the metal head in front of you. He glances up at you begrudgingly and then kisses the baby on her nose. Gazing down at her, he coos.

"Guess I'm gonna help your mommy get laid. Again."

~*~

It's about a week later by the time your plan can finally be put into action.

Steve comes home at the end of a long Friday at Family Video, ready to spend the night with his two girls. He runs in the door of your shared apartment and heads straight to the nursery so quickly he doesn't have enough time to register his surroundings. The dimmed lights, the lit candles, the soft music playing. When he reaches the nursery and finds the crib empty, however, Steve's blinders come off.

"Honey? Honey where are you?" Steve asks, calling out and walking back into the living room, unsettled.

That’s when you step out of your bedroom, leaning against the doorway in a silky robe.

“Right here, Stevie.”

Steve’s jaw drops open at the sight of you, all the air knocked from his lungs. He blinks rapidly. Seemingly unable to process what’s going on.

“Baby…?”

“She’s with Joyce and Hopper for the night,” you reply, though you know the pet name was for you and not a question about your daughter. Steve looks around the room as if taking the state of it in for the first time, but also as if he is slightly aimless without a baby to care for.

“That’s…wow. Is it too soon? It’ll be weird not putting her to bed,” Steve says, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

You know what he means. When Eddie had come to get her earlier this afternoon, you’d felt like your heart was being ripped from your body. But looking at your husband right now - feeling the chasm between you close as his eyes rake down your body - you know it was the right thing to do.

"We needed a night to be grown ups. Don't you think, Steve?" you ask, pushing off from the doorway. Your silk robe slips open, revealing a gauzy babydoll night dress that hits right at your upper thigh. You swear Steve turns a shade of red you've never seen in a matter of seconds. You can hear an audible swallow as you move into Steve's space, tugging at his Family Video vest till it falls off his shoulders and onto the floor. "You want that, too, don't you?"

You don't give him a second to respond. Instead you crawl your fingers up under his shirt, grasping at his sides to pull him to you as you big to kiss the side of his neck. The shuddering inhale is a good indication of the effect you're having on him, followed immediately by the way his arms encircle your body.

This is what you've wanted. What you've needed. What you've craved every night as you laid beside your doting, sweet, silly husband, desperate for a touch he hadn't necessarily deprived you of, but a touch which you needed more more more.

"Honey." He says it like a prayer. Like a question to be answered. You pull back from his skin long enough to look up and find his face a storm of emotion. Love and lust and worry swirl together, but before you can move to comfort or question him, his lips are on yours. Kissing you for all he's worth. For all you're worth. For all the two of you are worth combined.

The kissing never stopped. That wasn't something he'd been holding back from you these past few months. But clearly he'd been holding back in intensity, because there's something all-consuming about the way Steve is kissing you now. It has you gasping for air in the mere seconds of reprieve he gives you before he's back to devouring your mouth, his hands roaming all over the body he'd spent so long treating with kid gloves.

You're the one who begins walking backwards, leading him into the bedroom without pulling away from the kiss. It's easy to forget about the other plans you'd made for the evening. The bottle of wine on the counter, the meal on the table. You'd assumed you might have to wine and dine Steve. Get him a little loose and convince him to ravish you. You hadn't expected him to crumble like this or to become as nonverbal as he has since he walked in the door. Your usually talkative man has dissolved into nothing but pants and grunts as he tries his best to get his lips and hands on every part of you he can.

When the backs of your knees hit the bed and you pull him down on top of you, however, he does finally seem to come to his senses.

"We...oh fuck. We don't have to do anything, honey," Steve mutters, albeit into your lips.

"Wanna do everything, Stevie," you say in response, grabbing his hands and placing them back on your swollen breasts. Steve groans into your jaw this time but is more successful in his attempt to pull away.

"Sweetheart, we should slow down."

"No, we shouldn't," you say, a bit more indignant this time. Realizing that Steve is no longer putting any of his body weight on you, you panic and do the first thing that comes to mind - you yank him down and then twist so that his back is against the mattress so you can clamber on top of him.

"Honey, what are you - ?"

"Steve. I need you to fuck me. And if you’re worried you’re gonna hurt me, just forget about it because I’ve been healed for months at this point and you know it.”

You know your eyes must be shining with unshed tears at this point so you do your best to blink them away, hoping they aren’t visible to Steve in the low light. But of course he notices. It’s Steve.

He immediately sits up so he can be face to face as you straddle him, his large hands coming to cup your face like you’re so delicate you’ll break.

“I just…the books said…you were in so much pain after the birth…”

Steve looks way more lost than you’ve ever seen him, his hair tousled from your hands and his eyes darting everywhere in discomfort before resting back on yours. You wait for him to continue but he doesn’t so you squeeze his biceps.

“Steve. You have to tell me these things that you’re worried about.”

“I know…” he tries to dismiss you, looking away. It makes you grab his chin.

“I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” you finally say plainly. Steve’s eyes stop looking for anywhere else to rest, instead flying to your face and blowing wide. He opens his mouth but you keep going. “I thought you weren’t attracted to me anymore. That you didn’t see me in that way…”

“Honey, stop,” Steve says, speaking forcefully for the first time all night. For the first time in months. “That’s crazy. You know that? You know you’re talking crazy, right? Like certifiably insane.”

“Steve…”

“How could you say that? Are you out of your mind?” His voice raises a bit as he gets more riled up. It makes you bite your lip.

“Don’t…don’t belittle…” you can feel the flood of emotion starting to surge to the surface, the dam much quicker to break these days since you gave birth. Steve grips you tighter, hand on the back of your neck to force you to look at him.

“I’m not belittling your fears. You are belittling my love for you if you think for one second that I’m not attracted to you anymore. That I don’t fall in love with you again every single time I lay eyes on you. That I don’t want you with every dumb molecule in my being. And I know I was shitty in science class but I know thats a lot of fucking molecules. You’re belittling my feelings if you don’t think I want to keep my hands on you every waking minute and that it kills me that that’s not possible. That I don’t get out of bed really early each morning and jerk off in the shower just because I had you in my arms all night.”

A wet chuckle comes out of you unbidden. The corner of Steve’s mouth quirks up but his brow remains furrowed.

“You have to tell me when you’re worried about things, honey,” he says quietly as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Isn’t that literally what I just said to you?” you scoff incredulously. Steve leans back and finally gives you a lopsided smile.

“Well not exactly. I’m sure I changed the words a little bit.”

“Steve Harrington, that is word for word—,”

You’re cut off when Steve closes the gap between you with a kiss. There’s not once ounce of protest left in you. You are starved for his affection. Greedy to consume and be consumed. You kiss him back with everything you have. It is heated and wet and hard and everything that you have been needing. You push and he gives. Allowing you to pressure him down so his back is once again against the bed.

You’re grinding against him now and it’s so good. A triumphant zing runs down your spine at the feeling of how thick and hard he is for you, reciprocating all of your feelings and reinforcing all of his words.

Steve Harrington wants you.

The father of your child and the love of your life.

Your Steve.

When Steve’s lips migrate down over the slope of your jaw to suck at your pulse, you moan loudly. The feeling of suction travels all the way through your body to the space between your legs and before you can do anything to counter it, you’re rocking back and forth against Steve in search of any friction possible.

“Steve. Please,” you practically sob out. He puts his hands on either side of your face but before he can say anything, you continue whimpering. “Please, Steve. Just give me something, anything—,”

“Shh, honey,” Steve says, kissing your heated face. “You don’t have to beg. I’m so sorry to have made you think you ever have to beg. For anything.”

The next series of events plays out in slow motion. Both because it’s the culmination of all of your hopes and wishes for the last few months and because Steve moves incrementally. Gently.

“We’re gonna take this slow, honey,” Steve says quietly as he rolls so that you’re the one on your back, your head propped up on pillows. He grabs one additional pillow and lifts your hips up so that they are elevated by the cushion.

“We don’t—,” you try to interrupt but Steve hushes you again, not unkindly.

“Baby, I’ll bend you over and fuck you so hard the neighbors call 911 again soon,” he chuckles and you cringe at the memory of one of the best nights of sex of your life. Steve takes a shuddering breath, looking down at you spread out for him. “But tonight…we’re gonna do this slow. For both of us.”

Big hands slide the hem of your babydoll nightgown up, revealing your naked pussy which immediately receives attention. Steve presses two fingers to your clit and begins to go in tried and true circular motions.

“I’m just saying. We could go faster…oh.” You’re cut off when one of Steve’s fingers slides all the way into you, causing your eyes to roll back. Steve chuckles and leans forward to kiss your exposed throat.

“Baby, I need to go slow. Don’t you get it?” he mutters into your skin. He moves his finger in and out of you slowly. “You’re acting like you’re the only one who hasn’t been fucked in months.”

The perspective has you preening, but before you can dig into that further, Steve presses the weight of his body on you and you’re a goner.

It’s all weight and skin and sweat and the skim of flesh on flesh and moans and warm breath.

You begin to forget where Steve ends and you begin. You both are one raw nerve ending, spurred on by gasps and rubs and moans. As someone whose patience had seemingly run out, you’re surprised to realize how easy it is to lose track of time with your lover so lost in you, and you in him. You don’t know how long it is that you revel in touch and pressure and heat before you feel him prodding at your entrance. Swollen and hot and and hard and needy and yours.

“Ready, baby?” Steve asks. He sounds far away, but you make sure to muster up eye contact so you can assure him as much as possible.

“Ready, Steve.”

He pushes in slow, and you’re pleased to confirm that you were right. You are ready for him. For this. There’s no discomfort. Just the inevitable sting of his size invading you in every way.

“Oh fuck,” you say quietly. Steve pulls out and then drives back in, more firm this time. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Oh fuck, fuck.”

“Get it all out, baby,” Steve says with a roguish grin. “Say whatever you need to tonight. Don’t want to be all foul mouthed with our daughter around.”

You know he’s joking but you roll your eyes.

“Well Eddie Munson called me a slut in front of our daughter the other day, so—,”

“He WHAT?!” Steve stops immediately, eyes wide. You laugh and grab at his ass, trying to force him to start moving again.

“It’s nothing. Just a joke. Come on, keep going!”

“You saying he called you a slut was a joke or him calling you a slut was the the joke?” Steve asks warily, but he does slowly begin thrusting back into you.

“The second one. I mean the first. I mean both - ah!” you gasp at the feeling of Steve nudging against a delicious spot inside you. Your nails dig deep into his arm. “Oh god.”

“Am I going to have to limit Eddie’s family privileges?” Steve jokes, knowing fully well that Eddie is yours just as much as Robin is his. You’re squinting up at him, brow furrowed. It’s adorable.

“Can you stop talking about Eddie Munson while you’re making me feel like this?” you ask.

“Hey, you’re the one who brought him up.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead you surrender yourself to the pleasure melting through your bloodstream. Steve can see it on your face. It makes his ego swell in that way it always used to. A boyish grin splits his face and his hips pick up the pace.

“Making you feel like this, huh?” He quotes you. “Feels good?”

“Yeah. So good.”

“This what you wanted? Just wanted me to fuck you like old times?”

“If it was - oh god - like old times we’d both be drunk and fooling around in the bathroom at the - fuck - Hideout,” you try to say, though you’re interrupted by your own moans.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says, leaning down and sucking on your throat again. There will definitely be marks, but you don’t have it in you to care or reprimand him. “I’m drunk on you right now.”

“Steve…,” you whisper. The name cracks in your throat when he snakes his hand down to play with your clit.

“Sounds like you’re drunk, too, baby - oh.”

The tone of his “oh” is different from his earlier teasing and you look down. Two wet spots have formed in the silk nightgown over your breasts.

“Shit. Shit,” you whine.

“Is that…”

“I’m lactating. I’m lactating during sex, Steve.” You have your hands slapped over your eyes to hide you away from the mortification of the moment.

“It’s ok. Hey. Hey! It’s okay.” Steve is chuckling, but his hands do their best to peel yours away from your eyes. Your crumpled face makes his heart hurt so he kisses your cheeks. “Baby, it’s okay. You were feeling good, right?”

“Yeah…but…”

“There’s no but. That’s all that matters,” Steve says definitively before dropping a more insistent kiss on your lips. His tongue delves into your mouth, his fingers winding in your hair. He’s trying to distract you. And it’s working, because soon your hips are rolling, trying to get him to start thrusting back into you again.

Steve finally pulls back, his hand gentle on your jaw.

“Do they hurt?” he asks quietly, glancing down at your breasts and back up.

“They’re a bit achey, yeah,” you admit. He leans down and presses a kiss to the valley between them. Your breath catches at the feeling. Steve hand comes up to cup one gingerly and you bite your lip. “Maybe don’t touch my nipples too much. Sensitive.”

“Of course, baby,” Steve agrees. He sits up higher, propping himself up with a hand by your head so that he’s leaning over you but has the leverage to pick up his thrusts again. Before long the feeling of him bottoming out inside you has you releasing a steady stream of moans. “Seems like you’re sensitive all over, huh?”

“Mmmmyeah,” you confirm, eyes shut tight against the pleasure.

Steve can feel your pussy start to clamp down on him. It’s his favorite feeling in the world - one his own fist could never hope to replicate. The apparent nearness of your orgasm spurs him on more than any aphrodisiac and he begins panting openly, his hips picking up speed.

“You’re close, I know you are, honey.”

You just nod furiously, practically beyond words as you grip his biceps for all you’re worth. Steve lets out a breathless chuckle.

“I know, me too, honey. You gotta cum for me, okay?”

“Steve…” you gasp out, peering up at him through lust hazed eyes.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t…don’t make me go this long again,” you say weakly. “Please.”

Steve’s heart absolutely splinters at the way you say it. He drops himself even lower against you, his thrusts taking on a even harder, more intentional quality.

“I won’t. I promise,” Steve says hoarsely right into your ear, his lips mouthing at the lobe as he does so. “I’ll fuck you right, baby. You’ll see. You’ll never have to ask again.”

You spasm in his arms shortly after Steve makes that promise to you. He’s not far behind, especially not with the way you cry out his name like is both a prayer and and answer to one. He spills into your still quaking walls with a guttural groan that you do your best to swallow, somehow not satiated by the sex alone. You need to consume Steve’s being.

~*~

What comes after shouldn’t be your favorite part, but somehow it is. It’s the part where Steve holds you in his arms, sweaty and still shaking a little. Kisses pepper your temples and his breath fans over your face. After a while, a comedically timed stomach growl reminds you both that neither of you have eaten, so you finally stumble out to the kitchen, naked and draped over one another, to eat a meal.

It’s the part later in the evening where you try to suck Steve’s cock while watching tv, but he won’t let you because he won’t let the mother of his child bruise her knees (he’ll change his tune in a few weeks but it’s cute for now). Instead he drags you back to bed for the night and makes you cum on his tongue before fucking you once more and ensuring you have the heaviest sleep you’ve had in months.

It’s the part the next morning where you wake up with still a few hours to go before Eddie brings your daughter back from Joyce and Hopper’s. Where you wake up to your husband wrapped around you, his morning wood tucked between your thighs. This time you don’t hesitate in initiating yourself. Taking what you both want. Steve’s moans score your morning beautifully, while his cum paints the canvas of your belly and your face wears a self satisfied grin.

Your favorite part is having quiet cups of coffee in the kitchen. Holding hands as you wait for the toast to pop up. Reading the morning paper and handing Steve the comics section without having to be asked. Reaching a hand out to fluff his hair fondly when he reads out the most ridiculous panels.

Your favorite part is when Eddie brings your daughter back and you get to watch the light in Steve’s eyes magnify as he picks her up in his arms. He coos at her and she smiles and you sweat you ascend to heaven.

Eddie lingers in the doorway after Steve hoists the diaper bag and brings his precious cargo into the living room.

“So are you all…satisfied?” Eddie asks uncomfortably. You punch him in the shoulder but you’re unable to hide the massive smile on your face.

“Yes. Yes I am, thank you,” you reply, completely genuine. Eddie grins back at you, squeezing your hand.

“I’m happy for you, slut.”

You’re about to reply when you both freeze, surprised by a loud voice coming from the living room.

“EDWARD MUNSON, IF YOU CALL MY WIFE A SLUT ONE MORE TIME!”

~*~

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I hope you enjoyed! Please comment and reblog to let me know, thanks for reading!

[minus-plus-zer0]

Jealousy

♡ Genre: Hurt/comfort, very fluff ending ♡ Pairing: Pro Hero!Bakugou x Reader ♡ Tags: Aged up, established relationships, dating (Jealousy on both sides, it's all unfounded so don't worry! You two are loyal like dogs to each other)

Bakugou was the jealous type.

Everybody in the entire country knew that. There was nothing Bakugou hated more than imagining you leaving him for somebody else. You wanted to tease him about it sometimes, but his jealousy made him so distressed that you ended up comforting him instead.

Currently, Bakugou was still seething at the man who last flirted with you. The guy disappeared into the street's crowd under Bakugou's contemptuous gaze. His anger could only be distracted by you and your words.

"It's okay, Katsuki," you said, while hugging him. "I only love you. I didn't even flirt back, you know?"

"...I know," Bakugou said. He kissed you on the lips, somewhat possessively. When he opened his eyes again, he looked so sad. "One of these days I wonder if you're gonna find somebody better than me."

"Katsuki!" You glared at him. "I could never find someone better than you! You are the sweetest, most loyal guy I've ever met! Even if you do have a temper." You giggled, poking his forehead.

"Dummy." Bakugou rested his forehead against yours, his arm close around your waist. "Sorry. Shouldn't have gotten jealous."

"No, it's okay! Always tell me when you're jealous, always!"

That's how most of Bakugou's jealousy fits went. Over time, Bakugou became less and less easily aggravated, but he still had his possessive moments. But no matter what, he'd never take his anger out on you or try to control you out of fear.

Meanwhile, you rarely got jealous of Bakugou, mainly because you weren't the type but also because there wasn't much to be jealous of. Bakugou made it crystal clear to everyone what he did and didn't like, and you were one of the few things included on the "like" list. In fact, you were the only person ever included on the "love" list.

But despite Bakugou's poor reputation with the public, he still occasionally found fans who fawned over him. These fans sometimes made you uncomfortable.

One day, you two were out in public together in a quiet side path of the town, walking between various shops. Coincidentally, you caught some of his fawning fans exiting a store. Bakugou paid them no attention but you couldn't take your eyes off of the potential "predators" on your relationship. The fans soon passed but not without some loud screeching and several pictures taken without Bakugou's permission. Initially it irritated Bakugou, but you noticed by the end of it he was paying more attention to you.

"Are you jealous?" he asked, seriously. You two walked in the opposite direction of the fans, their voices getting less loud with more distance.

"Of course not..." you lied. "They're just random fans, it doesn't matter."

You didn't want him to tease you for this. This was one of the few times you had to deal with jealousy, and it took you off guard. It was irrational too, and you knew it. Still, you didn't always like being actively reminded that Bakugou could be wanted by others.

Bakugou wasn't having this. He stopped you in the middle of the side path you walked down, his expression focused.

"Don't be jealous, alright?" he said. You opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted. "And don't deny that you are jealous! I've been jealous of you tons of times, so I can recognize that shit anywhere. But it's just your mind playing tricks on you. You're still the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I only go for the best, ya hear me?" He started beaming at you, and you could tell he really meant it. "I'd rather throw myself off a cliff than go back on my promises to you."

That did warm your heart. He caught your lips turning up and his hand brushed against your cheek, but you still shied away from him.

"I just don't get why you chose me," you said. "You've got so many fans. Sometimes I wonder if there are better options for you out there..."

"I fucking doubt it. I have the best judgment and the best taste, so if I chose you, that fucking means something. It means you're as great as me... or better. Now don't go saying that negative stuff about my girlfriend. Or else."

"O-okay! Alright!"

You didn't know what the heck he could be threatening you with, but you didn't want to find out. Regardless, he still looked after you and made sure nothing the fans did ever bothered you. He would never tease you for your jealousy, because he personally knew how much it hurt. You were one of the few people he could trust, and because of that you two were dead loyal to each other no matter the odds.

[7ndipity]

How They Would Confess To Their Crush

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How they would confess to their crush. In connection to the Secret Crush HCs series.

Warnings: Swearing, slightly suggestive moments, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anons who requested this! This kinda feels like a conclusion to the secret crush HCs we’ve been working on for a while(tho I’m sure we’ll come up with some more ideas like first dates or smth, lol) Hope y’all like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Jin:

I think he would want to plan out some elaborate scene and make it romantic with flowers and music or smth, but in actuality he just ends up blurting it out as you’re hanging out one day.

He’s almost done it so many times, the words literally always on the tip of his tongue, so when they finally do come out, he’s almost as surprised as you are.

He immediately turns anxious bc “Oh shit, that was out loud, what do I do now?!”, but when you say you love him too and kiss him, his mind just goes completely blank and he leans in more, following your lead.

It might not have been how he imagined confessing, but the outcome is better than anything he could’ve dreamed up.

Yoongi:

He would probably end up quietly confessing during one of your late night hangouts where you’re both so tired but not willing to say goodnight, the conversations getting deeper the later it gets.

He thought it would take a lot more to make him finally confess, but something about the way you sleepily smile at him made it so easy, the words rolling off his tongue with almost no effort.

Even though you may have already had your suspicions that you were into each other, it still comes as a slight shock to hear him say it, your startled expression making him fear for a second that you’ll reject him, but then you say you feel the same way and it’s like he can breathe properly for the first time in forever.

You end up talking till you fall asleep tangled together, happier and more content than you’ve both felt in a long time.

Hobi:

He would go all out, surprising you when you come over to hang out with flowers, candles/fairy lights, music, the works.(It almost looks more like a proposal than a confession, but he really wants to impress you and show how much you mean to him)

He would be so nervous, even if you both kinda already knew how the other felt, he can’t help worrying about what if he’d misread things or if you said no.

Luckily, his fears are completely unfounded, bc as soon as you walk in and he starts the speech he’s prepared, you nearly burst into tears before tackling him in a tight hug, saying you love him too.

Most of the evening is spent curled up together on the couch, fessing up to all the times where you fell for each other.

Namjoon:

It would probably happen after a fight or smth when you’re not talking to each other, forcing him to realize that he can’t keep lying to you about his feelings or pretending that nothing else is going on and still expect things to work out between you in any form.

He would probably either ask to meet up for coffee so you can talk things out or just show up at your house, depending on how brave he was feeling in the moment.

Has this whole ass speech prepared, but he doesn’t manage to get through even half of it before you’re pulling him into a kiss, effectively shutting him up for the next few minutes.

When you separate to breathe and his brain starts working again, you talk things out and admit how you both felt the whole time. It’s kinda messy and chaotic, but that’s how things have always been between you, why should this be any different?

Jimin:

I think he would take a semi-serious approach to confessing, almost in an attempt to counteract his normally aloof, flirty energy with you, sitting you down to talk about everything. His sudden shift in behavior would honestly make you kinda nervous, worried that something’s wrong.

He would definitely be slightly nervous too, even if he knew that you liked him too, since liking each other doesn’t necessarily mean that you want to be together.

Once he starts to tell you how he feels tho, it’s like he can’t stop, everything he’s been feeling pouring out until he catches sight of your teary expression. Before he can ask if you’re okay though, you tackle him, saying that you feel the same way about him before connecting your lips with his.

Not much else is said for the next little bit, finding much more, *ahem, inventive ways to express your feelings to each other.

Taehyung:

Similar to Jin, I think he would want to make some sort of elaborate romantic gesture, but it would end up just slipping out one night during a quiet moment together when he just can’t stand not being able to be close to you in the way he wants.

He would state it so simply, as if it was already obvious, trying to keep his voice calm despite the faint anxiety that began to creep through him the longer the pause between his words and your response stretches on.

When you smile and say you feel the same though, he could’ve sworn he was floating, quickly pulling you onto his lap and claiming your lips just like he’s always dreamed of.

You spend the rest of the evening tangled together, sharing kisses and talking until you drift off, at peace in your newfound home in each other's arms.

Jungkook:

Similar to Joon, I think it would happen after a fight or one of his moments of jealous possessiveness, when he realizes that no type of relationship between you, romantic or otherwise, will ever work unless he’s honest with you.

And even if he fears you might reject him(tho, he tries not to think about that), he has to get this off his chest, for both of your sakes.

Would probably just show up at your door and blurt everything out in an only partially thought-out speech that he came up with on the way over, barely giving you a chance to say anything until he runs out of breath, still talking even after you try shutting him up with a kiss.

Once he finally calms down, you’re able to talk things through more coherently, somehow still managing to surprise him when you say you want to be with him too.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[yallthemwitches]

A Thing

Some jealous oblivious idiots For @jilytoberfest Day 11, prompt 🎶“Uncovering feelings unfound”🎶 - Out of the Blue by Katie Pruitt

AO3 Link Here

“So there would be no hard feelings if I went after Potter right?”

Lily offered her best smile to Sierra Marrow. “Why would there be?”

“I mean it's no secret you two have some sort of thing going on—“

“I don’t know what you mean by that.” Lily’s brow furrowed. She actually didn’t, if anything there was a distinct lack of thing going on between her and James. Ever since the end of fifth year he had stopped trailing her like a little puppy and this year…. well…

If she was going to be honest, this year was going brilliant. Her and James had started somewhat of a rapport, fueled by a mutual annoyance for the current standing head boy and the fact that both had the same study period in the library. It was actually good, great even to be able to talk to him in a capacity other than telling him off, finding herself laughing more and more often at his jokes and getting invested in his pranks.

But it wasn’t a thing. At least, not in the definition Sierra was referring to. 

“Don’t worry—you should go for it. He’d be mental to say no.”

She had meant at least half of it. He would be mental to say no—-Sierra was one of the most sought after dates in the school, able to snag a new boyfriend seconds after dropping the last. It was no secret that Potter also happened to be one of the most eligible catches roaming the halls, their coupling would be the gossip of the year. 

Lily passed a glance to the other side of the room. James sat leaning back, mid laugh at whatever boisterous conversation was going on between him and his mates. His tie was loose and hanging off to the side, shirt undone two buttons more than dress code allowed. Turning to the side, he caught her stare and offered a coy wave. 

She felt thankful that Sierra’s back was turned to him, otherwise she would easily understand why a blush was beginning to form on her cheeks. Idiot.

Sierra flashed her a grin, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Thanks girl—sorry to make it weird!”

She tried to direct her gaze back at her, but James hadn’t turned away. His eyes flicked between her and Sierra, eyebrows raised in question. Responding with a furrowed brow, James just smirked, and she swore his eyes twinkled. She pried herself back to the conversation.

“Not weird at all.”

********

“What do you think Black does to get all this firewhiskey into the school? Reckon he shags Mme. Rosmerta—-“ Marlene handed Lily a cup full of caramel colored liquid, and she let it burn a path down her throat. 

“Probably something we don’t want to know.” She felt bad that she wasn’t giving Marlene her full attention, but the party had suddenly become much more of a drag than she had imagined.

She knew even an idiot could tell she was staring, but the firewhiskey kept her shame at bay. Across the room Sierra sat against the back of a loveseat, giggling as James recounted something with various animated gestures. She was laying it on thick, tilting her head and pouting whenever James turned to talk to a passerby, batting her eyelashes when he continued their conversation, licking her lips after each sip of a drink. At a certain point, she reached out and fingered the front of his quidditch jersey, no doubt coming up with some silly reason to justify it. James did nothing, continuing on like it was the most normal action in the world.

Lily felt her stomach bottom out. She wanted to look away, urged herself with all her power to do so, yet couldn’t. The feeling of firewhiskey was starting to resemble the burn of bile in her throat. It was bad enough watching Sierra flirt with any bloke, but for it to be James and for him to entertain it?

The familiar sense of being watched pulled her from her torment. James looked past Sierra for a moment, catching her eye and giving a soft smile. Somehow it made everything worse.

He leaned down to say something to her, starting to take a step back to depart, but Sierra made a stronger grip on his jersey, lips pouting to astronomical levels. He tried again, reaching for her hands to release him, but she swooped in, planting a kiss squarely on his jaw.

Lily’s body reacted on its own, trudging out the portrait hole before the tears even began to fall. Outside in the darkness of the corridor, she clambored towards the nearest turret, not even bothering to light her path. 

She knew she was acting like a child, but she couldn’t help it. She sat on the stoop of the turret and pulled her knees to her chest, allowing her sobs to be muffled by her own embrace. She was being silly—she had said yes to allowing Sierra to act that way. She had said there wasn’t anything between them. 

But of course there was. Why else was she crying in the bloody corridor?

There was a scuffle of feet, and she half expected to look up and see James and Sierra coming to further her misery. Instead,  two black boots  planted themselves at her side.

“Bad night?” Sirius bent down, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her. 

She made a noise between a scoff and a laugh, but he waited for a response.

“You don’t have to stay here, Black. I’m just—-“

What was she doing? Feeling sorry for herself? Wasting tears on a prat who didn’t fancy her anymore? A healthy mixture of both?

Sirius pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders. She tried to wipe her face, but tears replenished themselves on her cheeks with every swipe. 

“This would all be over if you told him.” It was the softest she had ever heard his voice before. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about. We are just mates.” The break in her voice rendered her words unconvincing.

“Yeah, ok Evans. Because this is complete mate-like behavior.”

Sirius stood back up, stretching his arms over his head. Despite telling him he could leave, she really wished he would sit with her a bit longer. 

“Well—“ Sirius began, starting to back step his way out of the turret. “Not that mates would need the information—but if you had stayed a little longer you would have seen James tell off Marrow.”

Lily’s head snapped up. Maybe the firewhiskey was finally settling, but she was feeling a lot warmer.Sirius smirked as he backed away. 

“Again—not like mates should be interested.”

[faulterge1st]

Doing it to Compensate (Not Love)

Now, I don't usually do this, but I wrote a really rough ficlet for any Call of Duty character x reader with a dash of rivals to lovers (younger reader is heavily implied)

It was written with Horangi in mind (blatant favoritism), but you could imagine this with any character in COD that fits the mindset

I don't want it to rot in my documents, so here u go

He resented you, he hated how stubborn you were about how you were right.

He hated how you would preach how much better you were than him at a certain skill, even if he was superior to you in rank. He hated how you would smirk everytime you saw him miss the bullseye during gun training. He hated how you would roll your eyes at him at every terrible unhealthy choice he made during meals, judging his barely sustainable appetite despite you having the oddest cravings he had seen. He despised you, absolutely detested your attitude.

But ever since that day, ever since you clung to him with heavy breaths in need of assistance, he just couldn't help but find you absolutely gorgeous. This was the first time you ever depended on him for anything, gripping his shoulder like he was the only thing that could save you.

He could remember the image of you covered in mud, your untrained fingers coated in your own blood while his rougher hands held your wound closed. It wasn't a pleasant sight, in fact, it was disturbing. But to him? He saw your defeated image as a portrait of a sorrowful martyr painted by a historic romantic, a tragedy cursed by the heavens.

He felt an unfound pity and worry seeing you like this. You were confident, believing in an ability you haven't fully mastered could help you defend in battle, but here you were, met with the reality of war. In that moment, he had just realized how important you were to him, how your confidence didn't make up in your lack of skill. Sure, he enjoyed making you groan in contempt everytime he commented on how much of an amateur you were if you missed a chance to kick him during sparring or how you were a terrible soldier if you missed a practice target just by a centimeter, but those times were accompanied by mischievous grins and amused smirks. They were all in good fun. You genuinely suffering? It wasn't any fun for him. He couldn't handle seeing you hunched over, leaning on his shoulder over a wound that could've taken your life. He just couldn't bear the thought of you being taken from him.

Since that day, he realized that for all the teasing and snarky comments made from good intentions, he'd make it up to you now just by making your life easier.

Ever since that day, he chose to make you your coffee, no matter how painfully sweet or disgustingly bitter it was. He chose to give you a pat on the shoulder every time you shot a straight bullseye, and chose to praise your efforts everytime you sent him flying back on his arse during training. You deserved it. He just couldn't go back to treating you like shit after that day, because it made him realize how he could lose you at any moment. He didn't want the last words he ever told to you to be a criticism of your skills or a sarcastic judgement of how your inexperience made him better than you. He had to make it special, because he loved you.

But he sure as hell will never tell you that. Instead, he'll tell you that you are a valued soldier, that losing you would be detrimental to the team. He would place his hands on your hand, your shoulder, or any place on your body that was subtle enough that you couldn't realize what he was truly feeling. It didn't carry his devotion nor his loyalty to you. It didn't send the message of how much he cared. But, it will always be close enough to an "I love you" that he could ever manage to tell you.

[paperstorm]

Thanks for the tags @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut and @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad!

Carlos watches as TK’s arms begin to drop, starting to pull out of the hug, but Andrea doesn’t let him. She keeps him close and TK smiles to himself and wraps his arms back around her.

“We haven’t seen you, since …” Andrea leans back just enough so she can cup TK’s cheek in her hand and look at him.

TK exhales and nods. “Yeah. Thank you for the flowers. They were really beautiful. And the casserole, too, that was really thoughtful.”

Gabriel quietly clears his throat, patting Carlos briefly on the shoulder and then moving toward the kitchen. Carlos should probably follow him, but he feels rooted to the floor. TK’s eyes dart sideways, catching Carlos’s glance just for a second and then returning to Andrea’s.

“How are you?” she asks, finally letting him go but placing her hand on his forearm.

“Managing,” TK answers. “Carlos has been wonderful.”

Carlos swallows. His mother turns to look at him, creases beside her brown eyes as she smiles and says, “I’m glad to hear it.”

His little finger twitches and he puts his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He longs to take TK’s pain away and he feels so helpless, sometimes, when he’s forced to reckon with the fact that he can’t.

Turning back to TK, Andrea gently says, “I won’t push, it’s not the time.”

TK shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m okay. Thank you for caring.”

“I wish I’d known Gwyn. The one time we met, she was so lovely. I wish there was more time, for everyone.”

“Me too.”

“And listen, mijo.” Andrea takes his hands and holds them in hers, shaking slightly to punctuate her words. “No one, no one, could ever replace your mamá and I would never try. But I am always here. If you need some mothering, you just come right here.” 

Carlos licks his lips and blinks, afraid for just a moment about how TK’s going to react. He has seemed okay the last few weeks, and that’s lodged a sliver of worry into Carlos’s mind. He can’t imagine how inconsolable he would be if he lost his own mom, and they haven’t been as close as TK was with Gwyn since Carlos was very small. TK should, Carlos thinks, be shedding a lot more tears than he is, and he’s anxious about what it means that TK isn’t.

When he shuts down like he did today, it is always a warning sign, Gwyn had said once, with tension in her forehead and fear in her eyes. Carlos never knew that version of his boyfriend. TK’s been sober every minute that Carlos has known him, despite how many broken pieces of himself he’d been carefully carrying from room to room while this thing between them was new. Gwyn could sense warning signs that Carlos never can, even though her fears had been unfounded that particular evening. TK was in trouble, lots of it, but not the kind she’d been fearing.

He isn’t worried TK’s been using in secret. They spend every day together, they sleep in the same bed and eat at the same table and lounge in front of the television in each other’s arms, Carlos has at least enough faith in his investigatory and observational skills to be certain he would notice if TK’d slipped. And he trusts TK, he trusts him the way Carlos has never trusted anyone and might never again. He isn’t worried there are illicit substances wedging distance between them. But he’s worried about what TK might do instead, if he’s shutting down and boxing up his grief and walking through the world with vital shades of himself locked away.

But TK just smiles and gives Andrea another long hug. “Thank you. I will.”

Tags under the cut

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @reyesstrand @strandnreyes

@carlos-in-glasses @actual-sleeping-beauty @thisbuildinghasfeelings @heartstringsduet @herefortarlos

@tailoredshirt @goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry

@mooshkat @liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @chaotictarlos @lemonlyman-dotcom

@whatsintheboxmh @inkweedandlizards @bonheur-cafe @reasonandfaithinharmony

@never-blooms @sanjuwrites @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng

@fallout-mars @honeybee-taskforce @fifthrideroftheapocalypse @fitzherbertssmolder @safeashousespdf

@just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian @tellmegoodbye @ironheartwriter

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

[gavisuntiedboot]

Blue raspberry (Gavi x Reader)

28 day writing prompt challenge - prompts are here

Day 11: Late night McDonald's run

Warning: mentions/ alluding to eating disorders! Mentions of being scared to eat certain foods! If you're not comfortable please don't read!

"Pablo, I'm here, but they won't let me come into the parking lot because they don't recognize my car, so you're going to need to come up to."

"I'm walking up to you right now. Pull over to the side."

You moved your car from in front of the barrier to wait as close as possible on the side of the road. Despite the fact that it was 9:15pm, there were still about a dozen fans waiting to see the players emerge, hoping to get photos and autographs. You saw Gavi's hooded figure emerge, and he looked for your car. You flashed your lights to notify him where you were, but you notified the fans as well. They ran over and swarmed him, making it almost impossible to get to you. He took a few pictures and signed a few shirts before security intervened, separating him from his loyal supporters.

He got into your car and threw his backpack over his shoulder into the back seat, sighing and sinking into the seat. There was a path for you drive between the fans, and so you left Camp Nou and the flashes of iPhones behind you.

"Great. Now my Ford is going to be all over Twitter. People will want to get pictures with Gavi's chauffer. I'll never have a moment of peace."

He let out a tired laugh and pulled his hood down, finally relaxing as you hit the road.

"First of all, you already stick out for driving this obnoxiously American car in the middle of Spain. And second, why didn't you just tell security you were here to pick me up?"

"Gavi, can you imagine if security just let random girls in if they said they were there to see you? You would have been kidnapped a long time ago."

You rarely ever picked up Gavi. Your relationship was still relatively new, and he didn't want you to be hounded by the press and by people on social media making unfounded and nasty comments. Plus, he usually had a ride. He often arrived and left with Pedri, who was all too happy to have some company on his way to work in the mornings. If not Pedri, then another member of the squad (or even a member of staff) was always happy to make sure he got to and from practice safely (and didn't get snatched by a random fan).

But today, he was just in the worst mindset. It was freezing in Barcelona, and he hated to practice in the cold. As usual, he was slipping and sliding around the field, even more than usual due to the rain of the previous night. He was cold and wet, and he was being constantly critiqued by the coaching staff because he was just not in top form today. To make matters worse, he was starving. He had been following Robert's "healthy diet" advice, but sometimes he got so fixated on not eating the wrong thing that he just forgot to eat altogether. He had finished some weight training and was ready to hit the shower and go home when he got the news from Pedri.

"The Adidas reps are coming over to get me fitted for some new boots. I wont be leaving until 10:30."

Gavi almost cried at the news that he was going to be held at the Camp so late. He was exhausted. He was cold. He wanted to see his girlfriend. And so he swallowed his pride and called you, asking you to rev up the gas-guzzler and pick him up, even if it meant being photographed together.

"Mi corazón, are you okay? You're giving off more distressed vibes than usual."

"Honestly, I don't know," he replied, turning to look at you. "I've just been feeling drained and down. Everything is irritating me and I just want to sit in bed and do nothing."

A moment of silence passed. You didn't know what to say. You understood how Pablo felt: it was hard living up to so much pressure and expectations, and even if it wasn't full-blown depression, it was enough to make you worried. You didn't want these feelings to start interfering with his day-to-day, because you knew that would just make him feel worse. You weren't a therapist, but you wanted to do whatever you could to provide him with a little bit of comfort.

"... do you want to go to McDonald's?"

"What?" He said, looking over at you with his eyebrows stitched together in confusion, like you had asked the question in a different language.

"Well I mean when I've had a shit day I usually find myself in the McDonald's drive-thru. Nothing makes me feel as good as a 9-piece nugget meal and an Oreo McFlurry. But if you just want to go home I can just take you home."

"I... don't even remember the last time I went to McDonald's."

"Are you being serious?"

"Yeah. I eat a lot at the club and have my macros tracked by the nutritionists there. And then usually I'm with the boys and Eric or someone else cooks. And I don't have a car, so it prevents me from coming here for a McChicken whenever I want."

You drove for a few more minutes before turning into the drive through.

"Welcome to McDonald's what can I get for you?"

You placed your order, going a little overboard and getting everything that looked somewhat appealing. You turned to Gavi.

"What do you want?"

"All that food was for you?!"

"Quickly."

"Um... maybe I just get a small fries. I don't want to ruin all the work I've done by pigging out."

You looked at Gavi with wide eyes. It was dawning on you how much he was actually worried about his eating habits for fear of being ridiculed by the club.

"For him can I get a large McChicken meal with a blue raspberry slushie and- M&Ms or Oreo?"

"What?"

"Hurry up Pablo or we'll be here all night. M&Ms or Oreo?"

"But I- fine. Oreo."

"And an Oreo McFlurry. That's all"

You left the speaker, waiting in line to pay, and you looked over at Pablo, whos cheeks were bright red. He was looking directly in front of him, avoiding eye contact with you.

"What's wrong Pablito? You just said you liked McChickens."

"I do amor, that's not the problem." He said, looking at you. You took his hand in yours and laced your fingers together.

"It's just been a long time since I let myself eat this kind of stuff. And I mean I know that one time will be fine but I just... I don't know how to not feel guilty for having fried food for the first time in like a year."

You brought his hand up to your lips and kissed it gently, rubbing the back of it with your thumb.

"Pablo, you guys just won the Spanish Supercup less than a month ago - and you were in top form might I add. I know it's hard to let yourself have simple pleasures, but you deserve to have things that make you happy every now and then. And plus, this meal is probably better for you than two beers."

He smiled widely, leaning over to give you a gentle kiss. You reciprocated, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips against yours until the car behind you honked, causing you both to swiftly pull away.

You moved to the window, pulling out your wallet to pay.

"Corazón, you don't have to pay for the food. I can get it."

"Oh my God Pablo Gavi?"

He had forgotten to pull his hood up, and now the man at the window looked ready to faint. Pablo panicked. He did not want to be photographed in this moment.

"Why don't you get something for him to sign for you?" You asked sweetly, and Gavi squeezed your arm, greatful for your quick thinking. The employee ran off to find something for Gavi to sign.

"I think my card fell in my bag. Pablito, can you open up my McDonald's app on my phone so I can get the reward points?"

The employee returned, hands shaking as he handed you a shirt and a Sharpie for Gavi. The app lit up Gavi's face and just before he gave you the phone, his eyes got wide.

"Bebe, why do you have 7,000 McDonald's points."

".... I'm sad often. Hurry up and sign the shirt."

You got your food and drove back to Pablo's house.

"It's your obligation as a passenger to eat fries out of the bag while they are hot, and occasionally feed some to me." You said playfully. He smirked at you, grabbing some fries and taking a bite.

"Fuck."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just forgot how good fat and salt are."

At Pablo's house, he tried to set the food on the table, but you stopped him, grabbing the bag and skipping over to the couch. You set the food out on the coffee table and dimmed the lights.

"Why do the lights have to be off for us to eat?" Pablo asked, sitting on the couch and putting one arm around you, pulling you close.

"Because it's more freeing. Don't look and hyper-analyze what you're eating, Pablo. Just eat until you're full."

You unwrapped the burger and handed it to Pablo, following quickly with your own food. You put on an episode of your favorite show, and you two just sat and ate and cuddled. After 5 or 6 episodes, the food was cleared, and you and Pablo had situated yourselves on the couch. He was laying in your arms, and you alternated between eating ice cream yourself and feeding him spoonfuls.

"Bebe, I have a question?"

"Yes mi amor?"

"How did you know I was going to like blue raspberry?"

"Because you have the taste buds of a 5 year old, just like me. Why? Did you like it?"

"I loved it. I'm going to go and buy myself one every time I score a goal."

"Can I get in on this deal? I also like slushies."

"Of course mi corazón. How else am I going to get to the McDonald's? You'll be driving."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hey y'all! Hope you enjoyed this one. Inspired by my own late night McDonald's run (which actually tragically ended w me spilling half the food on the floor). If you haven't had a blue raspberry slushie from McDonald's (and it's available where you are) go get one. I have met so many athletes who have this mentality around fast food, and so I wanted to give a little bit of a different perspective. Anyways, I've really been enjoying this prompt challenge. I hope you are too. Please leave any comments or feedback here or in my asks, and see y'all later!

[springtyme]

𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 ♡

Simon Riley x afab!reader || Masterlist || Ghost playlist

summary: You’re up late at night, alone and touch starved, when you get a phone call from the man you miss the most.

word count: 3.3k

warning/tag: Smut (18+, mdni!) Language. Fluff and a little angst. Mutual masturbation (phone sex). Reader is wearing one of Simon's shirts. Mention of cunnilingus, tit sucking, unprotected p in v with creampie, implied breeding kink on Simon’s side. Use of ‘good girl’.

"Girl, you know I miss you, I just wanna kiss you But I can't right now So baby kiss me through the phone”

Simon is away again and holy fuck how you miss him. Every moment feels incomplete without him by your side. The distance between you seems unbearable at times, and the ache in your heart grows with each passing day.

As you are lying in bed, wearing his t-shirt, thoughts of him consume your mind. The soft fabric against your skin carries his scent, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. You imagine his smile, a smile so few people get to witness, but you are one of the few lucky ones who he let see it, you imagine his laughter. The warmth and security you feel whenever he holds you tight in his strong arms. As you replay cherished memories in your head, the longing intensifies, turning into a thumping pain in your chest, but it also brings you a sense of cathartic comfort.

If you just could call him it’ll be easier, but you can’t, you understand the need for secrecy and the importance of protecting his mission. You just have to be patient and wait till he can call you.

Now every time you hear a phone ring, your heart skips a beat. When it’s your own phone you find yourself hoping that it’s Simon on the other end, ready to reassure you that he is alright and that your fears are unfounded. But at the same time, there’s always a tinge of fear, a nagging worry that the call might bring news that your worst nightmare has come true.

And, as if on cue, as you lay and think about these things, the sound of your phone breaks through the silence, causing your heart to skip a beat. 

Your heart races, and you can’t help but wonder if it could be Simon. With trembling hands, you reach for the device, hoping beyond hope that it’s him. You glance at the screen and can’t see any number, it is an encrypted line, and a surge of emotions overwhelms you.

Heart pounding with a mix of anticipation, excitement and fear, you answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hi, love,” Simon’s gruff voice comes through the phone. He sounds knackered, but definitely alive. His voice crackles through the line, but the sound of it instantly soothes your worries. 

Relief floods over you, and tears well up in your eyes. “Hi, Si,” you greet him, trying to keep your emotions somewhat in check so you don’t use the precious time you get to talk to him bawling your eyes out. 

“I didn’t wake you did I?” His deep voice, laced with concern. 

“No, you didn’t,” you reassure him, not that you would have given a damn if he had, you’re just happy to hear his voice, alive and well.

“Well, you should be sleeping, I hope you’re taking care of yourself, love,” Simon says, his voice filled with genuine concern. “How have you been holding up?”

A mix of emotions floods over you at his question. You appreciate his thoughtfulness, knowing that despite the dangers he faces, he still worries about your well-being. But at the same time, you don’t want to burden him with your own struggles and fears.

“Well, you know me, I’ve been managing,” you reply, trying to sound strong. Afterall, he is the one who is facing danger and dodging bullets, not you. “Just looking forward to having you back.” 

Simon laughs softly, his deep voice filled with warmth. “I look forward to that too, love. But I promise, I’ll be back before you know it. We’ll have a proper cuppa together in no time, I’ll make sure we don’t have to deal with any of this long-distance rubbish for a while.” 

You can’t help but smile, a mix of love and longing in your heart. “I’ll hold you to that, I’ll keep the kettle ready. And I’ll make sure to get some proper biscuits this time.”

You had bought some fancy biscuits with rosemary and bergamot once, and Simon had absolutely hated them. Not that he had expressed it like that; he had been very polite about it, carefully trying to mask his distaste for the treats. However, you could see right through him. You had run down to the corner shop under your flat and bought some milk choc hobnobs, cause despite looking like a big scary bloke your boyfriend has the tastebuds of a child.      

“That sounds good,” Simon says, a longing sigh coming through the phone.

The simple thought of sharing a cup of tea with Simon brings a smile to your face. It’s the simple moments like those that you cherish the most, the moments of normalcy amidst the chaos that his career brings. But it also makes you miss other things to do with Simon. 

“Yeah, it does,” you agree, as your heart yearns for him you let a short silence unfold between you before you continue, your voice now sounding a little lower and more breathy. “I miss you, Simon.”

There is a brief pause before Simon responds, his voice filled with a mix of longing and determination, and holy fuck how you love that voice. You feel heat creep up your cheeks, at the sound, warmth pooling in your stomach, spreading through your body like a wildfire with longing for him. “I miss you too, love. Can’t wait to hold you again.” 

A surge of anticipation courses through you, and you can’t help but let your voice drop to a sultry whisper. “Yeah, I look forward to that.” 

Simon’s voice takes on a husky tone as he reads your switch in mood. “Consider it a guarantee, love. When I get back, I’ll make it up to you, show you just how much I’ve missed you, okay?”

“Mmm.” You hum to let him know that you are hearing him, but it comes out closer to a moan really. 

A brief silence hangs in the air between you before you break the silence again. 

“Si…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m wearing your shirt,” you confess, the words escaping your lips with a mix of vulnerability and desire.

There is a short pause between you, one that feels way longer than it actually is, before Simon finally says something. “Which one, darling?” His voice carries a hint of curiosity and anticipation, as if he can already picture you wearing it.

“Your Zeppelin one,” you confess.

You can hear how Simon’s breath quickens on the other end of the line, becoming more throaty and shallow. His voice, when he finally speaks, is filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness.

“Yeah?” he responds, his tone laced with anticipation.

“Yeah, it smells like you,” you whisper down the phone. “I just miss you so much.” 

There’s a moment of silence, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Then, Simon replies, his voice filled with the same desire that echoes within you. “Believe me, love, the feeling is mutual.” 

His words carry a warmth that wraps around you, bridging the physical distance between you both. It also makes a warm sensation swoop through your stomach, and you involuntarily squeeze your thighs together as you begin to feel a warm throbbing between your legs.     

“I wish you were here,” you say, meaning it from the bottom of your heart. 

Simon lets out a low chuckle, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Yeah, me too, love, you have no idea. But I promise, it’ll be worth the wait.”

Squirming slightly in your seat by his words, the warm throbbing of your cunt increases. You take a deep breath grabbing the fabric of his shirt to bring it up to your nose, the scent of him lingers, providing a sense of comfort and reassurance but also making you miss having him close so much more, making you crave it. 

“Are you alone?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.     

“Yes.”     

“Wanna tell me what you’re going to do to me when you come home?” You feel a swoop of anticipation run through you as you ask him.

The sound of Simon swallowing audibly comes through the phone, his voice filled with anticipation. 

You put your phone on speaker, placing it on a pillow beside you. 

“I’d take my time with you,” his voice crackles through the speaker, deep and raspy. “I’d start by kissing that sweet mouth of yours. I’d drink up all those little moans you always make for me. You have no idea how much they turn me on. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I hear them, making me so fucking hard, baby. and I’ll have to get up to rub one out.”       

And as if on cue you let out a whiny moan as you imagine him in his tactical trousers, the imposing bulge of his hard-on restrained against the fabric, how his big hand will squeeze it though the garment. 

“Yes, baby, just like that,” he says with a sound that you think was supposed to be a laugh but ends up sounding more like a throaty groan. You hear the clang of metal through the phone, like a belt being unbuckled.  

“I’d kiss you until we are both out of breath, until we would have to break apart, maybe even a little longer. Fuck, miss kissing you so much, lovie.” 

“Miss that too,” you whimper, your hands now on your breasts, softly squeezing them through the soft cotton of Simon’s shirt as you rub your thighs together, feeling how the throbbing of your cunt reaches a whole new high, your panties getting more and more damp.      

“I’d start going down, kiss your jaw and down your neck,” Simon continues. 

Your breath hitches, and you squeeze your eyes shut. You can almost feel how your skin tingles in the places Simon describes kissing. 

“I’d keep going down, kiss you everywhere, love. Let myself taste just how sweet that body of yours is,” he groans softly. 

As his words reach your ears, a vivid image takes shape in your mind. You can picture the way he would hold you. How he would slowly trace every contour, every curve, as he maps out your skin with his lips and tongue, savouring the taste and texture of your skin, leaving a trail of desire in his wake.

“I’d take those pretty tits in my mouth, give them the attention they deserve.”  

You let out a little squeal as you imagine his tongue around your nipples, licking and sucking at your sensitive nubs. 

“Then I’d have you laid back on the bed, all naked and spread out for me. I’d get between your thighs and eat that sweet pussy out just how I know you like it, wouldn’t stop until you’ve gushed all over my face.”  

The thought alone sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself instinctively responding to the memory.  You can feel the weight of his touch, the warmth of his breath against your skin. Your head tilts back, lost in the sensations that flood your imagination. The mere thought of his touch elicits a tantalising twitch of pleasure through your body, a physical manifestation of the connection you share.

You let your legs part, spreading them wide on the soft mattress, and you let your non-dominant hand creep down the soft fabric of the Simon’s shirt, continuing lower until you reach the hem of the garment and slides it up under the shirt, slowly tracing your fingers up over the warm skin of your naked abdomen and up through the valley of your tits, until you cup your breast again, this time without the barrier of the shirt, gently squeezing at the soft flesh before you start playing with your hardened nipple. Your dominant hand is wandering down to your panties, the pads of your fingers gently tracing a line over the now soaked fabric. You haven’t been this wet in a while, at least not since Simon left for deployment.   

Through the speakers of your phone, you hear him curse softly, his voice filled with a mix of longing and frustration. The distance between you feels unbearable, as the desire to be together intensifies with each passing moment. As you close your eyes, your imagination takes flight, allowing you to indulge in the sweet memories of your bodies entwined. The anticipation builds, fueling the fire within. 

Now feeling so damned desperate you dip your hand into your panties, slowly sliding your fingers through your wet folds, coating them with your arousal, before you start to, oh so slowly, circling around your clit.  

“I’d let myself drown in that sweet, sweet pussy of yours. Sweetest, fucking thing I’ve ever had. I can still taste it whenever I think about it,” he continues. His tone is damn near dangerous, so low and growly. You almost cum from the thought alone, the thought of being completely at his mercy. “What about you, love? What would you do with me if I was there?” He coaxes you. 

“I’d let you have me however you want me. I miss having you inside me so bad, Si,” You admit with a whimper. 

“Oh, missing my cock that much, lovie?” he teases, but there is a tenderness and a longing hidden behind his words.   

“Mmm.” You nod even though he can’t see it. “I miss all of you, Si.”

The sounds of him pumping himself is now audible through the phone. The sound is making you even more desperate to have him back. You can’t help but imagine him, his big fist sliding up and down that big girthy cock of his, the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, throbbing and dripping with precum, just for you. 

“Fu-uuck, what I wouldn’t give to be inside you right now, sweetheart.” he almost growls, making you whimper. “I’d make you feel so good, baby. Turn you into a babbling cock drunk mess.” Simon’s voice grows huskier, filled with primal desire. “I’d fill you up so good, again and again until you you’d be fucking dripping, with my cum.” He growls down the phone. “Fill you up and give you a piece of me to carry, a piece of me you could have forever. Fu-uuck, and everyone would know that I’m yours, that we belong together.”    

A soft moan escapes your mouth as you imagine the scenario he’s describing. Your fingers now moving in fast tight circles around your sensitive clit. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, huh, love?” His voice, dripping with hunger and desperation, and you whine out for him, giving him those sweet sounds that you know makes him go feral. 

“Good girl,” he praises. “Fuuck, doing so good for me.”

A hot shiver runs up your spine at the praise. You remove your fingers from your clit, instead sliding them down a little further, making your panties push down your hips to instead dwell around your thighs. You drag your fingers through your slick folds, collecting your wetness before you slide first one then two fingers inside of your pussy. You bring your other hand, that until now had occupied your sensitive nipples, down to your clit, flickering the sensitive nub while you pump into yourself wishing that it was Simon’s skilled fingers or girthy cock that was thrusting into you instead. His name starts spilling from your lips in a line of whiny moans. 

“You sound so fuckin’ pretty,” he sounds like he is as close to ecstasy as you are, his voice low and breathy. “Are you close, baby?” 

“Ye-yeah, so close, Si,” you pant. The slick sound of your fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt ring in your ears and you know that Simon must be able to hear it over the phone. 

“I’m close too, love. Can you cum for me, sweetheart? We can cum together. Imagine me filling up that sweet little pussy, have you dripping with my cum, yeah?”  

“Yes, Simon, want that so bad,” you moan, “Fu-uck, I’m so close, Si.”

“That’s good. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart,” he groans. “Come on, baby, cum with me.” 

You moan out his name as your walls clench around your fingers, your other hand flicking over your clit in a fast steady rhythm as you feel how the tight coil in your stomach finally snaps, your orgasm rushing through you in hot, blissful waves as you fuck yourself through your high. You can hear Simon’s throaty moans coming over the phone, cursing and panting under his breath as you both ride out your climaxes.

Your walls flutter around your fingers as you slowly come down from your high. Aftershocks are still pumping through your cunt as you slowly pull your soaked fingers out, wiping them off on the sheets. You’ll change them in the morning, but right now you can’t be bothered. 

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Simon’s voice crackles through the phone again. “How do you feel?”

“I’m good, Si, really good, just wished you were here to feel good with me.” You grab the phone, turning it off speaker again and bringing it up to your ear. You lay yourself down on your side, curling up on yourself  as you let your body sink into the soft mattress. You pull the duvet over you, suddenly feeling very tired and alone, wishing that Simon was there to cuddle with you.     

“Yeah, I’d like that too.” His voice sounds much softer now.  

A little silence falls over you, the both of you needing to land again and you both feel the other’s absence all the more now, but you don’t want to stop talking with Simon, not when you finally can, but you also know that he only has limited time for phone calls. You just have to stay strong until you finally have him back again.  

“Si?”

“Yes, love?” Simon responds, his deep voice gentle and reassuring.

“Come back to me safe?” you plead, the weight of worry evident in your words.

A small pause follows. Then, Simon’s voice breaks through, filled with determination and devotion. “Love, I’ll come crawling back to you if I have to.” 

The words hang in the air for a moment, the intensity of Simon’s promise sinking into your heart. Tears well up in your eyes as you whisper, “I don’t know what I would do without you, Simon.” The vulnerability in your voice echoes the depth of your emotions, the fear of losing him almost too much to bear.

Simon’s voice softens, filled with tenderness as he responds, “You won’t have to find out, love.” 

Though you still worry about him, you let his words offer you solace for now.  

“It’s getting late,” Simon’s voice comes through with a hint of playfulness. “I think it’s time for you to get some beauty sleep.”

You can’t help but let out a tired giggle at his teasing tone, despite your worry for him, feeling the warmth of his affection even through the phone. “Oh, so you think I need beauty sleep, huh?” you reply, a mischievous twinkle in your voice.

Simon chuckles softly. “Well, only because you’re already the most beautiful person I know, and I want you to wake up even more radiant tomorrow.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, lieutenant Riley,” you say, a playful lilt in your voice and he chuckles softly at your remark. “Can you stay on the line until I fall asleep?” you ask softly, a gentle plea in your voice.

“Of course, love,” Simon replies, his words full of unwavering devotion. “I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.” 

A sense of comfort washes over you, knowing that even when miles apart, Simon is there for you. The ache in your heart is still there, but it’s overshadowed by the knowledge that Simon is safe, for now.  

Closing your eyes, you listen to the steady sound of his breathing, a reminder of his presence and the love that binds you together. In this moment, sleep comes easier, your worries momentarily eased by the knowledge that you are not alone.

As you drift off into dreams, you hold onto the promise that soon you will be reunited, and the ache in your heart will be replaced with the joy of being in Simon’s arms once again.

[itsclydebitches]

I know there's a lot to unpack in James' new interview but I am feral, FERAL I SAY, over this fucking line right here:

"His need was to be loved, and his tragic flaw was the belief that he was unlovable."

Back before Season 3 hit and Tedependent became ~trendy~ (not actually lol) I was heacanoning and writing Trent as a pretty anxious individual, someone with a ton of internalized self-loathing whose "whole vibe" was more of a mask than legitimate self-confidence. At the time I worried about him coming across as too OOC because really, what did we have to support this? Ted Lasso's prevailing theme of men discovering love and support when they previously had none? The lovely parallel of Trent struggling with many of Ted's own flaws, but presenting in opposite ways (cutting cynicism vs. endless optimism)? The then—far less developed—comments from James that Trent might have a rough relationship with his father? It felt unsubstantiated, unpersuasive, built more on my own interest in those kinds of characters and the occasional awkward moment from Trent than actual canon. Even into Season 3 I questioned whether my reading of him as struggling, significantly, with the care Ted offers wasn't just a result of my own, imagined inner life for him.

But NOW.

I'm sorry, hold up, can I just re-confirm that TRENT'S TRAGIC FLAW IS HIS BELIEF THAT HE'S UNLOVABLE? Unlovable??? Thank you, James Lance, for validating every reading I've had of this character since he first appeared on screen. Do people realize the depth this adds to every interaction Trent has? Particularly with Ted? Unlovable Trent Crimm starts off this relationship with a sincere compliment on his style ("I like your glasses"), something that Season 3 will present as a core part of his personality, something he's largely hidden away. Unlovable Trent Crimm grappling with the fact that yes, Ted enjoyed spending time with him. Him. WHILE he was playing the part of the asshole journalist. Unlovable Trent not being rejected when he admits, in moments of vulnerability, that he "Loves [their] chats." Unlovable Trent having his father's (likely snide) "Independent" comment reframed as a fun pun + advice to follow his "bliss": you have support, Trent, no matter what you choose to do. I don't care if you're successful covering a masculine-coded sport, I care if you're happy. Unlovable Trent committing the ultimate betrayal and being forgiven for it, immediately. Unlovable Trent being forcibly integrated into the Richmond family; actively accepted rather than passively tolerated: yes you should work here, yes you're a Diamond Dog, sit your butt down, Trenthouse Magazine, you will never be excluded again.

I'm sorry for the rambling post but I'm just so!! Insane about this!!! So much of Trent's hesitance could have been written off as a result of his career. That is, it might have been merely a learned reaction after decades of deliberately pissing people off. Of course they dislike him, but take him out of that environment and everything's fixed. Yet James has confirmed that he played Trent as intrinsically believing this. The career was a result of that unfounded fear—Might as well keep people at a distance before they hurt me first—as well as, simultaneously, a desire to somehow achieve the love that should have been unconditional from the start—Maybe my father will like me if I can be that "alpha male man's man" in print. Because this isn't just a flaw, it's a tragic flaw, a literary term that denotes a deficiency that leads to the character's downfall. This belief is so entrenched that it has led to Trent actively self-sabotaging his chances of being loved in the first place; a horrible self-fulfilling prophecy. He NEEDED someone like Ted—a fucking love sledgehammer that forces people to accept his care in the least subtle ways possible, even when they're acting as their own worst enemy—and by god, he got him!

Aside from Nate, Trent has always felt like the most isolated character to me at the start of the series (and even Nate has a good relationship with his mother and sister). What we've learned in Season 3 and James' interviews has only reinforced that reading for me: he was closeted in his marriage, unintentionally hurting his daughter, he's suffering under his father's expectations, he hates the press persona he's created to survive, he's bored at his job, footballers and other potential interviewees despise him—and not without reason (Roy). He has no friends that we see pre-Richmond and he's reached a point where the simple act of someone saying that they liked spending the day with him—again, while he's actively TRYING to piss them off and keep his distance—has him in such a state of shock he runs for the door, pens an uncharacteristically hopeful write-up, and is well on his way to upending his entire life for that man.

Because of course he is!!! From Trent's perspective Ted is a fucking impossibility shaped into human form. This is a man in his 40s whose greatest lifelong fear—now all but a certainty at his age—has been dismantled in a matter of hours. I'd write a book-length love letter to him too! And RIP to finale!Trent, but I would have run fucking Rom-Com style after the man who not only changed my life, but my entire sense of self-worth. (Ah fuck, but there's that tragic flaw again, keeping Trent hesitant. I now stand by my reading of the "I'll leave you be" scene as an unrequited goodbye.)

But finale aside, the man who'd convinced himself he was unlovable fell for the man who was love incarnate.

If that's not the most romantic shit you've ever heard idk what is!!!

[strwberri-milk]

helloo?? just found the best Kaeya fics I've ever read?? thank you!!?? may I request reader's first time with Kaeya? or if I may, Kaeya taking readers virginity? If you do end up writing this thank you!

hello this is my favourite trope idk if i think kaeya is like super duper experienced but i like to imagine that hes got enough exprience under his belt mainly bc?? it just works better w the way i go into this but i do not subscribe to manwhore mondays kaeya not to slam anyone who does i just!!! also love the idea of him being so shy w someone he loves anyway goodbye - also aefawfaw i went so overbard and thank you for the compliment and request!!

Kaeya's a sweetheart. When he asked you out he did it with a shy smile after an insane amount of deliberation that he hasn't even used to do his job. Clearly, he's got his priorities straight and you're dead center in his sights.

You were worried that some of the less than savoury rumors about him were true. You two were close enough that you could determine such things about him were indeed just falsities but that didn't stop the voice in the back of your head trying to warn you about him.

But, thankfully the concern was unfounded with the way he was treating you. Kaeya was more than patient with you, not minding waiting at all. After all, as long as you were happy he was happy! And he's got an overactive imagination that can help him out when needed.

However, once you told him you were willing to move to the next step in your relationship physically he can't deny just how excited the prospect made him. He wasn't ready to do it right away, no, he wanted to make sure everything was perfect, meaning he's set up everything mentally to make sure you would have an amazing time period, forget the whole first thing.

Kaeya can feel his heart pound painfully in his chest at the way you look up at him. The haze of lust sits comfortably over both your shoulders, his hands gently resting against the hem of your shirt. You answer the unspoken question in his eye, hiding the urge to cover yourself as his gaze roams over your now fully nude body. His knee sits between your legs, keeping you in place as he leans down to kiss you again.

"You're still okay, right?" he asks when your lips part, checking in with you for what feels like the gajillionth time. It just makes you laugh, nodding as you rest your arms on his shoulders.

"Just be gentle, okay? I can't handle all of your pent-up libido at once," you tease, laugh dissolving into slight whines when he starts trailing kisses down your neck to your collar.

It takes him no time to work you to a whining mess, fingers working skillfully over you as your hips buck into him. You want him to press inside of you, craving him in a way you've never felt before but he only shushes you, wanting to prepare you first.

Kaeya takes note of every reaction you give him, making sure to focus his attentions on certain parts or motions when you keen especially loud or hard into his body. His cock bounces against his stomach just as eagerly, holding back his own desire to make the most out of this moment.

The way you spill over his fingers with your first orgasm makes him almost cum untouched, mind racing as he desperately tries to imagine what it'll feel like to have your body clenching over his cock. He kisses you hard as you cum, swallowing all of your moans eagerly as his hands hold your thighs apart to spread you wide for his girth.

"Kaeya!" you whine breathlessly, shoulders digging into the sheets as he begins to press into you.

You knew he was big, already unsure if you'd be able to take him when you saw him undress. He promised to make it as painless as possible, making sure to lubricate both of your bodies effectively to lessen the burden of the stretch. However, even just getting the bulbous head of his cock seemed to be too much for you right now, pain coursing through your body as he buries your face into his shoulder.

"Just be patient, okay?' he grunts into your ear, moaning loudly as he sinks inside of you a little deeper.

"It'll hurt right now but if you can bear it with me just a little it'll feel good, I swear. Just let me take care of you sweetheart."

You nod against him, nails that were once digging into his back from pain becoming marks of pleasure once the two of you adjust. His pace is steady, not too fast or harsh, but just enough that you can feel his heavy balls slapping against your ass in a way that's so lewd when mixed with his low moans in your ear. You struggle to move against him, the foreign intrusion and burn in your thighs almost distracting you from the numb pleasure burning in your mind and core.

His pace gets rougher when you begin to buck against him impatiently, finally finding a rhythm that the two of you can match together. It takes everything in him to not hold your hips down and ram into you the way he's been dreaming of, saving it in the back of his mind for another time. Now, he's more focused on the way you call out his name, words melting off when he hits a particular spot inside of you.

"Feels good, doesn't it? You're doing so good for me right now - you feel so much better than I thought you would," he praises, biting back his more filthy thoughts as you nod.

"I wanna cum, please, Kaeya, I want you so bad," you cry, hands moving to press against his chest as he obliges to your wish.

He brings a hand back down to where your bodies are joined, resisting his urge to cum when you clench over him from the touch of his fingers. It makes you so tight he can barely move, thrusts getting rougher to accommodate the adjustment.

Soon enough, the two of you are cumming together, your release something Kaeya thinks he'll never forget. He memorises the way your brows draw together, the way you sing for him, the tightening over his dick as he feels your walls milk him for all he's worth.

You've absolutely ruined him, his brain rotting at the reminder he's the only one that you've shown this lewd expression to. He can't wait to show you even more things.

[tonydaddingham]

Hi! I'm kinda here to ask for clarification on something you said; hope you won't mind^. You say that Crowley's dark grey comment is one of the more honest and introspective things he says: that kinda comes across to me like you saying that Crowley's saying he's mostly bad with a capacity for good* and that's a fair assessment of him. I would have said it's more that he's mostly good with a capacity for bad**, baggages worth of issues and a bunch of flaws, primarily related to arrogance***, but that's technically beside the point: I also felt like that was the direction your character analysis of him was going. I'm now wondering whether I misunderstood the dark grey comment or misunderstood the analyses... what does your exactly mean, exactly?

*Concepts decapitalised because I'm talking about more human than Heavenly or Hellish standards of good and bad.

**Concepts decapitalised: see above.

***Blinkered was the word you used, I believe? It's a lovely expression.

^This isn't meant accusatory and I did my best not to sound like it, but I know you've had to field a few asks about yes, you do like Crowley very much, your criticism of him doesn't mean that's not the case, and I can only imagine how annoying that must be: feel free to can this if it comes across that way.

oh anon sweetheart 💕 don't worry about the tone or wording - your tone is perfectly polite and courteous, and i thank you for that!!! others have not been as conscientious 💀 though, be careful what you wish for in asking this, because it's gonna be lengthy 🫠

how you interpreted it is exactly as i meant it; i do think, when taking crowley's characterisation in the show (his book characterisation, for me, is rather different), crowley for me is a darker character with the capacity for light, rather than the other way around. and im going to specifically use darker and lighter, as opposed to bad and good respectively, because upon reflection, maybe that's more accurate.

yeah, to me, he is a dark character; if you've read any of my other asks/metas, please forgive me for repeating stuff, but imo the narrative tells us that he is more commonly swimming in darker tendencies than light. feel free to skip the next part and scroll to here*, because i will be recounting specific scenarios off the top of my head (going in chronological order):

not really explored fully in the pre-fall scene, because it runs throughout the show as a prominent theme; crowley is either unaware of why he fell (possibly true), or blatantly lies to himself and others about why he fell (equally plausible). his story about it changes, or at best is simply told in fragments... but his overall demeanour of when (e.g.) he's confronted with news of the apocalypse ("why me?"), when coupled with this, suggests a tendency towards blame avoidance, with a hearty dose of chip-on-your-shoulder complex

tempts aziraphale into eating in job; it doesn't really matter whether or not aziraphale ends up liking food and wine or not - he rejects the wine, and crowley immediately changes tack to offer food instead, citing that he can't get drunk on it, and of course he's not tempting him (absolutely is) so it's fine. aziraphale may have been curious about it, and this may be what crowley picks up on, but compare this scene to where aziraphale offers muriel a cupperty, and doesn't push when they refuse drinking it... hmm. (perceived feeder kink or not, crowley's face at the end of this scene screams satisfaction at his corruption)

this one is a little iffy, granted, but adding it anyway - blatantly dismisses aziraphale's concerns about the arrangement (heaven would be rather angry, but nowhere near how hell would retaliate - "they'll destroy you!), and pushes anyway. it's again another case of pushing for what he wants (and yes, true, what aziraphale secretly wants - which crowley detects and capitalises on), dismissing aziraphale's worries that, as we can surmise later on, were not unfounded

lets the french guard be taken off to his death. this is debatable, depending on whether you consider the guard to be a good or bad person in the context of the reign of terror, and deserving of execution as a result, but they could have easily escaped the cell unscathed without unfreezing the guard - ultimately, who are they (yep, including aziraphale here too, he's equally as culpable) to decide if he should die?

in the same vein, sends two watchmen falling to their deaths down a deep pit, and his only remark is, "might have slightly overdone it on the hole..."

(this one is tricky, but it rubbed me up the wrong way on first watch and thereafter so im including it) when morag dies, crowley's handling of the situation only really serves - imo - to rub it in aziraphale's face, when he already feels guilty enough for the both of them. i realise that he had to labour the point to aziraphale, and was just being honest - fair, he has a point! - but it came across as simply unkind and uncharitable... again, towards someone we are assuming he cares deeply about...

this one is in fact going to lean on some interpretation, but i think it's one that is so widely implied in canon that i think it might as well be; something happened to crowley between 1827 and 1862, and within that time, i don't think he was on best terms with aziraphale, given aziraphale's coldness when he arrives in st james' park. so, we could - could - surmise that he just suddenly asks for holy water from aziraphale, something that would be dangerous for them both and seems to exploit their friendship. he doesn't adequately explain why he needs it ("just insurance" is not sufficient at all imo), and taking offence to aziraphale's use of 'fraternising ' then contextually feels a little hypocritical

lies to aziraphale about having experience with a gun, banking on using a miracle if need be - which ultimately puts aziraphale's 'life' on the line, rather than being honest. he may well just want to make aziraphale happy, sure, but aziraphale goes into the bullet catch without all the facts - his face when crowley admits he's never shit (edit: meant to say shot, obviously, but leaving it in for @fabledshadow💕) a gun before says it all, really

when aziraphale saves his life with the photo trick, he doesn't thank him, or acknowledge any kind of gratitude at all, that it saved him from a rather bleak fate at the hands of hell. he may well be insulting aziraphale's skills to dissuade him from a repeat occurrence of the bullet catch (fair!), but he is also insulting the very thing that got him out of danger... and the very thing that aziraphale obviously takes a lot of joy, pleasure, and pride in (and, yk, what crowley was actively encouraging just a few hours previous). it was justified, to a certain extent, but it was... unkind

(the Big One - so let's get it over with) tries to tempt aziraphale into killing a child - antichrist or not - and continues to persuade him into it despite aziraphale evidently being uncomfortable with the prospect. it also indicates how little he knows aziraphale in this respect; regardless of whether it would be the antichrist or not, this is the angel who tried to preserve humanity by offering a sword to pregnant eve, and was ultimately crucial in protecting job's children. even in mesopotamia, you can see how subtley appalled he is with killing children - despite him trying to rationalise it by saying it's the great plan etc. killing a child, id wager, would destroy aziraphale. i digress, but if crowley loves aziraphale as much as he (and the fandom) likes to think by s1, it's rather dark that he would try manipulating aziraphale into doing this in the first place, and return to the suggestion again not once (bandstand) but twice (airfield)

sets up an elaborate trick just to make a point to aziraphale on the use of guns, and then lets innocent humans get arrested on what i would say would be very serious charges in s1 (i mean, let alone firearms offences, arguably it could be charged as attempt murder 💀)

hits anathema and acts in such a way that he probably understands that he equally hit her and she hit him, yet is more preoccupied with fixing the bentley, something he could miracle repaired later on... as opposed to helping her back to her feet and ensuring she was alright. he also is prepared, after all this, to reject offering her a lift, excusing that there's nowhere to put her bike

backhands "clever" with "stupid", because aziraphale is doing something (trying to reach god directly as a last resort) he doesn't think is worthwhile. aziraphale finds out that that is true, but once again, im gonna ring the 'unkind' bell

doesn't tell aziraphale about what went down with gabriel, or how closely hell is keeping an eye on him, or the threat of the BOL, or that he's living in his car, or what happened in heaven/the issue of the second coming. there are loads of other little things too, but he lies by omission, whilst maintaining that he doesn't lie to aziraphale, and routinely keeps information from aziraphale - not only information that would be beneficial to share in the general sense, but information that directly impacts aziraphale, and comprises both of their safeties. has a tendency towards a hero complex that ends up either going wrong/unfulfilled ("i won't leave you on your own" then immediately buggers off to heaven) or attempts to remove aziraphale's agency and dismisses him outright ("i have a suggestion-" "ive got this.")

abandons aziraphale when he is set in doing something that is not only in his very nature to do, but when he does it because he doesn't have all the facts (hides jim). despite his assertion that aziraphale shouldnt do it because jim poses a threat, he then leaves aziraphale to face it alone. it's unknown how soon crowley would have come back to the bookshop if it weren't for the BOL threat - we literally do not know this - and he reluctantly does the apology dance (arguably when he wholeheartedly believes he was in the right) in order to be allowed near aziraphale again. it's also implied that aziraphale always does the dance, whereas crowley doesn't - which suggests to me once again the whole thing about crowley avoiding blame

pushes jim into remembering stuff despite it obviously causing him pain and discomfort - on one hand, sure, he's not certain that gabriel isn't lurking about in there, but he does it again in ep5 when, as far as he's assessed with the whole jump-out-the-window thing (a whole other thing that need addressing), jim is in fact... just jim

plays around with maggie and nina (the both of them do, and they're both at huge fault for this, it's insane) like they're toys, without any regard for their personal thoughts or feelings, as if they have the right to do this

encourages jim to jump out a window!!! okay fine, yes, he fears that gabriel is lurking in there and is doing it as a test, but even he looks somewhat alarmed when jim is clambering over the windowsill - and objectively it's an atrocious thing to do. and ultimately it doesnt exactly prove anything more than what he already knows; if gabriel was chilling in there, and was so committed to the bit to drink hot chocolate, call crowley his friend with a straight face, speak to crowley as such as friend, and generally act the way he does... if gabriel is that good an actor? well, i can't imagine jumping a window would be beneath gabriel to do, to maintain his cover. so to me, crowley realised that what he's asked has crossed a line

and, im sorry, but - kisses aziraphale. now is probably the worst climate imaginable (ie. the "do that again" era) to be discussing my take on the kiss, but my read has largely always been that it was a temptation, and a cruel one at that. it was desperate, and heartbreaking, and i understand why crowley did it - but it was imo a largely cruel and selfish manipulation for aziraphale to betray himself, and stay with him. i love the kiss for what it is and represents, but as a result i just... yeah, im not a "do that again" girlie, because i think aziraphale absolutely recognised the kiss for what it 'was'.

anon, if you have made it this far... im so sorry. it's been helpful to summarise all of it though, so thank you for giving me an opportunity to do so!!✨

*now. the thing is, the vast majority of these incidents, these actions and behaviours (and probably loads besides that ive missed) are not evil. they are not even necessarily bad, not in the classic sense. a lot of them have well-founded explanations, sometimes outright justifications, and it's totally understandable why crowley makes them (even just narratively ie. even without speculating or inferring in any kind of trauma he may have suffered behind the scenes if the story as it currently stands).

id argue, personally, that each one of these is dark in their own way - dark, in the sense that they are morally ambiguous at best, immoral at worst. they might not be bad on their own merit, but arguably it is possible to see them as wrong.

we can absolutely look at crowley and think he is good - and i agree!... to a certain extent. even if you oust a good few of the above examples, there are a few that, imo, if ignored or excused, kind of strays into blatant mollycoddling of the character. crowley absolutely has the capacity for good and right - his objection to the flood, saving job's children, stopping the apocalypse, helping aziraphale many a time, are all prime examples (even if you could argue against each of these which... well, this ask is long enough so another time, maybe) - and i think will ultimately be guided by what he considers to be the right thing to do.

but when i say that his assessment of being "very dark grey", the above is why i think this is him being either extremely honest, or accidentally incredibly insightful about himself. it's not necessarily a dislikeable thing to be - crowley being more dark than light - but given the evidence as i see it, he's aware that he's not a wholly good person, more one that leans towards the objectively immoral than otherwise, giving more weight to when he does do good. and the thing is, he regularly asserts this - being 'bad' - to aziraphale.

in doing so - constantly saying he's not nice, rejecting thanks etc - maybe, actually, it's not as humble or self-effacing as aziraphale, or the fandom, likes to think it is. why shouldn't we consider that crowley might, actually, be a bit of an anti-hero? it doesn't make him any less of an empathetic, likeable, or compelling character - it just simply acknowledges that he may not be as irreproachable or scrupulous character as we might like to think he is!✨

[impossible-rat-babies]

15 lines of dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

i got tagged by @lilas! ty friend! im gonna tag (sorry for possible double tagging): @thevikingwoman, @hythlodaes, @lavampira, @consulaaris, @gefiltefished, @scionshtola, @starrypawz and anyone else!

a lot of these are from unfinished wips w/o context, im so sorry

1. “Nay, I should have spoken my mind soon after arriving Slitherbough. Mistaken as you were to my nature upon us reuniting, I would not so easily cast aside that which you beheld.” They pause, a bitter smile coming to their lips. “A brilliant soul, I have been called before— nomenclature befitting Hydaelyn’s Chosen. And yet it is not Her light which eats away at me now.”

2. “I care in the loneliness that stood before me in the place beyond the stars. How it looked down at me and I wondered how I had not yet memorized its face. How it asked me if this would be the last time I would gaze upon its face, and if the ache between my ribs would leave me.”

3. Eyrie pauses, worrying their lip. “Pity—pity and sorrow ‘twas what I felt most keenly. Not truly alive, but never allowed to die. A most vile fate for a once great wyrm of the first brood.”

4. “Keeping yourself busy are you?” Alisiae asks, shutting the door behind her. They hold up the book idly, a sigh escaping their lips.

“T’was Krile’s idea. A measure put in place should my vision stagnate at this state, or deteriorate further.”

5. “I know, Alisaie.” They whisper softly, reaching out again to take her hands. Tinged with barely there warmth and stiff fingers as their hold her hands tight. “I know I am dying. I can feel it—beneath my chest, next to my heart. ‘Tis so very dark and cold there.”

“Then why?” She asks, voice tender in her throat. Fingers tensing in their gentle hold. “Why keep telling us it is going to be okay?”

“I would not have us give into grief.” They reply.

“Tis for the dead we grieve, not for the living. With the ache in my chest comes fear, but I would not give up hope. I would not see sorrow rob us of what time we have left. I would not see you mourn just yet.”

6. “Tis easy to peer from the outside in and question why your grandfather gave his life unto a people so fit to squabble and worry naught of any greater threat than that beyond their own borders. Your anger was not unfounded, Alisaie.”

“Still…I should have known better. What would grandfather have had to say?”

Eyrie grins, inclining their head towards her. “Oh something important I would imagine—he was oft given to providing sage advice…if asked or not.”

7. They look up at the sky stretching so far above—the distant twinkling of the stars.

“Ignorant I was to the horrors that would follow. All of my many long years in the wood had made me blind. To what one had to endure—what one would be asked to do; what I have done to my fellow man. There came a time when I stopped and looked back to see myself very far from the intentions that first compelled my feet to walk forward. And there would be no returning.”

8. “I can storm the tower, Y’shtola. ‘Tis simply…”

They rub their hands together, eyes narrowing.

“I do not trust my hands. Alphinaud tended to some of my hurts, but I was more afraid of his touch. Afraid of my own hands should he have found a bruise too tender or raw; what horrors a simple touch would invite into my head. If i had grabbed his wrist in my terror and broken it…how could I forgive myself for that? For hurting him?”

9. They pause, letting the words sink in as the boy deflates, working his lips in ill disguised frustration.

“Alphinaud.” They break the heavy silence looming above them. “I am not a sword to point at the enemies of Eorzea, or the Scions. I am not a soldier to be ordered about—told of my singular duty and thus committed to the cause without fear. Without despair or anxiety. Standing as a shield before the plight of a helpless world, begging for a hero to lead her to a new path. There is resentment there, Alphinaud—I will not lie. I love Eorzea.”