#the mole thing has been there since say one

[deikshen]

Shen Yuan, who has been getting tattoos since he was eighteen due to his extra money and little sense of self-preservation. Nothing anime or anything virgin like that: landscapes elaborated like paintings, cherry blossom trees like ink dripping on his skin, a full sleeve of artwork that climb up his shoulder blade and slide down his spine with butterflies and moths, wild flowers, spider lilies, traditional clouds on his ribs; it was painful, but hey, the chronically ill Shen Yuan knows pain, and he's used to it. At least he'll leave a nicely decorated corpse behind when he goes.

So, Shen Yuan transmigrates. Shen Qingqiu has no tattoos, of course; his skin is white and flawless in a way that Shen Qingqiu hasn't seen his own skin in years. It's a little sad, but he sighs and lets it go.

Then one morning, he see a spot on his forearm. It looks like a mole is sprouting there, but more than a mole... It looks like a petal? Shen Qingqiu examines it and sighs, because honestly, he has seen stranger things lately.

So, more petals. The curve of the branches of a cherry tree. Shen Yuan recognizes the outline of his own tattoos on his old body, somehow ridiculous, transmigrating slowly into this body too! What the hell!

He thanks the robes that cover every part of his skin for the first time. Nothing is visible or strange. It's not like anyone would see Shen Qingqiu naked enough to ask questions about it.

Not much has happened and he hasn't even fully unlocked OOC mode when his skin is actually covered with his own tattoos. Oh, poor original goods, wherever he is, he must be rolling over in his metaphorical grave.

Then, that first mission happens, and Shen Qingqiu finds himself awakened in that skinner demon situation... Half-dressed!!!

Oh no!! The tattoos on his collarbone and chest are visible now!!!

Oh, fUCK, LUO BINGHE IS WATCHING HIM-

(Luo Binghe doesn't make any comment on that afterwards. Shen Qingqiu pretends he hasn't been seen and they both ignore the elephant in the room.)

...

(Luo Binghe had never been so horny in his whole life. How could someone as cold and neat as Shizun have so many drawings tattooed on his skin? Would he let Luo Binghe see them all, ever? Did he only have those, did he have more? What drawings were they? What meanings would they have? Would Shizun take needles and ink and put a drawing over Luo Binghe's heart? His Shizun couldn't refuse that, Luo Binghe would say that the only way to make it safe would be with the help of his Shizun... and he couldn't deny that Binghe had tattoos, considering all his own... Whatever his Shizun chose for him would be fine, just for having his Shizun making them on his skin so Luo Binghe could wear them forever...)

[slutfics]

ᥫ᭡. FATHER HEADCANONS .ᐟ

characters: obito uchiha, kakashi hakate, itachi uchiha & neji hyuga.

warnings. none. fluff, domestic life, not proofread.

writers note. how i think they’ll act as fathers, kakashi isn’t married i believe and the other ones are dead, so i just wanted to make a little something for my beloveds, especially for obito since he’s been nothing but a nuisance in my head. I love him.

OBITO UCHIHA !

he’s definitely the ‘big family’ type of guy, probably would want at least four kids, five the highest. yea, he likes having little spawns, even if he doesn’t look like it.

he doesn’t yell or spank his children, however there’s been times when he has yelled because they were acting out.

when he’s irritated, his children would know it’s time to stop, his voice deepens and becomes stern and he has a look that makes them stop whatever behavior they were doing. he could be scary, but other than that he’s a chill dad.

his ‘time-out’ methods are putting his kids in the corner or extending their chores. sometimes he’ll make them clean the front yard and bathroom.

he actually smacks his kids over the head when they don’t listen or throw his slippers at them. depending the age of his children, let’s say ten through fifteen, they’ll think it’s funny before he has them cleaning something they don’t wanna do.

his uchiha genes are stronger than yours, they’ll have his eyes and hair color and depending how many kids you have with him, only couple would have your hair color and eyes (the skin color will possibly slip in). they’re also short tempered.

he likes training his kids and is often proud of them when they finally have it down.

he keeps all of their colorings they’ve made him, he keeps them somewhere safe so they can’t get ruined or lost. (he might go bonkers if they get lost).

he’s a very overprotective dad, his children have to be home at a certain time. he will personally hunt them down if they’re not home by the time sunsets.

obito spoils his children but not to the point where they don’t understand ‘no’ he will put his foot down and doesn’t tolerate tantrums. he also doesn’t have favorites, he knows that isn’t right, especially as a parent, all of his children are treated equally.

wise words from obito to his children: “get your ass down from there right now.” “keep acting like lunatic and I’ll send you home and you won’t come out there until dinner, do you understand?”

KAKASHI HAKATE !

kakashi would only want two kids, a boy and a girl. he sees this as a perfect amount, he’s fine with children, he just doesn’t want a zoo of them, and plus he’ll probably have grandchildren in future.

he’s a very chill and patient dad, he knows how to handle his children and they listen pretty good, however.. they’re sassy and he knows they got that from him and he refuses to admit it. his kids are pretty mean, but they mean well.

he also doesn’t spank his kids, but he does make his kids clean the entire house and makes sure there isn’t a single speck of dust flying around.

kakashi knows his children’s interests and will personally try to understand it, even if some of them are a bit weird.

he’s the type to tell his children that santa won’t bring them presents because they’re misbehaving and won’t listen to him. he’ll also tell them that the boogieman will drag them out of bed by their feet and take them away. (they haven’t slept in their own room for a week).

he likes to pinch his children cheeks, he thinks it’s adorable. he also ruffles their hair, especially if his children possessed his beautiful spiky hair.

kakashi’s genes are strong, but it’s a well mixture of yours, if you have moles, freckles or whatever, your children with kakashi will have them.

there’s been times where he doesn’t know how to handle temper tantrums, the only thing that comes to mind is to send his kids to their room to have them scream it out. (they’ll fall asleep afterwards and by the time they wake up dinner is already done.)

kakashi is a good listener, he knows how to handle his kids emotions and is there for them. however there’s been times he has to be straightforward with them, he knows he can’t always sugarcoat things just because they’re his kids.

kakashi may be chill, but he does have strict rules for his children to follow. he has tied his child to a tree and will do it again if he has to.

kakashi’s wise words to his beloved children: “oh! is that so? would you like me to tell mommy what you have been doing? no, then knock it off.” “you are in big trouble when we get home, you are to clean the bathroom, do I make myself clear?”

ITACHI UCHIHA !

itachi, the gentle soul that he is. he’s also someone who will have two children, genders are irrelevant to him, he’s just happy to have a family, even if his little spawns have him stressing and worried.

he’s the type of dad that you wouldn’t want to be mad, they know it’s time to settle down when he’s upset. itachi doesn’t have to say anything but look at them, and you wouldn’t know if he’s mad, but they do, they know when he’s pissed and that has them shutting up within an instant.

itachi doesn’t lay a hand on them nor does he yell, but he does put them in time-out or send them to their room and have them think about what they have done.

itachi is a rather patient dad, and if his kids are toddlers he would know how to handle them and calm them down. he likes taking them on walks and have them cry on his shoulder as he tells them a little story or something to have them keep their mind occupied. if that doesn’t help, he’ll try putting them down for a nap.

he likes making them their foods. he’s the one who packs their lunch for school and makes them breakfast in the morning, he also makes sure that his kids have healthy meals. yes, he allows his children to eat junk food, just not all the time. he wants his kids to grow big and strong, as he likes to tell them.

he likes listening to them talk about their day at school or just have a casual conversation with them, he really likes quality time.

his children don’t get bullied in school, he’s scared them off, as much as he’s a gentle man, he’s still a scary guy and doesn’t tolerate other children bullying his own. he doesn’t like seeing them cry. however, he will speak the child’s parents in hopes to settle things.

when his kids suggested a game, he lets them win, especially if it’s hide n seek, he knows exactly where his kids are hiding and he hides in the most basic spots for them. (he just really likes hearing their squeals and giggles when they find him.

if his children are older, he would like to know where they are heading off, he doesn’t restrict them from having fun with their friends, he just doesn’t want anything bad happening to them when they are out. they have a certain time they have to be back home. will not tolerate back talk.

he does ground his children, the longest time they have been grounded was three months and no, he doesn’t forget and will make sure they learn they lesson. he loves them, but he will teach them that their actions have consequences.

itachi’s wise words to his children: “you are misbehaving, would like me to grounded you? then stop that.” “I will not be teaching you that, you have not been listening to be for the whole day.”

NEJI HYUGA !

neji is aware how difficult it will be to rise kids, so he’ll possibly have two or three kids, genders don’t matter to him, he made them and he’s going to raise them the best he can. there’s a lot of things that he doesn’t tolerate with them and that is back talk, he doesn’t like back talk, at all.

neji definitely spanks his kids, is it hard? no, not at all, but it’s enough to sting and he’s well aware how heavy his hand could be. he also has a major soft spot for them, so spanking his kids isn’t often.

his byakugan does actives when he’s pissed off with them and that could be a scary sight for them and they know they’re in deep trouble, especially when they did something they weren’t supposed to do. his children don’t purposely make him mad, it’s horrifying to them.

neji doesn’t like when his kids cry, it makes his heart pang and he tries his best to comfort them.

his the one who bandages them up when they get hurt and will lecture them as he does so. he knows how reckless children can get, especially when they are unattended. sometimes he’ll have to supervise them.

when he trains his kids, he does not overwork them, once he sees them tired and barely holding themselves up, he’ll either stop or have them rest up a bit before continuing. he makes them tea and food, or give them water then have them shower.

his children have a bedtime routine, his kids need to be well rested and will not stay up to early, he has them study occasionally so they know what they are doing.

he’s the type of parent to pinch his kids arms, that’s a warning sign for them to knock their shits off or they’re in big trouble once they return home. or sometimes he’ll simply just look at them and they’re already know they’re in trouble.

if his children were to snitch on another and they’re yelling who did and who’s denying, everyone is in trouble and they are to stand in the corner until he says they can leave and if they start acting up, he sends them to their room to take a nap or he’ll train them.

neji is a good dad and he’s a bit on the strict side when comes to them, however he doesn’t prevent them from doing things they want to do, as long as it’s not criminal or cause them serious harm. he’s also the type to tell his children to get up back and try again or tell them to walk it off.

neji’s wise words to his kids: “do you want me to give you pow-pow? then stop this nonsense.” “get in the corner and think about what you did.”

© SLUTFICS. . . please do not repost, steal, copy or publish my works on other platforms, however reblogging and ♡ are greatly appreciated.

[formulaonecrumbs]

till death do us part 🥀

Lando Norris x deceased!reader (is that a thing idk)

summary: lando grieving the death of the love of his life

warnings: pure angst, death, grief, cause of death never mentioned, depressed lando

A/N: i don’t even know why i wrote this. it’s old, and i had one of those anxiety spirals where i kept picturing ppl i love passing away and i just bawled and bawled until i wrote this (then bawled some more) BUT I HOPE U CRY TOO :p enjoy (or don’t), u beauts ❤️

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

lando doesn’t remember the last thing you said to him.

not really.

he’s replayed your voice so many times in his head since you left that the truth’s gotten all tangled up with the imaginary — the should-have-said, the could-have-been. maybe it was something small, something boring, like “don’t forget to take the bins out.” maybe you told him you loved him. maybe you didn’t say anything at all. it’s all static now. a fuzz of memories he can’t quite grip.

he wishes he could go back. rewind. hear your voice. just once. even if it was yelling. even if it was just you asking if he wanted tea. anything.

he wakes up most mornings forgetting you’re gone.

there’s still two mugs on the drying rack. your toothbrush is still in the cup. your side of the bed still sinks like you’ve just rolled off it.

lando doesn’t touch any of it.

he doesn’t let anyone else touch it either.

his friends try. connor, max, oscar — they come over sometimes. bring food he won’t eat. offer company he won’t ask for. they speak too gently. their eyes flinch when they say your name. they never stay long.

he likes it better that way. the silence.

the quiet feels closer to you than they ever could.

still, it hurts.

god, it hurts.

everything he does reminds him of you. you, who used to hum in the kitchen while making breakfast. you, who wore his oversized hoodies and laughed when they fell past your knees. you, who called him “pretty boy” with a grin and kissed the mole right next to his nose.

lando stares at your hoodie now, folded neatly on the back of the couch. he hasn’t worn it. he can’t.

he’s tried. once. sat on the floor and held it to his face, breathing you in until he choked on it.

you’re everywhere. and nowhere.

he can’t go back to the track. not yet.

his helmet still has the tiny heart sticker you put on it after that race in monza. “for luck,” you’d said. he wore it every session after that. now it sits untouched on a shelf. dusty. forgotten. like him.

sometimes he talks to you.

soft, one-sided conversations in the dark.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” he whispers into the void. “i don’t know who i am without you.”

he looks at your photo on the bedside table. it doesn’t answer.

lando doesn’t cry much. not anymore.

he did, for a while. for days. weeks. he cried until he couldn’t breathe, until his chest felt like it would cave in. now he just… aches. it’s quieter. but heavier.

your number is still saved in his phone. your messages, your voice notes, your blurry selfies — all still there. sometimes he opens them just to see the typing bubble. to pretend, for a second, that you’re still here. still coming home.

but you never do.

he scrolls through old videos. your laugh echoing in the background. your face popping into frame just to kiss his cheek.

lando presses play over and over. and over.

he doesn’t eat much. barely sleeps. the world outside his flat has kept moving but he’s still stuck in the moment he lost you.

he doesn’t remember the last thing you said to him.

but he remembers the way your hand fit in his.

he remembers the warmth of your forehead against his.

he remembers how you smelled like citrus and something floral and the shampoo you both shared.

and he remembers how the world shattered the second they told him you were gone.

there was no final kiss. no goodbye.

just silence.

and now —

lando sits alone in the flat you made a home, surrounded by the ghosts of everything he didn’t say.

he closes his eyes and pretends you’re just in the other room.

but you never walk out.

you never will.

and that, more than anything, is what finally breaks him.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

it’s been six months.

half a year.

lando knows because the calendar on the fridge still has your handwriting on the last day he ever saw you. a little smiley face next to the words movie night, finally. he’s never turned the page.

he still lives like you might come back.

your jacket’s still hanging by the door. your favorite cereal is still in the cupboard, untouched, but he buys it every week anyway. sometimes he opens the box and just stands there, staring at it. hoping he’ll wake up and hear your footsteps coming down the hall.

but the hallway’s always empty.

and he’s always alone.

lando went back to the track two months ago. he hated every second of it.

the first race without you was unbearable. your seat in the paddock was empty. his garage was too quiet. no smile waiting after quali. no arms around his neck after a podium.

he finished P5. they said it was a good result. strong comeback.

he didn’t care.

nothing matters now. not really. he drives because he has to. because people expect him to. but he doesn’t feel anything when the lights go out. not like he used to.

there’s no more joy in it.

just noise.

distraction.

people keep telling him you’d want him to be happy. to move forward.

what they don’t understand is — lando doesn’t want to move on.

he doesn’t want a new beginning. he wants you.

they say grief is a wave.

for lando, it’s a flood that never recedes. it drowns him quietly, every morning when he opens his eyes and realizes you’re still not beside him.

your absence lives in everything.

the playlists you made still play when he drives. his spotify wrapped was just you. your music. your voice in the background of voice memos.

you’re gone. but you’re everywhere.

and it’s unbearable.

lando avoids people now. his smile’s thinner. fake.

fans ask him to do your accent like he used to. he just laughs and changes the subject.

he hasn’t posted anything personal in months.

his camera roll is full of photos he can’t look at. videos he can’t bring himself to delete. you in the sun, you laughing, you in his hoodie.

you in every frame of his heart.

sometimes he dreams of you.

you’re always just out of reach.

always smiling.

never staying.

he wakes up shaking. empty. sometimes in tears, sometimes in complete stillness.

lando’s therapist says grief isn’t linear. that he’s doing okay.

but okay feels like a lie.

lando doesn’t remember the last time he laughed without feeling guilty. doesn’t remember what it’s like to be held and not feel the absence of your arms in comparison.

the flat is still yours. still smells like you, faintly.

some days he talks to the ceiling. some days he clutches your pillow and begs the universe to give you back.

most days, he just stares at the wall and breathes through the weight on his chest.

it doesn’t get easier.

it just gets quieter.

and the quiet is killing him slowly.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

one year.

twelve months without you.

lando never thought he’d make it this far.

not because he didn’t want to. not because he stopped loving life completely.

just because it all felt too heavy to carry without you.

but he’s still here.

and that feels both like a betrayal and a miracle.

your photo is still on his nightstand. a little more faded now. he talks to it sometimes, less often than before. not because he stopped needing you, but because the silence between his words hurts less than it used to.

he still misses you. with every heartbeat. but it doesn’t knock the wind out of him anymore.

not every time.

sometimes he even smiles at your memories now instead of crying.

like last week — he found a video you took of him in the kitchen, half-asleep, dancing like an idiot to some cheesy pop song. you were laughing so hard, the camera shook. he watched it three times. laughed with you. then cried himself to sleep.

progress.

his team has learned to stop tiptoeing around your name. they say it with softness now, not fear. they hang photos of his old races and leave the one of you kissing his cheek right there, in plain view.

lando doesn’t hide it anymore.

you mattered. you still do.

a few days ago, something small happened. something unexpected.

he was walking back from the store — headphones in, head down, hoodie up — when a little girl bumped into him by accident.

she looked up at him and said,

“you’re lando norris! my mum loved you! she made me watch all your races.”

past tense. loved.

he looked at the girl’s father standing a few feet away, eyes kind and full of something familiar.

grief.

loss.

he smiled. genuine. soft. like he understood. because he did.

he handed the girl a mini helmet keychain from his pocket — one he usually kept just for himself — and told her,

“thank your mum for that. she had good taste.”

they walked away.

lando stood there for a long time, staring at the sky.

he imagined you watching him from wherever you were, eyes warm. proud.

that night, he lit a candle.

sat on the floor. whispered into the flame.

“i miss you. i always will. but i’m trying.”

he meant it.

he still sets the table for two sometimes. he still wears your hoodie on the bad days. still listens to your playlist.

but he also lets the sunlight in now.

he opens windows. answers texts. sometimes he laughs — real, full laughter — the kind that doesn’t feel stolen.

lando knows now that he’ll never stop loving you.

but maybe that love doesn’t have to hurt forever.

maybe love, even in loss, can still grow.

and maybe, just maybe, he’s allowed to live.

even without you.

especially because of you.

THE END :>

[darknight3904]

tommy going down on fem reader for first time (Jackson era) she’s a little nervous and he reassures her💗

Nerves

Jackson!Tommy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Two years into your relationship with him, Tommy Miller realizes he's missing a crucial part of any good relationship.

Warnings: Language, Smut so 18+, oral F! receiving, Tommy is a munch.

TLOU Masterlist

Word Count: 1.5k

You’re not sure when you got so comfortable around Tommy Miller. 

Perhaps it’s because he makes you feel safe, always looking out for things you didn’t even notice, just yesterday he’d caught you after you stumbled on the last step, your shoelace getting caught up between your feet. Or maybe it was because he’d lazily lie in bed next to you, running a warm hand through your hair as he read from a book you found on patrol. 

All you know is that you’re comfortable around him, trusting him to take care of you and in return giving him all of your love. 

Tommy likes to watch you. Not in a creepy way, just in a, make sure you’re safe kind of way. He’ll stroll around Jackson, keeping an eye on you as you pull crops up and harvest the vegetables and fruits. He’ll make sure that if you’re ever on patrol, he’s the one with you; if not, you’re not leaving the safety of the walls. 

Tommy knew he was in love with you the moment he saw you. Fresh out of the Fireflies, he’d stumbled across Jackson by accident, or rather picked up by a patrol that probably wanted to kill him. You had somehow convinced the council that he was harmless, despite the Firefly pendant that hung on his neck, along with the backpack with their symbol sewn into it. Fast forward a few months and he was chatting you up in the Tipsy Bison, eventually winning you over enough that you agreed to a dance. Since then, he’d been hooked.

Tommy knew you loved him, you said it often and regularly showed him through your actions that you were just as mesmerized as he was. Each night before bed, he’d regularly whisper those three little words into your skin, content with telling you over and over again so you wouldn’t forget it. 

Despite this little slice of paradise and your love for him, Tommy got the sense you weren’t entirely comfortable with him. It was nearly two years since you and he had gone official, linking your hands together as you walked in Jackson, and about a year ago moving in together. 

It wasn’t that he went out of his way to make you feel odd, he could just tell you weren’t fully on board with some things he did, particularly his love for physical touch. You’d gotten more used to it in the past months, probably because the two of you now shared a bedroom but Tommy couldn’t shake the fact that something was amiss. 

Now, most people in Jackson would probably tell him he was being crazy, making a mountain out of a mole hill but they didn’t know the inner workings of you and Tommy. 

Yes, there was certainly something wrong, Tommy knew exactly what it was, and he was going to address it tonight. 

You sip at the broth in your bowl, the chicken noodle soup you’d made turned out perfect. There was even enough for you to scoop into a thermos for Tommy to take out tomorrow when he left for patrol. You think about what you should cook for dinner tomorrow or if you and Tommy should just go down to the community hall and get dinner there. 

“Why don’t you let me go down on you?” 

The crass question leaving your oh so blunt boyfriend’s mouth has you sputtering into your bowl. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You sheepishly ask, of course, he’d eventually notice your aversion to receiving oral sex. 

“Y’never let me go down on you. You’re always the one givin’ me a blowjob but you never let me return the favor.” Tommy says 

Your eyes flick away from him and down to your lap, your soft grey sweatpants staring back at you.

Tommy reaches across the table, taking one of your hand in his bigger ones, “Do you…not want me to?”

“No!” You blurt out, “It’s not that, it’s just…” 

“Just what?” The kind eyes of your boyfriend stare back at you as you try to find the right words.

“It’s just…you don’t think it’s gross?” You ask timidly 

Tommy snorts, a laugh escaping his lips as he shakes his head like you’ve just told him the funniest thing in the world. 

“Gross? Baby I’ve been fucking dreaming of it since we started sleeping together.” 

You shake your head, no that can’t be right. What man would want to put his mouth between your legs like that? You’d had three boyfriends before Tommy, all of them were still here in Jackson, and none of them were ever interested in you like that, always pushing your head down to their own crotch, asking you to open wide. 

“You’re lying.” You breathe 

“Wanna go upstairs? I can show you how much m’ not.” He softly says 

“But what about the dishes?” You squirm, hoping he’ll drop it 

“Dishes can wait,” Tommy smiles, standing up to offer you his hand, “Let me show you how much I love ya. Let me worship you, sweetheart.” 

You let Tommy guide you upstairs, hand on the small of your back as he pushes the door open to your shared bed. You fall back onto the soft mattress, Tommy planting wet kisses down your body as he pulls your clothes off. Soon, you’re down to just your panties, arousal pooling in the cotton fabric as Tommy looks up from between your legs. 

“You sure?” You ask breathlessly, too turned on to think clearly 

“I should be asking you that, pretty girl.” Tommy hums, “Are you sure?” 

“I think so…” You look at him where he eagerly awaits your consent, “Yes, M’ sure.” 

You want to do this for him, Tommy seems like he wants to so badly, who are you to deny him? Besides you bet he’s going to regret it and stop after a few seconds anyway. Your underwear inch off your body slowly and your hand flies down, grabbing Tommy’s. 

“Wait! I haven’t…I haven’t shaved, let me go to the bathroom quickly.” You sit up on your elbows 

Tommy is quick to push you back down, a dark glint in his eye as he stares at you, “Stay right where you are. Little hair never killed anyone before.” 

“You don’t think it’s gross?” You sigh 

Tommy smiles down at you, softly like he can sense your nerves and the way your heart pounds. 

“First off, nothin’ that has to do with you is gross. Second, this isn’t some shitty porno, we’re real people baby, I don’t care what she looks like, hair isn’t gonna bother me, I’m not those shitbags you used to date.” 

Tommy pulls the last bit of clothing from your body, hooking your legs over his shoulders, you’ve never felt more exposed. You shiver and feel your cunt clench as he blows air onto it. 

“There she is, pretty little thing,” He presses a kiss to your folds and you let out a soft sigh, “Needy too, never had a real man to take care of her.” 

Tommy’s ramblings has your face heating up in embarrassment, you wiggle your hips, “L-Let’s just get this over with.” 

“Get this over with? Actin’ like m’ gonna cut your leg off or something.” He teases, “Get this over with..,you hear what she’s saying? Doesn’t even know how badly this cunt needs my mouth.” 

“Tommy, you’re being weird just–oh”

His patchy facial hair tickles your delicate skin as his tongue licks a wet trail from your hole to your clit. A kiss is pressed to your thigh, whispering something that sounds like praise before he sucks your clit into his mouth. 

Your hips jump at the sudden onslaught of pleasure, his name leaving your lips as you fist the sheets. His tongue slips down to your hole, a groan leaving his lips as he laps at your wetness. Tommy’s thumb draws circles over your clit as your hips begin to stutter into his face, your mind a clouded mess. 

“T-Tommy, fuck…” You whisper into your room, you’ve never felt quite this good before, your climax is coming, fast.  

“C’mon baby, fuck my face, give it to me.” He encourages, his deep voice and southern drawl sending a chill up your spine.

An embarrassingly loud moan leaves your lips when your cum, your hips pulling up off the bed as Tommy slings an arm across your stomach, keeping his sinful mouth pressed to your center. 

You push at his head as you come down, his tongue sending painful twitches across your sensitive cunt. Tommy falls down on the bed next to you, chin damp grinning like a mad man as he looks over at you. 

“Still think I don’t like it?” He coyly asks 

You roll your eyes, he’s too damn smug about this whole thing, “You do know you’re going to be doing that alot more now, right?” 

Tommy laughs, wiping at his messy face before pressing a kiss to your lips, his facial hair smelling of you, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

TLOU Masterlist

[inkskinned]

so one of the things that's so horrifying about birth control is that you have to, like, navigate this incredibly personal choice about your body and yet also face the epitome of misogyny. like, someone in the comments will say it wasn't that bad for me, and you'll be utterly silenced. like, everyone treats birth control like something that's super dirty. like, you have no fucking information or control over this thing because certain powerful people find it icky.

first it was the oral contraceptives. you went on those young, mostly for reasons unrelated to birth control - even your dermatologist suggested them to control your acne. the list of side effects was longer than your arm, and you just stared at it, horrified.

it made you so mentally ill, but you just heard that this was adulthood. that, yes, there are of course side effects, what did you expect. one day you looked up yasmin makes me depressed because surely this was far too intense, and you discovered that over 12,000 lawsuits had been successfully filed against the brand. it remains commonly prescribed on the open market. you switched brands a few times before oral contraceptives stopped being in any way effective. your doctor just, like, shrugged and said you could try a different brand again.

and the thing is that you're a feminist. you know from your own experience that birth control can be lifesaving, and that even when used for birth control - it is necessary healthcare. you have seen it save so many people from such bad situations, yourself included. it is critical that any person has access to birth control, and you would never suggest that we just get rid of all of it.

you were a little skeeved out by the implant (heard too many bad stories about it) and figured - okay, iud. it was some of the worst pain you've ever fucking experienced, and you did it with a small number of tylenol in your system (3), like you were getting your bikini line waxed instead of something practically sewn into your body.

and what's wild is that because sometimes it isn't a painful insertion process, it is vanishingly rare to find a doctor that will actually numb the area. while your doctor was talking to you about which brand to choose, you were thinking about the other ways you've been injured in your life. you thought about how you had a suspicious mole frozen off - something so small and easy - and how they'd numbed a huge area. you thought about when you broke your wrist and didn't actually notice, because you'd thought it was a sprain.

your understanding of pain is that how the human body responds to injury doesn't always relate to the actual pain tolerance of the person - it's more about how lucky that person is physically. maybe they broke it in a perfect way. maybe they happened to get hurt in a place without a lot of nerve endings. some people can handle a broken femur but crumble under a sore tooth. there's no true way to predict how "much" something actually hurts.

in no other situation would it be appropriate for doctors to ignore pain. just because someone can break their wrist and not feel it doesn't mean no one should receive pain meds for a broken wrist. it just means that particular person was lucky about it. it should not define treatment.

in the comments of videos about IUDs, literally thousands of people report agony. blinding, nauseating, soul-crushing agony. they say things like i had 2 kids and this was the worst thing i ever experienced or i literally have a tattoo on my ribs and it felt like a tickle. this thing almost killed me or would rather run into traffic than ever feel that again.

so it's either true that every single person who reports severe pain is exaggerating. or it's true that it's far more likely you will experience pain, rather than "just a pinch." and yet - there's nothing fucking been done about it. it kind of feels like a shrug is layered on top of everything - since technically it's elective, isn't it kind of your fault for agreeing to select it? stop being fearmongering. stop being defensive.

you fucking needed yours. you are almost weirdly protective of it. yours was so important for your physical and mental health. it helped you off hormonal birth control and even started helping some of your symptoms. it still fucking hurt for no fucking reason.

once while recovering from surgery, they offered you like 15 days of vicodin. you only took 2 of them. you've been offered oxy for tonsillitis. you turned down opioids while recovering from your wisdom tooth extraction. everything else has the option. you fucking drove yourself home after it, shocked and quietly weeping, feeling like something very bad had just happened. the nurse that held your hand during the experience looked down at you, tears in her eyes, and said - i know. this is cruelty in action.

and it's fucked up because the conversation is never just "hey, so the way we are doing this is fucking barbaric and doctors should be required to offer serious pain meds" - it's usually something around the lines of "well, it didn't kill you, did it?"

you just found out that removing that little bitch will hurt just as bad. a little pinch like how oral contraceptives have "some" serious symptoms. like your life and pain are expendable or not really important. like maybe we are all hysterical about it?

hysteria comes from the latin word for uterus, which is great!

you stand here at a crossroads. like - this thing is so important. did they really have to make it so fucking dangerous. and why is it that if you make a complaint, you're told - i didn't even want you to have this in the first place. we're told be careful what you wish for. we're told that it's our fault for wanting something so illict; we could simply choose not to need medication. that maybe if we don't like the scraps, we should get ready to starve.

we have been saying for so long - "i'm not asking you to remove the option, i'm asking you to reconsider the risk." this entire time we hear: well, this is what you wanted, isn't it?

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Hybrid Town (4) | Only Human

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Even with your growing community and a town slowly becoming filled with friendly faces, someone continues to rain on your parade. From the beginning most of the citizens are fine to do business with; with slurs uttered under their breath or a lack of manners when trying to complete simple transactions but none have been as routinely problematic as the one and only vixen–Margarine. 

“Well well out on a shopping trip? All by yourself? What a rarity.”

“Please get off my car, Margarine.”

“Aww~Make me.”

You wouldn’t realize Margarine is who she is until your fourth run-in with her, called out by one of her cronies. While the faces of her group tend to change from time to time, the Fox hybrid is a constant. Her laughter is as backward-sounding as her animal ancestors, constantly ringing out when you try to quietly go about your errands in town. At first, it starts with mere leering, laughing, and marveling at your existence from a distance. Saying:

“Oh look, a big-headed hairless mole-rat—oh wait. Even those hybrids have actual strength.”

Or

“Can you believe that thing got into our town? Probably blackmailed their way in because it felt ‘excluded’.”

Or 

“Look the human got a poor animal to do manual labor for them. Watch your necks everyone they might put a collar on you next.”

They’re words you don’t mind kinda. You can learn to ignore it but Margarine like many in town begins to realize that sitting back and watching just wasn’t enough. She is the first of her cronies to start with the small things. Egging your car, slashing your tires, cutting holes in the wooden boxes filled with produce you just bought; that’s all before she outright begins prodding at you.

“What are you looking away for human? Look at me when your better species talks to you!”

“Margarine, your nails! They’re digging into my cheeks–”

“Claws, honey! That’s what’s digging into your cheeks! Get it right, ape!”

It gets to a point that Margarine lays in bed at night laughing to herself as she replays the tearful expression on your human’s face. Playing with her tail as she goes through the workday as she updates her favored column in the Town’s Weekly. Which just so happens to be about the latest gossip in town which conveniently has been talking about you for the better part of three months. Now more than ever she’s getting the recognition she deserves and it just so happens to be by doing her new favorite thing—messing with you. But as the third month concludes some new obstacles arise. 

“Isn’t this a sight? Enslaving our neighbors are we? Looks like those human instincts are finally taking hold.”

“...Margarine please.”

“Please what? ‘Please don’t defend my fellow hybrids from your ‘oh so mighty’ reign.’ I don’t think so–”

“Marge.”

“....Miss Tiffany.”

“Surprised to see you out here. Shouldn’t you be getting coffee for the Chief?”

“I was on my way until I smelt something out of place. Just doing my bit for the community.”

“...I see. Well, the next time you decide to ‘do your bit for the community’ just know if you put a hand on their head around me I’ll tear your squirrelly hide with every bloodhound–guard dog–fox-tearin’ bone in my body. We clear young lady?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

She’s such a liar. Despite the other members of your newfound 'friend group' each giving separate and likely real threats against her abuse of their human. Despite feeling as though she’d pee her pants every time their predatorial gazes landed on her, she still couldn’t shake the desire to fall into her usual routine. She got away with it for a while, poking at you while she orchestrated something to keep those worrisome guardians away, to leave her to enjoy finding some new weakness to rant about in her column. Once again everything was perfect until it wasn’t.

“You’re going to have to…tone down this bias towards the unnamed…subject.”

“What?! Why?”

“The complaints we’ve received have doubled since the column first started. And these complaints…who’s giving them can’t be ignored.”

Who’s giving them? Surely that snobby cow and those dogs weren’t big enough…then who?

“So what? Have I lost the column or what?”

“Just…lean into those counterarguments you seem to have.”

“W-w-what!?” 

There was a heavy subtext that even Margarine had decided tried to ignore. With every harrowing tale, to save the face of the alias she assumed she always left something of a counterargument towards the end of every column. A typical ploy in writing to seem unbiased. That’s all it is….and yet as Margarine pouts and ponders going over her old columns, she realizes an interesting trend. Her counterarguments sound….incredibly endearing. 

For all the obvious weaknesses they have, it’s not that bad of a survival skill if someone finds it adorable.

Or

They cry far too easily, perhaps it’s another tactic that’s supposed to make you want to comfort them.

Or 

The way they shy away as their self-proclaimed guardians defend them, some might say is another tactic to get a predator's heart pumping erratically with the need to protect. But not me, never me.

It was her. And with an annoyed swag of her tail and the blood burning in her cheeks, she writes the totally in+sincere turnaround that gets attention on her column. While she didn’t think her pride would allow her to just ignore the anger she felt at your peaceful little existence, with your clawless little hands, and your clumsy little walk. She’d allow herself to be ‘learning’  in her column which seems to revitalize her popularity. But just because her alias is going to learn doesn’t mean she has to. She has no intention of stopping her role as the town bully.

“Haha getting comfortable are we, human?”

“Margarine what are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Going to get first place at the contest tonight.”

“Awfully confident.”

“Yeah considering the competition I won’t have much to worry about.”

“There’s still 4 other contestants including me, I really don’t get—”

“I’m not going to let you get anywhere near that podium and as long as I do this, you’ll stay where you belong. At the bottom.”

“...We’ll see.”

She won’t dare write about how exciting it is to see the defiant look on your human face as your confidence grows. Or how easily you lock eyes with her in any given crowd, the challenge immediately there. It might be a fear response but in the end, it’s a bond not even those dogs or that cow or that snake could understand.

“WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM Margarine?  What do you hate about me so much that you just can’t leave me alone!?”

“Let’s see where do I start? Maybe it’s your voice, your stare or maybe it’s because you’re so disgustingly weak or maybe it’s the fact that you're a grubby colonizing self-righteous human who’s walking around my town like you own the place!”

“What are you insane?!”

She admits to herself, she might’ve taken it too far this time. The competition was an annual event in town. A little romp where everyone competed in a series of challenges to win the Mayor’s Golden Carrot. The golden vegetable does come with a couple of benefits but no one actually cares for those. It’s for the social advantage. The golden trophy that makes everyone in town look at you with respect and admirable envy. A chance for you to gain the community’s respect with the help of your canine neighbors, your new roommate, and your new friend. That was the hope as Mama Tiff successfully won the baking challenge, Eudora the fashion competition, and Stein– who somehow got the award for most fearsome wonder who voted him for that. All that was next was you. A small faceless competition for floral arrangements. 

You worked hard on this….for months you ordered the flowers and grew some yourself. Placing them on your self-made wire skeleton makes the amazing shape of a bunny on its haunches. It was going to be a work of art and with the mayor judging you would have had this in the bag. That is until you return to your tent from a bathroom break to see your flowers in tatters and the one standing above them is–

“Margarine!? How could you!?”

“I always knew you were a stinky fox I just didn’t think you were rotten too!”

“....This is especially despicable even for you.”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU AND HANG YOUR TAIL ON MY WALL!”

She doesn’t care that in no uncertain terms they all threatened her life. It’s you. Glaring and screaming at her with a ferocity she’s never seen. You’re stabbing your finger into her chest and practically growling out all the hateful thoughts you’ve never expressed. People are staring. Others are whispering. Some of the children who are old enough are filming. 

“You—”

“NO! Shut up Margarine I’ve taken a lot from you and I’m sick of it! If you hate humans just say that but DON’T EVER go out of your way to interfere with my life again. Otherwise, I may revert back to ‘my savage ways’. But if I did it will only be because you made me!”

And for once her cheeks burn in embarrassment when it’s over. Her tail curling in around her as everyone continues to oggle but it’s not at the human stomping around the fair. It’s on her. Likely chatting about what she’s done and watching still as she scampers to the uncrowded space behind the stalls. Wringing her hands onto the fluffy end of her tail.

She battles with her feelings. Burning embarrassment and something else…something that makes her heart shrivel a little smile widely. As tears fall down she holds her head high already brainstorming how to take herself out of the event for her column. By tonight the whole town will be talking. 

“Why should I care what they say…or make me feel…they’re just a human!”

Rules | Kofi | Commissions

Taglist: @midnight-nightmares@xrenka@candlesworlds-blog@00hellohello00@lem-hhn @kawaii-cakes @ceramic-raven @lilyalone @asleepysouluniverse @mel-vaz @sxftiebee @staarflowerr @horror-lover-69 @stanfordswifey @butratherbutrather @24-7aroundtheclockanxious @li-ravings @librarymouses @cooldonbutt @whoreforeverythingspice @ethereallyoccultazalea @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee amethysttigerfigurine @n-lol @ask-kokusu2 @greensunflowerjuna @simpforanimeboys @pocketfulofposies

[hairmetal666]

The worst thing that ever happened to Eddie Munson is a spinning studio opening in the building next to the neighborhood store he runs with his uncle.

"That's the third one today," Eddie whines as soon as the door snicks shut behind a woman with a glossy high ponytail and electric pink polka dot Lululemon sports bra and bicycle short set.

"You see her ponytail?" Nancy asks. She's flipping through a stack of flashcards. "Never seen a twenty-five year old look fresh off a facelift."

"I hate them so much. What kind of job is 'cycling instructor' anyway?"

"I'm concerned about the amount of makeup they wear to workout. That's gotta be bad for the pores."

"I'm concerned about the collective IQ holding that operation together. Like, do they know how to get out if there's a fire alarm?"

Nancy shoves him, but snickers too. It's not like he really has anything against the instructors. They're fine. Polite and usually harmless. It's the principle of it. It's not fair, that they get to continue into an adulthood that's still all about them being pretty and popular, without any substance.

"You've done college bio," he says. He notices a couple of cereal boxes have fallen over, hops off the counter to push them back in place. "What are the chances their muscles are so big it's cutting off the blood flow to their brains? Is that a thing that can happen?"

There's no response from the front of the store, which isn't unusual. Mostly, she lets him talk and chimes in when the mood strikes. Since she seems uninterested in offering her input, he straightens the cereal and keeps gabbing.

"The other day, one of the guys came in, and his shorts were so tight, I could see his balls. Not just the outline, but the wrinkles. I could almost make out individual pubes. Is that one of those things where they pretend they're limiting drag, or whatever, to improve their speed? Even though it's a stationary bike--"

He turns, the shelves straightened, and literally only three feet from him is one of the aforementioned cycling instructors. Unfortunately, he's the most beautiful man Eddie has ever seen. Even more unfortunately, he definitely heard Eddie making fun of them.

"Uhh," Eddie says.

The guy smiles. "Sorry, my giant muscles make it hard to get around sometimes."

And Eddie just. Like. What the fuck. "That must make it difficult to cycle." God, god but this guy is so fucking, devastatingly hot and all Eddie has done is antagonize him. And not even intentionally!

"I get by," he smiles and Eddie almost swoons. "Hey, when I bend down, can you let me know about the ball sitch? I have a wholesome image to maintain."

Is he flirting? It seems like he's flirting? But that's weird, right? He caught Eddie talking shit, why would he--

"It would be my pleasure to look at your balls," his mouth says before his brain can catch up.

The guy snorts, smile getting bigger. "I don't know, now I might be self-conscious. Might have a wayward pube."

"How will you know if someone doesn't take a look?"

The guy steps closer, cocks his head to the side. He's got this impressive sweep of hair that barely tumbles, his throat dotted with cute little moles and freckles. Eddie's mouth is watering, why is his mouth watering? "I usually get to know someone a little bit better before they get that privilege."

For once, he's speechless and now he's blushing, can feel it up to his ears and down to his nipples.

The guy leans even closer, breath ghosting against Eddie's skin. "Too bad you hate exercise instructors."

This social interaction has already been a disaster, but he makes it even worse by responding with an indignant squeak.

The guy winks, can't hide his genuine amusement at Eddie's expense. "You ever want to make it up to me, you can come to one of my classes."

With that, he walks up to Nancy at the counter, and Eddie gets his first look at the single most glorious ass he's ever seen. His mouth literally drops open as he watches how it jiggles, perfect and round, and he wonders if it would be too much to fall to his knees and worship it right then and there.

Eddie's dumbstruck for a little too long, almost misses as the cycling instructor heads for the door. "How can I take your class if I don't know your name?" He shouts.

The instructor half turns, the sexiest, smuggest smile on his pretty face. "It's Steve!" He yells back.

"I'm Eddie!"

"I know!"

The door closes and he turns to Nancy. "How--how did he know my name?"

Nancy rolls her eyes, goes back to her flashcards. "You're wearing a name tag, you absolute dork."

Eddie knows he's a man of weak will. Is not completely surprised when, after a month of meanly flirtatious interactions, Steve leans across the counter to taunt, "you do one cycling class with me and I'll take you out to dinner."

He's fresh from a workout, hair still damp and messy from the shower. Eddie thinks he's about to lose his mind, desire a clawing beast gnawing on his bones.

"Oh, so I might finally get the opportunity to check out your balls?"

Steve's cheeks go very pink, and something tight and hot tugs in Eddie's abdomen. "If you play your cards right."

[meowdei]

river what are your thoughts on husband ayato guiding you through giving him a blowjob for the first time… 🎤

me and my (darling) husband — ft. kamisato ayato

ayato is happy to show you how to please him. you are happy to take care of your darling husband. the gods themselves are not powerful enough to come between you both and your desires

before you read: 2.4k words of pure cock sucking i’m sorry ; fem wife reader ; obsessive, morally gray husband ayato ; slight, slight corruption kink in you squint ; blow jobs ; reader doesn’t have a gag reflex in this ; teasing ; praise ; orgasm delay ; cock worship ; throat fucking ; cum eating ; reader straddles his waist ; implied vaginal sex at the end

notes: risu this ask sent me into cardiac arrest. i would say i need to lay down but i have been laying down since i read this ask (help ive fallen and i cant get up)

Sometimes Ayato wonders if you want to kill him. It wouldn’t be the first assassination attempt he’s faced—but it would be the hardest to escape. He could never deny you of anything.

“Teach me how to please you,” you pout, “just like you always do me. It’s only fair, wouldn’t you agree?”

You’re inexperienced. Innocent. Ayato likes tainting that sense of purity about you—and he’s extra delighted that it means he’s the first one to see you like this.

(He’ll be the only one, actually—he’s not letting you go. Ever. If anyone else were to even think about how you’d look on your knees, knelt between their thighs, he’d slice through their neck with his own blade.)

But you look so beautiful like this, it’s unearthly. His cock is thick, erect between his bare thighs as they spread enough to allow you a space between them. You gently trace along the vein at the underside, curious from seeing it so up close for the first time. You’ve seen him before, of course, but never near enough to properly appreciate the details.

The hair he trims neatly. The mole he has at his v-line. The slight curve to the left of his girth. The way he twitches from any delicate touch on reflex.

That last part is your favorite—you trace a finger around his tip, circling it in awe as he lets out a soft gasp. The way his cock jumps at the touch makes you eye him hungrily.

“Teasing, are we, my love?” He drawls through grit teeth, holding himself back from burying the aching length down your throat, “do you wish to torture your poor husband?”

“No,” you breathe, giggling as you press a sweet kiss to the tip, “of course not. Just…show me how, Ayato.”

You’ve never done this before. Ayato is fine with being the one busy buried between the other’s legs. He doesn’t mind being the one to taste the sweet, dripping proof of pleasure lingering at the apex of your thighs. But if you insist that you’d like to switch places for once…well, he can’t lie and say he hasn’t pictured your beautiful lips struggling to take all of him.

With a gentle hand cupping the back of your head, he pulls you closer, closer, closer—until the head of his cock is tapping against your lips.

“Open, my love,” he whispers—you do. Instantly, your tongue darts out, swirling around his tip and licking a stripe along his slit. He groans, eyes fluttering shut as he tenses.

“Sensitive?” You hum, teasingly.

“Is that a surprise?” He grins down at you, sweat collecting at his forehead as his skin flushes, “have I not always shown I am far too sensitive to my wife’s touches?”

“I suppose that’s true,” you bite back a smile.

Slowly, you part your lips and take him in, staring up at him for his reactions, as if trying to see if you’re doing things right. He groans at the wetness of your mouth surrounding him, head falling back as he grips the sheets tightly with tense fists.

“That’s it, darling,” he says, voice a strained choke as he guides you down his length, “hollow your cheeks. I’m…I’m more sensitive here—pay close attention there, won’t you?”

He guides you his cock, stopping you just at his tip. You suck around him, swirling your tongue again as he lets out a loud moan and shudders under your hand as it rubs his thigh soothingly.

“Like that?” You pop off, blinking up at him with innocent eyes—they’re anything but innocent. There’s an amused twinkle in them at the way he barely bites back a whimper at the loss of you.

“Evil,” he huffs, “you’re most evil, dear wife.”

“I’m only trying to make you feel good, my darling husband,” you gasp. Your hand trails up his thigh to his taut abs, rubbing more soothing circles into the skin as you eye the moles that little his skin. “Did it feel good, Ayato?”

“Yes,” he nods, swallowing thickly.

“Did I do well?” You press, eyes hopeful.

He groans at that, letting out a shaky breath as he whispers, “you are always perfect, my dear. Unfairly so. Now please, give me more—I want more.”

“Then tell me how you want it,” you rub a thumb over a mole just under his belly button, admiring the flex of his abs as he breathes raggedly. “Surely the Yashiro commissioner is an effective communicator.”

“Such dedicated efforts to tease me,” he chuckles hoarsely, “very well. I shall indulge my wife in her wicked desires, then. Take me deep, my love, and swallow around my cock until I can spill my release down your throat. Do have mercy on me, will you my darling? I am feeling rather impatient.”

“Anything for my precious husband,” you say sweetly, giving his tip one last kiss, smearing the pre cum against your lips before you take him in your mouth.

Ayato, true to his word, has always shown you how sensitive he is to your touch. Now is no different, his fists fighting their grip around the sheets, knuckles turning a ghostly pale white from the pressure. He moans—it’s a beautiful sound. Low and just a tad bit whiny as your tongue traces his thick vein as he travels down his length.

You manage to take him almost down to the base, refraining from gagging as he hits the back of your throat. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so dizzy with pleasure, the friction of your tongue and the walls of your mouth rubbing against the sensitive skin of his cock.

You bob your head up and down his length, hollowing your cheeks as you swallow around his tip. Just as he said, he’s sensitive there. Almost too sensitive, whimpering as you tease the tip of your tongue along his slit and taste the beads of pre cum that dribble from the head of his girth.

“Th-that’s it, my love,” he stutters, “fuck, yes—you spoil me with that precious mouth.”

Your hand trails down from his abs, slowly rubbing up and down his inner thigh, still as comforting and grounding as earlier. Ayato has other desires, however—far more insatiable desires as he grabs your hand and laces your fingers for a moment, squeezing slightly around you with a shaky grasp.

“You’d like me to show you what I want, yes?” He looks down at you, eyes hazy and mouth slightly swollen from the way he’s bitten down on the swell of his bottom lip.

You nod around his cock, jaw loose and tongue flat as you bob along his length skillfully. He’s almost scared this isn’t your first time from how good you take him down your throat—but the eager look you give him from his question assures him enough to relax.

“Then here,” he grunts, guiding your hand to his balls as he spreads his legs wider, hand encompassing yours as he murmurs, “be sure not to neglect me here, either.”

You fondle his balls delicately, teasing them with a light tough before you apply more pressure. They’re heavy, aching for your attention, and the gentle way you massage them as you suck around his tip once more pulls a jolt through his entire body. He whines at the feeling—a sweet, melodic sound that makes you fall in love deeper with your husband.

Your needy, filthy husband who adores you so.

You work your mouth along his cock a few more times before you pop off again, earning a whimper he can’t hold back this time as he stares down at you with a crestfallen expression.

He was close. You could tell—whether he’s in your mouth or your cunt, you can always tell when Ayato is just at the precipice of his pleasure. The slight twitch of his girth and the breathiness of his pants as they get more labored will always give him away.

You kiss up the underside of him, from base to tip. “Such a pretty cock,” you marvel, “and it’s all mine, isn’t it?”

“Surely you didn’t stop just to ask something you already know?” He clenches his jaw as the throb between his leg intensifies, the near-orgasm you deny him of serving as a painful reminder of how much power you hold over him.

You continue kissing the expanse of his girth, admiring him as you murmur, “don’t give me that look, you insatiable man. You’ll get what you wish for soon enough.”

“Why must you insist on being so cruel? I am a most doting husband, am I not? Surely I don’t deserve this,” he stares down at you miserably, making you roll your eyes.

“I merely meant to ask you where you’d like to cum, you impatient fool,” you click your teeth. But you love him—so much so, that your fist slowly strokes him so his poor, throbbing length isn’t neglected as his earlier orgasm slowly dies back down. “Down my throat? On my face? Perhaps on my tits? You’ve always paid close attention to those, you know. Anything my darling husband wants, he shall get.”

“Anything?” He hums, shivering as you tighten your fist around the base of his cock before stroking upwards, rolling your palm along the head.

“Anything,” you confirm. “It is my turn to spoil you, my sweet love.”

Ayato is vocal. He is, perhaps, shameless in that regard. When he takes you in the back of the gardens, when he takes you in the shadowy corners of the estate, when he takes you in his office without the door locked, he is vocal. You are usually horrified by it even if a little—not a lot when you’re so drunk on his cock, but still enough to know his voice could raise suspicion from anyone who happens to pass by.

Such a shameful, disgusting act it would be, to be caught by someone. The clan head and his wife, incapable of having any sense of respect and dignity.

But here, in the safety of your chambers, in the private quarters meant for just you and your husband, you appreciate how vocal Ayato is. How utterly sincere he is with letting you hear just how good you make him feel.

The term of endearment on your tongue and the tightened stroke of your fist makes him whimper softly, panting erratically as he murmurs, “your mouth. Your mouth—please, I need to feel your mouth, my love. I’m…I’m close. So close. Let me feel you swallow every drop, please. Please.”

Mercifully, your lips are wrapped around the pulsing length of his erection, taking him down your throat generously once more. A union as sacred as the one of your wedding, as blessed as the day you became his.

Ayato bucks his hips up, fucking into your throat as he finally becomes too impatient to be gentle anymore. You let him. Like a good, doting wife, you slack your jaw and let him use you, hand bracing yourself against his thigh as he chases his orgasm.

“F-fuck, my darling wife,” he curses, “you have no idea. You could not fathom how ardently I desire you. Take me, take every part of me.”

He spills down your throat with one last thrust of his hips, a soft, desperate moan tearing from his lips as he chants your name like a prayer. Ayato does not pray to his own God, the very one he serves every living day. But you—you are the only one who can answer his prayers. Who can bless him with his desires. Who can bring him to his knees and make him a believer of any and all that you say.

It’s why he says your name like that, like he’s calling out to divinity and not his wife who’s sat between his legs, swallowing around his cock as though it’s not the unholiest of activities. You make even sin feel holy. Blessed. Divine.

He spills thick, hot ropes of cum. It spills from the corners of your mouth, dribbling along your chin slightly as you try your best to swallow what you can.

“Good,” you hear him pant above you. He looks utterly wrecked. “You…you always feel so good. You have possessed me,” he breathes.

Finally, when the last drops of cum have finished spilling from his twitching cock, he collapses back against the mattress, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.

You slowly pull away from his softening length, earning a small sound from him as the cool air hits his wet, spent cock.

“Was it alright?” You ask softly, resting your cheek against his thigh as you rub your hand along the other. He groans faintly, one last shuddering breath before he slowly rises to sit up again.

“Was my performance lacking?” He raises a brow, “did I not make clear enough how blissful your mouth feels?”

You giggle, biting your lip as you murmur, “is it a crime to ask my husband if I please him properly?”

“Of course,” he gasps in mock offense, “it means your husband is not doing his due diligence of praising his wife’s generosity. Shall we try again?”

“You are utterly insatiable, Ayato,” you say in exasperation.

He chuckles. He looks beautiful—sweat clinging to his soft, porcelain skin, eyes crinkled in a warm smile, and a rosy flush that almost urges you to move up to kiss the swells of his cheeks.

“It is only natural, my dear. I hardly believe any man could get enough of such a treasure that is you.”

“We would never know. I have my suspicions that no man would ever survive even thinking about me with you around.”

“A most correct assumption,” he agrees, cupping your cheek, bringing his thumb to collect the sticky, lingering remnants of his release from the corners of your lips before pushing the finger into your mouth.

You swallow around his thumb obediently, humming as you savor the taste of him on your tongue once more.

His expression grows dark. Your core burns with arousal at the sight.

“My darling husband,” you sing sweetly, “I do hope you’re not too exhausted. There is much more I’d like to enjoy with you.”

“Of course not,” he grins, grabbing your wrist and dragging you up to straddle his hips as he lays back once more. You rub your clothed cunt against his once-more growing erection. “I’ve hardly had my way with you yet, sweet wife.”

If it were up to me, I’d stay attached to his dick all day every day. Sucking on that thing would help calm me 🙏

[petermorwood]

A day or so ago, @dduane reblogged a long post - a Canadian magazine article from 1966 - about the Americanisation of Winnie the Pooh.

It's an Impressive Tirade in which the writer (Sheila H. Kieran) says what she thinks about letting Walt Disney have a free hand with a foreign Children's Classic.

There's mention of the previous Adaptation Endeavour, "Mary Poppins" (1964) but it's very brief, perhaps with an eye to limited column space - or maybe because All Was Said Already in a previous review.

There is, however, rather a lot about the English characters being given American accents, and about the inclusion of a new character, an American gopher (which, the article suggests, looked vague enough to the Kieran children - its target audience - that it might as well have been a mole or a beaver).

*****

And that reminded me of another bit of American Animalisation done by Disney, in the 1949 short "The Wind and the Willows" - though in this instance it's visual since the voices are, for the most part, suitably British.

They include Basil Rathbone as narrator, and a horse who sounds like George Formby. In some scenes the horse actually looks like Formby, so this voice may not be entirely accidental.

Badger, however, sounds like a Scotsman - the worst kind of stage Scotsman at that - rather than how I used to "hear" him as a C. Aubrey Smith-voiced crusty retired colonel.

That, however, is just personal preference.

However, Disney's Badger is not a proper British (more correctly, European) badger, Meles meles. Here's one, which though not the most amiable of beasts in reality, still manages to look fairly affable ("I say, old chap, whatever are you looking at?")

Instead he's a North American badger, Taxidea taxus, which not only has a less affable expression ("Hey, bud, you. Yeah, you. You lookin' at me? You lookin' at ME?") but, more important, different stripes.

Here's Disney's version alongside mine. The correction took about five minutes of pixel-tweaking.

Disney's animators could have got it right from the outset just as easily, because I'm pretty sure the reference library which provided costume info for Rat's tweed Norfolk jacket and britches included picture-books of natural history.

Come to that, any "The Wind in the Willows" after the unillustrated first edition would have been enough, and there must have been at least one copy lying around for story adaptation and scene-description purposes.

The first illustrated edition came out in the UK in 1931, and its artist was, at author Kenneth Graham's request, the very same E.H. Shepard who had illustrated the Pooh books just a few years previously...

...while this Arthur Rackham colour plate is from an edition published in 1940 in New York.

So those books wouldn't have been impossible for Disney to get.

The problem, however, is that if a word ("badger", for instance) is well known to mean one thing here, it may be Too Much Trouble to find out if the same word means something else there, with the result that finding out can sometimes come as rather a surprise.

Check the UK / US meaning of "suspenders" to see what I mean... ;->

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) captain price nsfw alphabet with p-links, 𝒶⸺𝓏

𝒜 = aftercare (what they’re like after sex) : john, as i've stated before, is very touchy. he likes having his hands on you in any way that he can. so he'll pull you to his chest as the two of you catch your breath and run his hands along your body, pressing kisses to the crown of your hairline. you usually end up dozing off before john does and so he takes the initiative to grab a warm, damp cloth and clean up the mess of cum between your thighs. after he's done, he'll hop right back into bed and pull you flush to his body, sliding his hands along the expanse of your thighs and counting each beauty mark and mole along your body in the dim lighting of the room until he eventually falls asleep. [connected to this post and this one as well!]

𝐵 = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) : john's favorite body part of his would have to be his hands. they're big and calloused from work and he enjoys gently grasping your hips with them when he pulls you in for a slow kiss. he also adores how much you love them as well, his hands swamping yours whenever the two of you interlock fingers with each other. now john has an obsession with your lips, for him, they convey your emotions much better than words ever could. he can tell when you're annoyed with him by the purse of your lips. can tell when you're feeling shy by the slight upturn of the corner of your mouth. can tell when you're being sassy and sarcastic with the cute smirk that'll grace your lips and also when you're feeling sad by the way your lips curl in on themselves to form a line, and perhaps that's not a body part but it's his absolute favorite.

𝒞 = cum (anything to do with cum basically... i’m a disgusting person) : john's cum is pearl white in color and it's sticky and thick and there's always so much of it when he cums for the first time. the taste of his cum is slightly salty but it's not overbearing, you love the taste of him. price prefers to cum inside of you rather than anywhere else, this only started after john saw you holding your friend's newborn baby in your arms, it's been john's mission to impregnate you since then. [connected to this post!]

𝒟 = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) : it's no secret that john is older than you, there's an obvious age gap and some people may sneer at your relationship (as you're in your mid to late twenties and john is thirty-seven.) during playful banters between you and john, your go-to "insult" is always, "old man", "yes, daddy." or something along those lines. and despite himself, price always finds that he's thick and hard in his pants. he won't ever tell you that though.

𝐸 = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) : okay, price isn't the type to sleep around, he's had some occasional flings here and there, but that's about it. that doesn't mean he's inexperienced though, john puts in work. he studies your reactions and what you like. a delicious roll of his hips has him hitting that spongey little spot inside of you. licking his thumb before planting it on your clit to rub quick figure eights, has your thighs shaking and his name falling off your tongue like a prayer, and whispering lewd things in your ear and kissing you all sloppily in his pussy drunk state? has your cunt leaking all over the place. john price knows how to fuck and make love, he's perfect.

𝐹 = favorite position (this goes without saying. will probably include a visual) : hm, john's favorite position is called the 'g-whiz' it's a stupid name lowkey but it gives him the perfect view to watch your face as you fall apart over and over on his cock. it also gives him access to your g-spot and your clit as well. three birds with one stone (he loves watching your tits bounce too.)

𝒢 = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) : it's a mix. there are times when the two of you are going at it like bunnies and perhaps bump heads a bit too hard. or maybe one of you trips while pulling off a piece of clothing-- there's going to be obvious laughter. during softer sex, where john's thrusts are deep and rolling, slow and intimate--- his gaze is always so full of his adoration for you and it leaves you breathless at times. he kisses gently, whispering words of love to you and smiling at the tears that sting your eyes. so yeah, he's a mix.

𝐻 = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) : john, before he met you, wasn't really sexually active, and so he didn't keep up with grooming himself, there was no need for him to. he was out in the field for weeks on end at a time and when he was off the field all he wanted to do was relax and sleep as much as he could before he had to go back out for another mission. after he met you, however, he wanted to groom himself. not that you seemed to care, nor had you ever complained. but he did it anyways. so, price's hair is brown, nicely trimmed, with no scraggly hairs in sight.

𝐼 = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) : please, john is madly in love with you and he himself knows it and he loves to make it known to you often, even outside of sex. price loves keeping eye contact with you, whether it's through a mirror, while you're riding him, or in any other position that allows the two of you to be face to face. he loves watching the small ticks in your expression as he grinds his hips into yours, cock sinking into you at the most excruciatingly slow pace he's ever gone. loves the way your cheeks flush and your cunt squeezes him when he calls you his, "pretty girl." this man also says 'i love you' often, and it's always so genuine, you never grow tired of hearing him say it. (he definitely doesn't kiss your chin when you give him an annoyed pouty look at his slow pace, he definitely doesn't apologize and speed up either.)

𝒥 = jack off (masturbation headcanon) : i find it hard to picture price masturbating, but i believe he does so when he's away from home for weeks on end, but it's not mindless masturbation like most men are prone to doing. john, when he's away from you for long periods of time, gets almost…needy?? in a way. this man misses you like no other, he misses the smell of you, your loving touches, your smile, your cooking, you pulling him to the living room floor to dance, your horrible singing when the two of you shower together and god he misses the sound of your voice. and this feeling is all so new to him and it's almost overwhelming. 

so when price has the downtime, he calls you, it's a spur-of-the-moment call and when you pick up, he can hear the thickness of sleep in your voice; he feels selfish and a bit foolish, he was acting like a horny teenager. however, after hearing the excitement in your voice and the surprise, he can only smile and ask how everything has been at home. who would've thought that the sound of your voice, all sleepy and soft would get him hard and thick within his cargos? who also would've thought that john price would unzip himself to pull out his rigid cock, tip leaking with pearlescent pre-cum and pulsing in his large hand. yes, john ends up fucking his fist to the sound of your voice, humming and grunting softly to signify that he's listening to you, thighs tensing and heart hammering in his ribcage. i mean, what you don't know won't hurt you.

𝒦 = kink (one or more of their kinks) : hear me out, roleplay, please! wait, think about it, perhaps it's not full-on roleplay but it's something of the sort, john gets a raging boner when you call him 'captain price' mockingly or 'sir'. another would have to be breeding, john wants to knock you up so bad it's almost an obsession, would love to see you swollen with his child, most definitely says something along the lines of. "good girl, wan' t'get you pregnant so bad. you'd like that, hm?" during sex. a mild voice kink? loves the sound of your voice and almost always cums instantly when you beg him to fill you up.

𝐿 = location (favorite places to do the do) : don't really see john being too much of an exhibitionist but the two of you have had sex outside at a park, while on a picnic. you had crawled into his lap and kissed him softly, pleadingly, blinking your pretty little lashes at him and i mean; who is he to say no to your greedy little cunt? however, he prefers to do it in the comfort of your shared home. ♡

𝑀 = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) : your teasing. whether it be playful or sexual it always riles price up. it's one of the many things that he loves about you, your sense of humor. and you express it well, not just through your actions or your words but also through your eyes, they're always so expressive and glittering with light mischief that he can't help but sweep you off your feet, throw you over his shoulder, and carry you into the bedroom.

𝒩 = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) : hurting you in any way, there are some things he's a bit lenient on if you like it; like choking and light slapping but other than that, it's a no for price. man loves you too much to do anything of the sort.

𝒪 = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) : as much as john loves having his cock buried down your throat, watching as you stare up at him with tear-stained cheeks, your mouth and chin covered in spit and his cum— he enjoys eating you out. he loves the taste of you on his tongue, loves to overstimulate you, loves to control your orgasms, loves to hear you beg and roll your hips on his tongue. if john could he'd spend the rest of his life buried between your thighs, large hands gripping the fat of your hips to keep you still as your thighs quiver and your pussy pulses from being too sensitive, he would. well shit, i guess that should be one of john's kinks too then, huh?

𝒫 = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) : price is usually slow and sensual, with fervent deep strokes, tender kisses, and whispered murmurs of love. what can he say? he loves showing that he loves you in all that he does. however, on the days when he comes home after a mission gone awry or being away for a long time in general, he's gonna be fast and rough; using your body any way he pleases. on days like this, he prefers you in 'doggy style' or even the 'mating press', and immediately gives you cuddles afterward though, telling you briefly of his mission as you run your hands through his hair. ���

𝒬 = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) : hm, john isn't one for quickies, i mean he doesn't mind a quickie, the park sex that the two of you had was a quickie after all. but i believe he much prefers proper sex, that way he can pull orgasm after orgasm from you and take his time as well. 

𝑅 = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) : john is down to try something at least once, especially if it's something that you want to try. not too long ago, you handcuffed price to the bed and edged him until he had literally begged you to let him cum, it was quite the sight and he's down to do it again. 

𝒮 = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) : give this man two good rounds, and then he's tuckered out. however he doesn't mind if you're still reeling to go, he'll pull you onto his lap and let you ride him until you're sated. or even make you ride his face, he could never deny you anything after all. 

𝒯 = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) : y'all hear me out once more....vibrating panties. rahhhh, hold on hold on. you guys use it when you're out on walks, at restaurants and sometimes even at dinners with your friends. man gets bricked up at the sight of you squeezing your thighs together, breathless and completely out of it. however, in the bedroom, price is all you need, the man is much better than any toy.

 𝒰 = unfair (how much they like to tease) : teases you often, whether it be with overstimulation, ruining your orgasms, or even having you beg him to let you cum. the man, believe it or not, likes to see your eyes water and your lips pout. loves that he can get his sassy, fiery wife all squirmy and pleading with just a few strokes of his tongue. 

𝒱 = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make) : john is not shy, he'll tell you how good you're making him feel, not with just his deep, guttural groans, but also with words. price is the king of dirty talk and he does it unknowingly, he most definitely curses when he's moaning as well, drawn out 'fucks' and at when your pussy squeezes him tight, he'll say. "shit, sweetheart y'r pussy s'made for me." calls you the lewdest names known to man, but says it so lovingly that you can't help but be turned on even more than you already are.

𝒲 = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) : has definitely had you suck him off while underneath his desk while on a computer call with laswell. poor baby, his face was pink from holding in his moans, especially after you buried him to the hilt down your throat. totally didn't get caught or anything.

𝒳= x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) : the picture speaks for itself. ♡

𝒴 = yearning (how high is their sex drive?) : you guys, price is 37, atp? he's 40, it may not be as it used to be when he was younger but! he puts in the work and most times tires you out before he tires out.

𝒵 = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward) : it takes awhile for price to succumb to sleep, no matter how tired he is. so it's usually you falling asleep first. he lays there, holding you close and running his hands along your back and then further. he'll drift off to the sound of your slow breathing and the steady rhythm of your heart.  ♡

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : the full alphabet! ahem, i enjoyed doing this

[flieslikeamoron]

I wish you would write a fic where Steve hangs out with Uncle Wayne.

Sorry, anon. This is so late you probably forgot you asked for it. I hope you see it and it’s sort of what you wanted. Around 2.5K. Rated M (for the steddie bits not the Wayne bits.)

--*--

Steve has always been good at meeting the parents. He’s polite. He wears the right clothes. He never forgets to say “sir.” He notices what needs complimenting. Did a mom spend a lot of time on her hair? Is the food homemade? Is the yard especially well kept? Are they proud of their car, their dog, their daughter? You can tell a lot about what’s important to people if you pay attention, so Steve pays attention. And he gives a compliment where it’s wanted. Nancy used to call him a suck up, but it works. Parents like it. They like him. 

Wayne’s different though. Steve tries all his old moves. Calls Wayne sir, and Wayne waves it off. Brings food that Wayne says he can’t stay to eat. He compliments the hat collection on Wayne’s walls, but Wayne seems so unimpressed it kind of puts him off from trying again. Maybe he’s doing something wrong. Or maybe Wayne just hates him. 

“Why does your uncle hate me?” Steve asks Eddie when Wayne’s out fishing one Saturday. Ever since Wayne got switched to days for the summer, Steve doesn’t get to spend as much time in Eddie’s bed. He snuggles deeper into the sheets, moving his legs against the worn cotton, his cheek against the pillow. Twisting a bit of Eddie’s hair around his finger. 

Eddie looks over, offering Steve the joint in his hand. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“You give it to me.” Steve realizes too late that doesn’t make sense because Eddie’s already holding it out to him. But he gets what Steve means. There’s a lazy smile on his face as he takes a long drag and holds it, leans past Steve to set the joint in the ashtray beside the bed. Steve’s fingers slide along his arm as he reaches, touch down on his ribs, the heat of his skin perfect under Steve’s hands. He cups Steve’s neck, lips almost touching while he breathes the smoke into Steve’s mouth. He seals their lips together at the end. Steve holds the smoke until his lungs burn, and then lets it slowly out through his nose. Eddie deepens the kiss, chases the last of the smoke with his tongue. He kisses Steve again, slow and thorough. His hand warm on Steve’s throat, his thumb against Steve’s jaw. 

When he lies back down beside Steve, Steve runs his fingers across Eddie’s chest. Stopping to feel the slightly pebbled top of his nipple. He runs his thumb over it, back and forth, pressing. Fascinated by the abrupt solid texture of the little nub, the way it interupts the smooth stretch of Eddie’s chest. He runs his fingers over the sparse wiriness of the hairs around it. Eddie is his favorite thing to touch. He’s touched him so much. Must have touched every inch of him by now. But it still feels like he’s always finding the new edge of a scar here or a mole he hadn’t noticed there. Eddie makes a small noise in the back of his throat as Steve scrapes his fingernail over his nipple. Steve looks up. Sees Eddie looking back at him. That soft I love you look on his face. It makes Steve’s chest ache. Makes him feel so swollen up inside he has to fill his mouth with Eddie’s skin, bite down on his chest.

Eddie ruffles fingers through Steve’s hair, arching a bit into Steve’s teeth. When Steve lets go, he runs his fingers over his own toothmarks. The indents in Eddie’s skin drawing up something smug from deep inside him. Like looking at the tattoo Eddie got for him. He likes leaving marks. He likes having proof. That Eddie loves him. Not like Wayne. “He acts like he hates me.”

“Who does?” Eddie says vaguely. 

“Wayne.”

Eddie shakes his head, his fingers running through Steve’s hair, dragging along his scalp. “That’s just his way. He takes a while to warm up.” He grins and gives Steve’s hair a tug. “It runs in the family.” 

“Well, I can’t exactly win him over the same way I did with you.”

“I would rather he not know how good you are at fucking,” Eddie agrees.

“Gross. I meant I can’t buy weed from him.”

Eddie laughs and lays a kiss on the tip of Steve’s wrinkled nose. “Just give it some time.” A kiss to the edge of Steve’s eyebrow. “I’m telling you, no one can resist this face.” He’s still giving Steve that look. So so soft. “And he’s so good with his hands.” He presses a kiss to the side of Steve’s chin. “Such a hard worker.” A kiss to Steve’s mouth. “Such a sweet boy.” Steve circles his arms around Eddie’s waist and lets himself be kissed. A compliment breathed into his skin, his mouth with every one. 

-*-

Whatever Eddie says, winning Wayne over seems like a lost cause, so Steve keeps his head down. Tries his best not to look at Eddie too much when Wayne’s around, look at him like more than a friend. Tries not to say too much. Tries not to do anything that’ll make Wayne want to kick him out of the trailer.

He almost passes by when he pulls up on a Sunday and finds Wayne jacking up his truck. But Steve’s noticed the way he winces, slow to get up from his easy chair sometimes. That fold up bed can’t be good for his back. Or the long hours at the plant.

“Need any help?” Steve asks, coming over.

Wayne gives him a sideways glance as he stands up. “You know anything about cars?” He says it like he thinks Steve doesn’t know much about anything.

“I took autoshop,” Steve says, a little defensively. “I do all the maintenance on the Beemer.” He can see the flicker of something in Wayne’s eyes when he says Beemer, but hell, it’s not his fault he has a nice car. He’s not going to apologize for that. He makes the payments himself. 

“It’s nothing major,” Wayne says. “Just going to change the transmission fluid. Go on. Eddie’s inside.”

Steve could take the out. But Wayne’s going to have to get under the truck to drain the fluid. And he has a bad back. “I can help,” Steve says. He doesn’t mention the back thing in case Wayne is sensitive about it. 

Wayne gets a stubborn look on his face. Looks a lot like Eddie, actually. Steve thinks he’s going to tell him to get lost. But he cocks his head, and lets out a breath. He hands Steve a wrench and a pan, and gives him a nod.

Wayne’s not a big talker. He stops giving Steve instructions when he figures out Steve does know what he’s doing. Has actually done this before. He doesn’t bother to fill the silence with anything else. When Steve wiggles back out from under the truck, they pop the hood together. Steve watches Wayne put the new fluid in.

“Belt could use replacing,” Steve says tentatively, hoping Wayne won’t take it the wrong way.

“It’ll hold a while,” Wayne says. He doesn’t sound offended though.

“Well,” Steve says awkwardly. “Looks like you’ve got it from here.”

“Thanks for your help, son.” 

“Anytime,” Steve says, and means it.

It’s easier after that. It’s not like they talk a lot more or anything, but the silence feels different. 

Wayne gets home from work one evening just as Steve’s driving up after a shift at the mall. Eddie’s van isn’t outside, and Steve’s never really been around Wayne without a buffer. He can’t just leave now though. They come up the stairs together. The screen door doesn’t squeak when Wayne pulls it open. 

“That was you,” he says, looking down at the freshly oiled hinge.

“Could have been Eddie.”

Wayne scoffs. “Eddie’s a great kid, but he’s too busy thinking about those elves or hearing music in his head to notice if the laundry needs doing or the door squeaks.”

That’s about right. Steve waves it away with his hand. “Details. He’s good at the important stuff.” Steve smiles, trying not to look like he thinks about Eddie or what he’s good at more than a normal friend would. 

“Been meaning to get around to it myself,” Wayne says. 

“It was just WD-40.” 

Wayne tilts his head noncommitally. “You want some dinner?”

Steve hopes he’s not smiling more than a person who knows dinner isn’t that big a deal would. It’s kind of a big deal though.

“My nephew thinks a lot of you,” Wayne says, while Steve hovers in the kitchen, trying not to get in the way.

“I think a lot of him too.” 

Wayne sort of hums to himself, and looks at Steve like he finally complimented the right thing. 

-*-

Eddie hates baseball just like he hates basketball and football and anything else involving balls unless they’re Steve’s balls and they’re in Eddie’s mouth. Which is something he actually said to Steve once. But he’s still sitting through this Reds game with Steve and Wayne. Steve brought the fried chicken. Wayne brought the beer. Eddie brought half a pie from the diner and a few new stories from his job bartending over at the Hideout. He’s telling them in snippets during the commercial breaks, acting them out like he’s the show the baseball game is interrupting. He makes them funnier than they probably were at the time, rubber faces and fake voices like when he’s playing D&D. Steve hopes he doesn’t look more fond than a regular friend would be. Wayne looks pretty fond too though, that smile basically the equivalent of a laugh for him.

He finally does laugh out loud, waving Eddie away from his spot in front of the TV. “All right, all right, fucking sit down. We just missed a double. And I know you made that shit about the raccoon up.”

“Hand to God that happened.” Eddie flops down on the couch next to Steve. “He had it on his shoulder. He ordered it a beer in a shot glass.” He nudges Steve in the side. “You believe me, right?”

Steve isn’t sure if he does, but- “I’ve seen weirder.”

“Pray tell,” Eddie says. 

Steve can’t exactly talk about Dustin feeding a demodog candy. He changes the subject. “They look better this season.”

“Not that much better,” Wayne says skeptically.

“Why do you guys even bother watching a bad team play a boring game?” Eddie asks.

Wayne just shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve always had a soft spot for an underdog.”

_*_

Steve’s in Eddie’s bed a couple weeks later. Eddie overlapping him, with his face nuzzled into Steve’s neck, his spent cock nestled against Steve’s thigh. He’s mouthing idly at Steve’s moles, letting Steve drag fingers through his hair, untangle the tangles. It still feels like a gift to be able to touch Eddie like this. Hold him against Steve’s chest. Play with his hair or the rings on his fingers. See him soft and unguarded and looking at Steve like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. But Steve’s learning not to be surprised that he gets to have this. That Eddie wants him to have it. That Eddie wants it too.

“I missed you,” Eddie says. His fingers stroke over Steve’s hole, pressing against the sore heat of his rim.

Steve’s cheeks go warm. “You see me almost every day.”

“I know, but I don’t get to fuck you every time I see you.” Steve rolls his eyes. Eddie tucks two fingers inside him, making Steve’s mouth fall open on a gasp. He sets his chin on Steve’s chest, looking up innocently through his bangs. “Can you come over Friday? Wayne has his bowling league, and I want to make you come until you cry.”

Steve still doesn’t really know why Eddie talking about him like that makes a spike of heat go straight to his dick, but he’s learning not to be surprised by that either. Eddie presses his fingers deeper inside. Steve clenches, a sharp “Ah” knocked out of him as Eddie nudges against his prostate. “I actually-” Eddie does it against, presses in right where it makes Steve ache. He trembles a little, forcing himself to keep talking. “I actually told Wayne I would go with him. To his league.” 

“What?” Eddie’s brow furrows. “Can’t you cancel?”

Steve looks at him disapprovingly. “I’m not gonna cancel on him.” Eddie gives one more push against Steve’s prostate, almost vindictive, before he pulls his fingers out. “And don’t you have Hellfire?” 

“Gareth and Jeff are both out of town. Vacation.” Eddie’s pouting in a way Steve would find hilarious if he wasn’t trying to sabotage all Steve’s hard earned progress with Wayne.

“Come on. He’s barely started liking me.”

“Exactly,” Eddie says. “I’ve liked you so much longer. I should get first dibs.”

Steve laughs. Eddie scowls at him. 

“You’re being an asshole,” Steve points out. 

“I just think it’s a little weird how much you’re hanging out with him now,” Eddie says. “And why did he ask you to join his bowling league?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it hanging out,” Steve says. “Mostly I’ve been helping him patch the roof. You’re welcome by the way. The leak was in your room. And he asked me because I’m really fucking good at bowling.”

“Of course you are,” Eddie says. “Fucking perfect son. I bet dads try to pick you up at the grocery store to take you fishing or play catch.” Steve thinks about his own dad. How Steve’s started changing into his Scoops uniform after he gets to the mall so he doesn’t have to see his dad trying not to look at him. Not really trying to hide the disdain. “Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie says, all the sharp edges falling from his voice. 

Steve tries to wipe whatever Eddie’s seeing on his face away. 

“You were right. I’m an asshole.”  Eddie cups his cheek, runs his thumb across Steve’s lips. He lays a quick kiss on Steve’s mouth. “Will you forgive me if I share Wayne with you?” He offers his hand like they’re going to shake on it, then takes it back. “You just have to promise not to start liking him better than me.” He points mock threateningly at Steve to make it a joke, but Steve can tell there’s a little bit of something true underneath. “And promise not to make him start liking you more than he likes me either.” 

“That would never happen."

“I don’t know. You guys have a lot in common.”

“Mostly the thing we have in common is we’re both pretty big fans of you.” Steve shakes Eddie’s hand. And kisses him right in the middle of his wide grin. Catching more teeth than anything until Eddie scoots up, tilts his head to give Steve a better angle. Steve makes it a real kiss, lingering in the familiar curve of Eddie's lips. When he pulls back far enough to breath, he tilts his forehead against Eddie’s. “I love you the most of any Munson.”

“You only know two Munsons,” Eddie says. “But I’ll take it.”

“I love you the most,” Steve says, smiling.

“Good,” Eddie says. “That makes us even.” And kisses him again.

[coco-loco-nut]

Revelations

pairing: Daniel x reader

summary: Daniel casually mentions his wife after 11 YEARS OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. Danny Ric comeback. 2025 season, he is back on rbr

request are open pookie masterlist part 2

—————————

Being an engineer for Red Bull was something else. You have been with them since you graduated college, and truthfully you never want to leave, the team is your family, having been with them for 11 years.

You met your husband through your job, both starting at the ripe old age of 23, and despite the potential HR violations, Christian Horner practically set the two of you up on a date after being oblivious about each other’s crushes. Thus began Red Bull’s best kept secret.

“Happy 10 years, Danny,” you kiss your husband, him watching you analyze data. Christian made him promise to never use you as a mole, and the two of you very quickly agreed. Even when he was on Renault and McLaren, work talk was kept quiet. Daniel had a great season last year and was brought back to Red Bull Racing, Christian promoted you to be his race engineer, knowing Daniel would listen to you.

“Happy 10 years, my love,” he hugs you tight. Your children are home in Australia with their grandparents for the weekend.

“Good morning, Ricciardos. Happy wedding anniversary,” Christian greets you, sitting for the pre-race meeting. Christian celebrates your wedding anniversary almost as much as you do, but he is a part of the family. He officiated your wedding at this track 10 years ago today, and he is the godfather of your eldest.

“Good morning, I printed out some data sheets so we can determine strategy. I noticed some unusual tyre degradation, while it could be from the unusually high track temperatures yesterday, it is something we should plan for today,” you start, passing out the papers. Daniel will never not be able to admire you. Sometimes he misses what people say because he stares at you, the exact reason Christian helped get you two together.

“Let’s grab some coffee then go on a track walk,” Daniel holds his hand out to you after the strategy meeting, you happily take it. After your lap around the track, you meet with the other engineers while Daniel warms up and does media. As you are watching the F2 race for valuable data, someone from PR comes over to you.

“Watch this clip,” she says and you oblige.

Daniel, you seem in better spirits than usual, care to share?

I don’t know mate, I am usually a pretty happy person.

Here I was thinking that maybe you finally had a girlfriend

Nah, I don’t think my wife would be happy about that… I wasn’t really supposed to say that. If you are watching, sorry! I’ll make it up to you, love.

Well, I hope there isn’t a couch in your future. Good luck today.

Thanks, but she’s put up with me for 11 years, I doubt there will be a couch in the future.

“Oh, he might have the couch tonight,” you laugh a little, honestly surprised it took 11 years for him to accidentally say something.

“Looking back at all the photos, he is wearing a wedding ring, how did we not see that?” You hear one of the Mercedes drivers say outside the garage.

“You saw the video?” Daniel asks as you playfully glare at him.

“I did. I have a winning strategy for you, so maybe you can move off the couch tonight. Lose and you stay there longer,” you tease. Being his race engineer helps so much because you can subtly say things and no one picks it up, and any interactions between you seem normal.

“Yes, Mrs. Ricciardo,” he smiles and goes to get changed for the race.

Last car in, good luck Daniel

I don’t need luck, I have you guiding my race

Ok, Daniel, whatever you say

The strategy works out well, and planning for the hotter heat was a smart move. Christian hasn’t told you not to race with Max, so you push Daniel for the overtake.

“Come on, honey badger,” you whisper. Daniel has had the better strategy and better pacing, all day so he easily overtakes and keeps the lead through the final five laps.

Okay Daniel, last lap, Verstappen behind, keep the pace.

Does this mean I’m off the couch?

Focus.

Sorry.

And that’s P1, P1 very good, Daniel. Red Bull 1-2. You are officially off of the couch.

LET’S GO! Thank you team! I couldn’t have done it without you guys. Thanks for the brilliant strategy, and for letting me off the couch. Best wife ever.

Mhmm. Happy 10 years. Parc Ferme is clear for you, pull in so the team can celebrate.

Let’s just say that F1 TV streaming your radio broke the internet, and the drivers when they all got out of their cars and into the garages. You followed the team to wear Daniel was parking and the team pushed you to the front. Daniel celebrated there with the team, taking his helmet off and kissing you. The team wolf whistles around you.

“Go to the podium, we will celebrate with you there,” you push him in the direction of where he needs to go. Unknowingly to Daniel, Red Bull chooses you to represent them for the Constructors Trophy.

“Mate, how did you keep that a secret?” Oscar asks Daniel in the debrief room.

“It wasn’t much of a secret. Everyone in Red Bull knows most of the relationship,” Max says and Daniel nods along.

“Honestly, I don’t know how people didn’t know,” Daniel laughs. The FIA tells them to start heading out to the Podium and Daniel searches the crowd for you when he steps out, but can’t find you. He’s shocked but extremely delighted when you step out and stand beside Oscar for the Constructors trophy. The mischievous glint in his eye is a loud warning that you will be sprayed with champagne. You happily stand through the national anthems, clap when Daniel is handed the trophy, and beam with joy as you are handed the second trophy. Soon enough you are presented with champagne and the go ahead to spray it is given.

“Max!” you squeal and hide behind him as you both spray Daniel.

“Quit hiding my wife!” Daniel laughs and in a split second, your cover is gone as Max moves to spray Oscar. You and Daniel both pour the champagne in each other’s mouth.

“Ew, that’s almost as bad as if you guys were to kiss,” Max laughs. Daniel gives you a devilish smile, pulling you close to him and capturing you lips with his.

“The kids are going to be so grossed out,” you laugh and Oscar looks almost horrified.

“THE KIDS?!”

[seresinhangmanjake]

Fluff for Feyd, reader tells him that she’s proud of him and it’s the first time someone’s said that to him genuinely 🩵

Feyd-Rautha x reader

All He Knew

Summary: Feyd deals with the emotional aftermath of protecting you from his uncle.

Notes/Warnings: mention of past abuse, mention of death, and vulnerability. It's fluffy-ish and angsty-ish, and slightly different, but I still kept in the main idea. Hopefully you still like it :)

Words: 1150

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

You knew the second your husband’s blade went through the Baron’s neck that his whole world would change. Everything inside of him would disconnect. The pieces of his inner self would scatter chaotically, and he would no longer know who to be. You knew because of the power his uncle held over him for the majority of his life. 

After Feyd killed his mother, the Baron was all he had. And how do you go from having the fullness of an overbearing presence on your shoulders—miserable as it was—to nothing? By killing the Baron, Feyd excised a part of himself, as if some creature had sauntered up to his side and taken a big bite out of his body. And now there’s a chunk missing that you fear cannot be filled, even by you. 

He cries when he thinks you’re asleep. And though you continue to feign unconsciousness as you roll over and drape your arm over his waist, it’s not always enough to stop the tears. Part of you knew it wouldn’t be, but you still hoped. You hoped that having you beside him would remind him why he did what he did. 

The Baron had ordered your execution because you were taking too long to provide an heir, and as you were dragged in front of the old man to answer for your ‘crime’, Feyd was nowhere near to protect you. The Baron was smart—he took you from the comfort of your bed in the early morning as your husband was training for another fight in the arena. The plan was simple, and Feyd wouldn’t know about your fate until it was too late. He wouldn’t be able to save you. 

But he did, somehow. Your best guess is that Feyd has a mole, or many, throughout the Harkonnen fortress to relay everyone’s movements, because Feyd was rushing into the room and thrusting his blade into squishy flesh just as the order to end your life was leaving the Baron’s lips. And in those quick seconds, your husband was changed. 

You don’t know how to bring him back to you. At least, you didn’t. You wrestled with it for days until it dawned on you that what he might need is not necessarily your touch or the reminder that he still has a wife, but instead, the words he deserves to hear. 

—

“Feyd, I’m proud of you.”

You’ve been watching him all morning, standing aside, not wanting to interrupt his process of slowly nipping away at a training dummy with his knife. There are holes of all sorts in the torso, both deep and shallow, and slashes across the inanimate face. It has lost both its legs. One arm hangs on by what would be a thin cord of skin were it human. When your words reach him from the other side of the room, he pauses mid-swing. 

“You did a hard thing,” you continue as his arm drops to his side and he straightens his stance from a fighters position. “You did a painful thing.”

His adam’s apple bobs. He sighs and stares down at the blade, the sharp point digging into his index finger as he twirls it. He has yet to look at you in the hour you’ve been here, and with the unpredictability of your husband, you don’t know what he’s going to do next. But you wait, patiently, because that is what you can do for him. 

“I wouldn’t let him take you from me,” he finally says. The blade stabs into the gut of the dummy. “He’s damaged me enough.”

That’s all he gives you. Your heart shatters for him and for the walls he’s been building between you since he killed his uncle; walls that took you ages to tear down after you married him. You’d done so well at getting him to trust and love you, and you hate to watch the bricks stacking as the minutes pass. 

“Since when are you proud when I kill?” he asks. 

And it’s a fair question. You’ve never been a fan of the death that wreaks through the halls of the Harkonnen fortress. You’ve never enjoyed his triumphs in the arena. But this is different, and so you must handle it differently, with a gentle hand and well-chosen words, despite what those words may bring.

He hasn’t often handled well certain topics that you’ve tried to bring up in the past. Risky topics, you learned. Topics that have usually left him drawing away from you until the next morning comes and he can pretend as if you never brought them up.

When you’ve asked about his parents, he gets fidgety; can’t stand still, can’t stop messing with his hands, can’t look you in the eye for more than a quarter of a second. He’s unlike the husband you know. When you’ve asked about his uncle, he’s worse. He’s more than just unlike your husband, he detaches himself from the moment completely. He becomes stiff as a board; a statue with a faraway gaze in his eyes. He offers few words. But those reactions are enough for you to assume the truth of his past without him giving you more than the little he has.

“Feyd, he was abusive,” you say, closing the distance between you. “You ended someone who had power over you for years. Of course I’m proud of you.”

“It’s not as if I did it for me; I did it to save you.”

“You did it,” you tell him. “You did it when you needed to protect us most. You didn’t let him hurt me and force you to accept his justifications for doing so. That's what matters.”

Long beats pass that grow longer with each one. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears so violently that they feel stuffed with cotton. You fear his reaction; a further pulling away from you—something you’re not sure you’ll be able to take. But then he drops the knife to the floor, turns to you, and tucks his head into the space where your neck meets your shoulder. 

His arms slowly snake around your waist and squeeze you tight, and you’re struggling to breathe properly, but you don’t care because the half-built brick wall just tumbled down. He needs you. 

His exhales shakily graze over your collarbone. A droplet forges a path down your chest, disappearing into your cleavage and leaving a chilled trail in its wake. You raise your hand to the back of his head and hold him against you, letting more droplets trickle down your body, letting your skin muffle sobs.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” you whisper.

He inhales, breathing you in, and then says, “There’s not a life where I wouldn’t have done it for you.”

“I know,” you tell him. 

“It shouldn’t hurt.”

“It’s allowed to hurt,” you say. “He’s all you knew.”

[alchemistc]

He'd had a dream about this, once. Sweat still cooling, sheets tangled at his feet, a view of Eddie Diaz's bedroom ceiling.

Sue him - Tommy's not the first guy who ever had a raunchy dream about a straight friend. For a few weeks there, both Diaz and Evan Buckley had featured heavily in his rotation. And then Evan had tried to murder his best friend and Tommy had kissed him about it and now...

Tommy shifts his weight. Slides his hand across the sheets - Evan's sheets, still familiar even if the location has changed. Christ, why had Eddie never scraped the popcorn off his ceiling? It's an easy job, really, even if it is painfully boring and time consuming, he could -

The hand that curls around his neck, just under his jaw, is light, careful, still possibly covered in Tommy's cum.

"I missed you," Evan says, and Tommy feels the panic bubbling under his skin, a miasma of humming thrumming reminders that this had been a bad idea from the start. That "randomly" running into his ex three shots deep at the bar had been one of his shittier plans, fueled by his own tipsy jealousy at seeing Evan's drinking partner grinning at him for a good hour while Tommy got progressively worse at pool.

He opens his mouth to let Evan down. He can't do this There's no world where this changes anything. For Christ's sake, he'd only done it because the possessive monster inside of him had heard Evan introduce him to Ravi Panikkar as 'my... Tommy' and the rest of his brain had left the fucking building.

"Everything is so screwed, Tommy. Eddie, and Maddie, and - I just. I want to work on this. I want - I know I didn't say it right before, but everything went to shit that day and if we could just..."

He's always done this. Fucked Tommy to the brink of brainlessness and then proceeded to talk a mile a minute like the sex they'd had was inspirational and energizing. Tommy'd been endeared by it from the start. He still is.

He fucking hates that.

"I can - we can go slow. You set the pace, Tommy, I promise."

"Buck," he starts, and everything in Evan shuts down all at once.

He's done a poor job of keeping that line drawn in his own head - all these months later and he still thinks too much about him, still thinks of him as Evan, and it's a shitty thing to do when they're both fully aware that it's something of a treat for both of them - that name that's been mostly Tommy's since the day Buck found himself at the academy with three Evan's and grinned his way through a nicknaming process.

Evan's hand unfurls from its spot, fingers slipping from where they'd been working at his earlobe. He's gone from soft and pliant glued to Tommy's side, to stiff as he rolls away, sheets travelling with him, and Tommy doesn't fight it when they shift free of him, leaving him bare as the day he was born.

At least he's got his trusty fucking walls. Those at least will keep Evan from glancing up and seeing him break his own heart in two twice over.

Evan rolls to a sit, heaves his legs over the bed. In the soft light Tommy can map out the constellation of moles on his curved back as he drops his head into his hands.

The silence is deafening.

"I, uh ... I think you should go?"

Tommy's certain he doesn't mean for it to sound like a question. He's also certain Evan Buckley has never once in his life been anything but a novice at hiding emotion in his face, body language, voice.

He's pretty sure they could do this a hundred times and Evan might just let him.

Tommy doesn't speak as he gathers his clothes. Doesn't speak as he steals furtive glances around the hem of his T-shirt, doesn't speak as he realizes he didn't even make time for cleanup so he's definitely driving home with the evidence of this night still fucking on him.

Evan's still cradling his head in his hands when Tommy shoves his foot into a boot, not bothering with laces because maybe he'll just fucking trip on the curb and fall into oncoming traffic. It might be the better option.

"I'm -."

"Don't," Evan says, just loud enough for Tommy to know he's barking around a phlegmy throat. "This is worse, just so you know. It was already bad, Tommy..."

Tommy expects there to be more, but there isn't anything. Evan's shoulders heave, and Tommy grabs his keys and phone off the side table, and he blinks and he's somehow out the door, eyes stinging and blood rushing in his ears and he honestly shouldn't be driving but he's not gonna leave his fucking truck here.

He's not entirely sure how he makes it home. He comes back to himself with scalding hot water washing away the evidence of his fuck-up, throat sore and jaw tight and his phone blowing up on the bathroom countertop.

He shouldn't feel the vindication he does that at least this time he milked enough emotion out of Evan to make him send fourteen - his phone buzzes again - fifteen texts in a row.

He feels it anyway, and just to dig the knife deeper into his own chest he shuts his phone off for the night the moment he's towelled himself dry.

Tomorrow. He'll figure it out tomorrow.

He's been telling himself that for five months - a year - his whole fucking life. Maybe one day he'll be telling the truth.

[justwinginglife]

So another request hehe but this would be my last one (for the meantime) since I don't want to flood your inbox.

I'm thinking about Hoshina with a Lieutenant reader that has a Disney Princess ability, like ya know the animal whisperer sort of thing. The reader is known for being loved by animals by the third division, so they called them a Disney Princess. They always saw the reader with a random animal in the middle of the battlefield and since then the whole division had a bet on what would be the animal they will be seen every time they enter the battlefield, or how many. One time they got attacked by a Wolf Kaiju, they thought they already killed all of the Kaiju's but Okonogi kept on saying there's still one left, and the reader is missing. When they found the Kaiju, they also found the reader who's now giving the Wolf Kaiju a belly rub.

/⁠ᐠ⁠｡⁠ꞈ⁠｡⁠ᐟ⁠\ -requester

I swear this request has been in my inbox so long it literally, actually collected dust and for that, I'm sorry. Thank you for your patience. Hope you like this!

Crushes and Crowns

Approx Word Count: 3800 Tags: idk, something like, "Hoshina is a silly brat but you love him anyway" and more Third Divison Shenanigans

“Evening, Princess!”

“Rough day, Princess?”

“See you later, Princess!”

You shook your head, laughing to yourself, as you made your way through the Third Division’s halls. Despite your protesting of this new nickname you’d earned, the soldiers continued to use it anyway (overuse it, really), and it’d started to grow on you (though you still found it rather silly.)

You still remembered the day you’d been dubbed, “Princess.” It was your fourth time in one week, bringing home an animal to the base, and it wasn’t even your fault. Your entire childhood, animals had been drawn to you, and it seemed that none of that had changed in your adulthood. It wasn’t like you purposely brought them along with you, they just…followed wherever you went. The first day you’d settled into the dorms, you’d tracked bees inside. No one had thought much of it at first, as you had brought flowers to brighten up your living space. The second time, a raccoon had trailed in behind you, eager to make its home beneath your bed. The third time, you’d come home with bags upon bags of clothes from your latest shopping spree, and when a bag slipped from your arms, a stray dog had caught it and walked it back to base for you. Soon, it became a running joke that the next time you tracked in an animal, it’d be a horse, as the animals you attracted seemed to be getting bigger and bigger in size. Or maybe this was how they discovered unicorns really existed, was when it sauntered in beside you after your next outing. 

It was honestly a wonder how you hadn’t been crowned “Princess” sooner, when your Defense Force exam was only made memorable because a flock of crows had suddenly flooded the arena during the test, working to distract the Kaiju while you took them out, one by one. It was even more peculiar that crows weren’t local to that area, and even if they had been, that would not have been the season to see them. 

Either way, as bizarre as these events were, you had never deemed them a result of any particular skill on your part. You just assumed it was pure coincidence that animals were drawn to you. Maybe you had an attractive scent; that couldn’t be helped. 

It wasn’t until you started showing up to battle with an animal by your side -completely unprompted- that you thought to yourself, maybe you were what they called an animal whisperer. You could coo to the birds and call them to your aid, you could click your tongue and the moles would burrow out of the ground, you could whistle to the wolves and they’d bound to your side, even the snakes (as stubborn and self serving as they were) answered to your every beck and call. At this point, it seemed there was no beast alive that you couldn’t tame. Or man, for that matter.

And recently, you’d had your eye on one Vice Captain Hoshina of the Defense Force’s Third Division. 

While you had eventually, begrudgingly accepted the title of “Princess” (after weeks of scrunching up your nose and wrinkling your brows at the name), you’d never had any real desire for the name to grace your ears. That is, until you fell in love with the Vice Captain, the one person who did not use your ridiculous nickname. And now, after having been accustomed to the pet name (being smothered with it, really), you developed a sudden longing for him to one day take you by the hand, look deep into your eyes, and whisper to you lovingly, “Princess,” as though it were a name only he could bestow. It was all you could think about. He was all you could think about.

It wasn’t difficult in the slightest to fall completely and totally in love with him. Not at all. While you had long proven yourself an asset to the Defense Force, you still remember the days when your every achievement was attributed solely to your animal help on the field. Hoshina was the first person to acknowledge that, while you’d had help, it’d been due to your skill and your skill alone that you achieved what you did. Making an impossible shot, your bullets piercing through a kaiju core with exact precision, even despite the flock of animals crowding around your shot- that accomplishment was the result of your tireless effort and dedication to honing your craft, and the recognition and rewards for such a talent belonged to you and you only. The animals may have done their part, but at the end of the day, it was you firing the shot, you ending the fight before lives could be lost, you saving the day. And you were invaluable to him. 

 Of course, you longed to be more than just an asset to him. 

If he wasn’t interested in you, it wasn't for lack of trying on your part. You noticed he always got up early to go for a run, so you’d join him on his runs. Every single day, without fail, you’d jog up to him, saying, “Fancy meeting you here,” like it was pure coincidence that you just so happened to be up at the crack of dawn even though you’d never woken up so early in your entire life, and you just so happened to run along the same path as him at the same time as him and the same pace as him. He’d laugh. Play along. Every single day, without fail, “What a coincidence,” He’d say with a grin. Some days, you wouldn’t talk much. You’d simply keep pace beside each other, enjoying the crisp, fresh air as your breaths painted clouds of white into the morning sky, and it’d be enough. Other days, he’d acknowledge that he knew you were coming. He’d hand you an extra bottle of water because he’d brought two. He’d pull out his portable speaker because you kept asking him what he was listening to on these runs. Sometimes, if you were late, you’d find him stretching on a nearby bench, and when you’d ask him why he hadn’t started his run yet, he’d raise an eyebrow to you like it was only obvious. He was waiting for you. Of course he was waiting for you. But was it just because he was used to you? Being his running partner didn’t mean you were anything else to him. 

So you’d snag seats by him on the transport to the battlefield. Ask if he’d gotten a chance to eat lunch or dinner before the alarm had gone off. If he said yes, you’d tease him for not sharing. If he said no, you’d slip him a snack. He’d nod his head in thanks, and tell you, with a playful grin, that he’d protect your gift with his life. You’d tell him to worry about protecting himself. Tell him that if he slipped up in combat and you ended up having to go on your morning runs by yourself, you’d strangle his ghost. He’d give a little chuckle, and then make his lighthearted promises to you that he’d do his best to remain in one piece. You wondered if he’d ever promise you anything else. 

But life went on, your relationship with him progressed at a snail’s pace, and the Third Division remained as rowdy as ever. You discovered that their latest source of entertainment was a betting pool. About you. 

It’d become common knowledge on base that wherever you were, the animals followed. Even if you made a trip overseas, they were sure that some sort of whale or shark or dolphin would accompany you on your journey. So they began to place their bets on what animal would make their appearance during your next march into battle. 

Haruichi mused that perhaps you’d appear with a fox by your side. 

Iharu swore that a fox was too meager, and you were more likely to show up with a bear bounding behind you. 

Ichikawa ruminated that it was possible a peacock would be your next companion. 

Kafka bellowed with laughter, telling them all that they were thinking too small. He was sure you’d find some way to will dragons into existence and bend them to your command. 

Platoon Leader Nakanoshima chided them all for being childish, but inside, she was hoping you’d bring home a kitten next time. 

Everyone had their guesses and though you found them outlandish, you were curious to hear what Hoshina’s prediction was. 

“Any thoughts, Vice Captain?”

He raised an amused brow to you. “Thoughts? On the betting pool? You’re really buying into what everyone is saying? That you’re some sort of animal goddess with the power to commune with nature?” 

“No, of course not!” Your cheeks burst into flames. “That….that would just be stupid…” You grumbled to yourself, a slight pout on your lips, as you turned away from him. 

He leaned into your field of view once more, head cocked, a cheeky grin dashed across his face. “I see, I see. So you were hoping to be some sort of deity after all.”

“I would never-!”

“Pufferfish.”

Your thoughts halted in their tracks. “A what??”

He grinned slyly. “You heard me. Bring a pufferfish next time.”

“To a BATTLEFIELD??? On LAND???”

He shrugged innocently, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. “I dunno, maybe you could blow it up big and hang it on a string, like it’s a balloon, or something,” 

“You really are just teasing me, Hoshina!” 

“I would never.”

“You told me that you found a shortcut on our little running trail the other day and led me straight through mud.” You made a show out of glaring at him. 

He burst into laughter, shoulders quaking as he wiped tears from his eyes. “I didn’t think you’d believe me! We’ve run that path so much, I thought you’d know there was no shortcut. And besides, that’s more of a prank and less of a tease, so your argument is invalid.” 

You would’ve fired back at him. Would’ve combat his teasing with a witty rebuttal. Maybe you would’ve even feigned upset and pretended to give him the cold shoulder just so he’d beg you to understand that he was just joking and he would never be so careless with your feelings. But you never got the chance to. 

The red alarm went off.

Hoshina’s lax demeanor instantly went rigid, solemnity crossing over his face as he popped his comms in to receive a report of the situation. You zipped up your suit as you watched him nod his head in response to the report. He gestured for you to follow him as he made his way to the door. 

“Honju. Ruins outside of town.” He mouthed to you.

You kept pace with him as he began speeding towards the transport, tying your hair up into a ponytail on the way. Along the way, the two of you collected soldiers, updating them on the situation as you all rushed to pull your gear together. 

The atmosphere should’ve been tense, the adrenaline buzzing, the fear of death lurking around the corner, the fear of failing your country looming in the air. But it wasn’t. Not when you were around. Your fellow officers raced to catch up to you, whispering to each other, “So did you bet on cougar or coyote this time?” They’d snicker to each other as they made their arguments on which situation was more likely. 

Even Hoshina couldn’t help but notice the lighthearted environment. “That’s enough chit chat, everyone in your vehicles now. And besides…I’m betting on a phoenix.” He winked and then hopped in the truck.

A phoenix??? Now he was on team mythical?? You groaned to yourself as you slunk in beside him. “You’re really setting the bar high, you know that?” You grumbled under your breath.

He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “If anyone can do it, it’s you... Princess.”

Your heart choked on its own rhythm, stuttering to a stop. He said it. He really, actually, truly fucking said it. And by god, you were not prepared in the slightest. Was the room spinning? Was the air increasingly thin? Had the sun filed in behind all the soldiers and made camp in this truck? Why were you sweltering and shivering all at once? 

He bit back a laugh, opting instead to clear his throat into his fist. “Cat got your tongue?”

“P-pufferfish.” You mumbled meekly. “Thought you…wanted a pufferfish.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, chest shuddering, as he attempted to swallow down his own laughter. You were adorable, how else was he supposed to describe it? And how the hell was he supposed to contain himself? And in a truck full of people, no less. He was lucky they were all distracted with placing their bets, because he couldn’t help sneaking a look at your rose-tinted cheeks and it sent his heart into overdrive. 

He might’ve reached out to caress them or pinch them, anything to touch them, and soothe his sanity. But then the truck stopped.

“Time to move out.” He ordered.

The soldiers spilled out of the car, and you were left to stumble behind them. Hoshina glanced back at you, suddenly aware that he’d left you all too dazed, and he immediately regretted teasing you so close to battle. He instructed a Platoon Leader to take you into their care, assigning their squad to the very back of the line. On any other day, you might’ve felt offended that he was benching you. But today, you hadn’t even noticed. How could you, when your heart was sprinting in dizzying circles in your chest? Could you even remember how to breathe? Did you remember what oxygen was? Sheer muscle memory allowed you to lock and load your gun, but your heart had no previous practice with gallivanting through sunny meadows and rainbowed skies. By the time you even realized what platoon you’d been assigned to, Hoshina was long gone. 

He had rushed to the front lines, as he often did, slashing a path through his every foe with ease, until he reached his designated target. There it stood, hulking and howling, a Honju with a wolvish appearance- a beast among beasts. Hoshina noted to himself that it must have been the Alpha of the pack, as every bark and grunt appeared to be individual commands given to the Yoju that were currently swarming his comrades. He’d be sure to take it out quickly; he had to disrupt their chain of command. After all, he’d never forgive himself if even one of them caused any harm to you. Even as the last line of defense, you were still much too close to the battle for his liking. He trusted your skills, but he rebuked himself for the state he’d left you in. He’d be sure to finish this battle soon, and rush back to your side for a celebratory beer.

But even with all his talent, Hoshina was reminded that there was no such thing as a sure victory in battle. When he had decided to engage the Honju in battle, he had expected it to react much like a Kaiju would. He would attack and, having nothing but primal instincts to guide it, the Honju should respond in kind, bearing its fangs in retaliation. And, of course, it did at first. Hoshina’s blades clashed with its claws, weapons that somehow rivaled his own in both integrity and ferocity, and for a moment, it appeared as though it were anyone’s battle to win, with both sides equally as charged and tenacious. But it quickly became evident that Hoshina was stronger. And after a couple of fiery exchanges, the beast made the decision to retreat, its more animalistic nature winning out over its monstrous nature. Wolves, after all, hunt in packs and, even as the leader, a lone wolf is smart enough to know when to withdraw. 

Hoshina pursued its quickly fleeing figure but it was to no avail. Even tracking it did no good, and he eventually made the decision to rejoin his officers in the field, clearing out the remaining Yoju. By the time the battle was over, he had almost been able to forget the humiliating draw between him and the Honju. That is, until Okonogi chimed in on his comms.

“Vice Captain, picking up one remaining Honju on the field, sir.”

He shook his head in frustration. “System must be acting up, Okonogi. I watched it retreat myself. It’s long gone by now.”

“No, sir. The readings are accurate. It’s still on the field.”

Hot blood surged through his veins. “Where?” He demanded. 

“Sector Bravo.”

In an instant, his blood ran cold. Bravo. That was your sector. The end of the defensive line. “Okonogi, get me a sitrep on all officers in Sector Bravo. Is everyone accounted for?” His heart thundered in his chest as he sped through alleyways and burst through ruined buildings, all the while, listening to her rattle off each individual officer’s status. He couldn’t very well tell her that no one’s status but yours mattered. 

“And finally, Officer L/N. Vitals normal.”

His breathing evened.

“But she appears to be secluded from the rest of the officers.”

His chest tightened. “She what??”

“For some reason, she’s in an abandoned part of the map.” Okonogi reported.

What on god’s earth were you doing out there alone?? His already-rapid pace increased even further. “Get me a status on the Honju.”

“It’s…oh. OH.”

“Okonogi-” He hissed.

“It’s closing in on her as we speak, Vice Captain-!”

She’d barely finished her sentence when he rocketed ahead, renewed strength and renewed desperation propelling him forward. 

No, no, no, no. He hadn’t even asked your favorite genre of music, hadn’t asked if you ever minded always listening to his. He hadn’t asked you if you wanted to go with him to see the new, upcoming movie. He hadn’t asked you if you even liked animals or if you just somehow always got stuck with them. He hadn’t asked your deepest fears or your sincerest wishes. He hadn’t gotten to know you as well as he’d wanted. And most importantly…he hadn’t told you how he felt. 

Right now, all he felt was panic. Terror. Anxiety. 

He heard that familiar growl again and it sent his stomach spiraling into a knot. Why wasn’t he faster? Why wouldn’t his feet obey him? Why couldn’t he simply sprout wings and fly???

Then he heard your laugh.

He stumbled into the clearing just in time to see you, rubbing the wolf’s belly. 

“Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are. Yes, you are! You’re not so scary now, are you? Just a lil hungry. Just a lil hungry baby. Have something for you, sweetie pie.” You yanked a nearby, rusted stop sign out of the ground and waved it back and forth. 

Eyes lighting up, the Honju lunged forward.

Hoshina’s feet reacted before his mind did and he was at your side in a split second, swords at the ready, eager to spill the Kaiju’s organs all over the pavement.

But the Honju didn’t attack you. He simply gnawed on the “stick” you’d given him as a treat. 

“Oh, Hoshina, you’re here. Hey.”

He blinked. ‘Hey?’ That was all he got? He literally broke the sound barrier, rushing to your aid, and he got a simple, ‘Hey?’

“Hoshina- meet Spot. Spot, meet my Vice Captain.”

His jaw dropped and shattered on the ground. “You NAMED it??”

You gave a sheepish laugh. “Well…I couldn’t very well kill it. Not when he’s being such a good boy for me. Aren’t you?”

As if in response, the wolf flopped onto its back once again, eager for more belly rubs, its wagging tail stirring up dirt. 

Hoshina waved away the dust, coughing. “He’s not a ‘good boy.’ He tried to kill me.”

“But that was then. This is now. Can’t you just let this one Kaiju off the hook?”

Disbelief, shock, and indignation warred within him. But in the end, he fell victim to your glimmering eyes and your perfectly pouted lips. He sighed. “I…I suppose the… the Captain has her own kaiju pet so…it wouldn’t be completely inconceivable for you to…also have one.” His shoulders slumped in defeat.

Your eyes lit up like fireworks. “Really?? Oh- you’re the absolute best, Soshiro!” Excitement overtaking any sense of rationality, you threw your arms around him and squeezed him tight. 

It wasn’t until he was properly snuggled into your embrace that you realized the gravity of what you’d said. And done. 

“S…Soshiro?” He asked weakly.

Your arms froze around his waist. “I…I meant...Hosh…Vice…I…”

His body began to quiver and you wondered if you’d really upset him to the point of being so shaken with rage. But then he rested his forehead against your shoulder, laughter tumbling out of his lips. “You really just skipped straight to first names like it was nothing,” He gasped out in between fits of laughter. 

You bit your lip, having no choice but to endure the shame and humiliation.

He finally stopped laughing enough to pull back and look at you, amusement painted clearly across his features. “Cat got your tongue?” He repeated his earlier words. “Princess.”

And there it was again. That same, overwhelming flood of crimson that rushed to the surface of your skin, enveloping every inch of your face. This time, even the tips of your ears had begun to dye themselves in the similar shade of rouge. 

“Aww. How cute. Fearless in the face of monsters, but speechless when it comes to me. Why is that?” His voice danced with that familiar, teasing tone. 

You attempted to shrink away from him but he caught you by the waist. 

“No running away from me now, Princess.” His tone suddenly dropped, his words a low purr. “Tell me. What’s got you so worked up?”

“If you’re asking me things like that, you already know.” You grumbled in complaint. He chuckled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’ll have to enlighten me.” 

“I like you. Stupid Soshiro.” You crossed your arms emphatically.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“I said you’re stupid, Soshiro!” 

He pressed his lips to yours, his taste intermingling with yours as he deepened the kiss.  “And…” He pulled away, leaving you entranced, “What was it you said before that?”

“...like you. Stupid.” You repeated meekly.

“Could’ve done without the stupid,” He grinned, “But I like you too. My princess.” He dipped his head down to smother his whispered words against the soft swell of your lips once again. And then he kept kissing you until your lips were chapped, until there was no question about his feelings for you. 

You’d never been too fond of your nickname before, but somehow, someway, whenever he murmured it the way he did, in that sickeningly sweet tone of his, as he buried his lips in yours, somehow- you felt like royalty.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @ouiouimochi @minasfwoopyponytail @inkytypewriter

[419jhat]

Not Just Friends

Summary: Eddie flirts with Steve constantly, and Steve flirts back. The lines start to blur, and Eddie gets all in his head about it, until he sees Steve with another guy and realizes that their weird little game was never that special at all. Or...maybe Steve's just a dumbass.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,230

***

“Family Video, this is Steve.”

“Hey, hot stuff, wanna make a big mistake?” Eddie asks.  

“You sure it wouldn't be a small mistake?” Steve shoots back with zero hesitation.

“What- I'll have you know, it would be a very big mistake, Harrington. Extra large, ok? Ok maybe not extra large but definitely large,” Eddie insists.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs, “did you call me this morning for a specific reason or are you awake with the sun for once on accident?”

Eddie clears his throat. He’ll never get over how easily Steve accepts the flirting. It makes him wonder what's going on in that pretty little head. Did he think Eddie was joking? Did he secretly like it?

“Do you want a movie or something? I'm free tonight,” Eddie asks, fiddling with the phone cord.

“What makes you think I'm free tonight?”

“The fact that you're never doing anything?” 

“Jesus, Munson. Or something.”

“What?” Eddie asks.

“I work at a movie store. I watch movies all day. No movies. I want the something.”

“It's a date,” Eddie dares to say.

“Whatever you say,” Steve says. Eddie can hear the smile in his voice just before the line goes dead. He feels a little accomplished, even if all he did was invite the guy over. Something he did every week at this point. But hey, this was progress, right?

He turns to look at the clutter in his bedroom and recalls the expression in Steve's face when he saw how dirty his old mattress was. 

He starts cleaning.

About an hour later, when he's been thoroughly sidetracked with reorganizing the miniatures on his dresser, he hears a knock at the door. He flings the bedsheet into something nicer than the crumpled mess it had been and rushed to the door.

“Welcome to my humble abode, your highness,” he says with as he opens the door. Steve's fanning his shirt, sweat dripping down his forehead, but still waits patiently for Eddie to get out of the way like the perfect little houseguest. When he does, Steve beelines straight for Eddie's bedroom. He strips his shirt off and collapses on the bed under the window AC, basking in the cool air.

“Damn, Harrington, I see how it is,” Eddie says, then he squeaks when Steve balls up his shirt and tosses it at his head.

“Can’t you buy me dinner first? I'm feeling used,” Eddie jokes.

Steve pats the bed next to him.  “Lay down next to me.”

Eddie listens, because he's a hopeless fool. He leaves some room between them, since he's already been coming on kind of strong today and doesn't want to scare Steve off for real. But then Steve closes the gap and rests his head on Eddie's chest.

He says something. Eddie's not sure what it is because he's too busy trying not to do something stupid like pulls steve on top of him and squeeze him as tight as he can.

“Hmm?” Eddie asks, when he realizes Steve is silent again.

“I said, do you want to turn on the radio?”

“Oh! Why didn't you say so?” Eddie asks with a nervous chuckle.

“I did,” Steve says.

Eddie balances on his elbow and awkwardly stretches to reach the radio without jostling Steve's head. He's starting to form a cramp in his wrist from twisting it all wrong just to reach the thing when the weight on his chest lifts and suddenly, a shirtless Steve Harrington has one arm braced by Eddie's head and the other reaching across him.

Eddie stares at the hair on his chest, the dusty nipples right within reach of his mouth, the little moles dotting across his skin, tanned from whatever it was he willingly did outside in the summer heat all day.

“Got it,” Steve says, and suddenly Madonna’s singing in the background.

“You changed the channel,” Eddie complains distractedly. His palms are sweaty. He's hoping and praying that Steve won't look at his face and see whatever expression he's making because just knows it's going to be embarrassing. And apparently the man upstairs is on his side because Steve just lowers himself right there, right onto Eddie's chest. 

“Your heart is racing,” he says.

Eddie can feel it, just like he can feel the rise and fall of Steve's chest with every breath, and the way his fingers curl around the hem of Eddie's t-shirt.

“Because you're so heavy,” Eddie scolds lightly, using the opportunity to touch the bare skin on Steve's back. He lets his hands linger there, and then decides to take a bigger risk and indulges a little, running his hand down his spine and then back up again to the soft hair at the nape of his neck. It's gotten a little long. He wonders if Steve's planning on growing it out as he plays with it.

“You know, people make fun of her, but Madonna is actually really talented. Did you see her new music video on MTV? She really knows how to stick it to the conservatives,” Eddie rambles. He's not sure why he's saying it. He respects Madonna, but he's more nervous of Steve realizing how weirdly intimate this position is and punching him in retaliation, or something.

“Yeah?” Steve asks. Eddie can feel his mouth moving against him as he speaks. And then, just because Steve is for some reason compelled by the universe to drive Eddie insane, he says, “I bet you could do better.”

Eddie tries not to scream.

~.~.~

Steve calls him next time. Doesn't even introduce himself, like he knows that the mere sound of his voice commands Eddie to do his bidding.

“Hey, man. Want me to pick you up after work?”

Eddie's never been one to need a plan to agree to something, but obviously he's going to say yes. Steve could invite him to sit in the ocean as the tide went up and he'd be perfectly fine doing it. 

“Sure,” he says casually. He tries to think of what else to say, but before he can, Steve's already hung up.

Eddie got a new job through Wayne's buddy at the local parks and rec center, cleaning up and maintaining their public spaces. It's outside, which practically burns his soul through the mandatory jumper he has to wear in the summer heat, but he likes that people leave him alone. The town still doesn't trust him, but he puts up with it for Wayne and the kids.

And Steve.

He stands outside and waits next to the tiny building his boss does all the paperwork in, blocking the sun from his face with his hand until he sees that familiar BMW rolling towards him.

“Did you have a good day?” Steve asks, because he's genuinely nice like that.

“Eh,” Eddie says as he climbs into the passenger seat, “I had to wash vomit off a slide from a kid's birthday party. I've had better.”

Steve's nose wrinkles with sympathy. He's got the windows down, probably because it's hot as balls outside, but it's whipping his hair all over the place. Eddie wants to reach over and fix it, but he's not so sure Steve would like that. He's so distracted by it all that he doesn't even notice they're pulling to a stop on the road that backs up to the quarry.

“What's going on?” Eddie asks.

Steve smiles wickedly.

“Wanna smoke?” he asks.

“Oh?” Eddie says, lifting an eyebrow. He didn't expect that. Especially since it's his weed Steve's asking to smoke.

“You asking or offering, Harrington?”

“Both,” he says coyly, pulling a spare joint from his box of cigarettes. It's one Eddie gave him a few days earlier. He lights up and passes it over, his hand hovering in the short space between them. Eddie stares, thinking about how Steve's lips were just on the end of it, and now his lips are going to be too. It's kind of like a kiss, in a way. The idea makes him blush.

“So…is this how you treat all the girls, big boy?” Eddie teases.

“What?” Steve asks. He doesn't sound angry, so Eddie keeps pushing. 

“A secluded parking spot in the woods at dusk, some weed, windows down. All we're missing is a little music and it could make a guy fall in love,” Eddie says, holding a hand to his heart.

Steve turns the keys in the ignition, bringing the radio and AC back to life.

“One can only dream,” Steve says with a wink that has no business being as smooth as it is.

And God, how Eddie can dream. He wonders yet again, if Steve is really this oblivious to their little game. 

Steve turns the car back off and runs a hand through his hair like he does when he's thinking hard about something. Eddie can only hope it's that he's suddenly realizing that he's into men. He takes the joint, willing himself to stop thinking of foolish things. 

With the car off, and it's starting to get disgustingly warm, so he focuses on that instead. Focuses so much on it that he ends up peeling the top half of his jumper off revealing an old ripped Metallica shirt.

“I'm sorry we couldn't save your guitar,” Steve says suddenly. 

“Hmm?” Eddie asks. He meets Steve's eyes in the rearview mirror. Steve's staring at his shirt. “Oh, it's ok. I mean, it isn't, actually. I'll miss that thing until the end of time. But that's kind of the point, right? I can miss it because you guys saved my life, so, it's fine.”

He's rambling, because it feels ungrateful to feel sad about the loss of his guitar. His baby. His one and only. 

Steve places a comforting hand just above his knee. It's warm, and weirdly intimate enough that it shakes Eddie out of his mournful thoughts.

“It's ok to be sad, man. You were pretty cool with that thing,” he says.

Eddie can't process Steve Harrington telling him he looked cool and touching his thigh at the same time. It's simply too much for him to handle. He takes another hit, keeping his mouth too busy to say something embarrassing. 

“I never got to see you perform. I mean, I saw a bit of your show in the upside down, but nothing else,” Steve says.

“I can play something for you sometime,” Eddie says, before he can think it through.

“You'd do that for me?” Steve asks. Which is a stupid question. Eddie would obviously do anything for Steve.

His hand is still on Eddie's thigh. Guys don't usually do that, do they? Was Steve flirting with him for once? Without provocation?

“Yeah, I've got another guitar. It's an acoustic, but it does the job.”

Steve's quiet for a moment. Long enough that Eddie focuses back on his fingers slowly tapping his knees, like he's thinking something through.

“You want to go swimming?” Steve asks.

“... really?” Eddie asks, surprised that Steve would even want to after everything that happened with the upside down. Steve seems to understand, because his expression softens and then he shrugs. 

“I think it would be easier if someone went with me,” he says softly.

It occurs to Eddie that this must have been Steve's plan the whole time, and maybe the weed and talk of guitars was just a distraction. It's honest and vulnerable enough that it makes him feel a little honored that he held Steve’s trust. He can't say no to that, so he agrees before he can even ask about swimsuits. 

Steve releases his knee and climbs out of the car, walking toward the Quarry with a look over his shoulder to check if Eddie's following. Eddie wipes the sweat from his brow and looks up just in time to see Steve removing his shirt. 

He can't look away, and that's how he gets the shock of his life when Steve removes his jeans too.

“Oh- uh,” Eddie stutters.

Then, off goes the underwear and Eddie's got an eye full of a round, tan, Harrington ass. 

At this point, the sun is setting and Eddie doubts anyone could see them in any amount of detail. But he doesn't know what to do with a naked hot dude right in front of him. Does he touch? He wants to touch. But Steve is confusing, and touching might not go well. Instead of standing around like a lovesick dumbass, Eddie wolf whistles and dramatically fans his face.

“Well, I'll be damned, Harrington. Maybe you're the extra large between the two of us!” he says, even though he can't actually see Steve's dick with him turned around. Steve completely ignores him.

“Come on!” he says, rushing toward the shoreline. Eddie quickly decides that he likes Steve enough to get naked with him, even if it's not in a sexy way. He kicks off his boots and leaps toward the water with a shout.

~.~.~

Steve’s got his head resting in the spot between Eddie's thigh and hip bone, competing for space next to his guitar as Eddie plucks away songs he knows he'd recognize.

“You're so talented,” Steve says, for the millionth time that night. He's repeating it over and over, pushing Eddie's ego sky high. 

“I just play what I hear,” he says humbly.

“I can't even sing what I hear,” Steve says with a little laugh. He's got his legs hanging over the edge of the couch, feet tapping along to the best as Eddie plays.

“It's not that hard. I can show you, if you want,” Eddie says.

Steve looks up at him through his hair. “Really?”

“Get up, buttercup, and I'll give you a short lesson,” Eddie says.

Steve lifts himself away from Eddie and sits up on the couch, shoving Wayne's favorite pillow into the floor. Eddie decides the pillow can survive the disrespect and shoves the only remaining shard of his shattered musical soul into Steve's arms. Steve holds onto it like it's made of glass, which is a good first step in Eddie's opinion.

Eddie moves Steve's fingers into the correct position to play Yesterday, which is kind of setting a beginner up for failure with the bar chords. 

“Move your other hand like this,” Eddie said, mimicking the strumming motion. Steve tries and fails. Eddie grabs his hand and tries to help, but he still doesn't get it. His brows are furrowed cutely as he focuses hard on the strings like they'll make it all work out for him.

“Let me show you,” Eddie says, pulling Steve so his back is pressed against Eddie's chest. He wraps his arms around him, pretending that being this close doesn't make him want to kiss the top of his shoulder and bear hug him until they fall asleep. He laces his fingers through Steve's, helping him feel exactly where to go.

“Your fingers go here, and your other hand moves like this,” he says over Steve's shoulder.

It's impractical and isn't teaching Steve anything. He just likes the feeling of Steve against him, the way he accepts Eddie's hands against his without any weird looks. Eddie hums the lyrics, a bit unable to stop himself because the song is a classic, until Steve lifts their hands away from the guitar and curls his fingers around Eddie's, looking at them closely. Steve pulls Eddie's hands close to his face and twists one of his rings, rubbing his thumb against the pad of Eddie's left pointer finger. He wishes he could see his expression.

“Is this what girls mean when they talk about guys that play guitar?” Steve finally asks.

Eddie laughs, sharp and loud, which makes Steve shoulder him away. 

“Don't shout in my ear,” Steve complains. 

Eddie scoots back on the couch, still laughing. Steve rolls his eyes and plucks at the guitar with his thumb.

“How often are girls telling you about guys that play guitar?”

“I mean, they talk,” Steve shrugs. 

“Oh yeah? What do they say?” Eddie teases, “that you're not doing a good enough job?”

Steve looks up at him sharp. No smile.

“They tell me how it feels,” he says.

Eddie pauses, brains scrambled, because Now he's imagining Steve describing how it feels and it goes straight to his dick. Which is awkward because they're sharing the same couch and Eddie isn't exactly sitting with his legs crossed.

Still, he wants to know more.

“How- uh- what do they say? About how it feels?” he stammers, shifting a little further from Steve. He's feeling a little hot under the collar, and he knows he's really pushing the limits, but he can't help it. Not when Steve's right there, egging him on. Because that's what this is, right? He's not alone in this. Steve has to know what he's doing.

As if to answer Eddie's silent question, Steve scoots closer, squeezing the guitar between them as he leans in, face only a few inches from Eddie's. His knee is digging into Eddie's crotch. If he moves his hips, he's sure Steve would learn just how little Eddie’s playing around. 

That makes him feel even hotter. 

He can feel a puff of hair against his face as Steve laughs lightly, face splitting into a perfect, teasing smile. Steve grabs Eddie's hands and places them around the guitar, fingers brushing against his forehead a moment longer than necessary.

“I don't kiss and tell, Munson,” he says, and then he gets off the couch, leaving Eddie hard as a rock.

~.~.~

Sometimes, Steve spends the night. He falls asleep after an hour of whispering nonsense back and forth in the dark, with his back pressed against Eddie's chest, arms curled close to his body. Then Eddie wakes up to see that Steve is already gone, like the shared heat on the mattress is just a figment of his imagination.

He tries not to let himself think it means anything. He always stays awake a moment longer, always lingering on the man in bed next to him, wondering when he'll finally be sure enough to put himself out of his misery by leaning over for a kiss. 

Then, at least he'll know what this is. 

This time, Eddie wakes up and it's still dark out. Someone is touching him. He turns and sees a figure in his bed, the blankets pooled around their waist.

“Eddie?” Steve asks sleepily.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

Now that his eyes are adjusting to the dark, he can see the outline of the moon leaning through the window blinds, turning Steve's hair stark white where the light hits it.

“You were having a nightmare,” Steve says, placing a hand on Eddie's chest. Eddie can feel his heart, frantic and stressed, under Steve's hand. “Are you ok?”

“I'm fine. I don't even remember it,” Eddie says.

Steve slumps down next to him and leans in. Something brushes against Eddie's cheek, something soft and sweet, so quick that Eddie nearly thinks he's dreamt it up- 

A kiss.

Steve just kissed him.

“Goodnight,” he says softly, rolling over like it was nothing. Like he didn't just steal Eddie's heart through his lips. Eddie roughly grabs Steve and hugs him from behind, pulling him as close as possible. He wants to merge into one with this man. He wants signs of Steve across every inch of his skin. Steve makes a sleepy noise of protest, but lets it all happen, and Eddie falls asleep happy with no room for nightmares anymore.

~.~.~

“Who the fuck is that?” Eddie asks, nose scrunched up with disgust. He's just entered Steve's house for some pool party the kids bullied him into hosting, and was instantly met with the most irritating sight he's ever laid eyes upon- a handsome stranger hanging off Steve's shoulder.

“Oh, it's Steve's friend from Italy. Gabriel,” Robin says with a roll of her eyes. “I didn't even know he had friends.”

“Hey, he has us! And the kids!” Eddie says, trying to pretend he isn't watching Steve like a hawk.

“You know what I mean,” Robins says.

Gabriel. 

Fucking Gabriel.

Eddie watches as Steve lingers around this other man. This man and his curly brown hair, lightly tanned skin, muscular body, and soft blue eyes. This man and his touchy hands that linger along Steve's body like they're glued together, playfully grabbing at Steve's sunglasses.

“How long has he known him?” Eddie asks defensively. He crosses his arms across his cropped Dio shirt, suddenly feeling a little inadequate in the presence of fucking Michelangelo over there. 

“Since they were kids,” Robin shrugs.

Eddie's heart feels tight. He's sure he's going to melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, or something equally dramatic. Because Steve is up and close in this random man's space, in a swimsuit nonetheless, showing off his hairy tits and chatting it up like it was totally normal to be practically in someone's lap.

Which, it was.

Between them.

Some girl Eddie doesn't recognize is laughing it up with Nancy and Jonathan off to the side. She's equally gorgeous and Eddie knows right away that she must have come from Italy too. 

Since when did Steve go to Italy? Was this some rich boy shit he'd never learned about? 

“Eddie's here!” Dustin yells from the pool. Eddie's saved from having to fake happiness around the kids by Mike tackling Dustin from behind. He's probably drowning or something, but Eddie's not too concerned because somewhere, music is getting louder and fucking Gabriel is pulling Steve up to dance. Steve and Gabriel move like it's second nature, laughing and a little too close, a little too much hip movement for it to be guys being guys.

Eddie didn't know Steve could dance. He didn't even know Steve liked disco. 

Why does it suddenly feel like he doesn't know Steve at all?

“Whoo! Those two are always like that,” the pretty girl says with a lazy smile. Nancy and Jonathan don't seem too shocked to see Steve acting like this, which is another sign that Eddie is a gullible fool.

“Are you alright?” Robin asks. She sounds worried. Eddie's not looking at her. He's watching Steve plant a kiss on Gabriel's cheek after their stupid little dance stops.

Eddie isn't alright. 

He feels like an idiot. 

He thought they had something special, but it turns out that Steve is just…like that.

He turns and walks into the kitchen, so he can work through his shame in peace. That way, he can behave like a normal human long enough to make an excuse and leave in favor of crying into his ratty trailer pillow that probably still smells like Steve and his stupid hairspray.

“Whoa, what's wrong?” someone asks.

It's Steve, of course. He's standing at the kitchen door, looking at Eddie with genuine concern. His sunglasses are pushed into his hair, artfully keeping it out of his face. He looks behind himself and closes the door before walking up to Eddie, getting in his space.

Eddie steps back.

“I didn't see you get here. You look sick, are you ok?” he asks.

Eddie wants to say that he's fine, but looking into Steve's eyes makes everything worse. Much to his horror, he feels a lump forming in his throat and a familiar burn forming in his eyes. He tries to blink it away, but that just makes a premature tear roll down his cheek. 

Fuck.

Steve steps even closer and lifts his hands to Eddie's face, gently holding him, brushing the tear away with his thumb. And now that it's started, he can't make it stop. Eddie starts to cry even harder.

“Is it Wayne? Did something happen at the trailer?” Steve's asking, appearing to genuinely care.

“No,” Eddie says.

“Are you hurt?”

“No!”

“Did someone-”

“No, no, no! Steve, just stop!” Eddie says, elbowing his way free from Steve's grasp. He feels a little bad about it, when he sees how hurt Steve looks. But he feels too shitty to care much about anything at the moment.

“You're crying, Eddie. Can't I help?”

“You've done enough, honestly,” Eddie says.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“Dude, are you really that dense?” 

Steve kind of shutters at that, and then Eddie really feels bad. He's made an ass of himself and now he's being an ass too. 

“Just- stop, ok? Go back to your Italian boyfriend,” Eddie says.

“Huh? Gabe?” Steve asks. 

Oh, so they have nicknames now?

“Whatever his name is,” Eddie grumbles, even though he knows it's going to be impossible for him to forget that name for the rest of his life. 

Steve scoffs for a second and then shakes his head. “Are you mad that I have other friends?”

Eddie can't believe it. It's the worst case scenario. Steve didn't know. Somehow, Steve was completely oblivious to Eddie's feelings. There was no game between them. Eddie had made it all up in his head. Steve's just an oblivious flirt. He was matching Eddie's weird, lovesick energy.

God, how embarrassing.

“No, Steve,” Eddie says, already done with the conversation and ready for the consequences, “I'm mad that you're flirting with this dude after weeks of flirting with me!”

Steve looks shocked. Like he would've expected maybe a week after the upside down, back before this all began and he didn't know Steve that well. Turns out, he never knew Steve. 

He just thought he did.

“I- I wasn't flirting with you,” Steve says with a nervous little laugh.

“You slept in my bed and kissed me on the cheek. You rubbed your knee against my dick during our guitar lesson.”

Steve's just staring at him like all of this was in Eddie's head, which makes him feel even more defensive.

“You said you knew how it felt to get fingered!” he hisses.

Steve's cheeks go bright red. 

“Oh my God, I've been flirting with you,” he says. He lifts a hand to his forehead, like the information is too much for his head to handle.

“You also- well- I mean…yes?” Eddie says, not really sure what's happening anymore. He's so confused that his tears have stopped. Steve takes a step closer. 

“You've been flirting with me,” he says, pointing at Eddie.

Eddie nods. 

“And I've been flirting with you,” he says, pointing at himself.

Eddie nods again.

“I was flirting with Gabriel! Do you think he's into me?” he asks, pointing at the kitchen door.

Eddie's frown is severe. 

“Sorry, no. Forget I said that. Eddie, I think I have a crush on you,” Steve says with wonder in his voice.

It's Eddie's turn to blush now. He's witnessing Steve realize he's into men. Specifically, that he's into Eddie. Steve paces around the kitchen, combing a hand through his hair in that way he always does when he's thinking hard about something. Eddie recognizes it because he does know Steve, after all. Maybe a little better than Steve knows himself. Steve's cheeks are still bright red and he's breathing kind of weird. It's very strange, to watch someone come out to themselves.

And then Steve starts to cry.

Eddie rushes forward just as Steve leans back against the countertop and curls into himself.

“Hey, no, no, no, it's ok. You're still you,” he says, pulling Steve into a hug. 

What the fuck is happening? 

“I made you cry,” Steve says.

“It's ok,” Eddie says, rubbing his back, “you'll get used to it.”

“I don't want to get used to making you cry!” Steve whisper-shouts. 

“No, I mean that you'll get used to being into men,” Eddie says.

Steve pushes Eddie back a hair and looks him in the eyes.

“Why would I need to get used to it? It's obviously true. I'm upset because I've been such a dick to you,” he says softly.

Eddie just stares at him. He wonders if Steve is ok. Maybe this is what a breakdown looks like? Funny, how quick their mental states flipped during this conversation.

“Steve, it's ok to freak out a little. When I first realized I was into men, I cried until I threw up,” Eddie says.

Steve leans in and kisses him on the cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. It's so light and quick that for a moment, Eddie's not even sure that it happened. It makes his heart flip twice over.

“I'm not freaking out. I'm just trying to figure out how to make it up to you.”

Eddie lifts an eyebrow. Steve's fully serious. He's dried his face and is wrapping his arms around Eddie's back, brushing his hands against the belt loops in his jeans.

“Wow, you're serious. You genuinely-”

Eddie's cut off as Steve pulls him into a real kiss. The kind of kiss he'd seen in movies, sweet but also kind of hot. Eddie wants more. He crowds Steve against the countertop and runs his hands down over that ass he couldn't stop thinking about since seeing it in person, grabs his thighs just under his swim trunks and lifts, pushing their bodies as close as possible.

Steve has one hand tangled in Eddie's hair, steering his head to the side, and another gripping around his back pocket, pulling Eddie's hips right into his.

Eddie can't believe it. Steve's kissing him. He's rolling his hips into him. 

Steve chose him over fucking Gabe!

Steve pulls their bodies even closer than Eddie thought possible, and Eddie can feel every detail of his dick hardening against him through his jeans. It leaves him breathless, desperate to drop his hands from Steve's warm torso and under that swimsuit so he can feel it in more detail. Steve's not so shy. He's driving Eddie crazy with his hand sliding around his zipper, lifting up to the hem and back down again. 

“Eddie,” Steve gasps into his mouth as he starts fumbling with the button.

Eddie’s experiencing something religious with Steve's tongue when a shout breaks them apart. 

Eddie leaps halfway across the room before bothering to look around to check that nobody is there. He turns back to Steve, who's watching him carefully.

“I think it's just the kids. We should probably go back outside,” he says.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees reluctantly. Based on the look Steve's sending his way, he feels the same. He jumps down from the counter and walks over to the door, then pauses. 

He turns to Eddie and says, “You should sleep over tonight.”

“Ok,” Eddie says, feeling his cheeks go warm again as he tries not to assume anything after an afternoon of assuming things, “I like your guest room, it's got a really comfortable mattress-”

“In my bed,” Steve clarifies.

“Ok!” Eddie squeaks. “I could run home and grab something to sleep in-”

“Naked,” Steve says bluntly. Then he seems to realize something, because he looks away from Eddie like he's embarrassed. “I mean, unless you don't want that. No pressure. I have something you can borrow-”

“I want that,” Eddie interrupts.

Steve smiles. He flicks his sunglasses back over his eyes and leans in to kiss Eddie one last time, short, and promising more for later. As he opens the door, Eddie spots Gabe lounging around with that pretty girl and gets an idea. He shoves past Steve and smacks his ass on the way by, smiling at Gabe, just to cement his victory.

“Damn Harrington, feels as good as it looks,” he says. Gabe looks completely confused. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Don't get addicted,” Steve says.