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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 11 months ago

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Open Mic Night

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: Soldier Boy and the reader go to a bar on a double date with Hughie and Annie. This takes place beyond season three in alternate universe. Reader is a supe. This technically takes place in my series "Take A Chance On Me," after Soldier Boy and the reader have become a couple, but can be read as stand alone. (I'm so bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Fluff, Age Difference, Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Established Relationship

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ just to be sure because this fic contains dude being super creepy and sleazy, swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, references to past sex, and Soldier Boy. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. This is my first time writing for Soldier Boy, so please be gentle. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Masterlist

Take A Chance On Me Series Masterlist

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Music swung low and heavy over the crowded bar from the band on the stage that dominated the central wall of the building. Speakers stood like stoic watchmen, thumping and blasting the haunting music on each side of the stage. Spotlights stung the air, spewing colors of orange, yellow, and green onto the figures that writhed on stage.

It was open mic night. That much was inferred from the collection of mismatched people swarming the edge of the stage where a bouncer stood holding a black clip board.

Each one pushed and shoved, trying to shout over the death march ballad flowing from the lead singers mouth and threatening one another with musical instruments clutched in their hands.

The song is an odd choice. You thought to yourself noting the outfit of the lead singer. He was wearing a bright red and yellow pinstriped suit that clashed with bright pink hair that fell past his waist and was braided away from his face.

How does it not get caught in his guitar?

You were still standing just inside the doorway, staring beyond Hughie to watch the lead singer gyrate and writhe against the standing microphone.

You glance over at Ben. He’s hovering by your right elbow, mouth turned down in disgust, but even frowning he looks just as handsome as ever. His dark hair lies in soft waves over his brow, he trimmed his beard so that it’s more of a dusting over his cheeks and chin, he’s wearing a black t-shirt that makes his eyes a dangerous bright green and a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. Even without his suit he looks flawless, every bit the hero that people believed him to be.

“I don’t understand music nowadays.” Ben continues to stare at the lead singer. "It used to make sense."

“Isn’t he talented?” You laugh elbowing Ben in the side. “Aren’t you glad we let Annie pick the place?”

“I definitely am.” Hughie responds. “I think my life has been enriched by watching that man hump the microphone.”

“Oh definitely.” Annie adds.

“Do you think he’d sign my butt?” You ask enthusiastically. “I carry a sharpie with me at all times just for this possibility.”

“Y/n-“ Annie snorts.

“What?” Ben snaps, turning to look down at you. His eyes are narrowed in jealousy and confusion.

“I’m only kidding Gramps.” Your hand entwines with his. “You’re the only one who gets to see it.”

He doesn’t look pleased, but the nickname you assigned him when you first met often makes him angry.

"Don't fucking call me that." Ben mutters.

“You know you love it.” You whisper back.

“Ew. So don’t need that image-“ Hughie makes a face.

“I don’t need to hear it from you. When we all lived in that safe house and you and Annie had ‘alone time’ I wanted to wash my ears out with soap. Y’all could at least have gone to a room on the other side of the apartment, not to mention Annie took out the power every time.”

“You have super hearing Y/n.” Annie’s face flushes. “And you and Ben weren't exactly quiet either.”

"I won't apologize for that." You shrug.

Someone comes in the double doors behind you and jostles past you. You stumble into Ben’s chest, who steadies you with a hand on your waist. The man doesn't turn around to apologize, instead he continues to walk towards the giant wooden bar on the left side of the room.

You ignore the urge to haul him back by the back of the shirt and make him apologize and one look up at Ben lets you know that he's thinking the exact same thing.

Ben watches the man’s retreating figure murderously and opens his mouth, but before he yells something, you squeeze his hand. Ben's gaze drops to you, anger burning behind his green eyes.

“It’s okay. It’s busy and there’s a lot of people. It happens.” You whisper trying to bring him some comfort.

He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the double date. It wasn’t that he hated Hughie or Annie, you think it was because after a long day he’d rather spend time with you than keep up appearances. When Annie suggested it, it had seemed like a good idea but now standing here in the overcrowded bar it was overwhelming. Ben and you had been on dates just the two of you in a bar before, but it wasn’t nearly as loud or as crowded as this one. You spent the night in one of the quiet booths in the corner, his arm wrapped around you while you listened to the music coming from the juke box, music that Ben actually recognized. Sometimes you think he liked quiet restaurants more, where he could breathe, and relax in a booth next to you. You think being around too many people activated his PTSD.

Ben frowns, but tightens his hand on your hip.

Sometimes you thought that you being there helped. As much as Ben didn't like to admit his feelings, you noticed that his actions spoke more. The way that he let you hold on to his arm or the way that his hand often drifted to your waist when in public made you believe that Ben did depend on having you with him. Plus he never seemed to want to let you go out of the apartment alone. Even with something as mundane as grocery shopping, Ben would come with you. And despite him sighing each time you walked down an aisle and complaining under his breath, Ben wouldn't stay at the apartment when you told him to.

Plus there were the mornings when you woke up before him and noticed how he pulled you to him in his sleep or the mornings when he woke up first and didn’t push you away, instead he liked having your head on his chest watching your gentle breath.

However, the look in his eyes as he gazed around the room at the crowd was not calm or collected, it was bordering on manic. He looked almost like he wanted to pick you up and move you to the corner, caging you in and fighting off anybody who tried to get close to you.

“Hey we are going to go get drinks. Why don’t you guys find us a place to sit?” You say to Annie.

Maybe I need to talk to him alone.

“Sure.” She doesn’t sense Ben’s discomfort and pulls Hughie in the direction of an empty booth that lines the wall opposite the bar.

You gently lead Ben through the crowds, past the bar to a small alcove where the restrooms are.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Yeah?" Ben raises his eyebrow and you can imagine his thoughts.

Probably revolving around the idea that he's not a pussy and that he's not afraid of anything.

Sometimes you hated that Ben was so guarded and that his usual emotions circled around borderline toxic masculinity, annoyance, and anger. Well, until you started dating. At the beginning Ben had been nicer to you than anyone else, which meant those three emotions appeared less when you were around. But now, you were slowly coaxing him out of his tough exterior to get him to open up more, difficult, but not impossible.

You knew it was only a matter of time until he opened up more to you. In the few months you had been dating he was already doing better than when you first met- when there was a constant parade of women through the apartment and he tried his upmost to get in your pants.

“Because if you’re not we can leave right now. I can tell Annie that I’m having bad cramps or something and we can go home. Get a pizza delivered or something? Watch one of your old films?” You look into his face, trying to read his expression, but Ben has mastered the art of hiding his emotions. An infuriating skill, because you prided yourself on being able to read people.

“I’m fine.”

“Ben-“

“I promise I’m fucking fine.” He snaps. His broad figure blocks the view of the singer on stage who has begun to gyrate again.

You hoped the song would be over soon.

Despite his tone, it didn't make you angry. You knew that he tended to slip into annoyance when he was afraid to tell you what he really thought.

He doesn’t look fine. His eyebrows are pulled down low over his eyes and his mouth is turned down in a frown.

“I’m serious. I won’t be mad if you just want to go home, just the two of us. Being out is supposed to be fun and if you’re not having fun-“

“I swear I’m having as much fucking fun as I can listening to terrible music.” He doesn’t smile.

You release his hand and your fingertips raise to brush back some of his dark locks that have fallen into his eyes. “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I love you-“

He sighs leaning into your touch.

“I know you think that you have to do this for me, but I’m okay with just going. I know you don’t like crowds or people.” You smile at him, putting as much love and comfort as you can into your tone.

“I’m okay y/n.”

You search his gaze for the lie, trying to uncover how he feels, but you find nothing. “Okay.”

You arch upwards to kiss him hoping that it will relieve some of the tension he was holding in his muscular shoulders.

To say it works is an understatement. As soon as your lips touch his, he backs you against the wall and continues to kiss you feverishly, his hand finding your waist.

I guess that’s one way to channel all that nervous energy.

Ben’s hand begins to sweep lower along your back to grab your butt and bring your leg up over his hip, holding you up against him so you don't have to stretch as far to kiss him. It makes you smile into his mouth, knowing that he was doing that for you, that he cared enough to make sure you were comfortable.

“Ben-“ You breathe.

“What?” He smirks at you. “Didn’t you want me to have a good time?”

“Well yes but-“

“You aren’t having a good time?”

“Ben-"

“No? I think I can make you have a good time, a few times before Hughie and Annie notice we're gone.” He begins to nudge you backward in the direction of the bathroom.

“No.” You giggle pushing against his muscular chest, but he doesn’t move.

“Come on doll. Don’t you want me to enjoy myself?” Ben pouts, before bringing his lips down to your ear. "I definitely think you'd enjoy yourself." A shiver travels down your spine. "That's my girl." He smirks, as he begins to kiss your neck again.

“Ben, I do want you to enjoy yourself, but I also don't want to have a good time in the bathroom at a bar.”

“Didn’t stop us last time.” He arches a brow.

“That was much cleaner and we weren’t at a bar with two of our friends.”

Ben frowns at you.

“How about you get me a little drunk, we dance for a bit, and then you get to take me home.” You press a kiss just under his ear, tangling your hands in his hair.

“Or we go into the bathroom for 10 minutes then you get me drunk enough to dance and then you get to take me home.” His hand tightens just under your thigh, rubbing his thumb against your soft jeans.

“Ben.”

“You know you want to.” He grins wolfishly. “Have I told you how sexy you look?”

He didn’t have to say it. You were wearing a green top that showed a little more cleavage than usual and your best pair of jeans that hugged your curves. The same pair of jeans that usually made Ben handsy. You had also spent an inordinate amount of time curling your hair before you left the apartment. Plus the green was exactly the same color as his suit, something that Ben loved was when you wore his color or his clothes.

“You have, several times. And I do, but please I don’t want to when our friends are out there waiting for us.”

He sighs, knowing that he’s lost. “Fine.”

Ben reluctantly lowers your legs to the ground, but you kiss him gently on the mouth to kiss away the frown that replaces the seductive smirk he had moments ago.

“Go on. I’m going to go to the bathroom.” He steps around you.

“What?”

“I have to take a piss. Go on get the drinks. I’m gonna need a lot of them to get through that fucking music.”

“Beer?”

“Beer and a whiskey.” Ben winks as he closes the door behind him.

You take in a deep breath to cool down from whatever almost happened, but you saw your ability to say no as a personal victory. Ben was usually able to coax you into doing whatever he wanted.

You hate how easily he won.

You begin the slow trek back to the bar, weaving in and out of the people trying to get closer to the stage or just dancing along to the music. The previous band was gone, replaced by a man wearing a fedora and playing a saxophone. The melody was smooth, and reminded you of what you father used to listen to on long days after work.

Ben would like this song. You think to yourself. You suddenly wished that he was here so he could hold you and sway along to the music, but you knew that getting drinks was equally important.

It would probably take at least two glasses of whiskey to get him out on the dance floor.

You maneuver yourself between two people sitting on stools to talk directly to the bartender. “Hey can I get four bottles of beer and a whiskey.”

“What kind?” The bartender is a blonde girl, pretty, only a few years older than you, dressed in an electric green top and mini skirt.

“Do you have anything that’s really old?” You never got what kind of whiskey Ben liked, just that he often complained that the older stuff was better.

It was a common opinion he voiced.

“Yeah but it’s pricy.” She shrugs

“That’s fine.” You pull Ben’s debit card out of your pocket.

You thought it was weird to use his card, but he kept telling you to even though you didn’t have a shared bank account. One time you tried to pay him back, but he wouldn’t let you and said that it was the man's job to pay for everything.

Another time you tried to pay for dinner and he told you not to worry. But you still felt guilty.

Sometimes you felt like a sugar baby. Given the age difference, it was closer to reality than you would have liked.

You were living together, well, Ben lived in your apartment. He kept talking about moving to a nicer apartment and as much as you wanted to, one day you found him looking at apartments that were worth more than seven times the monthly rent that you were paying currently.

You were going to see one in a few days, but you still hadn’t admitted to him that you didn’t think you could afford it. The only thing that stopped you was how excited he got about going, about moving in officially together in a new apartment that you didn't want to say no. Seeing him excited about something so domestic warmed your heart.

You didn’t know how much money he had, you just knew it was more than you given the fact that he was such a big hero and that he used to be in movies.

You hadn’t had a solid job since you started working for Butcher, who would give you some money under the table but who knows where he got that. You had some money that you inherited from your parents when they died, but other than that, nothing. An unwelcome thought, given the indestructible nature of your powers, which meant there was the possibility you would live forever.

I’m gonna have to start budgeting better.

The bartender turns to look for the drinks, while you lean forward on the bar, closing your eyes to listen to the smooth jazz that floats over the crowd.

Someone’s hand slides down your back and grips your butt.

You snort, not opening your eyes. “Ben I thought I told you-“ You turn around to look at who you thought was Ben, but freeze when you realize it’s the pink haired singer from before.

“Hey baby.” The man smiles tightening his grip on your butt. “I saw you admiring me, thought I’d come say hello.”

“Um. Yeah. That didn’t happen, now can you please take your hand off my ass?” You ask forcing your voice into a cool collected tone.

“I think it did.” He doesn’t remove it, in fact he moves further into you, to pin you against the bar. “Did you like my song?”

“No.”

One word answers usually were a good way of telling people that you weren’t interested, but this man didn't seem to understand that.

“Aww that’s too bad. I’ve got a few others that I can show you. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing here all alone?”

“We’ll see that’s the thing. I’m not alone and I’m going to ask you nicely one more time to fuck off before I break your arm.”

“A little thing like you do that? Come on baby let’s be serious.”

By now every time he said little your eye twitched aggressively. You did a good job of pretending you weren't a supe on your days off. You hid really well in a crowd, a skill that helped you evade Homelander and Vought more than once. Of course it had its annoyances as well. Case and point.

“Trust me. Me breaking your arm is much better than the alternative.”

I should get rid of him before Ben gets out here. That will definitely not end well if he sees this guy.

“What’s the alternative?” He oozes moving so close to your face that you can smell the stale alcohol on his breath.

“Well-“

The man is snapped upwards away from you and into the air.

Ben looks murderous. His usually bright green eyes have hardened into an emerald, his smile turned into a snarl. He’s holding the man by the front of his brightly striped suit, two feet off the ground, so close that Ben’s nose is almost brushing his.

“The alternative-“ Ben’s voice is a growl. “Is that I break your fucking face for touching my girlfriend.”

Why does he look so hot when he’s angry? You sigh to yourself, admiring the way his muscles tense under his black t-shirt as he holds the guy and how the shirt pulls up just enough for you to see the top of his hip where his low hanging blue jeans have fallen.

There’s something wrong with me.

“Whoa man I’m sorry I didn’t know she was yours.” The man stutters, holding on to Ben’s wrists where he still holds him in the air.

Ben is easily a foot taller than him and broader by a mile. Gazing down at him with enough hatred to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

As much as you liked Ben like this, you knew you had to do something before Ben killed him. Because as much as he deserved a good beating, the man didn’t deserve to die.

“Ben put him down.” You say.

“No.”

“Ben please.” You put your hand on his muscular shoulder, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the palm of your hand. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it.”

“But you are-“ His teeth are gritted together when he looks at you, green eyes blazing in fury. “He shouldn’t have touched you.”

“No he shouldn’t. But he doesn’t deserve to lose his life just because he felt up the wrong person in a bar.”

Ben’s jaw is locked together, nostrils flaring, but even you know that somewhere deep down he knows you're right. He turns his head to look back at the man. “You’re lucky that she’s more forgiving than I am.” Ben drops the man, who lands in a lump on the floor and turns to look at you.

Ben doesn’t look happy, but he still takes your hand, preparing to shuffle you towards where Annie and Hughie are watching in horror.

But before Ben can say anything the man on the ground rolls to his feet, more gracefully than you would have guessed and lunges at Ben a small knife gripped in his left hand.

He really doesn’t know when to quit.

Although you know that a small knife will do little to Ben other than piss him off, you react. Before he can reach Ben, your free hand flashes out, fastening around the man's left wrist and you pull his arm behind him at an unnatural angle. His arm jolts, the sharp snap of bone overshadows the jazz music, and the man falls to the ground clutching his ruined arm to his chest with a broken cry. All of this happens within five seconds, too fast for a normal person to see.

“Told you I would break your arm.” You say, pulling Ben away before he can do anything worse to him.

“What happened?” Annie asks eyes wide.

“Total jerk at the bar. I ordered drinks but I think it’ll be better if Ben and I leave.” You glance over at the bartender who is talking to the bouncer and gesturing over at you and Ben. “I already paid so y’all enjoy yourselves.”

“Wait y/n we’ll come with you-“ Hughie says. His arm is draped around Annie’s shoulders where they sit in the booth. You think about letting them come with you, but they look so comfortable and they should enjoy their day off.

“No it’s okay.” You squeeze Ben’s hand. “I’m kinda wiped from today anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Annie asks.

“Yeah.” You nod once, before smiling wide at Annie and Hughie. “Let me know if you find the next Billy Joel.”

“There can only be one!” Hughie shouts as Ben and you weave through the bar goers to avoid the bouncer.

When you finally get outside and start towards home, Ben finally speaks.

“We didn’t have to leave.” He’s still holding your hand tightly, but you can feel the heat of his anger stirring beneath the skin.

“Yes we did. The bouncer was coming.” You stop walking and turn to look up at him. “Plus. I thought it was incredibly hot that you went all Soldier Boy on that guy’s ass to defend my honor.” Your hand drags against his muscular chest, mouth turning up in a sexy smile.

“Oh did you? Because here I thought that you were angry. And that you were going to yell at me for not letting you handle it.” He tugs you forward so that your chests are pressed against one another.

“Nope. Why do you think we had to leave? I want to get you home asap.”

He runs his free hand through your hair, fastening it behind your head, to pull you against him for a searing kiss. “You know, I also thought it was pretty hot when you broke that guy's arm.” Ben whispers against your lips.

“Wouldn’t have expected anything less. Now let’s go home so I can thank you properly.”

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Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for the Take A Chance On Me Series, please let me know :)

If you liked this fic, be sure to try out my other series You Call It Madness But I Call It Love!

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fluff #the boys #the boys fanfic #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy #jensen ackles soldier boy #the boys tv #the boys amazon #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy/ben

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justasecretflower · 5 months ago

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💐Inyuasha! Men as boyfriends🤍

Incl- inyuasha, miroku, Naraku, Koga, Sesshomaru, Jinenji

Feudal Japan! Era

~ fluff, head canons.

CW- mentions of baby trapping!!

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Inyuasha

-bullying you is his love language /canon

- if he gets clingy, don’t say a word or else he’s yelling at you to shut up with a flushed face.

- tries to do your hair, gives up, gets frustrated, almost cries.

- calls lovey dovey stuff corny.

- hates pda..he won’t do it

- Likes laying his head on your lap and you scratching behind his ear.

- gives rare, but lingering loving kisses alone.

- if he’s feeling extra caring he’ll maybe hit you with a “love…”

Miroku

-I’m gonna fight miroku he’s so weird…

- constantly has a hand on your butt or thigh.

- he’s such a pervert

-will say proudly yell out inappropriate compliments / comments about you. With people around.

-wants kids so bad. Wants like a million /canon

- has a baby name list alr

-very open about his love for you. No matter what. If you’re gone for like a second he’ll pull a “guys..I miss my partner…😔”

-it’s a little pathetic.

-constantly saying he’s gonna wife you up he doesn’t care how long you’ve been dating.

-he buys you expensive stuff all the time and then brags about it to other people.

-“men..we gotta pamper our ladies…😏”

Naraku

- #1 Naraku disliker

-anyway, he’s super manipulative. He looks at you like a pretty doll and nothing more.

- you’re bright, you’re pretty, you can be manipulated. You’re perfect.

-he’d be the type that if you wanted to leave he’d baby trap you..

-and then make you take care of the baby all alone..he’ll still be in a relationship with you just not take care of the kid

-sorry I’m not feeding into ur delusions. I can’t.

- he has servants pamper you, at all times of the day, so that when he comes home you’re sat right outside the door looking pretty and fresh for him.

-materialistically everything is yours.

- late at night, when he’s sure you’re asleep, he’ll kiss you softly on the tip of your nose and mutter a small “I love you.”

-that’s all you’re getting. Sorry!!

Koga

- he always is holding hands with you or has his hand on the small of your back.

- he likes the little nose rub kiss.

- he likes to just take in your scent time to time (not in a weird way duh..)

- tells his people that you’re his future spouse and parent of your future children.

-always somehow brings you up in conversation.

- tells you it was love at first sight. (For him it was)

- “hello my beautiful wife/husband/spouse!!”

- “when we have kids…” and then he goes on a rant.

- he doesn’t care if you’re a wolf yokai or not. He fell in love at first sight and nothing will change that

-tells you multiple times a day how much he loves you.

-he’s so sweet:(

Sesshomaru

- let’s ignore the fact that he got with the girl he knew since she was 4. Then had twins with her.

-it’s so hard for him to express his love.

-he does it in small, chaste cheek kisses or deep kisses randomly.

-if you’re a human, he resents himself for loving you.

-but he can’t stop loving you.

-for him, you’re his first and greatest love, he can’t let you go even if you’re a mere mortal.

- often has you between his legs laying your head on his chest while he wraps his arms around you and burries his face in your neck

- lets you pet the fur on his wolf form

- after awhile, he tells you about his complicated relationship with his half breed brother and why he despises mortals so much.

-I hate saying this but truly love changed his perspective on humans if you were one.

- “my darling”

Jinenji

- my baby!!! :(

- he spent his whole life getting rocks literally thrown at him for existing, his appearance leading him to believe that he would forever be alone in his mothers cottage, taking care of her and the farm work until she died.

- when you came around he immediately was a stuttering, blushing mess.

-he couldn’t believe you weren’t scared of him, or thought he was ugly.

- it took him awhile to confess, but he did, while you were stargazing. It took him like 20 minutes to say “I like you..romantically”

- when you accepted he nearly passed out.

-he carries you around, he likes it when you kiss on his face.

-he nuzzles his face into your side all the time

-bends down to look you in the eye

-you never lift a finger when he’s around.

-asks his mom for advice

-tells his mom about you, oh, and she adores you. Calls you her daughter and makes food with you.

___________________________________________

In conclusion Jinenji my love.

I NEED MORE REQUESTS PLEASE.

Tags

#inyuasha #inyuasha x reader #sesshomaru #sesshomaru x reader #miroku #miroku x reader #naraku #naraku x reader #Jinenji #Kōga #kōga x reader #head canon #inyuasha headcanon #i love you #justasecretflower

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authorhjk1 · 1 year ago

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Surviving NNN

Part Four: Permission

You are glad Chaewon didn't catch you staring that day. It would have been really embarassing. And how would you explain that to Karina, if Chaewon would tell her?

You sigh in exhaustion as you walk out of your room. You almost failed just a second ago. It wasn't even because of one of the girl's comments or the way they dress around you. It was a video of Yena, who is currently in Hong Kong for a couple of days.

All kind of thoughts ran through your head, until you couldn't hold back any longer. You locked your door, trying to do this without someone walking in. You already accepted the fact that you lost this bet.

As soon as you pulled down your pants, you heard Minju's voice from the kitchen.

"Oppa? I need help!"

"What is it?"

You reach the kitchen, barely able to hide your annoyance. You are almost convinced by now, that three girls are trying to make you fail.

Minju looks at you with her best puppy eyes.

"I can't reach the flour."

Minju turns around to show you. She gets on her tiptoes, but her fingers barely graze the cabinet in which you keep the flour. As she does this stretching motion, you realize what a tight fit Minju's jeans are. Her butt looks like a ripe peach. Her cheeks are round and full. They must feel so good when...

You catch yourself drifting off again.

"I will get it for you."

"Thanks, oppa."

She stops reaching for it, the gap between her top and her jeans closes. Even the skin on her back makes it hard for you to concentrate. How many more days can you hold out?

You hesitate, when Minju doesn't walk away. She still stands right in front of the cabinet, her back facing you.

Slowly walking up to her, you reach for the handle of the door. You don't even need to get on your tiptoes. But because Minju is standing in the way, you slightly have to lean over her.

Your heart stops when you feel her butt against you, partially against your crotch.

Perspective: Minju

Minju is not able to hide a smirk as she ever so slightly moves her hips.

Come on. Take the bait.

Unbeknownst to you, the three girls and your girlfriend have their own bet going on. If they are able to seduce you, before the month is over, they can do whatever they want with you. It explains Minju's and Chaewon's outfits and Yena's scene in the bathroom

Minju slightly grinds her ass against you. It's barely noticable. But she can feel how hard you are. When she heard you lock the door a couple of moments ago, she knew what was going on. You were about to lose. She couldn't have that, unless you use her holes to make yourself cum.

The young woman gasped in surprise and admiration as Karina showed the girls a picture of you for the first time. A full picture. Your whole body. Naked. Karina took it right before the two of you started fucking. Minju still wonders how you didn't notice.

Her eyes were glued to your abs and your crotch. She has been with a couple of men before, but she never saw someone that big. Only on some specific online sites.

After the picture and Karina's bet, Minju was sure about one thing. She would have to seduce you. She wants to feel you. Your body pressed against hers. Almost like you are doing right now.

---------

You finally get the flour and put it on the counter.

"There you go."

"Thank you, oppa."

Minju seems somehow disappointed.

You give her a smile, before grabing your ipad and getting comfortable on the couch. The scene just now gave you inspiration for your lyrics.

You keep glancing at Minju, who is starting to work in the kitchen. She promised you and Chaewon pancakes.

Perpsective: Chaewon

The young woman leans her head against the headboard of her bed. A deep, sultry moan escapses her lips. her hand is trapped between her legs, her clothes a forgotten pile next to the bed.

Her eyes are closed as she mumurs your name. Chaewon is so jealous of Karina. She became a star way before your girlfriend did. If Chaewon had the opportunity to ask you out first...

Her mind drifts off as she thinks about the moment a couple of days ago. She could see how you were undressing her with your eyes. It made her whole body warm up. It made her core tingle. What were you imagining?

Going down on her? Chaewon sighs heavily as she thinks about it. She would be lying just like this, while you would eat her out.

Making out with her? Chaewon unconsiously makes the motions wither tongue and lips. As if you are actually kissing her.

Fucking her? Chaewon arches her back off the bed as she imagines it. Your cock deep inside her snug hole as you take her hard. Her moans and shouts as you fuck her, making Minju and Yena listen.

Chaewon can almost feel your lips on the skin on her neck as you lean over her, fucking her into the mattress. In her mind, she makes you cum. Rope after rope of your load paints her insides.

Chaewon gasps and shakes as she fingers herself to her own orgasm. Her body and mind becoming one. The scenario in her head almost feeling real.

Once she comes down from her high, she just lies there. Breathlessly, covered in sweat as she hears you talk to Minju in the kitchen. A big smile plays around Kim Chaewon's lips.

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #chaewon le sserafim #le sserafim #kpop yena #choi yena #yena #izone minju #kim minju #minju #aespa karina #karina #aespa

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facesittingnightmares · 2 days ago

Text

Bangchan ‘The Daddy’ : Perceptions of Dominance

Post Includes: Facesitting, Face farting, fart sniffing, butt drops, face crushing, slight suffocation, willing sub, different perspectives

You looked all around as the door to Chans dressing room was within reach. Would anyone see you enter? At this point, looking in to see a black leather chair that had two large deep round indents, you didn't care. You close the door behind you and rush over to the chair. Your knees cried out as you dropped with immense speed and hovered your nose just above the indented leather cushion. "Ugh" You moan as the strong scent of Bangchans signature vanilla perfume invaded your nose. The sound of the door opening and then locking breaks you from your trance of analyzing the heat coming from the cushion.

"What have we got here?" Chans Australian accent only further fuels your hard on as he walks slowly over to you. "You like my seat? Maybe...maybe you wanna BE my seat?" He asks with a snicker, looking down at his belt buckle and then back up to make eye contact with you as he took his belt off sexily. He stopped beside you, allowing you to take in how much more muscular he was than you. His glutes protruded out towards your face and you couldn't resist his questions anymore. "Yes please!" You softly respond, unsure if it was the right decision.

Without skipping a beat he pulled his jeans down and showed off his new pair of black Supreme boxers that hugged his curves to the point the fabric was clearly stretching. He carefully handled you and lay you into a seated position with your head down on the seat where the craters were. "Okay test one for potential seats. You've gotta support my weight. As you could see, my massive ass indents anything I sit on with its heavy weight so it's crucial you can handle it!" He turns mid sentence and as soon as he finishes speaking, his ass lowers down. To you, the world was in bullet time, you could feel your heart racing as the black domes of fat ass descended. The black fabric of his underwear, already struggling normally, became slightly translucent at the peaks of his cheeks, and infront of his crack, giving a distorted glimpse at the perfectly smooth pale skin below. Finally you feel the fabric touch the tip of your nose and mould around it. This slight touch broke you from your state of grace and you realised what you were in for.

As if someone set time back to normal, his impact shocks you, and before you have time to think, your head is gone. You no longer feel any outside air, instead the straining fabric of his boxers along with the withering cushion below you. Unfortunately the cushion was to no benefit as his weight pushed your head deep down until you hit the hard support board of the chair. "Oh my, this is so much better. I was starting to worry my ass would go flat from having to sit on that weak cushion. Your head is so much more comfortable. Like how those gel insoles for shoes allow your feet to feel like they are molding into soft support, my butt feels like it's molding around the perfect seat cushion!" While Chan was excited and comfortable, you felt as though your nose was being crushed and your face was being reshaped.

"Chan....im...finding it....hard to breath!" You yell into the fabric. With little room to actually move your mouth, it came out like a completely different language. This didn't matter in the slightest. Any sound made in Chans BBL esque ass was completely inaudible on the outside, only alerting him through feeling. To make matters worse, the feeling of complete suffocation, being crushed, and just being in proximity to chan made you rock hard like never before. "Ohh yeah I completely forgot to tell you to breathe, actually feels nice!" The man said, assuming from your tight pants that you were happily breathing under him. As you also couldn't hear him, you assumed he was being overly dominant and punishing your invasion of his dressing room.

The next ten minutes were a grueling task. Having to manage your air in order to survive until the deadly dom would give you air. "You've been such a comfortable and well behaved seat. Just one more little part for this test and I'll move to the next!" His words of praise overlap with your screams for air, accompanied by slight thrusts, which to Chan, made it look like his praise turned you on. The weight lifts slightly, the muscular aspect of his glutes leaving your face as the fatty layers still drooped down slightly and moulded around your face similar to how slime droops with gravity. Chan had just lifted about 3 inches, but it was undetectable to your struggling face. "One Bang Chan Booty Bomb inbound!" He says excitedly. With the muscles of his glutes having been lifted a little, his words seeped through slightly, muffled to the point he sounded like a dominant australian whisper in your ear, despite him channeling a more excited and fun tone. You took a few breathes, unaware of what was to come, only hearing slight grunts from the perfectly sculpted man above you. The grunts were him focusing his strength into his glutes to crush your face fully. With no warning signs, no noises, and no chance to react, his weight dropped on your face with speed and determination.

You felt as though your nose cracked and blood vessels burst, even the cushion let out a puff as it burst open at the sides. With only a 3 inch gap for momentum, he hit you like a world ending meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs. Fighting the urge to pass out, and fearing brain damage, you would soon experience the aftershock of his butt bomb. The sounds of wood creaking alerts you first, followed by the slow and subtle sinking sensation, finally the wooden bottom of the chair split in the middle just below your head.

Your head followed and slipped into the new cavern. The sensation of his force turned you on further despite the horror you felt. "Oh god...shit I shouldn't have dropped so hard!" Chan moans a deep voice, the sudden force relocating his gas to his anus. It was swift and silent, his protein fueled flatulence invaded your shallow cavern of safety until it became a vacumn of cruel crippling gas. The gags of your struggling form barely echo out of his mounds. His unbearable gas would've ended you right then had it not been for his ass slipping down onto your face and crushing your head again. The heavy dense glutes hugged your face, with his black Supreme boxers now smelling of his vile fart. All the factors resulted in you blowing your load the instant his ass settled it's warm doughy shape on you.

From his perspective his soft approach of trying to give you your desire helped you 'arrive', whereas you perceived his actions as dom like, and almost evil, turning you on despite torturing you. Chan allows the pumping in your trousers to finish, dampening your fabric with sticky liquid, before arising and allowing the bright lights of the dressing room to blind you. If there were spectators to witness the event they'd assume you had a pancake face with steam rising off of it. "Ready for test 2?" He groans while taking his shirt off. You try to lift your body up but can barely feel your face. The effects of his astronomically massive ass dropping on your face culminate and the chair splits in two, your head landing flat on the floor, only the flattened cushion softening your fall.

"Are you okay?" His voice showed concern like you didn't experience before. "Ye...yes sir!" You responded as you lifted your head from the floor, looking back to see the seat split in two, collapsed in the middle with his butt boulders still leaving visable craters. "Oh? yes sir? I kinda like that!" His Eager Australian voice sent shivers to your crotch again. Your servant and sub like attitude sparked a dominant flame in Chan that would later ignite a new passion. You watched, dazed from his booty bombs, as he grabbed the deflated leather cushion which was now as thin as paper. He set it in the middle of the floor and moved the broken chair out of the way. "Lay down, head flat on the cushion." You follow his orders, still under the misconception that he was fully dominant. While staring at the ceiling, scared to tilt and look at him, his large muscular shadow began to cast over you until he finally stood above, now shirtless and showing off a ripped physique, having some hand prints painted on his back for his performance. In its full naked glory his body appeared shredded with minimal body fat unlike his ass which looked like it could provide him nutrients for months.

"The Second test to see if you are a good test is durability. Clearly you have the support in you, but no point in a seat that can support for only short periods of time." His words scratched an itch in your brain, the image of being forced under him for hours on end brought your erection back to life during his descent.

At first he did a deep Asian squat allowing his clothed ass the envelop your face again. Even with his weight not even half focused on your face, you felt suffocated as his boxers, saturated by his earlier fart, covered your mouth and nose but not your ears. Now, not clinging for dear life you got a sense of his stinky gas. You took deep breathes, just like with the chair before he came in. Chan responded to feeling your inhales by rocking back and forth, praising you for the initiative. At first the gas smelt meaty, powerful like his body would suggest, but below the surface there were hints of typical protein sources like eggs and dairy, as your inhales came to an end you got a powerful preview of his spices heating up your airways and burning your nose.

"..... pull me down." You were too busy dissecting his fart to hear what he said in entirety. Thinking he demanded you smother yourself, you obliged and reached up for his waist and pulled down. Chan transitioned from his deep asian squat into a kneeling position, his massive mounds giving your head a bear hug only held back by struggling fabric. His legs folded as his feet faced back towards yours, and his warm crotch spilled over your hair. "Such an eager fan aren't you?" His words turn you on, thinking he is teasing you. For the next half an hour he stayed on your face, completely still as he used the feeling of your deep inhales as a sign you were fine. You couldn't believe you stayed rock hard the entire time. Sure at first, the sensation of his fabric clad mounds crawling around your head like an evil force was intensely stimulating. First your nose was pushed deep between his cheeks. Then you felt the heat reach the midpoints of your ears, only being stopped because they hit the heels of his curled feet. Furthermore, his rocking back and fourth gradually edged your mouth open unintentionally, allowing you to now taste his underwear, secretly sweaty from sitting so long on one spot.

"Since you loved the Bang Chan booty bombs so much earlier, here's a little reward for surviving so long!" Yet again his words wouldn't be heard by your cut off ears. Instead, you simply felt the sensation of his ass turning soft, his muscle parts lifting a few inches. Bracing yourself helped very little as the first drop happened. His impact shook you to your core, disorienting you as the second drop occurred, or maybe it was the third as you were completely unable to keep count. His ass didn't even leave your face and yet had immense force. No longer restricted by a chair breaking, he continued to booty bomb for almost 5 minutes straight. Each drop turned you harder and harder but this time you reached down and freed your boner.

Just as you went to grip it to stroke, you got shook again. This time your entire body flopped and you tried to reach for your burning face, only for him to slam down on your hands too. "Oh good boy, spread my ass!" He moans, slowly being turned on by your continued servitude. The drops continued, speeding up as he approaches the 5 minute mark. Finally, with your hands held in place by his heavy cheeks dropping, you began to shoot your load again. With each drop of his weight you shot another burst of semen until he finally stopped.

The endless assault of your face ended but the banging sound continued as someone knocked aggressively on the door. "Chan....Are you in there?" The fellow group members shouted in. Chan panicking, got up suddenly. The cool breeze of the room air brought life back to your abused body for the second time today. "C'mon, let's get in here!" He says, picking you up with ease and throwing your over his shoulder. Your face meets the middle of his crack, bouncing to give ptsd like flashes of his drops on your face as he walked into the private dressing room bathroom for privacy as the members started screwing at the knob of the lock from outside. He dropped you onto the soft mat in the bathrooms and locked the door behind him before realigning over you.

Now in a seated position, his ass was mear inches infront as you looked slightly up to see it jiggling in his boxers, which were visibly wore from bouncing on you, the stitches at the side coming undone. You were mesmerized by it's movements. His cheeks looking both heavy yet graceful, deadly yet attractive.

"Okay so I know I've been nice so far, but last test of being my seat is the fart test. Whether I'm in the studio, the dorm, or the gym, the boys always complain I bombard them with gas and make the room uninhabitable. I need a seat that can absorb as much of my farts as possible!" His words stun you. Nice? He was a fucking butt demon hell bent on reshaping your face to his liking.

"Uhm that was you being nice? Not to complain...sir...but how was the butt dropping on me without warning nice? The fart from earlier? How about demanding I pull you full weight on my face? Or even when I screamed for air as I suffocated right off the bat?" Your boner reappears as you relive the few hours of torture. He simply looks down at your slightly scared frame in confusion and some regret as his dad like nature mad him concerned. "You thought I was mean? Dominant? Evil? I couldn't hear you because of my massive ass. I thought you were just breathing down there, I even told you to keep taking deep inhales. The fart was an accident that slipped out due to the butt dropping. I only dropped on you cause you looked like you enjoyed the weight. And as for demanding you smother yourself in my ass, my full sentence was if you wanted to indulge yourself, pull me down!" His concerned look slowly turned to a smirk of curiosity. "Wait, so you enjoyed thinking I was dark and dominant? I mean ONE part of you sure did!" He laughed, gesturing to your dried cum. You couldn't believe it, you were so turned on by this evil genius dom that smothered you for hours, just to realise it was just your perception.

"Ye...yes! I loved it Chan. I'm sorry for misunderstanding you." You slightly grovel but notice he continued to smirk. "How about we agree you are officially my seat now, I'll enact test 3 as your 'ceremony' and I'll let out my dominant side. I'm used to holding back around others, but you fucking love it don't you?" His Australian accent starts to fully show itself through his now dominant tone. "Yes..yes I do Chan" You agree. "You're such a good boy for daddy Chan right? You want my BIG, BARE, BREATHTAKING BUM to smother you and fart?" He asks, ripping his boxers off and throwing them into the corner. If you hadn't shot two loads already today, the glistening sight of his massive cheeks bursting from his boxers would've immediately got you to bust. Like a 3D horror movie jumpscare, his fleshy boulders appeared to leap from the confines of his underwear, towards your face as if it was food. "Yes..Chan...Sir!" You call him sir to keep the dominant tone going.

"Chan?? Answer us!" The other guys yell, finally making it into the room but being blocked by the bathroom door. "Okay seat lay down, imma let the flood gates open and smother you, drown you both in ass, and gas!" Following the instructions you lay down, lining up on the mat to comfort your head. "Yea boys I'm just in the toilet, having side effects from all the raw protein I've been taking! Small price to pay to keep the fans happy with my body!" He yells out as he quietly lines up just above your face, cheeks hugging your head lightly. "Ohh shit, you about to let the Bang Chan Bombardment off?" The men laugh through the door. Chan is silent, closing his eyes as he prepares to fart.

Your peaceful sniffs of his ass are disturbed as the blare of a foghorn sounding fart erupts and sends shockwaves across your skin. The fart lasts for thirty seconds, not wavering in strength at any point until silence returned. Now, not distracted by his bouncing, you experienced his glorious fart in all its glory. It's airy form pushed the oxygen from your body with force, evicting any pure air that you had as it's mixed scent of eggs, dairy, and something that clearly didn't agree with him destroyed your willing nose. Anyone else would've held their breathe; you, inhaled like a champ giving your nose to Chans ass. "Fuck that was a banger Chan! Damn the sme...the smell is leaking out. Let's get out of here!" The others leave, gagging as the fart leaked under the bathroom door.

"Fuck...I..stink!" Chan moans as he takes small inhales of his own smell, acknowledging it's stench while basking in his 'talent'. 'You want more?" He asked. But before you could answer he dropped into a full weight position like earlier, this time his legs folding by your side, his feet above your head with him facing your feet.

"I don't care if you do. It's your job to take them all. All my nasty farts! Your nose is my new air purifier and i want results!" He leans into his dominant side, finally embracing it as you get hard from hearing it just before your ears got swallowed by his fatty ass.

A few minutes of toxic farts destroyed your lungs. Long airy farts pushed oxygen from your system as the wet squeaky bursts of milkshake induced gas burnt and made you cry from their concentrated stench. "Time to combine some Booty Bombs and some Bombardment!"

His muscular glutes lifted, his fatty layers stayed, and in a few seconds he dropped. You cock pulsed to life with your nose went deeper than before, nose nearing his sweaty, hairless, slippery pucker. But unlike before, once his cheeks crashed down, he ripped a booming fart. It was like two enormous and surprisingly heavy helium balloons were deflating with sticking toxic gas coming out onto your nose. He continued this for almost twenty minutes. Raise, tense, crush, fart. Half way through it became too much, but it just meant you got harder as his dominant side was truly dominating you past limits you never knew you had. You struggled with the overwhelming dominance, suffocation, and stench. Reaching up to push his back, you perfectly align your hands with the red painted hand prints, something you can realise by the change in texture. Your mind races with thought ‘Has he done this before? Is that why he uses hand prints for shirtless performances?” As you contemplate the idea, you lower your hands back down out of exhaustion.

Raise, tense, crush, fart. You inhaled like it was oxygen, stinking oxygen that killed you slowly with its sewage smell. Your pre-cum began to leak but Chan was too far into his dom side to care. Raise...Tense...Crush...Fart. His final drop made your nose peak into his hole. It smelt devine. Manly, stinky, evil, and like a true Australian dom.

"Last stretch! Imma just unload my whole tank now seat. I know you won't get them all, but appreciate every fart you can!" Even though you didn't hear the message, you didn't need to be told to sniff anymore. Your were his. His seat and his property to sit on and fart on for ever.

You felt the rumble of his stomach trickle down to the flesh around your nose. Surprisingly his warm hand gripped your throbbing shaft, showing off his gorilla like grip. His glutes tensed up around your head, squashing it as his gas made its way through his intestines until it finally hit. "Damn...it's all coming now!" His words couldn't be more true as a barrage of gas, lasting ten minutes unloaded itself onto you. His cheeks relaxed again, feeling like warm cushions hugging your head as his gas was chugged into you like a vile protein shake. Each fart varied, and kept you guessing so you could never be prepared. You simply inhale like a wild animal in between screams for freedom. The screams felt good to Chan, vibrating inside a fart chamber as if you were praising his dominant turn. In return, he started stroking your hard on, one stroke per fart until you finally were near unloading for a third time. Instead he teased you, gripping and holding at the tip for a few minutes before lifting off.

"You wanna feel satisfied? You wanna blow your little load? Give Daddy Chans ass a kiss!" He slams back down onto your bright red sweat drenched face. Your teary eyes didn't deter him at all, giving you exactly what you wanted. The dominant leader that you fantasized about. You pucker your lips and he slams down. Your lips meet those of his ass and he throws his head back in pleasure as you realign your hands with the handprints on his back to add to the immersion. He didn't stroke yet though, waiting for a fart to line up with it. Not learning your lesson, you assumed he was being more dominant than in reality and that he wanted tongue.

His eyes lit up as he felt the cold touch of your tongue enter his hole. The sensation caused him to finally fart and stroke you so you could finish for the final time. He stayed on your tongue, riding it and slamming on your face for a few minutes after you passed out. Once he finally got up he was exhausted from his work and decided to get his private security to take you home discretely before tidying up the mess of the broken chair.

You awake on your bed, in the same clothes, and with the stench of his farts embedded on your nose and mouth. A gift box awaits you on the bed along with note. "Thanks for unlocking my dominant side! I can't wait to have you officially as my seat on payroll. I've got a contract in the box, along with other little gifts. Check your messages on your phone for a little something extra!" Your excitement got the better of you and you rushed to open the box. A deep familiar scent poured put and your eyes watered with happiness. It was his ripped boxers, freshly farted on by the man himself. You bring them to your face, and inhale deeply as the addiction to his smell was too strong to ignore. Other contents of the box included a small bottle of his signature vanilla perfume, some cooling body lotion, and a picture of his newly added handprint on his back to represent you.

Breaking from the trance you checked your messages to see an unknown number with a voice message. "You want a fart?...Say please!" His voice says seductively in his Australian accent. "Please!" You whisper instinctively. After the short gap, a massive ripper of a fart is heard on the recoding that send you over the edge.

*Let me know your favourite parts :)*

#fart kink #gay farting #face farts #fart caption #gayfacesitting #male farts #fart story #THEDADDY #sitonmyfaceplease

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

Perfect Find

Steven Grant x GN!Reader • Rating: PG •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: You and Steven look through the local charity shops.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Just some fluffy old fluff.

Warnings: swearing, set in the UK, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 590

You gasp excitedly as you hold up the shirt. “Steven, what about this one?”

His eyes light up when he sees it and rushes around from the other side of the clothing rail. “It’s perfect!” He touches the material lightly, it’s cotton, or at least some kind of cotton blend. Whatever it was, it doesn’t make him feel like he needs to peel his skin off after coming into contact with it.

“This charity shop has everything,” he laughs as he takes the shirt, a short sleeved button down, out of your hands and looks at the price. £6.00, not bad.

The shirt itself is a vibrant sky blue, intercut with swirls of white that in all honestly neither of you are one hundred percent sure if they are meant to be clouds or waves. Though most likely the latter considering the main pattern of the material. It is covered with swimming goldfish, all from a bird’s eye perspective.

You notice the black t-shirt slung in the crook of Steven’s arm and point to it. “Found something else?”

It takes him a moment to drag his eyes away from the goldfish before he looks up to you and smiles. “For Marc.”

You’re about to say how thoughtful that is of him, until Steven holds the t-shirt up and you can read the text on the front. ‘My depression is chronic, but this ass is iconic.’

You can’t help the sudden bout of laughter that spills from your lips. “Oh my god…”

“I know, right?” Steven gives you the biggest shit eating grin.

“He’s gonna hate that.”

“He is.” Steven says with an almost perverse glee. “Loathe it, utterly, utterly loathe it.”

You walk with Steven as he takes his purchases to the till. “Is this payback for him hiding your Hanukkah jumper?”

“Not in the slightest.” He grins. “Just part of the payback.”

You giggle.

“I’m gonna wear this t-shirt every time I know we’ve got planned switching time. See how long it takes before he notices the writing.”

“Could be a while.” You smile.

Marc was very observant when it came to outside things, other people, the landscape, he wasn’t however so concerned with what he was wearing as long as it was comfortable and fairly plain. The writing on the t-shirt was just small enough that there was a good chance he wouldn’t pay attention to it straight away. Especially if Steven put a hoodie or a plain-ish shirt over the top (unbuttoned of course).

“Oh, I intend to make sure it is.” Steven beamed as he then turned to the cashier, greeted them and paid for the shirt and t-shirt.

You absentmindedly touch the t-shirt as you put it into your canvas bag and sling it over your arm. It’s soft, comfortable. And you smile. You know, just as Steven does, that deep, deep, deep down, Marc will quite like the t-shirt.

He’ll grumble a little of course, probably give you both a playful roll of his eyes and tut. But he won’t take it off. He won’t throw it away.

You’ll find him wearing it of his own free will in bed, and on lazy mornings in the flat. And even outside when the urge takes him.

“I can carry those, love.” Steven smiles at you as you carry the bag, but you shake your head.

“It’s fine.”

He tuts, a sound that is so different to Marc, and kisses your cheek as you both head outside into the high street and the next charity shop.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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sukunasun · 4 months ago

Note

i wonder who which jjk men are into boobs, butt or legs in the debate 🤔

a.n. should preface this by noting that these parts have their advantages from a functional perspective (i.e. a mouth feels better than a hand) but when it comes to attraction...to each their own. preferences don't mean one lacks in comparison to the other. breasts, butt, belly, and everything else are all beautiful in their own way. they'd like you head to toe. that being said, this is less about appearances and more that every lover fucks in irreplicable ways + how it has influenced their tastes.

geto is an enigma...he'd choose the unpredictable parts and the brain happens to be one of them. mainly because sex is just as much a creative process and he gets bored easily. think up a roleplay scenario and watch how his eyes light up, try a risky position, doggy and missionary are overdone, and show him that toy you really want because it has seven speed levels and fourteen vibrational patterns. the possibilities are endless. the foreplay takes precedence, he doesn't mind pushing the boundaries or "broadening our horizons," as he puts it.

you forget he has whole other sides to him. he gets as passionate and all-consuming as his love for you. heart skipping a beat when he pulls back the curtains and fucks you hard against a window. presents you to the world without fear or shame, just that he's always wanted to try it. 'try' being the keyword here, something about your body being his body too. geto doesn't think he'd learn you well without sneaking in a few surprises.

copping a feel is the same as stealing an innocent kiss. leaving them in uninhabited spots. they're too obvious, too exciting. a secret you two share. no one wants to see his tongue licking a stripe down the nape of your neck while you're busy preparing dinner for company or that they can practically hear the two of you going at it in the bathroom. you can't help the squeal you let out, it's his fault for slipping his thumb past your asshole.

you don't bother to ask why he's so bold. geto's not the kind to elaborate too much outside the bedroom but within those four walls, he's got a dirty mouth, a wicked tongue, and he needs communication. talk you through it and the like. commentary is sexy when he tells you just how perfect you feel, how tight, how wet, how good you are when you milk his cock like you're hungry for it. his come feels so hot, sticking to you like honey, coating your insides like a mark—so tell him. let your mouth do the work.

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

gojo on the other hand has an eye for pretty things. loves the art of the tease. spends all the time in the world watching behind his blindfold, letting out longing sighs with cheek pressed into palm fantasizing about lines and shapes fitted upon and in his hands. how large they are, he likes to take his time running them down sloping shoulders, a waist curving inwards, and mouth-watering thighs.

his eyes are just drawn to them, supple and succulent, he likes to get his full of it. all that plump flesh in his hands, you have no business being this sexy. in a pair of jeans, in leggings, or when they peek from below short pretty dresses. diaphanous thing damp with more than just water but your sweaty skin and slick, dripping pussy. it hints and hides just enough, not too much. accentuating, revealing something he can't wait to have. loves that bit of chub that sticks out when you wear thigh-high socks and garters. "you think im letting you leave the house like that?" he warns, fingers tugging at the elastic, wanting to rip them apart. then holds onto it when he drives you anywhere because he’s clingy isn't he? his fingers mark you with heat and his intent to get crushed like a watermelon between them, even when you do the ‘hovering’ straddling thing so you don't 'hurt' him. which is impossible. gojo is more than capable.

he'll pull you back down, wanting to feel your full weight atop him, grips onto them and watches as they tremble and shake. it's the best part. he'll kiss them, bite into the raw skin. not to mention it feels so soft when he’s laying his head on them, feeling you brush his hair back, "i could stay here forever..." he says and means it.

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

sukuna wants vulnerability. or rather he expects it of you when he doesn't intend to be gentle. call it arrogance, call it knowing what he likes but sex is also an act of trust and sukuna's the most unwilling when he isn't convinced he has a partner who—for lack of a better term—'matches his freak'. it's ironic when he'll ask "what's in it for me," but transactional, no-strings-attached sex still requires defenselessness.

so it matters that your reactions are a drug and he wants more each time. how you get feistier, friskier, bit by bit as he continues to pinch and prod. your pleasure matters, but don't get there on your own. not before he gets a taste of smooth skin and how it gives under his teeth. tits and ass are so pedestrian, he prefers the more... susceptible parts. a neck, a rib, and an ankle are all very prone to nasty accidents. it'll only hurt more when he won't apologise for the occasional biting bruise or stinging slap. your yelp of excitement is more than a green light for him to yield, inflicting just that little bit of pain.

he's got a tight grip on your wrists, after he's left languid, sloppy kisses down the length of your forearm, he won't say that he loves when you smell like him. a touch is never innocent but territorial when he leaves behind traces.

stop struggling. sukuna's a huge weight atop you like tonnes of water and it stays that way until he's done fucking you. how weak and helpless you are. but it never really ends there, his fingers like to linger, dipping them between the soiled mess you made, so what if he's come inside and you're sensitive, maybe he wants more, maybe he likes the trembling edges of your body, the way your eyes roll back, the choking, garbled plea that spills from you. begging not to stop but to make it last, harder, faster, i want to be full of you—a suffocating closeness.

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there's no need to rush, nanami likes to take his time. won't say he's fervent but he is tired, so he'll rest his head upon a soft stomach. he pulls you in closer every time he's sat by the edge of the bed, a hand reaching out to yours.

buries his face and kisses a line down your sternum while he inhales sweet wafts of your perfume along the way, goosebumps rising to meet chapped lips and feeling that scratchy caress in return. you thank him with the soothing stroke of your fingers, parting blonde strands and massaging those temples. his groan tells you all you need to know. there's nothing better than his dear, bowing head.

he holds onto your middle as you bounce on his dick in reverse cowgirl. wild and wanting he guides you from below and you don't see the cogs turning in his head from where he watches over your shoulder. how could you, you're too busy feeling full from how big and sturdy he feels. chest so broad and steadying you like a brick wall. it's then his two large hands trail down, hot to the touch, to cup your womb in this warm and...careful hold.

he leaves them there while the bulging spot juts up to meet his pressing fingers, where the head of his cock is no doubt pummelling your cervix. it's too deep, knocking the wind out of you, but you won't stop him. his thumb caresses the shape, the skin, whole palm pressing down and judging by the scream you let out the pressure is immense. in and out, he's more transfixed with how big he is, how much he fills you up, and how you take him so well.

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

toji is a simple man with simple tastes. call it an oral fixation. a pussy tastes like heaven and feels even more so. all the things you could do with one, make her come, make her edge, he definitely prides himself on giving you the best orgasms with just his mouth or fingers. there's no need to complicate things, this man loves money but he might love pussy just a little more.

he doesn't get squeamish, toji stuffs his face and goes to town every time. hands spreading your legs apart, cupping your ass, he likes it when you grip his head tight too, either way, he's making out with it, hungrily lapping with tongue broad and flat, he licks and finds his way deeper.

in the middle of the night, he reaches under the covers for a feel. it's so soft and pliant when he slips his fingers in. he doesn't need to do much as you stir awake, toji kisses behind your ears, feeling you spread for him. "let me play with it," he grunts out, like he woke up and decided he needed to finger you.

there's jolt running up his spine the moment the head of his cock meets the slick, sticky folds of your pussy. he glides and stains the sheets with your combined juices, this wetness that clings to him. thin strands connected everytime he tap, tap, taps. if he were less eager he might just wait it out, let the tip kiss your clit and make it twitch.

but you're so swollen and ready for him, for when he stretches you out so wide you feel him splitting you in half. your aching back and hips can't withstand his heavy, brutal thrusts. pounding and pounding, you swallow him up like nothing, coated in cream and dripping with squirted mess, still spits on it because he can. squeezing him tight like a vacuum, he could never replicate this with his hand. maybe it's why he's so addicted, the sight of his cock moving in and out from between your splayed legs is better than a dream.

#ask #anon #sunpiece #geto suguru hc #sukuna ryomen hc #gojo satoru hc #toji fushiguro hc #nanami kento hc #jjk hc #jjk smut

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snowbunnywatching · 10 months ago

Note

How would Danish highschools and unis change after the influx of Black students? How would policies and attitudes and curricula evolve to be respectful of the new arrivals' culture? What expectations would a Danish girl face, from her friends, parents, and authorities? What would the average Danish girl's social life be like?

How would life look like in the Africanized Denmark I described here?

Education Curricula would evolve to be more respectful of Black culture, as you say.

For example, history classes would take on a more comparative perspective. Instead of just studying Danish history, students would learn that while their ancestors were burying their kings in mounds of dirt, Egyptians were building the Great Pyramid of Giza.

Physical education would also change. The focus would shift from seeing physical activity as a component of well-being to seeing it as a requirement for sexual attractiveness.

Danish gymn classes of today are big on communal activities, teaching students how to be part of a team without the competitive focus of American phys ed. The purpose of the exercises aren't to "get in shape" as much as to give students the sensation of using their bodies, resulting in little more than a pair of healthy blushing cheeks.

This would all change in Africanized Denmark. Now the focus would be on being the most attractive version of yourself that you can be.

For the guys, this would consist of muscle-building exercises, like weight-lifting and push-ups. Mostly for the Black men, of course, with white guys being encouraged to take on the role of spotter.

The atmosphere would be very masculine, and (Black) students would be allowed to decorate the locker room with their favorite pin-ups.

For the girls, gym class would start with an individual weighing in front of the entire class. Weight losses would be commended, and girls would be warned not to become "chubby".

This would be followed by strenuous exercises designed to make your tummy tighter and your butt bigger. The only cheeks blushing would be those on your backside as you went through your twerking exercises.

Critical Race Theory would also play a central role in the curriculum. Students would be encouraged to explore the historical roots and contemporary manifestations of racism. This would include exploring and apologizing for subconcious racism among the Danish students themselves. I've written more about this here.

Expectations faced by Danish girls Danish girls in particular would be expected to extend their hospitality to the new arrivals.

Posting pro-BLM material on your social media profile would be expected and considered the bare minimum. Likewise attending anti-racist rallies. As our dark-skinned guests are greeted at the border, Danish teens would be marching and chanting in protest of police brutality against Blacks.

There would also be an expectation of dating the new arrivals. As a single Danish girl you would be expected to be on at least one dating or hookup app, advertising your desire to welcome a Black man into your bed.

This pressure would especially be felt by those girls blessed with a big booty. A bona fide PAWG in a relationship with a Danish guy would be accused of "wasting" her body on a white guy when a Black man would enjoy it so much more.

#racial justice #cultural africanization #white guilt

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allthesmutl0vers · 11 days ago

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From the Ashes

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader x Regulus Black

(Dedication, Full-story content warnings, and Prologue)

Masterlist Summary/Moodboard Overall Vibe Song

Requests/Asks: OPEN

a/n: This story will be updated 2-3 times a week with multiple posts/parts. And this story, like my other stories, is multi-pov, all in first-person perspective, with use of (y/n), though, I do try to use it sparingly. And I want to reiterate that this is a dark romance, with morally grey/morally black mmc's.

I am not responsible for your media consumption. You have been warned.

(Let me know if you want a playlist link in the comments.)

Full-Story Content Warnings:

(This is the complete list for any and all triggers within this entire story. Each part will have a briefer list of the triggers within that part.)

Mentions of death and loss

Mentions of mental illness (Suicidal thoughts and tendencies, anxiety, depression, survivor’s guilt, nightmares, insomnia, repressed emotions, internalized rage, self-harm(having reckless sex), and drug & alcohol abuse(weed, ecstasy, alcohol, cocaine))

Obsessed MMCs (No, like, they’re fucking psychotic, one of them especially)

Stalking (Breaking and entering, notes, gifts(both good and bad- you’ll see what I mean), and anonymous text messages)

Kidnapping and torture (Cut off appendages)

Death

Knife kink/Knife play

Blood play

Permanent branding

Temp play

Snowballing

Double penetration

Oral sex (Male and female receiving and giving)

Anal sex

Dominant/Submissive relationship

Primal play

Masked men

Wand play

Bondage

Praise and degradation

Sex toys (Vibrators, butt-plugs, nipple clamps, you get the gist)

Damn, you’re still here? Alright then.

Be a good slut and keep fuckin’ reading for me, yeah?

Dedication

To those of us whose light only shines in the darkness of the abyss,

Mattheo Riddle and Regulus Black will take good care of you.

Prologue

~Y/n~

There’s a feeling you get after battle when the dust finally settles, and you’re wondering how in the hell you’re still alive. Part of you wants to hold on to that moment, the moment when there is a sliver of hope that everyone you care about is still alive. It’s like a dream, and you’re not sure what is real and what isn’t.

Then you wake up.

The scent of blood, soot, and victory lingers in the air like a heavy blanket. A victory hard fought and sorely won. I look down at my hands, the hands that once did homework and held hands with my friends in the castle that is now crumbled and destroyed. Covered in a mixture of blood and sweat, but no tears stain my cheeks.

Have I not cried this entire time?

I suppose there’s no time to, not when you’re in the middle of a battle. Not when you’re desperately fending off Death Eaters as you help a group of first years escape, saving as many as you can and having to kill in front of them to save their lives. And certainly not when you’re dragging a third year off of their dead best friend’s body in order to pull them the safety, listening to them scream in protest.

I force myself to look away from my hands and down to the bottom of my shirt, also covered in blood.

My blood. Shit, I’m bleeding.

I lift the hem of my shirt a few inches, and yup. There it is, a gash on my hip, nothing too bad, at least, not that I can feel yet.

“Y/n!”

I push down my shirt and turn my head toward the direction where I hear my name coming from. Locking eyes with two sets of brown eyes just as Aurors are dragging them away from the rubble that was once our school.

“Mattheo. Regulus.” Their names fall from my lips in a whisper barely audible, even to my ears.

“Y/n!” Mattheo calls out for me once more, and I take a small step towards them, then another, and another until I’m sprinting across what used to be the courtyard.

“Matt! Reg!” I call out, running towards my best friends in a daze as if my body is moving of its own accord. Seeing them being shoved into the back of a flying carriage for the Ministry of Magic.

Two arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back and holding me like steel bands. “Let them go, y/n,” Seamus’s voice barely registers in my ears as I pull at his wrists, desperately attempting to pry them off of me.

“Get off me! They’re taking them away!” I protest, my heart pounding as I see the carriage door slam shut, sealing Mattheo and Regulus inside before it flies away.

Seamus spins me around, his hands heavy on my shoulders as he looks into my eyes, his face covered with soot and dried blood around a cut on his cheek. “Listen to me. They’re gone; they made their choice,” his voice is firm and heavy with finality, his eyes begging me to see reason.

I shake my head fervently, my mind racing with a million ideas on how to break them out, regardless of their crimes. “They’re my best friends, I can’t abandon them, they would—”

“This is what they did, y/n!” Seamus motions to the rumble of Hogwarts behind him and the bodies being hauled away into vehicles to go… wherever they’re going next. “Don’t tell me what they would do. We’re looking right fucking at it,” his words are harsh and blunt, hitting me deep in my gut, knocking the air from my lungs all over again.

His chest rises and falls deeply as his other hand drops from my shoulder and runs through his short hair. “I’m sorry, but that’s the reality of the situation,” his tone softens slightly, and he looks down at me. “Come on, let's get that checked out,” he nods to my hip, the blood seeping through my shirt.

“Ms. Waters?” A ministry official stops me on my way out of the medical tent. His crisp and clean suit feels like an insult to the blood-stained ground we’re standing on. “I have some questions I need to ask you regarding a few criminals that you know,” he continues when I don’t respond, his words clipped as if I’m just as guilty as them.

I clench my jaw, my eyes narrowing slightly as I look up at him. “I have nothing to say,” I try to hide the disdain in my voice, but it’s hard. The idea to say fuck it and break my best friends out of the ministry crosses my mind once more, and I have to force myself to think of something, anything else.

His lips purse in a tight line, and his gaze pierces into mine as if he is seeing right through me. The corner of his mouth curls up into a cruel smile, and his eyes harden as he leans in, his voice coming out lowly and laced with contempt and hatred.

“I think we both know that isn’t exactly the case, is it? The blood spilled on these grounds is all your fault, after all.”

Part One - Coming Friday 🤞🏻🫣

#regulus black x reader #mattheo riddle smut #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin smut #regulus black smut #A.T.S.L stories

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mpregtales · 3 days ago

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Logan

9 months pregnant, 29 years old, from Denver, expecting his first children, twins—a boy and a girl.

Logan’s journey into fatherhood has been anything but ordinary. A semiprofessional athlete with a chiseled physique and a magnetic presence, Logan had always been admired both on and off the field. His perfectly sculpted body—toned abs and firm, muscular glutes—made him a standout, and he wasn’t shy about showing it off. His confident charm drew attention wherever he went, but one particular admirer changed the course of his life forever.

Logan met Daniel, a businessman who worked for his team, during one of his games. From the start, there was an undeniable tension between them. Daniel, though married with children, couldn’t resist Logan’s allure. Logan, aware of the attention he was getting, began deliberately teasing Daniel during practices and games, knowing exactly how to flaunt his bubble butt in the tight athletic gear. Every calculated movement on the field was designed to drive Daniel wild, and it worked.

After a particularly intense game, Logan found Daniel lingering in the locker room. Their glances turned into conversation, and the conversation quickly turned into something much more physical. The two gave in to their desires, their chemistry igniting into a whirlwind of passion right there in the empty locker room. Daniel’s hands roamed freely over Logan’s firm physique, and their connection felt primal and electric. Logan loved the way Daniel took charge, his manhood fitting perfectly inside as though they had been made for each other. The warmth of Daniel’s seed filling him was a sensation Logan hadn’t expected, but one he couldn’t deny enjoying. In the heat of the moment, there hadn’t been time to find a condom. Logan got rid out as much as he could afterward, but it was clear not all of it had been expelled.

Weeks later, Logan was stunned to discover he was pregnant—and, eventually, not just with one baby, but twins. The news brought a mix of emotions. At 29 with a demanding athletic career, getting knocked up hadn’t been part of his plans. The affair with Daniel added another layer of complexity, as Logan was now carrying the children of a married man with a family of his own.

Now, at nine months pregnant, Logan’s body has transformed into a shrine of fertility and child-bearing. His belly, massive and round, has dropped low as it prepares to deliver his twins. He often finds himself rubbing the taut surface, marveling at the kicks and rolls of his son and daughter within. His firm glutes have blossomed into full, plump, pregnancy-thickened mounds that jiggle with every step, stretching his athletic wear to its limits. He secretly loves the attention his new curves bring, even as they remind him of the intense journey he’s been on.

Logan has come to embrace the signals his body sends as it prepares for birth. The growing pressure in his pelvis, the tingling in his hips and lower back, and the undeniable fullness in his cheeks and hole are constant reminders that the time is near. Though carrying twins at this stage hasn’t been without its challenges, Logan has found joy in the process, discovering a deeper love for himself and the new role he’s about to take on.

As he reflects on the complexities of his situation, Logan has made peace with his future as a single dad. Despite the challenges of his affair and its implications, Logan is determined to give his twins the best life possible. The journey has reshaped his perspective on fatherhood, and while he never imagined himself in this position, he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

With just days to go before the birth, Logan stands proudly, his body a celebration of life and resilience. And though his path to parenthood was unconventional, it has shaped him into the man—and father—he was always meant to be.

From the Paternity Studios Collection

#mpreg #male pregnancy #mpreg belly #pregnantbelly #pregnant man #pregnant #belly #mpregbelly #mpreg birth #mpregstory

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ewesless · 9 months ago

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Lucifer is simultaneously closer to Barbatos's ass than I will ever be and his butt is blocking my view of Barbatos's. It's almost touching Barbatos's Barbooty. Nah trick of perspective those pancakes are like a mile apart.

Rocking out Cheek-to-Cheek with your beleaguered colleague/son-in-law sounds about right. Diavolo out there screaming louder than everyone else with his Red Devil Bubble 'I LOVE LUCY' t-shirt and Pride Attribute/Lucifer handmade fan in one hand, blue glowstick in the other, doing some wild Wotagei he choreographed himself and knocking people out with his Simping enthusiasm.

Twice. TWICE. IN A ROW. They have had his booty RIGHT THERE, yet obscured it like when the enchanting Devildom moon is concealed by storm clouds. I shall wait patiently for the clear night when the bewitching view of the full moon is unhidden once more. I have also taking matters into my own hands.

It's been a minute since I last talked about his rear end so I felt it was time.

I shall be a nuisance and oh what a nuisance I shall be! Almost as much of a nuisance as Lucifer was in this event 🙃

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo #slander #barbatos brainrot

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carolmunson · 2 years ago

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wish i had a river (part two)

here it is, the part two i said i wouldn't write. if you missed it, here is the first part - wish i had a river this is very much an eddie munson fanfiction, it's mostly from his perspective and follows his story through his eyes and actions. 'you' are mentioned and seen in this fic, but for the most part, it's all eddie all the time. cw: minors dni, adult themes, some smut references. angst. hurt/comfort. lots of mentions of poverty/hunger, sleep deprivation, all around eddie having a bad time. cigarettes/mild drinking but nothing inherently like -- bad? idk. unpopular ship mentioned. i did NOT proof read this.

The alley behind Macy's was a safe haven. Cold, a blue black, poorly paved, with nothing but the dumpters of other stores and the rats to keep him company. Eddie nursed a cigarette on his third smoke break of the night, two bad customers away from a total nervous breakdown. His anxiety built higher every day, every rush, every icy road report -- more people yelling, more people stressed out, more car accidents he'd have to clean up. Wayne's been in an out of the doctor's office more often and it's looking like he might have to retire early. The cigarette loses it's flame and he curses under his breath when he goes to light it again, the nicotine soothing his lips and tongue with a slow steady burn.

You never got to decorate cookies together on his impromptu 'sick day', you hadn't returned any of his calls. Not that he thought he was off the hook or anything, but he did basically write you a fifty two page love letter. If he had the time he'd come by your apartment to apologize in person but at this point exhaustion had started to over stay it's welcome. He could barely make it to the pharmacy on his nights off to get Wayne's medication. The guys at the auto shop could tell something was starting to go very left, 'cause why was the youngest guy there the one who couldn't keep up anymore?

And Eddie really couldn't keep up anymore.

At least his commission in the shoe section was doubling daily.

The cold bites his cheeks while he finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt on the dirty, uneven pavement and crushing out the flame with his work shoes. He rubs his eyes, heavy and swollen with lack of sleep, with scrubbed fingernail hands and sighs. Just another hour and he can go home, just another hour and it's not a closing shift, he can go home at seven like normal people with regular jobs.

He drops his coat off in the cubby area upstairs, stopping in the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He inspects himelf, eyes half closing in disappointement while he does -- he looks like a shell of himself. He hadn't picked up his guitar in months, didn't turn the radio on anymore -- opting for silence since it was so rare for him to hear between Macy's, the shop, and Wayne's breathing machine at night.

He takes his hair down, shaking out the curls that had at least dried into waving perfection last night, and gives it a shake before putting it back up in a neat ponytail. His bangs sit on his forehead, a few strands framing his now gaunt face. He practices an awake smile in the mirror before he completely deflates -- one bad interaction, one rude look, one snap from a boss, and he'd lose it. The rawness sat in a lump in his throat, a grenade of tears ready to blow if the pin is even so much as nudged.

The door to the back rooms squeaks open on its hinges, revealing the never ending click of boots, heels, sneakers, and men's shoes on the sining tile of Macy's walkway floors. In the beginning, the scent of the perfume section across the way and the bright lights of jewelry used to be an assault on his senses -- but as Wayne says 'You can get used to anything.'

"You good, Ed?" he hears, and turns his head -- it's Angie. Angie is his favorite coworker because she makes the best and meanest jokes about people. If it wasn't for some nights closing with Angie he would've left this job a long time ago. He'd been keeled over in laughs with a duster in his hand so many times that it almost seemed wrong to abandon her there.

"Yeah," he furrows his brow at her, "Should I not be?"

"Some pretty boy's been looking for you," she says, nodding over to the boots section, "You got another business I don't know about?"

A grin stretches across her frosted red lipstick'd lips, crinkling her overlined and spider lashed eyes. She's what Eddie and the guys at Forest Hills would have called 'trailer park pretty' if she was thirty years younger.

"They would be so lucky, wouldn't they?" Ed smirks back, eyes following her nod and landing on a head of beautifully coiffed chestnut hair, "Harrington?"

Steve's eyes perk up like a golden retreiver, a winning smile spreading across his face with a flash of white teeth in it's wake, "Hey, Ed!"

Angie gasps when she realizes who it is, "Oh shit! Is this the guy that --"

"Shh, shut up Ange," Ed huffs, waving her off while Steve comes up to approach him.

"Hey dude, I was hoping you were here. I uh, got a pretty big collection to get tonight so I figured -- you know, I'd come say hi and ask for your help." It's frustrating how pleasant Steve is. How warm his demeanor radiates to others, his candor, the way that he stands. It's annoying that a denim button under a cozy green sweater looks good on him. It makes Eddie sick that he can pull off wire-rim glasses and still look his age, that he smells like spice but not in a cheap way. A twinge of fear shook in his chest when a seed of assumption planted itself in his head -- was this why you weren't answering his calls? Was Steve Harrington smothering you with Christmas spirit every night?

"Yeah, man, sure," Eddie responds like the world isn't sitting directly on his shoulders, which -- he observed -- were not nearly as broad as Steve's, "How can I help you?"

"I need like, four pairs of Moon Boots," he shrugs, "Guess they're in style again? My sister's and nieces want matching pairs so like -- two in a size 8 and then, if you have it, two in a size 4 kids?"

"What color? We have white, purple, black, some metallics," Eddie lists on his fingers, "Well, maybe not black -- those probably sold out already."

"You got silver? Pink, maybe?" Steve shrugs, "I'm just trying to get these wrapped by tomorrow."

Christmas Eve. Ed had almost forgotten.

"Let me see what we have and I'll bring it out," he offers. He wants to ask about you but it seems too obvious. You must have talked about the fight or about him in general, how else would Steve know he worked here? How else would he know to come looking for him.

Moments later, Ed comes out with four boxes, "I have two in silver and two in pink -- so it looks like your nieces will be matching and your sisters will be matching. Does that work?"

"Oh shit, that's perfect," Steve smiles the same winning smile. Eddie wonders for a moment what it feels like to smile genuinely, it's felt like years since he had. He guesses that when you're Steve Harrington, you must get to smile pretty often. Rich, girls love him, former captain of the basketball team, has a masters degree, painstakingly handsome -- no wonder you called him after your fight. Damn, he would too.

"Is that all?" Ed asks, reaching up to run a hand over the five o'clock shadow speckling his chin.

"No, actually, sorry. I need some like, work boots, if you sell those here -- is that okay?" Steve asks.

"Work boots like, how? Like construction?" he asks, "You're a teacher, Harrington."

"Yeah but my uh, my roommate -- he's not in construction but he's on a whole bunch of terrain for work -- desperately needs good shoes for that," he explains.

"What's he do?" Ed asks, guiding him over to the display of Timberlands and Doc Martens.

"He's a photojournalist -- he's all over the place," Steve answers, "He's worn his sneakers down to the sole and like, swears their okay --"

"Jonothan Byer's is your roommate?" Eddie asks, making the connection. He'd only known him from their photography class they shared in Eddie's second senior year, but he knew enough to know he went into journalism shortly after college.

"Yeah," Steve nods, running a hand through his hair.

"Hm," Eddie looks over the shoes and looks up at him, "If I can be honest -- he's gotta be quick on his feet, right? These are gonna be too heavy for him to be walking around in. You might just want to get him some higher quality running sneakers. There's a Foot Locker downstairs if you wanna check that out? A lot of our sneakers are sold out until next week."

"Hmm, shit," Steve clicks his tongue, "Well um -- could I maybe try a pair?"

"Of Docs?" Eddie asks with a laugh.

"Yeah, of Docs -- I can be hip and cool, too, Munson," Steve's faux defense is charming. Eddie wonders what else you find charming about him.

Part of it feels degrading, kneeling down in front of Steve, lacing and relacing each new and different pair of boots he tries on -- but at this point he's buying seven pairs of shoes and the commission alone will cover at least a month of groceries so he's not complaining.

"So you don't hate me, huh?" Eddie asks, slipping a lighter weight Timberland over one of Steve's argyle socks.

"Why would I hate you?" Steve cocks his head, amber eyes catching in the light.

"Oh, did she not talk about it?" Eddie flushes. Why would you talk about him? Your loser mechanic (maybe ex) boyfriend who works at the mall, and at the auto shop, and sometimes sells drugs.

"Your fight from last week?" Steve raises his brows, "Yeah, she talked to me about it. But I woudn't hate you for that."

Ed tightens the laces up his foot to his ankle with care, "Why not?"

"I mean, you're doing a lot right now," Steve shrugs, "I think it can be hard when you're teaching little ones, especially this time of year, to not get caught up in the magic -- you sort of popped her bubble. But y'know, it was sort of a reminder to her that not everyone has it so good."

"She didn't deserve me yelling at her like that, though," Eddie shakes his head, he can feel the threat of the grenade pin tugging on his heart strings. One false move. One shake. One nudge, and he'll blow.

"You're doing the best you can," Steve offers kindly. Eddie swallows hard, offering him a tight smile.

"Thanks. I'm trying, I'm--" he shakes out the tingle of a cry before tying up the laces, "I'm trying really hard."

By the time Steve checks out it's about 7:15 and Eddie wants nothing more than to go to bed. His back hurts, he's gotta make sure Wayne took his medication, he's gotta eat sleep for dinner for the third night in a row.

"Thanks so much," Steve beams, "This is great, thanks for your help."

"Yeah, no problem dude," Eddie sighs, running a hand over his face again, "Have a good holiday."

"You done for the night?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, just gotta y'know -- grab my shit and go," he shrugs.

"You wanna grab some dinner with me in the food court or something?" Steve asks, balancing the many shopping bags he'd collected this evening in his hands.

"I don't know, dude. I don't wanna keep you or anything," Eddie says. His stomach clenches at the word dinner, his body reacting like a dog who just heard the sentence 'you wanna go outside?'

"You're not keeping me," Steve assures, "C'mon, it's on me."

Before he knows it, Eddie's been corralled into a mall food court, sitting slumped over on the sticky table. He tunes out the shreiks of children, the tinny Christmas music playing in the background of the cocophany of noise that is the mall on December 23rd. His forehead sticks to the leather jacket over his forearm, only lifting it up when he hears the slap of a plastic tray being put down in front of him. He surveys the Burger King in front of him and huffs a laugh, it'd been a long time since he'd ventured into the food court. He almost forgot what fast food looked like after the past few months of thin ham sandwhiches or cold cans Spaghettio's.

"So why didn't you try to swoop in?" Ed asked, toying with a french fry before biting off the end, "When you went to her house the other night?"

He savors the oil and salt on his tongue, warm and crispy on the fry disolving in his mouth while he waits for a response.

"Swoop in?" Steve asks, shaking his head, "No, I wouldn't. We just -- we work together. She's my work friend."

"So you never thought about what the kids say?" Eddie challenges, still trying to keep it light hearted, "How the first grade teachers should get married?"

"Her classroom is across from mine and we make lesson plans together," he assures, "What the kids say is what the kids say. They're six, what do they know?"

"Whatever you say, Harrington," Eddie shrugs.

"Munson, seriously -- she's my friend. She's not my type," he offers. The way he says it stings Eddie, what's not his type about you? You're perfect. You're the best person he knows.

"The card thing though? That was cute. I'm gonna put that in my arsenal if I ever fuck up," Steve laughs. Eddie chest rattles when he realizes that Steve was still there for that. He never even knew your reaction.

Eddie clears his throat, "Did um -- did she like it?"

Steve nods with a lazy smile, "Yeah, she liked it."

"Did she say anything?" he asks hopefully.

"She cried," Steve answered, Eddie leans his head on his hands, "I know that might not be what you wanted to hear."

"I didn't wanna make her cry more," he explains, "I wanted to make her happy."

"They were happy tears," Steve encourages with a nod, "She knows you love her. She loves you, too."

"Then why isn't she answering my calls?" he asks, another fry passing his lips.

"I think she's hurt, a little embarrassed. You know how girls are, they never come right out and say it," he shrugs, taking a bite of his cheeseburger. Ketchup drips out onto the paper mat on the plastic tray with a wet plop, Eddie sighs.

"Did you end up getting anything for her for Christmas?"

"No I -- I can't afford it this year," Eddie rubs his eyes again, more swollen and aching than before. Heat beams through his cheeks in embarrassment, tinging pink and then red.

"Well I had an idea," he offers, "If you're up for it."

"Yeah, go for it Harrington. Shoot," he says, the enthusiasm was greatly lacking.

"Well her uh, her class room needs a lot of repairs and the custodial team isn't really equipped for that. The school'll either bare bones it for her or make her pay for it out of pocket if she asks," he starts, "And she told me you're really handy, y'know, working at the garage and all. So maybe you could take care of her class room this week while we're out for break. I can let you in and everything."

He mulls it over in his head, "That's a really good idea, actually. I could um, I could ask the guys at the shop if I could borrow some tools."

"And there's a bunch of wood palettes in the backrooms at Medvald's. Jon said he's happy to get them out of there for you," Steve says with a smile.

"Oh, so you already talked about this?" Eddie smirks.

"Well, yeah, kind of," he blushes, "I was asking around just to see if it was a plausible kind of thing."

"Definitely a plausible thing," he nods, taking a bite of his own cheese burger. He holds back the moan in his chest from eating something warm and mildly filling after such a long time, "Do you think she'd like it?"

"Oh, Munson," Steve shoots him the 'okay' sign, "She'd lose her mind. All she does is complain about how nothing ever works and everything's falling apart. Doesn't even have new chalk."

"Chalk I can definitely handle," he laughs, "I think I can afford chalk."

He feels a moment of calm wash over him when the van rumbles to life in the parking garage. Finally heading home and going to sleep with a full belly, finally with a plan to make you happy, finally feeling like after the new year things can go back to normal. He flicks on the radio and doesn't even change the station when Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas' crackles through the speakers. He heard it 700 times today, happy to hear it for the 701st.

It was your new favorite song, after all.

Eddie woke up feeling slightly refreshed on Christmas Eve, the dull ache in his back mildly relieved. He fished into his pajama pants for his lighter, flicking it a few times before getting the fuse lit for his morning cigarette. He stood at the open door, bathrobe tied tight around him, and listened to the hum of Wayne's machine from the other end of trailer. The mug of black coffee in his hands had the bitterness cut by the soft sweetness of cinnamon -- that's what you always did this time of year.

'I like making it a little festive for you, honey,' you'd giggle, 'Don't be such a Grinch.'

He wished he appreciated it more, all the little things you did to try to make him happy. The faces in fruit on his pancakes some mornings, making his old favorites for dinner at your place, 'build your own sundae' nights. Scratching his head, scalp massages, hand massages. You'd call them man-icures so he didn't feel weird about you doing his nails and softening his callouses. He didn't care that it was just a manicure with a stupid name, all he cared about was your cute face when you concentrated on his cuticles. He missed your laugh, the way you tap your pen out to your favorite songs when you're grading papers or writing lesson plans, your elaborate schemes to make learning subtraction more fun. The way you're kind to everyone, all the time, constantly. When he first started taking you out he'd get embarrassed by how forward you were with people, how you'd make small talk with cashiers, or grab someone's hand to tell them their nails looked beautiful.

Maybe in a lot of ways, he wished he was more like you to start.

He took a shower and slipped on his coveralls, opting to be one of two guys in the shop today. Him and George. It was George's garage, and for the past six years, Eddie had always volunteered to be the emergency mechanic on deck on Christmas Eve. He got paid time and a half and never had to wait for the check, he'd always get paid at the end of the day.

He laces his boots before trudging down the hall to wake Wayne, taking off his machine and flipping the switch.

"I'm headed out," he whispers, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wayne groans when he sits up on the rickety mattress, "I have a new perscription, not sure if the pharmacy'll be open but would you be able to pick it up on the way back. They called last night but I couldn't make it to the phone, it's ready I think."

"Yeah, I'll grab it on my lunch break Wayne," he softens the more he looks at him, "Have some coffee already to go for you on the table, there's a couple eggs left for you too."

"Thank ya, son," his voice is grizzly, but it still feels like home.

Eddie shivers his way into the shop, George in the office organizing some files. The day was always slow, but there were some cars still in need of fixing so he got right to work.

"Hey George," he calls, knocking on the door.

"Hey kid," he calls back, "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, round six," he laughs back. He goes back to the break room and drops off his coat and his back pack. Normally he'd have you to look forward to later with a plate of cookies from your family's Christmas Eve party and some left overs expertly packed. You'd drive an hour and a half to bring it down to him and then an hour and a half back to spend Christmas with your family. But not before he gave you a present, or multiple presents, in the break room when George went out to get a six pack.

"Ed," he calls again, "C'mere when you're done dropping your shit."

Eddie heads over to the office, leaning on the door frame, "'Sup bossman?"

"Someone left a message for ya on the answering machine, think it's the pharmacy," he said, "Ya might wanna give 'em a call, s'probably for your uncle."

"Oh, yeah, I think his prescription's ready," he nodded, "Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, by all means," he said, pushing it toward him, "Want me to give you a minute?"

Ed shakes his head no, "It's fine, just a quick call." He's got the number memorized by heart at this point, clicking the numbers on the grease stained white plastic buttons while barely looking at the machine.

"Hawkins Pharmacy, this is Debbie," Eddie smiles because he knows Debbie. He likes Debbie a lot.

"Hi Deb, it's Eddie, Eddie Munson," he says, "Calling for my uncle, looks like you called my work. I was gonna come by and pick up his meds on my break, will you guys be open?"

"Oh um, about his prescription Ed..." she starts, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice. The clip in the grenade buried in his chest jiggles slightly, he takes in a breath through his nose.

"What's up?" he asks, his voice his short and curt.

"Well, he changed his insurance recently, as you know and -- well there's a lapse in his coverage right now. His new plan doesn't activate until the first," she expains.

"Okay, and what does that mean?" he says, his palms sweat onto the cool plastic of the phone, his ear sticks to the receiver.

"Basically," she says, and then sighs, "His current insurance can't cover it and neither can is upcoming insurance, so the prescription has to be paid out of pocket."

"Um -- uh, fuck -- okay," he says, a chill courses through him, tightening his veins. The pin jiggles again, "H-how much?"

"For the month?" she asks, "For this prescription it's, hold on, let me check...it's looking like it'll come out to around..." she takes a breath of defeat.

"Around three hundred dollars, Ed," she says softly.

"Three hundred..." he repeats back quietly, "Is there like, is there a cheaper version cause he like..."

His voice cracks, the pin rattles dangerously while his eyes start to sting with oncoming tears, "He really needs these pills, Debbie."

"This is the cheapest option," she says apologetically, "I'm so sorry."

"I'll um, I'll figure it out," he shakes his head, "I'll come by and I'll figure it out. Thanks uh, thanks for letting me know Deb."

He doesn't wait to hear her response before he hangs up the phone, quickly leaving the office to go back to the break room. He sniffles in big shuddering breaths, sweat dripping down his back despite the lack of heat in the garage.

"Kid," George says softly, following behind him, "Hey, Munson. What's goin' on?"

He feels George's big hand on his shoulder, the soft squeeze on the muscle under his skin.

"I can't afford my uncle's medication," he says, the pin jiggles, "I mean I can, but like, if I get his medication I'll be late in paying the gas bill, but if they turn the gas off there goes our heat. Or I can delay the electric bill but if they turn the lights out he can't use his machine at night. So maybe I could like, go out tonight after this and shovel some driveways in the rich neighborhoods or -- I could -- I could --"

The pin falls.

He breaks.

He breaks hard.

Eddie's cries turn to wails, his body shaking with hunger and exhaustion and the unbearable heaviness of having to be himself. The tears pour in droves down his face while he tries to catch up with them, trying to find the words to explain to George that he's okay, he'll figure it out.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay, it's okay," George soothes, his aged face crumpling while he watches Eddie break down in front of him. He pulls him in tight, a hand plopping ontop on his mess of curls.

"Why don't you tell me what's been goin' on? You haven't been yourself for months," he says softly, "Talk to me."

George smells like Old Spice and Newports, it's a scent that's always made him feel safe. Like having a second dad -- well, a third dad, if you count his real dad. He never counts his real dad, though.

Eddie sits down at the table while George takes a couple of beers out of the fridge and places them down in front of them. He cracks them open and settles down, two sets of brown eyes meeting each other.

He begins.

"Well if Wayne was sick why didn't you tell me?" George exclaims, "I've known Wayne longer than you've lived in Hawkins, boy. I would've helped you figure somethin' out. Taking shifts at Macy's? At Christmas time? No wonder you're so exhausted."

"I mean, I'm young. I can do it," Eddie shrugs.

"Those bags under your eyes say you can't," he says matter of factly, "And y'know you shouldn't have to. You're -- damn you're a kid."

"I'm like, inching towards thirty George," he laughs.

"And what about your little girlfriend? She not helping?"

"That's..." he sighs, "That's a whole other mess."

Eddie rehashes the story he told Wayne last week and then Steve's visit from yesterday, "So today I was gonna ask if I could borrow some tools and go in tomorrow or something to fix everything up. But now I gotta figure out how I'm gonna make an extra three hundred bucks for these meds."

"How about this," George starts, "You've been workin' for me a long time. You come early and you stay late. You cover for everyone. You know -- damn -- you know more about cars than I do and I've been runnin' this place for thirty years. How about you take this week off to work on your girl's classroom and I'll see you after the New Year."

"I can't. I need to work, George, I need the mo--"

"How about," he interjects, loud and stern, "You take the week off to work on your girl's classroom and get some rest, and I will pay you for the week. It's not like you're just sittin' on your ass."

"I can do that, that's not f--"

"If you say no again, I'm just gonna fire you. Is that what you want?" George challenges.

"No sir," Eddie quickly shakes his head and shuts his mouth.

"And," the older man continues, "I will cover the cost of Wayne's pills. I'll go pick them up at lunch for 'im and drop 'em off. 'Bout time I caught up with that geezer anyway."

The tears build back up in Eddie's eyes, his mouth lets out a sputtered version of a 'Thank you'.

"You gotta stop pretending like you have to do everything yourself," George's voice holds a fatherly fondness when he gets up and tosses their empty beers in the trash.

"C'mere, kid," he chuckles while Eddie tearily gets up out of the chair and back into the dad like embrace of his boss.

"You got ten minutes, but then we got some cars to fix."

Eddie didn't tell Wayne about the insurance lapse or the pills, even though he was surprised to see George at the trailer park that afternoon. Eddie went home with his tool belt from work, his time and a half, and a little extra that his boss insisted he take with him. Wished him luck on his repairs and that he'd see him on the 2nd.

He was warned that if he didn't rest, Wayne would tell him, and it would mean hell for him at the shop.

Eddie'd already been through hell, so he didn't really want to have to do it again.

Christmas morning came and Eddie woke Wayne up to a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

"Thanks, son," he said smoothly, pushing in his chair at the table in the kitchenette, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he wished back, tapping some cinnamon into each of their cups of coffee.

"What's that for?" he asks before a harrowing cough bubbles out of his chest. He takes a sip of coffee to ease the ache of the rattle in his throat.

"It's just festive, Wayne," he teases, "Don't be a Scrooge."

"Doing anything today?" Wayne asks, eyes casting up to look at the old pictures of a younger Eddie sat on Santa's lap. No longer a holiday where they stayed home and snuggled, where he played with his toys, where there was magic.

"Gonna go fix up my girl's classroom as a gift," he says, picking at his nails, "Thought it'd be a nice gesture."

"She hasn't called ya back, hm?"

Eddie shakes his head, already dressed in the Black Sabbath shirt you got him that he hadn't gotten a chance to properly thank you for. The chain you got repaired hung aroung his neck delicately, the pick hitting his chest in a gentle reminder that you're still here with him. You had to be. He'd know if you just decided to be done with him.

By the time the late afternoon rolled around he hopped in his van after Wayne fell asleep in the recliner. The perk of the holidays was that he could drive around in the rich neighborhoods and no one was out to give him and his car dirty looks. No one was around to be confused that Steve Harrington was hopping into his passengers seat to head to Melvald's. No one was around to be confused as to while they were loading wood from broken down pallets into the ample trunk space.

"Good holiday?" Eddie asks.

"Same holiday it always is," he shrugs, "My parents weren't around so I stayed home. Jonothan went to California with Joyce to go visit Will so he wouldn't have to pay to fly home."

"That's lonely," Eddie mutters, "Sorry dude."

"Don't be sorry, I'm used to it," he looks out the window. Steve looks well dressed for repairs -- a pair of worn in jeans, white on white Air Forces, an Izod half zip sweat shirt -- he might as well look like a father of three, "Have you heard from her at all?"

"No -- I left her a message on her answering machine, but I think she's already up with her family. I don't know what she told them so -- I don't want to bother her parents if they're upset with me," he explains.

"They'd never be upset with you," Steve shakes his head, "They're good people."

"I'm sure they wish on a star every night that she was with you, Harrington," he jokes.

"You'd think, right?" Steve laughs, "No, she told me how much they like you. They think you're so good to her -- you are so good to her."

Steve speaks about you with a fondness that makes Eddie wonder. He softens, looking over at him while he turns down the road to the elementary school, "Do um...do you wish it was you?"

"I already told you, man. I love her to death, but she's not my type," he laughs again, but there's a pain there.

"You keep saying that but like -- are you sure? 'Cause you can tell me it's not weird," he assures.

"She hasn't told you?" Steve asks, brows furrowing.

"Told me what? Did you guys used to fuck, or something?" Eddie asks, his heart hammering, "Did you fuck the other ni--"

"No, no, Ed I'm --" he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm gay," he says quietly, "Like, Jonathan isn't my roommate he's -- he's my partner. I'm gay."

There's a silence there for a moment and Eddie shifts in his seat a red light. Oh, I'm such a fucking idiot. Of course that's why they aren't together. I thought maybe he had a weird dick or something.

"That's y'know," Ed shrugs, "That's cool with me, man. Like, silence equals death and all that."

"Oh, shut up man," Steve laughs and shakes his head, putting his hand up to stop him from talking, "Don't like, do that all shit. I'm just surprised she hadn't said anything."

"If you told her not to, she wont," Eddie's voice drops to something sweet, "She's a good girl like that. Great secret keeper. Great -- Oh, shit..."

When the boys pull into the lot, Eddie's surprised to see a couple more trucks sitting by with their lights on, doors opening at the sight of them. A gruff voice calls out from the dark, a light snow obscuring him and the name on his coverall.

"How long were you gonna keep us waiting here, kid? It's a holiday."

George's gruff voice cuts the silence, a couple of the guys from the shop chuckle in the background. Eddie smiles, a genuine, warm smile -- the kind he envied from a couple nights ago that he saw from Steve. These were people who cared about him, who wanted to help. This was, he guessed, was what Christmas was really about. This was what you were trying to tell him the whole time. His heart breaks all over again, and he swears he can feel the pulse of your heart beat in the guitar pick hanging at his chest.

By the 27th, most of the repairs had been done. The help from the guys was beyond what he could've imagined. They were able to replace part of the roof that had water damage, fix the windows, repair a cracked pane, build a new bookcase, fix the wobble in all of the desks, and yours. Now, he was just adding a new coat of paint after spending the morning chipping off all the shards of it that were falling off. In his backpack was an overflow of new chalk, pens and pencils, markers, crayons, construction paper, pipe cleaners, and glue. The guys went through their kids bookcases at home and donated a slew of new books for the room -- some duplicates, too.

He felt good. He'd gotten two nights of adequate sleep, heeding George's warning that he has to rest. He was able to buy a good crop of groceries and most of the guys from work came by to drop off so many Christmas cookies that Wayne was nervous he'd start losing his teeth too. Now, all he had to wait for was you. For you to come in on Friday and see his surprise when you dropped in for your professional development day with Steve. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave flowers or gingerbread men with the card but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he --

"Eddie?"

He jumped, nearly falling off the ladder he was on to reattach over head light that had rusted on the ceiling, "Jesus Christ!"

He clutched his chest, letting his heart rate settle down when at the bottom of the ladder, there you stood. His face blushed pink, pulse ping ponging through his wrists at the sight of you.

"Hi, sweetheart," he smiles, "This um...this was supposed to be a surprise."

"Who told you?" you asked, looking around, "About all my stuff?"

Eddie climbed down the ladder carefully, "Steve came to the store, told me that you needed some help. I figured y'know, if I couldn't get you a present I could just -- I could make you one."

"It's not done yet though, I still have to paint and put all your art supplies away," he explains, meeting you in the center of the room. He looks at you and then at the tears in your eyes, the heat rising in your cheeks. You don't say anything, his heart races in embarrassment. Maybe it wasn't enough, maybe you didn't like it. Maybe you wanted to do it yourself.

"And um, the guys from the shop, they uh, they brought books," he says, walking over to the new bookcase, "And I uh, I built this, like, with my hands."

He painted it to match the rest of the decor, a fun bright color that would hopefully draw the kids in to read. You'd mentioned that the got bored with the same ten books and weren't sharing well -- half of the books were falling apart since there wasn't anywhere to put them.

"And uh, I got you some new chalk -- white obviously, but I got you some multi-colored sets cause I know you like to do little sketches on the board during holidays and like, with spring comin' up maybe you could do little flowers or something?" he doesn't realize it, but he's gasping through his rambled sentences. Watching you walk toward him slowly.

"It's okay if you don't like it," he assures, "You can tell me and I can fix it I just wanted to--"

Your kiss feels like a spoonful of summer warmed honey on his cold lips. It trails down his throat and into his chest, down through his fingertips and his toes. He feels your soft hands cup his face, resting against his cold prickly cheeks. He's afraid to touch your face because you haven't given him a manicure yet this week. He doesn't want to scratch you with his rough hands, so he places them around you instead, frowning when you finally break away with a soft click.

"I just wanted to do something nice," he says against your lips.

"This is the best gift ever," you whisper quietly, a little sniffle stifling your cry, "It's very nice."

"Merry Christmas, baby," he smiles, leaning in for another kiss.

"Merry Christmas," you wish between kisses.

He wakes up wrapped up in you, in your sheets, in your scent, peering at you while you sleep soundly next to him. You both had barely made it through the door of your apartment before you both had shed your clothes -- landing on the bed with a mutual 'oof!'

It had been so long since he'd been present. Savoring every soft moan out of your mouth, every shake of your thighs, everything whine, every clench, the way you'd rake your nails down his back, the way you'd pulse when he held your hand. You both laid there together after round one, eating cookies in bed (which you'd allowed just this once), while he told you everything. About how hard it had been taking two jobs, how he'd completely shut down, about Wayne's insurance lapse, about the guys at work, about Steve coming to Macy's, about how much he loved the gifts you got. About how he cried the night he yelled at you but was too afraid to face you after because he felt so awful. He listened when you told him that you just needed some time, but that you felt awful that you weren't there when he needed you.

"Need you all the time," he mumbled between heated kisses, "Never lettin' you outta my sight."

His eyes rolled and his toes curled when you took him in your mouth, letting you take the lead. He gasped and writhed, whining for more when your tongue swirled and sucked, showing him how much you missed him. How you'll always take care of him -- and he made sure to show you how he'll take care of you back.

Round three was long and drawn out, slow and sensual, close and quiet -- your boom box playing low static by the end.

Your eyes opened, stretching out when you see him sitting up in bed.

"You heading out?" you yawn.

"No, baby," he smiles down at you before laying back down, losing himself under the covers with you again, "I have the week off, so I'm intending to spend every moment I'm not with Wayne, in this bed, with you."

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