#they are so fucked up and hungry I love them

[aikuwrld]

men who are DEVOTED munchers becoming a stuttering mess when you ask to give them head… they look at you like you just asked the most incredulous question in existence. you? give him head? right now? he’s so used to servicing you— the thought of you giving him head already had him shamefully twitching in his pants and dizzy.

“are you sure, my love? no, i mean, you don’t need to… i mean—”

poor baby can barely put a sentence together even before the touching has even happened. don’t get him wrong, it’s not that he doesn’t want it. he’s indulged— matter of fact, he’s stroked a few ones out at the thought of you sucking him off. on your knees, pretty glossy doe eyes looking up at him while you struggle to take all of him in your mouth. it’s just that he’s always been a little shy. too embarrassed to ask you. it’s pathetic— hilarious even that a burly, bulking man of his stature couldn’t bring himself to ask his darling little wife something so simple. he was devoted to you. the man worshipped you. he knew his purpose. it was clear as day in fact. to service and care for you. to follow you like the smitten fool he was. he knew that he was meant for nothing else the moment he had laid his eyes on you. he was yours.

your husband’s putty once you begin leaving behind the softest of kisses down his chest and trembling stomach. the smell of his skin and the hushed whimpers every once in a while leaving his pretty lips dulling your senses. you had to pull away to admire the sight— your hungry eyes drinking in the mesmerizing sight of your man. the contour of his prominent muscles; the number of ruthless hours he’d managed to put into training never failed to impress you. the tank he wore now bunched up and resting on the swell of his pecs; buds glossed over with drool while his chest heaved with every shuddering breath he took, and god, the trail of thick hair leading down to his veiny torso.

he’s practically a pathetic puddle of moans and drool while you attempt to push another inch of his twitching length down your throat minutes later, the tuft of hair on his abdomen tickling your nose as your mouth painfully stretches to take in his fat girth. your tousled hair not going unnoticed as he begins to comb it back, chivalrous as ever while he holds it back with one shaky hand, the other draped over his burning face.

“ah, hnng..! fuuuuck… just—just like that, pretty…”

he drools out, a fucked out mess of groans and praises just for you as he bucks his shaky hips into your mouth involuntarily, apologizing hastily at the sound of your gagging. but oh, how you could practically live off this rare sight. your panties soaking wet at the sight of your husband selfishly chasing his high. you suck in your tear stained cheeks, hallowing them out as his fat leaky tip hits the back of your throat. you were no better than him; a slobbering, gagging perverted mess as you begin to massage and stroke the base of his wet cock.

“gonna… oh— oh, god… don’t… please, baby, i’m gonna…”

he strains out, his hips twitching up as his head presses back against the arm of the couch, his bulging biceps flexing from the iron grip he has on your hair as he thrusts into your mouth once more. you pull away from his thick girth to catch your breath, eliciting a whine that you swear had you ascending. sticky gloss and spit trailing down his cock and connecting from your lips as you push his cock against his tense stomach to lick at the veiny underside. you allow the tip of your tongue to massage against a vein before leaving behind sloppy kisses at the thick shaft down to his twitching balls. he jolts forward in shock, heels digging into the plush surface of the couch. the veins straining underneath the thin skin of his large hands, almost like they were ready to burst with how tight he fingers were interlocked with the roots of your hair.

he can barely control himself, at this point mindlessly babbling on about how lucky he is to have you, how much he loves you, how close he is to cumming. you begin to massage the base of his sticky cock once more before sliding the wet shaft past your lips, slurping shamelessly as you begin to bob your head back up and down. it doesn’t take another second before he shoots his thick load right down your warm, wet cavern. riding out his orgasm as you massage and you pull your head up with a pop, gasping for air as he begins to wipe at your mouth, praising you for taking him so well. he definitely didn’t mind a bit of spoiling here and there. especially from you.

⟢ reiner, erwin, choso, nanami, sendou, niou, noel, tokimitsu, yukimiya, diluc, sanji, zack, aki, vash, sanemi + your favs . . (〃ω〃)

[celiababy]

already in love w ur page! i would love to see dads bestfriend joel from you!!

hi! thank u sm!! and ofc coming right up on a very hot and steamy platter 😛

Not Your Daddy

Pairing: Pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You're back from your first year at college. You've changed and Joel is quick to notice.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (36/19), swearing, p in v, size kink, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem!recieving) no Sarah, alcohol

Celia's note: Heres jus a lil something :) (not proofread sorry) also part 3 of ain't right is coming so so soon I promise!!

Joel Miller and your father were good friends.

When you and your dad moved in next door a little over three years ago, they hit it off quickly. Their tendency to take on random jobs for cash is what bonded them. Also sports.

You were shy then, never able to hold eye contact and always avoiding him whenever he was around.

But thankfully, you've grown into a woman. Your first year at college changed you.

Now, you were back for the summer, eager to sleep in your own bed and spend time with your home-town friends.

But honestly, you were most excited to see Joel.

You wanted him to see how much you've grown. See how mature you've become, how confident.

You always had a little crush on him—mostly because he was the kindest out of all your dad's friends.

You also wanted him to be the one to pop your cherry.

You were a virgin, and kinda always fantasized about Joel being the one to take it from you.

Sure, you’ve done some stuff with guys, but never gone all the way. You were saving that for him.

You knew it wouldn't take long until he made an appearance.

Your dad had offered to host a small get-together to celebrate you being back. He would barbecue in the backyard and hold bets for the basketball game.

It was really just an excuse for him to break out the grill and gamble, but you didn't care. Only because you knew Joel would be there.

You even put on your shortest white sundress and blew out your hair for the occasion.

Your body was buzzing with the idea of seeing him again.

You wondered if he had changed at all.

Your mind started spiraling at the thought.

What if he had changed? What if he was dating someone now? What if he was engaged?

You glanced in the mirror at your nearly perfect reflection and suddenly felt so silly. What if this was all for nothing?

You didn't have long to ponder that thought because the doorbell rings.

You peak out your window and see Joel's truck in the driveway.

Your dad answers the door downstairs, the faint murmur of voices distracting your ears.

The anticipation was gnawing at you like a hungry dog.

After collecting your nerves, you slowly descend the stairs to meet them in the kitchen.

The loud cussing gave away their location. "You've lost your damn mind if you think there's a chance in hell the Privateers of all fucking teams are gonna beat—oh, hey darlin'," Your dad greets you, clearing his throat like he wasn't just cussing out Joel.

His back is to you, but when he turns around, your heart fucking ignites.

He's just as handsome as the day you left. He looks momentarily stunned by you, his eyes flickering all over your figure. God—how was it possible for someone to change so much? You looked more than amazing.

He immediately feels ashamed for basically checking you out in front of your dad, his eyes snapping back up to your face.

"Christ kid, they feedin' you up there at A&M?" He teases before stepping in for a hug.

He even smells the same as he did all those months ago, pine and smoke. You feel relieved.

It seems like the only thing thats different about him is a few gray hairs.

"Hey Joel," you greet with a giddy smile, hugging him back and relishing in his warmth. "How are you?"

Joel is very surprised. He almost doesn't recognize you. You're so much more...more.

"M'alright, aside from the fact that your dad's gonna give me a fuckin' aneurysm one of these days."

You laugh and shake your head. "Fighting about the game tonight?"

"Yeah, this fuckin' asshat thinks the longhorns might lose tonight—messin' up the whole fuckin' mojo," Your dad rambles, his voice beginning to raise before the doorbell rings again. "I'll get that, need to get away from this traitor." He snorts before heading to the door and leaving you both alone.

Joel rolls his eyes before landing his gaze back onto you and your cute little sundress. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns to face you with his body.

"You behavin' up there at school?" He asks light-heartedly, though you find it excruciatingly hard not to reply in some suggestive way.

"Mhm," You hum unconvincingly with a charmingly guilty smile, holding back a laugh.

Joel cocks a brow, pretending to look at you judgmentally. "Lyin’ is a sin, y’know." He huffs, a smile creeping on his lips.

“I’ve been good, just a lotta temptations s’all..” You murmur softly, your body naturally drifting closer to Joel by swaying on your feet.

The tension in the room is palpable.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head the tiniest bit to the side, his voice dropping what seemed like several octaves.

In fear of your voice cracking when giving a verbal response, you opt for a nod of your head, but then shrug just to tease him.

He glares at you but then scoffs, shaking his head.

"When'd you become such a little shit-stirrer, huh?" He chides, reaching over to ruffle the top of your hair.

You laugh before pushing his hand away, your fingers lingering on his wrist for longer than it needed to.

His skin is warm, he's almost hot to the touch. You're having a very hard time tearing your eyes away from his face.

All the sudden, your father calls you into the other room.

"Get in here! Max and Ruby wanna hear about your classes." Max and Ruby being your neighbors who had undoubtedly stopped by for the party.

You peer up at Joel, your eyes almost begging him to ask you to stay. But instead, he gestures with his head for you to listen to your dad.

"Go on now," He husks out, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Reluctantly you leave him behind in the kitchen, your body still whirring with the adrenaline high you got from just talking to him.

***

It was nice seeing everyone that stopped by for the party. You hadn't realized how much you missed your people.

But Joel was making it hard to concentrate on conversation when you guys were playing eye-tag the entire night.

He really couldn't help himself. There was just something so magnetic about you now—it was impossible to tear his eyes away.

He watched you talk to some of your high school friends, then get up to fetch something from the kitchen.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to your ass once you turned around, his cock twitching in his pants because of the way your dress taunts him with its length.

He clears his throat.

Fuck was he thinking.

This was you he was ogling for christ sake. His best friends daughter.

These thoughts were not allowed. He needed to shut this down.

But the night goes on anyway, people getting more drunk and rowdy with each passing second.

Especially your father, who was currently in a screaming match with his work buddy about the game. They're all crowded around the small box tv in the kitchen, intently watching the tiny screen.

You're watching them from afar, amused by your father and the absurdity of it all.

"Ah fuck, we're outta ice," your dad groans, lifting up the empty bowl in annoyance. "Alright, one of you sons of bitches needs'ta make an ice run, m'not missing this game."

Joel groans out, dragging his hand down his jaw. "We're obviously gonna win—the team's up 46. Make the damn run yourself." He berates your father, who in turn just shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand at Joel.

"Every time I don't watch the game to completion, we fuckin' lose. M'staying riiiight here."

"Fuckin' superstitious bastard." Joel groans from under his breath, picking up his truck keys from the counter. "You want some more beer while I'm out? Maybe my liver too? God knows you need a new one, goddamn alcoholic."

You're laughing at them in the corner, finding their banter extremely amusing.

Then, you suddenly realize this might be your chance to spend more alone time with Joel.

You lurch forward, quickly blocking his path. "Can I come with?"

He looks down at you, a barely noticeable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He's just about to reply to you before your drunk father cuts in.

"Ya, go with him, he can't carry the ice by himself or else his back’ll give out."

Joel turns his head to yell at your dad. "Shut your damn mouth," he barks, then turns back around to face you, placing his hand on your lower back. "'Course sweetheart, c'mon."

The drastic change in his voice when he talks to you versus your father makes your heart flutter.

He guides you outside to his truck, only dropping his arm from your back when he opens the passenger door for you.

Hopping inside, you settle yourself into the worn down bench seat. Your eyes follow him as he rounds the front of the vehicle, swinging open the driver side door and cranking the engine.

His old country music starts blaring from the speakers of the car, accompanied by the loud drum of his engine.

He’s quick to whip out of the driveway, steering with one muscular arm on the wheel.

You want to drool at the sight—you know your other lips most certainly are.

"So, you got a boyfriend up there at school?" He asks after clearing his throat.

He wants to subtly test the waters, whether he knows it now or not.

You smile, the thought of dating any guy besides Joel was laughable.

"Nope. They're all kinda gross."

"Gross? Yeah, well, most guys your age are." He mumbles, thinking back to his late teens, early twenties—Yikes.

"What about you? Got a woman yet?" You ask, following his line of questioning.

Joel scoffs, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “Does it look like I got a woman in my life?”

He looks down at himself for a second to get his point across, making you follow his gaze.

His wrinkly navy shirt had paint stains on it, his jeans were so old, they looked one wash away from disintegrating, and his beard needed a trim.

You try to stifle your giggle by turning your head away. “Yeah, guess not.”

Your mind starts wandering off, imagining what being Joel's woman would look like...having dinner together...sharing a bed...showering together...

God you wanted to be his girl so bad.

You hear yourself speaking before you even know what you’re saying. “Maybe I can help you—y'know, find a woman n’all.”

Joel casts you an assessing glance, cocking his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? N’how would you do that?”

He doesn’t even mean to sound sexy but the way he talks makes you wanna melt.

“Well, for starters, a haircut might do you some good.” You tease, scooting closer to him on the bench seat to fiddle with the overgrown hair by his neck.

The way your body is turned to face him gives Joel a clear view down the front of your dress, the skin of your breasts making his cock twitch.

“What’re you talkin’ about? My hair looks great.” Joel knows he’s lying, but he just wants to see you laugh.

Which you do. “Yea, maybe to a blind chick.”

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” Joel chides, using his free hand to come up and playfully tug at your hair.

You erupt in giggles, swatting his hand away while simultaneously trying to tug his hair back.

Eventually, you two stop messing with each other, but you reiterate that you're serious.

"I mean it—it’d be super fun giving you a make-over."

Joel pulls into the gas station and shifts his truck into park.

"You've lost your damn mind if you think I'm gonna let you get anywhere near my head with clippers."

You roll your eyes and giggle, following him out of the vehicle.

"C'monnn, it'll be fun!" You squeal, trailing behind him as he walks into the store, the bell chiming as you both enter.

He pretends to ignore you, walking along the isles to the freezer section.

"I'll be super careful," You muse, snagging a bag of skittles from off one of the shelves before he can notice.

“I promise I won’t fuck up your cut.” You joke, laughing at yourself.

“Hey—watch it.” Joel warns when hearing your profanity, snapping back to look at you, only half-joking.

You roll your eyes—it's ironic coming from him who cusses like a sailor. You brush past him as he opens the freezer, letting your back lean against one of the glass doors, facing him.

"You're not my daddy, y'know. Can't tell me what to do." You purr, a shit-eating grin beginning to form on your perfect face.

Joel feels his blood pressure spike.

You're making this impossible for him and you know it.

His body moves for him before he can stop himself.

After he grabs two ice bags, he closes the freezer and subsequently steps closer to you, popping your personal space bubble.

"You're right. M'not your daddy." He husks, looking down at you and your parted lips. Your chests are centimeters away from each other, and you find yourself holding your breath. “Consider yourself lucky.”

The way he’s looking down at you like prey yet speaking so nonchalantly has your brain spinning. There was definitely an underlying threat in his words.

Before you can respond, he’s turned around and walking up to the register, throwing down a 10 dollar bill and telling the cashier to keep the change.

Science can’t explain the drastic acceleration your heart rate just experienced—but you can.

Joel fucking Miller.

He had to be insinuating something, right?

Your face is hot and so is the rest of your body, stumbling to catch up with him as he walks out the store.

He lugs the ice into his trunk like nothing happened, the tension in his muscles catching your eyes.

Yet, he still comes around to the passenger side, opening the door for you.

Now was your chance to get him back.

You lift yourself up in the truck, purposefully climbing into the bench seat in a way that gave Joel a clear view of your ass—as well as your thong that wasn't really covering much.

His hand clamps down so hard on the car handle that it nearly crumbles under his grip.

You hear him clear his throat before the door slams shut next to you, making you jump a bit.

When he passes in the front windshield, he's shaking his head and dragging a hand down his scruffy jaw. You can't help but giggle at his exasperated expression.

His takes longer to get into the car and start things up this time, trying real hard not to meet your instense gaze.

When he refuses to make eye contact, you huff out a breath and rip open your skittles bag.

This catches Joel's attention.

"You pay for that?"

"...sure." You murmur unconvincingly with a shrug, trying not to smile. "Want some?"

He watches as you pop a few in your mouth, holding out the bag for him.

Begrungingly, he grumbles out a 'yeah' and holds out his palm.

***

The party had fizzled out when you guys returned. There were a few stranglers sitting around and chatting, but for the most part, things seemed to be dying down.

So much for the ice.

Your dad and his friends had migrated to the living room and once Joel put the bags away, he joined them.

He sat on the couch with a grunt, his legs immediately settling into the manspreading position.

You tried not to drool but your mouth was definitely salivating. To avoid moaning just at the sight of him, you head upstairs, the old wood boards creaking beneath your feet.

You don't see it, but Joel's got his eyes on you, following you with his gaze till you're out of sight.

He feels guilty thinking about how much he wants to fuck you when he's literally sitting right next to your father, but he can't help himself.

It's a while before you come back down, when you do, theres a razor in one hand, clippers in the other.

"No." Joel instantly says, shaking his head.

"Yes." You squeal, beaming down at him.

"Awh, go on Joel, you been needin' a clean up." Your dad chimes in, smacking his shoulder. His other buddies encourage it until he has no choice than to give in just so everyone would shut up.

"Fine—fine. Y'all gon' get yours, thats for damn sure." Joel grumbles, stomping up the stairs.

You're laughing all the way up, bubbling with excitement.

"Come down and give us the reveal when you're done!" Your dad screams to which you giggle.

You basically shove Joel into your bathroom, pulling in a stool for him to sit on.

"You better know what yer doin'." He grunts, sitting down on the stool and looking at you with weary eyes.

"Anything I do to you would look better than what you have now."

Joel promptly stands back up when hearing your words, trying to walk away, but you grab onto his arm. "I'm kidding, I’m kidding! I promise I'll do a good job."

You press on his shoulders to sit him down again, your throat running dry when you see the way he’s glaring up at you.

He’s not actually angry—just a bit peeved that he doesn’t have enough self control to stop thinking about fucking you against the bathroom sink.

You start working, none the wiser, bringing the electric razor to his jaw.

Your bodies are close, Joel can smell your delicious perfume and it makes him wanna eat you up.

You start to notice how sometimes his eyes will flicker to your chest, before abrupdtly looking away and clearing his throat.

Your boobs did look great in this dress, maybe you should give him a better view...

The devilish thought pops in your brain and you're acting it out before you know it.

You set the razor down and grab the clippers, stepping around to the front of his body. "May I?" You murmur, not even waiting for his answer before straddling his lap.

You sit on his thighs and Joel feels himself straighten like a board.

“Kid—what do you think yer doin’?” He immediately sputters out, his expression stern.

He’s trying so hard not to look down at where your dress had ridden up from straddling him. He can almost see your cunt, for christ sake.

“Nothin’.” You murmur, bringing your shaking hand up to trim the hair on his jaw. You curse at yourself for not even having the wits to keep calm, you just know your flushed fave is giving you away.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel reiterates, completely unbelieving as his eyes drag down your body slowly.

Then, everything shifts.

There’s something more assertive in Joel’s demeanor that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you know it’s there.

You feel his calloused hand on your thigh, your body erupting in goosebumps when he travels it up dangerously high. Using his other hand, he grips your wrist, pulling it down and away from his face.

“Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me.” His voice is a low murmur.

You’re both locked in eye contact now, hearts beating in sync.

He hears your breath hitch and sees how your eyes are flashing between his gaze and lips. He knows what you’re after—he’s just not sure if he wants to give in yet.

You, on the other hand, are dying of anticipation. He’s not budging, so you’re left to drag your hips up his lap and press down on the bulge in his pants.

"Girl—" He growls out before his hands come up to stop your waist from moving any further. "You don't know what your doin'."

"Do I have to fucking spell it out for you, Joel?" You rush out, dropping the scissors and latching onto his shoulders. You're panting and your face is pink, a needy/irritated expression woven into your features.

He feels your nails digging into his shoulder blades and sees that desperate look in your eyes—he's done for.

"No, I won't make ya do that f'me, sweet heart." He murmurs before abruptly picking you up from under your thighs.

A squeak of surprise leaves your lips at his effortless display of strength. You swallow your nerves after he sets you down on the counter, lodging himself between your legs.

"But I am gon make you say it."

Is he teasing you?

No, his face looks too serious for him to be teasing.

Oh, maybe he just wants clear clarification.

Your heart swells at his consideration.

Sucking in a deep breath, "I want your dick in my vagina." You giggle out, knowing he was probably expecting sexier wording. Joel smirks, crashing his forehead against yours.

"Yeah? S'that what you want?"

You're nodding against him, smiling wide because you just admitted something that you never thought you would.

"N'have you done that before? Y'know, dick in vagina." He copies your candance, but you stop smiling.

Out of all the fucking questions, that was the one that you didn't want to be asked the most.

You had hoped if you came on strong and flirted like you had done it a million times, he would've just assumed you weren't a virgin.

But the bastard always had to be so careful.

You didn't want him to know because you figured it would turn him off—then all you'd become is his best friend’s daughter all over again.

You knew if you lied he would just sniff it out anyway, but you tried nonetheless.

"...Yea. Couple times."

You watch as Joel's face forms into a 'yea right' kind of expression before he sighs out.

"Why'a lyin' to me, kid?"

You groan, throwing your head back and hitting the mirror with the back of your skull.

"Thats why—I don't want you thinking I'm a kid anymore. M'not. I'm grown. I'm grown and I want..your dick in my vagina."

He scoffs, dragging a hand down in jaw in disbelief. "Lyin' ain’t a good way to show me your grown."

He was right. You hated that he was right.

Your face crumbles because you think you just ruined this whole thing. Yet, Joel's hands come up to cup your face, holding them there a moment before they drift down to rest on your neck.

"S'alright, you're alright. M'not mad at'cha." He reassures, making sure you're looking in his eyes before he continues. "M'flattered sweetheart, I really am but-"

"Please don't say some bullshit like you don't think you're the man for this job because trust me when I say this Joel, you're the only guy I've ever wanted to be with."

You gush out, your mouth a leaky faucet. But Joel still looks conflicted.

You figured now would be a good time to bring out the big guns.

"If you won't do it cus I'm a virgin, I'll just have sex with the first guy I see, how about that?"

Joel's eyes darken and his jaw clenches. Now you've just pissed him off. "Don't manipulate me like that." He says sternly, to which you immediately falter in your confidence.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it." You shake your head at yourself, biting down on your bottom lip. Joel sighs, leaning back but still keeping himself between your legs.

"Look," you start up again, bringing your hand down to hold his muscular bicep. "I've wanted to do this with you for so long. I really want it to be with you. Even if it's just one time, that's okay. Just need you in some way—Joel."

Your voice tapers off into a whisper because his stare intimidates you.

He exhales through his nose before running a hand through his hair and fixing his back to stand up straighter.

"Alright." He huffs, his face looking like he just surrendered in war.

"Alright?" You repeat, hopes high.

"I'll do it," He removes himself from between your legs and slides his grip down to your thighs. "But not right now."

Your heart drops.

"Why not?" You whine like a kicked puppy.

He brings one hand up to pinch your cheek. "Cus your daddy's down stairs, m'not a fuckin' monster." He grumbles before letting go and starting to walk out, but you grab him.

"Fine, but can we at least.." You hop down off the counter and pull him back, kissing him abruptly.

It starts slowly at first, you're both scoping out the scene, but then you get eager.

A tongue slips into his mouth and he returns the favor, his hands finding themselfs back on your hips.

In no time, he has your back up against the wall while he devours your mouth like a man starved. And just as his hand starts sliding up your dress and he's about to go back on his word, a voice comes from downstairs.

"C'mon down Joel, we wanna see the new cut!"

You groan as Joel slips from you, walking back downstairs while wiping his jaw and adjusting the boner in his pants. *** Now it was a waiting game.

Everyone but your dad's friends had left the party; they were just sitting around, watching TV and drinking beers.

You and Joel can't stop making eye contact from the opposite ends of the room. It was like torture not being able to fuck him immediately.

You're quick to conjure up a plan, though.

"Hey dad," you start, twirling a loose thread from your dress around your finger.

"Ya?"

"Didn't they reopen Chambers, like, two weeks ago?" You ask, trying to keep your voice as inconspicuous as possible.

Chambers was the local bar that your dad and his buddies loved to go to. You were just trying to plant a seed.

"Mm, yea, I reckon they did." He sighs out, eyes glued to the TV.

"S'been awhile since we've been there." One of his friends chime in.

"We should go grab a few drinks—I've missed picking up broads from there.." Another friend says, to which your dad promptly hits his arm because he doesn't like that kind of talk when you're present.

Nevertheless, he casts you a questioning glance. "You gon' be alright if we go?"

You try so hard to mask your instant glee. "Oh yeah, I'll be fine! Y'all go n' have fun."

"Alright punkin," They all stand, gathering up their wallets and keys—everyone except Joel. "You comin'?" Your dad asks him.

You glare at him to make sure he understands what you're trying to do.

Joel inhales through his nose before sighing out with a smile. "M'gonna call it a night, boys."

Thank god.

They all grunt and groan in protest, but eventually everyone filters out of the house.

You stand in the door jam and watch as your dad and his buddies file into the car, Joel standing on the porch to wave them off. Words are exchanged between everyone, mostly cussing, as they make their depature.

You both watch as they leave the culdesac, even waiting until you couldn't hear the car engine in the distance before looking at Joel.

Your breath catches in your throat when he turns around to look at you, folding his arms over his chest.

"Sly work." He murmurs, walking forward and forcing you to walk back into the house.

You're not sure why you're so nervous all the sudden.

Because you were pretending to be bold and experienced before, you had no choice but to mask your nerves. Now, that Joel knows the truth, you feel...vulnerable. But in the best way possible.

He backs you into the house before closing the door behind him, his head hanging to look at the ground.

"I had to get you alone somehow." You murmur with a shrug of your shoulders.

It was the truth.

You hear Joel chuckle and watch as he brings his head up to look at you. He's assessing you.

A beat of silence washes over you both.

"You said you would, Joel." You try to say sternly, although your voice wavers because you're scared he might've changed his mind.

"I know what I said." He steps closer, your torso's centimeters apart.

The eye contact is heavy—it feels like an avail against you. But you love it—love him. You're holding back from jumping his bones right by the front door.

"Good." You practically whisper, slowly taking his large hand in yours. You wait until he interwines your fingers before turning around and guiding him up the stairs.

Every creak under his and your feet sounds deafening in the silence between you both.

His hand is sweating, but so is yours.

When you make it to your bedroom, you walk inside and sit on the edge of your bed, gazing up at him.

"How many women have you slept with?" You hear yourself blurt before you can stop yourself.

His lips tighten into a line before he sits down next to you. Your sides are touching, his hands are resting on his knees.

"A few." He grunts, turning to face you. "Lot of 'em forgettable. But this," he gestures between the two of you. "ain't no comin' back from this, you hear me?"

You nod, your hand slipping over his knee. You're trying to trail it higher up his thigh, but he stops you with his hand.

"Need to make sure you know that before we do this. Don't want you regrettin' it later-"

"I won't." You say curtly, only because you know with complete certaintly that there was no way you'd ever regret this.

Everything is still for a moment, the only sound in the room is the both of your breathing. He's staring at you so hard, just waiting for even a hint of hesitation.

But it never comes.

In one swift movement, Joel's lips are on yours, pushing you back into the mattress and settling on top of you.

It makes you dizzy how effortlessly he's making out with you now.

He slots himself between your thighs and you moan at the feeling.

It's embarrassing how little he had to do in order to get you off.

But it's Joel, for christsake—he could just stand there and you'd probably find a way to orgasm at least twice.

It feels like he's engulfing you entirely; his musuclar arms wrapped around you, tongue down your throat, chests pressed together—pure bliss.

Suddenly and devastatingly, he breaks away for just a moment. "Sit up." He husks, to which you immediately oblige.

He lifts your dress up and off, momentairly stunned by the sight of your bare breasts.

"Christ, you're unreal." He groans before latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, using his hand to grope the other one.

You're a mess of moans, but you manage to speak in between. "Take your clothes off too," you whine, pawing at his shirt.

Joel grumbles, taking his time. He strips his shirt off and your hands are quick to latch onto his belt, fumbling with the leather strap but eventually yanking it out of the loops.

His hands come out to steady yours. "Slow down, no rush." He purrs in his texan drawl, making you shiver.

You groan out in frustration, letting your back fall down against the bed again. "You gonna make me wait all summer?"

"If you keep bein' a brat, then maybe." Joel huffs, yanking you back by the legs so he can pull your thong off. He dangles the stringy piece of fabric by his finger, looking at it assessingly.

"Joel!" You squeal, embarrassed. He effortessly holds you down with one hand against your stomach, not letting you swat it away from him.

"This what you go 'round wearin'?" He teases, grinning sharply.

You shrug, all squrimy, prodding him with your legs. "Would it turn you on if I said I wore them for you?"

You almost don't notice when Joel stuffs your underwear into his back pocket because of how drawn you are to his eyes. He's looking at you like a man starved—you love it.

"You been plottin' on me, is that it?" His voice makes your wet hole clench around nothing. He's teasing, but you also feel like you've just been caught.

You definitely weren't as suave as you thought you were.

"Stop makin' fun of me. " You huff with a flustered face, narrowing your eyes at him.

Joel smirks, finally prying apart your legs and taking a good, long look at your dripping cunt. "Christ almightly..." He groans at the sight of you, his cock straining hard against his jeans. "Pretty lil thing."

Your back arches off the bed when you feel Joel's thumb brush against your folds, tantilizingly slow. "Nice n' wet, atta girl." He muses, spreading your lips apart with his fingers.

You wanted to make a joke about him inspecting you like some doctor, but the words died quickly on your tongue when you felt him stroke your clit.

"Joel," You moan, hips squirming impatiently. "Fuck, I need you,"

"You got me, babygirl," Joel murmurs before lowering his head and devouring your cunt completely.

His tongue laps at you with fever, primarily focusing on your aching clit. The sensation nearly makes you pass out, especially when he pushes a finger inside of your hole.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," You whine, fisting the sheets so hard that your knuckles turn white.

Having someone eat you out and it being actually enjoyable is one thing, but having Joel Miller eat you out and it being amazing, was blowing your mind.

He didn't even take breathers.

Joel was consuming you like he didn't need air. Soon, you feel another finger stretch you open, then another, until Joel has three fingers smoothly pumping in and out of you.

It quickly becomes all too much for your little brain. "Hmph..fuck Joel m'gonna come," You whine, your hips staggering against his mouth.

He doesn't answer you, in fact, Joel just wraps his musclar arms tightly under your thighs, securing you in place. In this position, you were rendered completely immoveable.

He kept you right where he wanted you.

"Waitwait, shit, Joel," His tongue is relentless, drinking you up like he was dying of thirst in the desert. Tears are forming in the lining of your eyes, the stimulation overloading you.

"Fuck!" You cry, coming completely undone beneath him. Your entire body shakes with pleasure as you finish, thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Joel laps you all the way through it, humming contentedly against your soaked cunt.

When your body goes limp against the bed, thats finally when Joel lifts his lips off you. His entire face down past his nose is drenched in your juices; the sight makes your stomach flutter.

"Holy fucking shit Joel," You whimper, out of breath, chest heaving up and down. "That was amazing."

Joel lands a couple soft warning pats against your cunt, making you flinch and squirm from overstimulation.

"You cuss like a sailor, y'know that?"

"S'hard not to when you're makin' me feel so good." You're mumbling, wiping at the tear streaks on your face with the back of your hand.

"Mm, I know," He hums in that caring tone, crawling on top of you and placing a few chaste kisses on your lips.

It doesn't take long for your libido to rise again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kissing him back.

You bring a hand down to palm at his boner, giggling into the kiss. He groans at the feeling, rutting his hips into your hand. "Fuck me now please," You say breathlessly into his ear, nipping and licking at his neck.

He scoffs at your enthusiasm.

Finally, Joel pulls his pants off, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

You're enamoured by the sight of it. Long in length, even bigger in girth. You practically start drooling.

"You got a starin' problem too." Joel grumbles, grabbing you by the jaw and tilting your head up so he can kiss you again.

You chuckle into his lips, breaking away for a moment to speak. "I can't help it. It's handsome..you're handsome." You muse, getting a fist around his cock, managing to stroke it a few times before Joel stops you.

You don't have time to think or argue before he turns you over onto your side, situating himself behind you.

He's spooning you, except his left arm is hooked around your chest and his right has your leg lifted up, allowing his cock to slip between your folds.

Once again, he's got you right where he wants you.

"Joel," You bring your hands up to hold onto his forearm, pushing your ass back into him. "Put it in." You all but demand, trying to desperately grind your cunt on him.

He tightens his grasp on your collarbone, pulling you tighter against his chest. "Keep your leg up baby," Joel mutters lowly in your ear, letting go of your leg to guide his cock to your entrance.

His fat tip prods against your willing hole, making you dizzy with need. He runs his fingers along your folds one last time, gathering up your slick and using it to lubricate his cock.

Your heart is beating a million miles per hour. The moment you had been dreaming of for so long was finally here.

Joel, taking your virginity—your prayers were answered.

Slowly, Joel starts inching his way inside, the stretch making you gasp.

It feels fine at first, just a dull ache, but then it hurts—bad.

You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth, trying to push through the pain. However, your body clenches down on the intrusive appendage, causing Joel to groan out.

It feels good for him, but he's been around the block a few times to know what's happening.

"You okay? I need'a stop?" He asks in that raspy voice of his, to which you immediately shake your head.

"Nonono, god no, don't stop. Just—just ram it in." You say foolishly, making Joel scoff.

"No, sweetheart, as much as I want to—bad idea." He brings his hand back down between your legs, rubbing a few slow circles into your clit. "Just relax and open up for me, thaaaats it," He encourages in that tone that lights fires in your core.

The perfect stimulation on the bundle of nerves made you forget all about the pain, letting your hole ease up a bit.

He takes the oppurtunity to keep breaching you deeper, peppering kisses to your neck and back in the process. His fingers stay glued to your clit, and before you know it, he's half way inside.

Your holding onto him so hard that your nails are leaving imprints on his forearm.

But you're so full of him and it's perfect. You can feel every twitch, every notch, every vein; or maybe you're just convincing yourself you can. Either way, mewls and moans are slipping from your lips and feeding Joel's growing ego.

"You feelin' good sweetheart?" He rasps in your ear, thrusting back and forth till he reaches that half way mark. You nod frantically, craning your neck to face him, desperate for a kiss.

He satisfies your wishes, kissing you slowly and passionately, like everything you've ever wanted.

His dick in you, his tongue down your throat, his arms pinning you to him. Fuck.

But you still want more.

In a shocking move, you slam your hips back against him, burying him all the way inside.

Moans fill your little bedroom, both his and yours, and for a moment, a flash of regret hits you like a truck.

He's big, and it fucking hurts.

But once the initial pain subsides, it’s like ecstasy.

"Fuck—girl, what'd ya do that for?" Joel hisses, tensing up because he's trying not to come fast.

"Couldn't wait," you pant, tears spilling out the corners of your eyes. "Please move." You're pleading because being stationary is somehow even more painful. You squirm in Joel's strong grasp, trying to stop the ache between your legs.

He's no match for you.

In a gentle but swift motion, Joel situates himself on top of you, closing your thighs together and putting them on one side of his body—all while still inside of you.

He cages you in with his big strong arms, looking down at your needy expression as he gradually starts rocking his hips into you. You're twisting your torso to remain looking at him, clawing at his biceps with your nails.

"This how you like it?" He huffs out, the sweat evident on his brow. "Deep n' slow?"

You want to respond to him, but it's hard to because every other sound you make is a moan.

He's so deep and never fails to hit the one spot that just makes you melt.

Opting for a non-verbal response, you nod with fever, gyrating your hips to meet his thrusts.

He chuckles, the sound alone makes you wanna come.

His name slips from your lips like a prayer—Joel finds it so cute because when he hits deep, your voice raises in pitch.

But he's no better, he'd been groaning in your ear since the start of it. He really cant help it, your cunt is like a silky, wet vice molded perfectly for his cock.

Joel lifts one of your legs up to his chest, securing his muscular arm around your thigh to keep it there. He continues he's deep thrusts, only this time picking up rhythm. He also brings his other hand down to lazily rub circles in your clit.

Christ.

Your head lolls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. The stimulation was insanely perfect and all too much at the same time.

Your body wracks with jolts and spasms—your body trying to cope with everything it's feeling. Joel takes notice, a proud and lopsided smile spreading across his face.

"M'gonna cum," You whine, your body writhing against him with each thrust.

Your pussy is clenching down on him with each piston of his hips, Joel is not far behind you.

He rubs your clit in a way that makes you come undone, your back arching up off the bed and your toes curling from pleasure.

At the same time, Joel picks up his pace, only to pull his cock from inside you and pump it a few times before unloading his seed onto your naked torso.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the heavy breathing coming from the both of you. Joel's staring down at your pussy, entraced with the way your hole is constricting around nothing.

Then, he looks at your face. Your eyes are closed, your lips are parted, your chest is heaving up and down. He's admiring you and all your fucked-out glory.

He brings a hand up to your face, wiping off the tear stains with his thumb. "You alright?" He husks out, looking down at you assessingly.

"M'perfect." You coo, slowly opening your eyes and leaning up to kiss him. Joel returns it, loving the way your mouth opens so readily for him.

He'd have to try it out with his dick next time.

"Can we go again?" You murmur into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Joel scoffs because he thinks you're kidding. You're not. When he realizes this, he shakes his head in disbelief, pushing you down onto the bed by your shoulders.

"Don't worry, we got all summer."

[peachesofteal]

Simon and Johnny love a good game. 

They get bored, when they're not at work. Climbing the walls and lurking for long hours in the gym, at the bar. You can only watch so much television, can only read so many books. They try to broaden their horizons when it comes to cooking, but so far, they're slow learners. 

But games. Games can be fun. Not board games, metal pieces and paper money, folding maps and cards. No. 

Simon loves a cat and mouse game. The most dangerous game. A game that ends with catch but never release.

And Johnny's always more than happy to oblige him. He's even better at it, in a way. Simon skulks and sticks to shadows, where Johnny roams in the sun, smiling at old women and babies, chatting up whoever's behind him in the check out line. Finding a mouse is never hard for him.

Tonight’s mouse is a touch too skittish for Simon’s liking. Even though he enjoys them scared, the last one pissed herself when he threw her over his shoulder. He wasn’t a fan.

Still, Johnny likes you. Simon would never deny him, though you do throw a curveball.

You’re scared, but you’re smart. You pick up on them sooner than your predecessors, head half turned over your shoulder, clocking the shadow from the corner of your eye. Survival instincts lead you to stick to the crowded street, avoiding the left you’d usually make to head home to your apartment. You zig, cross to the other sidewalk, you zag, weaving through couples and groups of people taking their time, you have your keys between your knuckles.

You’re managing until you make the fatal error.

The train.

Why do they always think a confined, underground space is a good choice?

One time they chased a mouse through a fucking tunnel.

Made her pay for it, at least.

Simon laughs out loud, Johnny chuckling in his earpiece. “She was doin’ such a good job.”

“Just as well. I’m getting hungry for dinner.”

“Are you having fun?” Simon cocks his head, arms crossed over his chest, and you shake your head rapidly, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. His cock grows heavy, and he squeezes it over his pants, Johnny licking his lips. Fuck. He loves it when they cry.

“Fun?” You croak, confused little wrinkle in your brow. “Wh-what?” Your mouth is hanging open too, and without thinking, he rams his fingers into it, shoving them back past your tongue until you gag. Johnny clicks his tongue, strokes your jaw before cupping it, immobilizing the hinges and forcing it wide.

“Want to have a bite before we get ‘er home?” There’s another man in the same car, on the other end, watching. He hasn’t said anything, done anything, moved at all. He’s only watched. A sick fuck like the rest of them. Simon knows he won’t intervene, so he pulls his fly down. The man pretends to glance away.

“Have you sucked a cock before?” You make some awful hissing noise like a strangled cat.

“C’mon bonnie, hold still.” Simon forces himself past your teeth. You’re shaking so hard it’s like your bones are rattling, and when you stay frozen, Johnny guides you, dragging the heat of your mouth back and forth on Simon’s cock. It’s hot, and wet, and his toes curl. It’s like getting high, like a cigarette after a huge dinner. Euphoric. Satisfying.

The man at the other end of the car turns to give the situation his full attention, but not to stop him. Instead, his hand creeps down the front of his pants.

“Aww mouse, I think he likes ye.” Johnny’s cock is also hard, swollen against his thigh, and he rips your tense grip free from the seat to press it to his erection, kissing your temple. “It’ll be my turn, when we get home.” You try to jerk free, thrash, but it only forces the blunt tip of Simon’s cock deeper, and you start to gag uncontrollably. Johnny’s practically shivering with excitement.

“Don’t puke.” He grunts, fucking your face, slamming deep as he pumps his cum down your throat. You moan, eyes slipping closed. Defeated. Trampled under foot. Poor little mouse.

It’s adorable. You’re helpless. There’s too much going on, him, Johnny, the fucking creep still rubbing away at his crotch, and he feels bad. They should be taking better care at this point. They always need to butter them up before setting them free in the maze.

“Lights out, Johnny.” Fingers find those pressure points on your neck, and then the next thing they know, you’re slumped over, asleep on Johnny’s chest. What a cutie.

“Think we can keep her for a bit?” Simon rolls his eyes.

“We’ll see.”

[axetivev]

~ Warning! Batkids are Bruce and Reader's Biochild!

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids who would be the one who would and picked up Damian who got detention/suspended because Bruce was too busy.

"So you're telling me, you suspend my son, Damian Wayne because he protected his friend..?"

"W–well. Mr. Wayne... in this school, we don't—"

"Oh so you don't allow nor teach violence but allow harassment? Racism? You know what. Damian, call Bruce. You're changing schools."

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids who would force Tim to go to bed. No is not an option. And would never be. Then, Papa!Reader would lecture Tim about sleeping.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids who would read them bedtime stories. And they'll have to agree with one, which led to fights (unfortunately).

"Pa! Can we get a bedtime story?"

"Of course, what do you guys want?"

"Oh! Oh! How about a story about..."

"Tim, you've requested yesterday!"

"Ca–Cass! At my defense—"

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, where papa!reader hugged and gave Dick lunch money who was becoming Robin for the first time. In the end, this became a routine as the Robin legacy continued.

"My love, Dick can do it... Y–you don't have to—"

Papa!Reader who gave Dick his money. "Shut it Bruce! My poor baby can't fight crime empty handed! Are you really gonna buy him something when he's hungry!?"

Year later...

"..."

"M/N—"

"Here, Damian. Here, 100 bucks! Spend it for something useful, m'kay?"

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, when Jason died, he drowns into depression. Struggle—unable to move on. He felt himself being a failure of a dad. To a level to skip meals.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, after Jason was back alive. He was crying. Hugging Jason as tight as he could to his 6'0 son. He can't, he can't lose another child.

"Forgive me for everything, Jason."

"Pa... I'm here. Really, I'm fine now... I'll be extra careful next time."

"Please be... I don't want to lose you and others again..."

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who would secretly bring the kids out if Bruce grounded them. But when he was the one who grounds them. No one. No one can save them.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who have boys and girls time. For boys, he'd basically spend his time with the boys (basically, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke) and the girls (Stephanie, Cass).

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who would work in Arkham Asylum while his kids were looking for him from afar to make sure he was safe. The kids would usually switch but of course they'll fight about it.

"Hey! It's my time to look over pa!"

"Cut it Richard. You've done that last week."

"C'mon! Why don't you guys let Duke and Damian!?"

"FUCK YOU CASSANDRA!"

"OH FUCK YOU!"

Meanwhile Papa!Reader who watched from afar while drinking his tea.

"Kids these days..."

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, when his birthday rolls around, the kids would give him something. It could be a father—son/daughter time, or them spending their money to buy him something—anything. They'll basically spoil you, because you deserve it!

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who would be his literal bodyguard. Even after Papa!Reader told them he's alright. What can I say? Your kids are too loving. Even too clingy sometimes.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, where the kids would argue to Bruce about who should have "Papa time" first. Being neither Dick or Damian who leads and Tim gathers information and key details others would light the fire even more. While Papa!Reader tried to calm the kids while Alfred just smirked to himself.

"Well, father. At our defense. Papa spends more time with you. He would prepare you for work; tidying your tie as you go to work, as Batman. Papa helped you with gathering some information with Barbs."

"If not. You two would cuddle on the couch from day and night!"

"Therefore?"

"Therefore, we deserve our own papa time!!!"

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, where if there's a parent brave enough to say something horrible to his kids, Papa!Reader won't hesitate to break them mentality. This also applies if some soul dares to speak to you horribly. The kids would casually show no mercy.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, when Bruce looked at every single child of his. He would look at Papa!Reader, eyes staring at your very soul as he towered you.

"I want more kids."

"Bruce, we literally have 7 kids, multiple dogs, a cat, a cow, and many others. We have—"

"That's not a question."

[girl-lostconnection]

Hello!!!

I’ve been reading your works for a while and I’m hyperfixating adore you’re writings! So I saw this Red Bull ad during the Super Bowl and the penguin reminded me of Soap. Could I please humbly request hybridpenguin!Soap x reader fluff/comfort/romance/head canons anything really. I think you can bring this idea to life :3

It’s your lucky day cause I’ve been watching “Good luck Chuck” and there are some penguins that caught my eye. So I’ve been thinking about it whole day, googling penguins because I honestly don’t know much about them.

I chose Adelie Penguin for Soap because the blue-eyed stare this birds have is perfectly uncanny (I urge you to google them, they stare right in your soul) and also, they have very interesting courting rituals.

Also the wiki page for them said, I quote: “Despite their size, Adélie penguins are known for their bold and boisterous personality and will challenge other animals, including predators far larger than them.” And that reads like canonical Soap, because yeah, he would. Bold personality is right up this man’s alley.

But imagine hybrid Adelie Penguin!Soap and human Reader where he tries so fucking hard to court you properly but you don’t know jackshit about courting methods.

Male Adelie Penguins offer female penguin the perfect stone, polished to perfection, they spend quite some time looking for the best one and once found — they present it as a courting gift. It depends purely on the female penguin whether to accept courtship or not.

But if she does they can start mutual courting involving leaning closer to each other, grooming each other, familiarising with how each other sound — it helps them later to find the mate in the big crowd.

So Soap knows that maybe it would have been better to go with flower or something more conventional but he likes you, god, he really does. So there’s no harm in looking for a pretty stone for a pretty you, right?

Right?

Man spends his whole leave on Scotland’s shores, practically on all fours as he picks up decent stones, washes and polishes them at home before throw them all out because no. All wrong. Not prettty enough, not smooth enough, not shiny enough.

No mate would accept a shite like that, why would he even bring this ugly thing to your attention? What kind of potential mate would he be?

He returns to his searches even more determined. Soap will be damned if he comes back and he still doesn’t have a perfect stone for you.

And finally, luck smiles at him and dedication pays off — the perfect prettiest little stone he has ever seen. Smooth from cold waves, shiny in a way that makes you want it touch again and again, perfectly round. No ridges or bumps, no sharp edges or cracks.

Perfect stone for perfect you.

He returns feeling victorious and on top of the world and presents you with a stone without a second word. Quite literally he just extends his hand and there lies the stone. He doesn’t say anything, he’s just waiting for your reaction

And you have no fucking idea what’s going on, because the man is staring you in the eyes with his ungodly blue eyes and a little stone on his palm and you’re like…okay?:,) alright?🥹

So you take the stone to look closer (Soap tenses up like you have his heart in your hands, eyes hungry on you, still waiting for your reaction) and truth be told, it is a really nice stone. Shiny and smooth and perfectly polished. The kind of stone you’d want to fumble with all day, just rolling through the palm, massaging the center of your palm with it as you work.

It is a bloody lovely stone. You really like it.

But Johnny is not saying it, still watching you with the same hungry look, it’s just that now his grin is widening slowly because you look like you really like the stone. He did a good job, right? There’s no way you found his courting gift lacking.

And it is a perfect stone but the thing is…you don’t know if it’s a gift to you or if penguin part of Soap is simply showing off (crow!Simon does similar things when he brings you shiny stuff). So you don’t know if you are at liberty to keep the shiny pebble.

And Johnny is still completely fucking silent watching you with bated breath.

You carefully place the stone back in his palm, murmuring softly that it’s a very lovely stone, it looks incredible and you think it is absolutely gorgeous.

Soap stares at the stone for a few very long moments, his grin slowly fading because…don’t- don’t you like the stone, hen? You just said it’s gorgeous, but you are giving it back. Why are you giving it back?

He stares at the stone, absolutely crest-fallen in the face because he was so sure you’d like it. He was so proud of it and so excited to give it to you and of course there is no pressure for you to take it, after all it’s gift for you and you shouldn’t just settle for things.

But still.

What was wrong with it? Was there a crack he didn’t notice or is the texture of it not to your liking? Maybe you prefer sharper stones, maybe you like some roughness to them?

He looks back at you, feeling upset and anxious, stone still in hand while you try to gauge what the hell caused the reaction. Because Johnny is looking at you like you just kicked him in the stomach and you don’t know why.

“Ye didnae like it, hen?”, he swallows his pride and asks because obviously, you didn’t, what kind of fucking question is that. Mate just returned his gift back to him, means that gift is not up to standards.

You blink at him slowly, because what is he even talking about.

“I liked it. It’s really pretty. Where did you get it?”, you try to steer conversation away, since maybe there’s something you don’t seem to get about the stone.

“Why- ye didnae take it”, Soap’s voice is unusually soft, as he tilts his head to the side, stone clutched in his hand as some anxiety bleeds out of him.

Maybe he can still salvage it.

“Was it for me?”, the question leaves him now being the one who gives you a slow blink, before his gears kick in, realisations slowly creeping up his head. So that’s what was wrong.

“Aye”, stone returns to your palm, gets pressed into it by Johnny’s — warm and smooth — your heart skipping a beat. “If ye like it, Ah’d be happy if ye took it. But ainlie if ye like it, hen”

There’s a weight to this moment that you aren’t sure you capture fully but there’s something in Soap’s eyes that makes your fingers intertwine with his, head leaning closer to him. You are so close you can see the tiniest freckles on his cheeks.

Pretty.

“I really like it”, admitting it feels like you are ten again and sharing a silly secret with a boy you like, but Johnny looks at you like he couldn’t be happier.

His throat bobbing when you lean in closer, small shiver going down his spine because it’s really happening. His gift is accepted, his mate is accepting him — holding his hand, leaning into him, looking at him like that.

Best day of his life, truly.

So he presses a short tight kiss to your temple and nods at you like there is a shared understanding between you two now. Like you are partners in crime.

Soap practically jogs away, excitement evident in every step, shoulders spread out proudly. He fucking did it. He got the perfect stone for perfect you and you accepted it.

Now, the courting can really begin.

(It will take you an evening of google searches before you understand the meaning of the stone and why the hell, Soap is helping with your hair routine/skin care routine/nail polishing and even offers to “wash with the penguin, save the water, hen”)

[waynes-multiverse]

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

(Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition)

Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader // Soldier Boy x reader // Beau Arlen x reader // Russell Shaw x reader

Warnings: +18 for some language and spice, tons of fluff, a smidge of angst

A/N: Something sweet to sweep you off your feet for the most romantic day of the year 😉 Happy early Valentine's from me, my loves 💖 (And big thanks to the lovely, amazing @zepskies 💜 for starting this trend in the first place. It's addicting 😂🫶)

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can’t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

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[goldfades]

i love crash out series and thanks for your service queen 😭 i had an idea for like a fight and then make up between them with smut? a lil longer too if you don’t mind

hi baby! i hope you enjoy this!!

warnings: NSFW under the cut, minors pls dni! i feel like i forgot how to write smut so PLEASE give me some feedback

The door barely clicks shut before Luka exhales, sharp and frustrated. You don’t look at him.

You haven’t looked at him since dinner.

Your coat is already halfway off when he reaches for you, fingers just grazing your wrist before you pull away, stepping into the kitchen like he’s not even there. Like the whole ride home hadn’t been thick with tension, the air between you stretched thin, fraying at the edges.

Luka leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with narrowed eyes. You don’t acknowledge him.

He hates it.

Hates the way you move around the kitchen like he’s invisible. Hates the way your lips are pressed into a tight, unyielding line. Hates the silence, because god, anything is better than this. You could be yelling, cussing him out, shoving at his chest with all the fight you have in you—and he’d take it. He’d welcome it.

But this?

This cold, calculated ignoring? He feels like he’s losing his mind.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” he asks, voice clipped.

Nothing.

Luka clenches his jaw. Pushes off the counter. Takes one step closer.

“Seriously? You’re just gonna act like I’m not here?”

Silence.

You open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, twist the cap with a little more force than necessary.

He watches. Seething. His patience, already thin, finally snaps.

“Oh, my fucking god.” Luka drags a hand down his face. “Can you just say whatever you need to say? Yell at me. Call me an asshole. Something.”

You take a slow sip of water. His eye twitches.

“You’re such a brat,” he mutters under his breath.

That does it.

Your head snaps up, eyes blazing, shoulders tight with irritation. “Excuse me?”

Luka smirks. Oh, now you want to talk.

He shrugs, leaning against the counter again, arms lazily folding across his chest. “I said,” he drawls, tilting his head, “you’re a brat.”

Your nostrils flare. He bites back a grin. He knows he shouldn’t be pushing you, shouldn’t be stoking the fire—but at least now you’re giving him something.

You slam the bottle onto the counter, stepping closer. He can see the tension in your jaw, the way your fingers curl into fists at your sides.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“There she is.” Luka grins, infuriating and smug, but there’s something else beneath it—something restless. Something hungry. His voice dips lower. “I was starting to miss you.”

Your pulse jumps. But you’re still pissed. Still fuming.

And Luka?

Luka loves you like this—fierce, unrelenting, all fire and defiance. But he loves breaking you down even more.

You glare up at him, chest rising and falling with each sharp breath. Luka is standing so close now that you can feel the heat of him, the way his broad frame crowds you in, making the kitchen suddenly feel smaller.

His smirk is lazy, but his eyes—his eyes are dark. Heated. He’s enjoying this.

And that pisses you off even more.

“You are such an asshole,” you hiss, pushing at his chest.

He doesn’t budge.

“Am I?” His voice is all silk and steel, infuriatingly calm, like he’s barely restraining a laugh. “For what? Wanting you to actually talk to me instead of acting like a little kid?”

Your jaw tightens.

“You think I’m acting like a kid?”

“I think you’re acting like someone who wants me to lose my patience.” He steps even closer, and you take an automatic step back—until your spine meets the edge of the counter. Luka leans in, bracing a hand beside you. “And you know what, baby?” His voice drops, low and thick. “It’s working.”

Heat pools low in your stomach.

You hate how easily he gets to you.

How his presence, his voice, his everything makes you feel like you’re standing too close to the edge of a cliff, toes curling against the drop. But you’re still mad. And you’re not about to let him just bulldoze over that.

“You embarrassed me,” you say, voice tight.

Luka’s brows knit together. “How?”

You scoff, shoving at him again—harder this time. He lets you. “At dinner. The way you were talking over me, making fun of me in front of everybody—”

“I wasn’t making fun of you.” His voice is firmer now, the teasing edge fading.

“Yes, you were.” Your fists tighten. “You always do this. You always think it’s so funny to push my buttons, and I know you don’t mean anything by it, but sometimes—sometimes it’s not funny.”

Luka exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. He watches you for a long moment, his gaze flickering over your face. Then, finally—

“Shit,” he mutters. “I didn’t—fuck, baby, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

Your anger is still there, but it softens, just a little, at the raw sincerity in his voice. You cross your arms, looking away. “You’re an idiot.”

Luka huffs out a laugh, his hands settling at your waist. “I know.” His thumbs stroke slow, deliberate circles against your hips. “But I’m your idiot.”

You bite your lip. “That’s not a good excuse.”

He dips his head, lips brushing your ear. “No?” His voice is low, dangerously smooth. “Then let me make it up to you.”

Your breath catches. Luka presses closer, his body warm and solid against yours. His nose drags along your jaw, his lips just barely skimming your skin.

Your fingers twitch at your sides.

He notices, then smirks.

“C’mon, baby.” His voice is pure sin, rough and coaxing. His hands slip lower, gripping your thighs. “Let me fix it.”

You shouldn’t give in this easily. You should stay mad. But Luka—your Luka, with his infuriating smirk and teasing touch—knows exactly how to unravel you.

And right now?

You’re about to let him.

The tension between you crackles like static in the air, thick enough to choke on. Luka's hands are still heavy on your hips, thumbs dragging slow, deliberate circles against the fabric of your dress. He’s waiting—for you to push him away, for you to tell him off, for you to fight back.

But you don’t. Instead, you stare up at him, lips parted, breath coming just a little too fast. He notices. Of course, he does.

“Say the word, baby,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your jaw. “And I’ll stop.”

You don’t say it.

His smirk is slow and satisfied. “That’s what I thought.”

You should still be mad. You should still be fuming, pushing him away, making him work harder for it. But Luka knows you too well. Knows the way your pulse is racing, the way your fingers twitch at your sides like they want to grab him but your pride won’t let you. Knows exactly how to break you down.

“Luka,” you breathe, and that’s all it takes.

He moves.

His hands slide down, gripping your thighs, hoisting you up onto the counter like you weigh nothing. You gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he steps between your legs, pressing his body against yours, trapping you in.

“You gonna let me fix it?” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your throat, sucking just hard enough to make you shiver.

You hate him for this. Hate how easily he gets under your skin, how he turns every fight into something else entirely, something heated and breathless and dangerous.

And you hate even more that you love it.

“You’re such a menace,” you whisper, nails scraping against his scalp.

He grins against your skin. “You love me.”

And god help you, you do.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, yanking his head back just enough to make him groan. His hands squeeze your thighs in response, his control slipping, his breath warm against your lips.

“I’m still mad at you,” you tell him, but your voice is shaky, betraying you.

Luka smirks, pressing his forehead against yours. “No, you’re not.”

You glare at him, opening your mouth to argue, but he doesn’t give you the chance. Instead, his lips crash against yours, and everything else melts away.

The fight, the tension, the anger—it all disappears the moment his mouth moves against yours, the kiss hot and needy and just a little desperate. His hands are everywhere—sliding up your thighs, gripping your waist, pulling you closer.

Your legs wrap around his hips, anchoring him to you, and Luka groans, deep and low in his throat. He breaks the kiss just long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, his breath ragged.

“I hate when you ignore me,” he mutters against your skin. “Drives me fucking insane.”

You smile, tilting your head to give him better access. “I know.”

His teeth scrape against your pulse. “Brat.”

You tug at his hair, making him growl. “Cry about it.”

His laugh is dark and breathless, and before you can say another word, he’s lifting you off the counter, carrying you towards the bedroom with purpose.

“You wanna play games, baby?” he murmurs, voice thick with something dangerous. “Let’s play.”

And just like that, the fight is forgotten. Because Luka may hate when you ignore him, but he knows just how to make you beg for his attention.

Luka's steps are measured, each one echoing through the hallway as he carries you effortlessly in his arms, the sheer power of his body on display. The air around you crackles with an electric current, every brush of his fabric against yours sending jolts of desire straight to your core.

The bedroom door swings open with a soft thud behind him. Luka sets you down gently on the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, burning with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. He leans down, his hands planted firmly on either side of your head, caging you in with the strength of his arms.

“You sure you can handle this?” His voice is a low drawl, teasing, yet laced with an edge of seriousness. He knows your games, the push and pull of your resistance, but tonight, the unspoken challenge hangs heavy between you.

Without waiting for your response, Luka’s lips find yours again, more forceful this time. His tongue slides against your lips, demanding access, which you willingly grant. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of mint and something uniquely Luka that makes your head spin.

His hands roam downward, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up slowly, tantalizingly, until it bunches around your waist. Cool air hits your skin, causing you to gasp into his mouth, a sound that seems to drive him even further. His fingers trace up your thighs, light yet firm, mapping the skin he’s claimed so many times yet still can't get enough of.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back just enough to speak. His gaze is fixated on your exposed skin, as if memorizing the sight before him. His fingers hook around the edge of your underwear, teasingly pulling them down as he locks eyes with you, his intentions clear as his lips curve into a smirk.

The fabric slides off with ease, leaving you bare before him. Luka’s breath hitches slightly as he takes in the sight, the raw desire in his eyes enough to make your heart race. He dips his head, pressing kisses along your inner thigh, inching closer to where you want him most—but deliberately avoiding it, driving you crazy.

You squirm beneath him, trying to guide him where you need him, but he gently pins your hips down with his strong hands. “Patience, baby,” he chides lightly, his breath hot against your skin. His refusal to satisfy your needs makes every touch feel like both a punishment and a promise.

Finally, he relents. His mouth moves directly on your pussy, his tongue masterfully invoking sensations that leaves you writhing beneath him. Each lap sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, intensified by the sheer anticipation he's built. His name falls from your lips in a helpless mantra, echoing around the room, filling it with the sound of your pleasure.

Luka's hands grip your hips tighter, a silent command to stay still under his ministrations. But it's a tall order when every flick and swirl of his tongue draws whimpers from your throat. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, his fingers join the play, sinking into you with a precision that sends another jolt of pleasure coursing through your veins.

The room is thick with the heat of your bodies, every breath, every moan mingling in the charged air. Luka’s movements grow more urgent, more focused on your clit, as he senses your climax building. His name becomes a litany, a plea, a declaration as you teeter on the edge.

With a few more skilled movements, you cum all over his tongue, waves of pleasure rolling over you in a relentless tide. Luka slows his pace, riding it out with you, his own heavy breaths a testament to his satisfaction at your unraveling.

As you float back down, he crawls up your body, his weight a welcome pressure. His lips find yours again, kissing you deeply, passionately, sharing the taste of you. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers against your lips, a smile in his voice, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection.

Luka's gaze holds yours, intense and fiery, as he shifts his position. You can feel the solid weight of his bulge pressing against your thigh, a promise of what's to come. He trails one hand down the center of your body, a teasing path that makes every nerve stand on alert.

When he reaches the junction of your thighs, he pauses, his fingers playing at the entrance that beckons him. His other hand braces beside your head, his thumb caressing your cheek softly, a stark contrast to the hunger in his eyes.

Without waiting any longer, he aligns his cock at your sopping pussy. With a slow, firm push, he slides home, filling you completely in one smooth motion. You gasp at the sensation, a perfect stretch, a perfect fit, as Luka pauses for a moment, allowing you both to savor the moment and adjust.

Then, the restraint vanishes. Luka sets a pace that is both relentless and passionate. His hips snap forward with precision, each thrust driving him deeper, eliciting moans from deep within you. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a rhythmic beat that drives the intensity of the moment.

Luka’s face is a mask of concentration and raw pleasure as he watches the effects of his movements reflected in your expressions. His name spills from your lips in a crescendo of sound, each utterance a spur to his motions. His hands roam over your body, one settling to anchor your hip, the other reaching up to pull your leg around his waist, changing the angle of his thrusts to delve even deeper.

"You feel so fucking good," he groans, his voice rough with desire. His movements become even more targeted, designed to hit all the right spots within you. The change sends sparks of pleasure zipping through your veins, your back arching off the bed as you meet him thrust for thrust.

The intensity builds, a coiling heat in your belly that signals the rushing approach of your second climax. Luka senses it too, and his motions become even more focused, desperate, as if he’s chasing his own release that's tethered to yours.

"Cum for me, baby," he urges, his lips trailing hot kisses down your neck, his breath scalding against your skin. His words, spoken in that commanding tone, pierce the fog of pleasure and tip you over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, he pushes you both past the brink.

Your climax shatters through you, waves of intense pleasure washing over you in relentless surges. Luka follows closely behind, his own release claimed in the tight clasp of your body, his name a prayer on his lips.

The room is warm, hazy in the golden light spilling through the curtains. Your skin hums, still tingling from him, from everything.

Luka collapses beside you with a heavy, satisfied groan, one arm flung over his face, the other instinctively reaching for you. His fingers find your waist, tracing absentminded circles against your damp skin. He’s still catching his breath, chest rising and falling, a lazy grin stretching across his lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, voice hoarse, wrecked. “You’re actually tryna kill me.”

You laugh, soft and breathless, turning to face him. His cheeks are flushed, hair an absolute mess, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead.

“You deserved it,” you murmur, dragging a teasing finger down his chest. “Brat.”

Luka cracks an eye open, fake-offended. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You smirk, shifting closer, your lips grazing his jaw. “You love pushing my buttons.”

He sighs dramatically, rolling onto his side to look at you properly. “I don’t mean to,” he says, quieter now. His big hand finds your cheek, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. “I just love messing with you.”

You arch a brow.

“Okay—” he amends quickly, lips twitching “—sometimes I go too far.”

You hum in agreement, stretching your legs against his under the sheets. “Yeah, you do.”

Luka groans, grinning as he buries his face against your shoulder. “Shit, you’re really making me work for this apology, huh?”

You bite back a smile. “You should suffer a little.”

“I’m literally dying.”

You laugh, carding your fingers through his messy curls. “You’ll live.”

Luka leans into your touch, all soft now, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, your shoulder. “I really am sorry,” he murmurs between kisses. “I never want to embarrass you, baby. Ever.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your stomach flip.

You nudge your nose against his, letting the last remnants of your irritation melt away. “I know.”

He exhales, relieved, and then—because he’s Luka—grins. “Sooo... am I officially forgiven? Or do I need to go another round to prove how sorry I am?”

You roll your eyes, smacking his arm. “Go to sleep.”

Luka laughs, grabs you, and pulls you against his chest with a satisfied sigh. “Mmm. Fine. But only ‘cause you wore me out.”

You tangle your legs with his, feeling warm, sated, and impossibly content. Luka’s arms tighten around you, and for a long moment, neither of you speak—just breathing in sync, just existing together.

Then—

“Still think you’re a brat, though,” Luka mumbles sleepily against your hair.

You pinch his side.

He yelps.

Then, he laughs.

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

BuckTommy Fluffebruary Day Eight: Surprise. Tommy's had a really, really bad shift (off-screen), and he shows up to the greatest surprise ever: his boyfriend, pasta, and comfort. Edit: I just realized Tumblr somehow lost my tag for @bucktommyfluffebruary and my AO3 link. Why, Tumblr. Why.

It’s been a terrible shift, and Tommy is ready for it to be over. He’s going to plaster a million posters around the Hollywood sign that say: “If you fall/slip trying to climb on or around this, LAFD will no longer rescue your dumb ass and you’ll have to live with the fucking consequences.”

Lucy, Braun, and Melton agree with him, Cap thinks it’s a bad idea. They’re spitballing less extreme alternatives to keep their minds off the calls that came before the Hollywood sign incident, because if Tommy thinks about a couple of them for too long he’ll probably start crying.

When he pours himself into his truck, he drives home on autopilot and parks in the driveway, because he has the Chevelle on the car lift at the moment. He blinks at his front door, because the three small square windows at the top have light filtering through. There’s no way he left the lights on when he left for work two days earlier, but he also might have. He can’t tell anymore.

He unlocks the door and goes inside, and the house smells like food. He can hear a podcast or something in the kitchen and follows the sound just in time to see Evan close the oven door.

“Oh!” Evan says when Tommy sets his bag down on the island. He whirls around and grins, tapping his phone on the counter and cutting off the man who was talking about something related to the Manhattan Project. “Hey, baby. I wanted to surprise you with dinner.”

And the sight of Evan in his kitchen making him what smells like something with sauce and cheese and herbs and who knew what else after one of the worst shifts Tommy’s had in years is what breaks him. He covers his hand with his mouth to muffle a sob, and Evan’s arms are around him so fast it’s like he teleported across the room.

“Hey,” Evan murmurs in his ear, rubbing his back. “Hey, I know. C’mere, you’re okay, you’re home, everything’s okay here.”

He’s kissing the side of Tommy’s head and his hair and his forehead and whispering reassurances that Tommy actually believes, because Evan knows. Even if he doesn’t know exactly what happened, he knows, and it’s worth everything.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, but after a while they’re just hugging each other and Tommy has his cheek on Evan’s shoulder and his nose against the side of his neck. When he straightens up, Evan’s hands come up to his face and wipe away tears and brush over the scratch on his cheek. His eyes are so blue and clear and full of concern and love, and Tommy fights down everything inside him that wants to tell him he doesn’t deserve this.

“Are you hungry or do you want to go lay down?” Evan asks, pressing their foreheads together.

“I can eat,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds thick and nasally. He needs to blow his nose. “I should eat.”

“I’m making stuffed shells, and there’s some sprouts and stuff,” he says, massaging the back of Tommy’s neck with gentle squeezes of his hand. “And there’s cheesecake after. Or we can have it now.”

Tommy melts under Evan’s touch and smiles. “I can wait.”

He kisses the corner of Evan’s mouth and then gives him a soft kiss before stepping away. He really needs to blow his nose, but he’s back at Evan’s side as soon as he’s done. Evan’s putting a salad together, so Tommy doesn’t feel so bad about draping himself over him while he does it.

“Did you know?” he asks, his voice muffled against his stolen flannel that Evan’s wearing.

“I had a feeling,” Evan replies, pausing to reach up and hold Tommy’s hand where it’s resting over his heart. “You didn’t text back much, and I heard about last night before I left the station.”

Tommy shudders and squeezes his eyes shut, and Evan’s other hand comes up to also squeeze his forearm, and lips press against the inside of his bicep when Evan turns his head. Tommy will talk about some of it, probably, but it’ll be later. He needs to just not be immersed in horror for a little bit. He needs carbs and cheese and his boyfriend.

“This is ready, you wanna eat?” Evan asks, and Tommy nods. “Okay, let’s go, I’ll get your plate.”

They end up eating curled up on the couch so Tommy can turn on a movie. He’s been showing Evan some queer movies, because Evan’s actually been interested in those, and they watch Big Eden. Tommy needs something warm and fluffy, and it’s like the cinematic equivalent of a warm hug.

They pause about two thirds of the way through so Evan can grab them dessert, and he comes out with the entire cheesecake and two forks.

“We’re adults,” he says to Tommy’s raised eyebrows. “We could’ve had frosting for dinner if we wanted.”

He eats almost a quarter of the cheesecake—it’s a small cheesecake—and ends up stretched out on the couch with Evan on top of him until the movie’s over.

“I liked that one,” Evan says, rubbing his cheek against Tommy’s chest. “Tired?”

“No,” Tommy says, because he’s really not. He’s exhausted, but he doesn’t know when he’ll sleep next.

Evan looks up at him and reaches up to stroke his knuckles over Tommy’s jaw. “Want to watch another one?”

He leans into the touch and sighs. “Yeah.”

They make it through The Birdcage and halfway through Love, Simon before Tommy falls asleep. When he wakes up, Evan’s drooling on his chest and the Roku screensaver is on.

“Baby,” he whispers, kissing Evan’s curls and inhaling the smell of his shampoo.

Evan inhales sharply and slow blinks at him like a cat. “Mm. ‘Zit?”

Tommy looks at his watch. “It’s 3:30. We should go to bed.”

His boyfriend nods and sits up. They strip down to their underwear and crawl into bed, and Tommy pulls Evan’s sleep-warm body against his under the cool duvet.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you so-o much,” Evan mumbles back, stroking Tommy’s side.

“Thank you. For everything.”

He can see Evan’s smile in the dim light filtering in through the window. “Anytime.”

[ikkyfics]

Sweet Glimpse

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: At the beginning of the night, you couldn't have imagined that you would end up in this situation. Riding on Dave's lap, watching Todd fuck a girl on the other side

Warnings: smut/mdni, est. relationship, no use of y/n, language, fingering, voyeurism(?), p in v, unprotected, pet names, slut shaming

this is for my pookie @gingerteafairy <33

Masterlist

At the beginning of the night, you couldn't have imagined that you would end up in this situation. You liked to think that you were the kind of person who could control yourself, more rational than emotional. But it was hard to make that statement true next to Dave.

Damn, he was too handsome for your own good.

It only took a small opening, a smile curving your lips, eyelashes fluttering and Dave was wrapped around your pinky. You climbed the stairs with stumbling steps and intertwined fingers, the loud music drowning out the sound of laughter. Apparently, other people had the same idea and it took a while until you found an empty place.

A bathroom.

It was clean, it was enough.

The door had barely closed when his mouth collided with yours. Hungry, almost desperate. You sighed against his lips when you felt the warm touch of his fingers on your waist, pulling you closer, so close that you could feel his heart beating against your chest.

You stumbled into the bathroom, and somehow, you ended up in the bathtub. Hidden by the curtain that covered it. Your legs on either side of his body with your skirt bunched around your waist, the cold light catching the pretty lace of your panties, sheer and soaked.

His hands slid down your back, leaving a trail of fire across your skin before settling on your hips in an almost painful grip. You whimpered at the feel of his erection pressed against your weeping pussy.

More. You needed more.

Your fingers tangled in his curls tighter, pulling his face back to break the kiss. You admired the way his eyes looked clouded with pleasure, his long lashes fluttering, his mouth swollen and pinker than ever. Perfect. A small smile curved your lips. You loved seeing him like this, loved making him like this.

Your fingers slid along his strong jaw, watching the way he tilted his face against your touch. “Please,” he sighed, his fingers digging into your hips. There would probably be marks in the morning.

“Please what?” You questioned, your voice drenched in false innocence.

Your lips found the column of his neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses on the warm, soft skin, feeling as he swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

But your smile soon faded.

Dave let out a low groan, his hips bucking against your hot center as he felt your moan against his neck. His hands slid down to cup your ass, squeezing your firm cheeks as he pulled your tighter against him. He could feel your heat, your wetness through the thin lace of your panties, and it made his cock throb with need.

“Fuck, angel… I want you so bad. I want to feel you, please,” he breathed, his voice rough with desire. His fingers slid under the hem of your skirt, pushing the soaked fabric of your panties aside. He ran a finger along your slit, feeling your wetness, before pushing a finger inside your heat.

Dave watched your face as he began to finger you, his thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit. Your head fell back, your lips parted in a silent moan as your hips began to move against his hand. He could feel you getting wetter, your arousal coating his fingers.

He added another finger, pumping them in and out of your tight pussy, feeling you clench around the intrusion. His cock was rock hard, straining against his jeans as he imagined burying himself deep inside you.

You gripped his arms, eyelids fluttering shut as you tried to form a sentence that made sense. Fuck, you wanted him too. So badly, so desperately. So badly it was almost painful.

“I-I oh- fuuck- I know,” you managed to say, your fingers sliding between your bodies to unbuckle his belt, fumbling a bit before finally getting it done.

It took a bit of combined effort to get his pants down to his thighs. You bit your lip at the sight, shivering in anticipation. Your eyes flickered to his for a moment before your mouths met again in a desperate kiss.

The sound of your moans rose above the music playing outside.

Dave groaned into the kiss when he felt your hand wrap around his hard, aching cock. He bucked his hips, thrusting into your grip as he deepened the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste you. He mumbled a muffled apology when, with a sloppy tug, he ended up ripping your panties. It was a shame, it was a really pretty piece of lace, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

His hands slid down your sides, pushing your blouse up and over your head before tossing it aside. He took a moment to admire your perfect breasts, encased in a lacy bra that matched your ruined panties. Unable to resist, he leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting the sensitive bud through the thin lace.

“Angel, you’re so perfect. I’ll never get tired of this,” he breathed against your skin, his hand sliding down to unclasp your bra. He pulled it off and threw it away, finally exposing your breasts to his hungry gaze.

You breathed heavily, a small part of you couldn’t help but blush at the look in his eyes. At how Dave looked at you like you were the most beautiful creature in the entire universe.

You couldn’t disappoint him.

Your fingers stroked his length, thumb running over the leaking head, spreading pre-cum around. He was so fucking hard.

He grabbed your hips, lifting you up and positioning you over his cock. He rubbed the head along your slit, coating himself in your arousal before pushing forward, sinking in slowly.

“Oh, baby— You feel amazing,” he groaned, his eyes drifting closed.

“Agh,” you mewled, your head falling back as you felt the stretch. Normally, there was a lot more care, but you were so wet that his cock barely met any resistance.

Your chest rose and fell as you tried to control your breathing, trying to get used to his girth. You rested your face against his, your noses touching, a breath’s distance between your lips. Your fingers found their way into his curls, hearing him sigh as you moved your hips in a languid back and forth.

Dave leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he began to move. He kept his thrusts slow and deep at first, wanting to feel every inch of your pussy wrapped around his cock. He rolled his hips, grinding against your clit with each thrust, determined to make you feel good.

You could feel the sweat gathering on your back, the way his muscles flexed as he moved. The heat between your bodies was intense, the air thick with the scent of sex and the sound of his moans and the slap of skin against skin.

“You’re so tight, angel,” he groaned against your lips, his voice tight with pleasure. He could already feel his orgasm building, his balls tightening as he brought himself closer and closer to the edge.

His words made you shiver. Your toes curled as you felt the coil in your lower belly tighten. Your walls clenched around him, feeling the way his cock twitched.

“Davie, I-”

You couldn’t finish, your eyes squeezing shut as he hit your cervix. You felt him so deep you wondered if he’d reached your fucking stomach.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders, nails digging into the muscles as you returned his efforts with equal enthusiasm. “Don’t stop, please, I don’t-” You didn’t finish, an almost pornographic moan leaving your lips as you felt your release so close.

That’s when you heard it. The sound of the door latch opening.

Your eyes widened in horror, hearing the door close again in a sudden movement. The sound of kisses on the other side of the thin curtain that covered the bathtub.

You looked at Dave, seeing the horror in your eyes reflected in his. In the heat of the moment, you had forgotten to close the damn door.

What are we going to do? That’s what your eyes asked.

But before he could answer, you heard a voice – a familiar voice – on the other side of the curtain.

“You’re so beautiful, doll.”

Todd.

Todd was on the other side.

Unable to control yourself, you peeked through the curtain, your lips parted as you watched one of Dave’s best friends push a pretty girl against the granite countertop of the sink. The clumsy movements, knocking over some of the products that were there. They couldn’t care less.

“Todd, please,” the girl whimpered, looking over her shoulder at him, her spine arched and her ass thrust upward. Damn, she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Your breath caught as you watched Todd work on the waistband of his own pants. You almost couldn’t place him. He looked nothing like the kind, slightly clumsy boy you knew, all brown curls and dimples when he smiled. No, he looked like someone hungry, ready to devour her.

Shame stained your cheeks crimson as you watched Todd release his cock, his hands gripping her hips, pushing her legs apart before burying himself inside her in one thrust.

You knew you shouldn’t be watching, but it was impossible to look away. There was something addictive about it, something that made more heat pool between your legs. It was wrong and hot.

Dave followed your gaze, his blue irises locked on the scene, his face flushed and his mouth slightly open. The way Todd fucked the girl like he depended on it for a living.

You covered your mouth to keep a moan from leaving your lips, your pussy clenching around Dave with more force. You couldn't make any noise, nothing that would reveal that you were in the bathroom too.

Bending down, you moved closer until your mouth was right next to his ear. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" Your voice was barely above a whisper. Very gently, you turned his face until you could both see.

You sighed as you watched the way Todd's muscles contracted as he thrust, hearing every obscene sound they made. You could see the girl's face in the reflection of the mirror, lips parted, eyes hooded with lust, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. You imagined what it would be like to be in her place, the mere thought made you tremble.

Dave's eyes were going back and forth between your face and the obscene scene happening a few feet away. He knew it was risky, he knew you could get caught at any moment, but the thought of watching Todd fuck that beautiful girl while he fucked you was incredibly arousing.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered back, “Jesus, yes… She’s gorgeous. I bet her pussy is amazing.”

Dave’s hand slid down to your ass, squeezing your cheeks tightly as he pulled you tighter against him, burying himself even deeper inside your tight heat. He could feel your walls fluttering around him, could tell you were just as turned on by the idea of ​​being caught as he was.

He turned his attention back to the scene in the mirror, watching as Todd thrust into the girl with increasing fervor. The sound of skin slapping against skin and your muffled moans filled the small bathroom. You bit your lip tightly to keep any noise from escaping. You didn’t know, you had no idea how you could stand this.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders tighter, taking out some of what you were feeling there. But it was hard to think about anything other than his cock twitching in your pussy.

“Davie,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. “We can’t—ah…make any noise.”

Unable to help it, your eyes drifted back to Todd and the pretty girl.

He had lifted one of her legs onto the counter. The new angle made her moan louder, and you knew you weren’t the only one affected by the way Dave’s cock twitched in your pussy. Todd’s fingers circled her clit, pulling out almost completely before pushing his thick length back in. His other hand pressed against her lower belly, and you rolled your eyes at how good the girl must feel.

You sucked in a breath, feeling your body tremble, looking up at Dave. You knew he wasn’t made of iron, his blue eyes locked on the girl, and you couldn’t blame him. She was fantastic.

Staying still, however, was harder than it looked. “Do you think…we can…?” You questioned against his ear, rolling your hips gently, searching for any friction.

You couldn’t make any noise, couldn’t be hasty or clumsy.

“Shh, we… W-we’ll be quiet,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of Todd’s grunts and the girl’s moans. His hand slid to your front, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing slow circles.

Dave matched the rhythm of Todd’s thrusts, rolling his hips in time with his friend’s movements. He could feel your body tensing. He knew you were getting close, could feel your walls starting to quiver and tighten around his shaft.

He turned his attention back to the scene in the mirror, watching as Todd picked up the pace, fucking the girl with wild abandon. The girl’s breasts bounced with each thrust, her moans growing louder and more desperate. It was better than any porn he’d ever seen.

Dave could feel his own release approaching. He wanted to cum with you, wanted to feel you cum undone around his cock as you watched your friends fuck just a few feet away.

“Come on, angel, cum for me.” he breathed against your ear, his fingers moving faster over your clit.

You bit Dave’s shoulder to keep from moaning, feeling your body convulse as you watched Todd fuck you, seeing the expression that framed his face. His eyes darker than ever. Feeling Dave’s cock sink deeper into you.

It was too much. Almost too much to bear.

Your hips seemed to have a life of their own as they moved against Dave’s, feeling feverish as his fingers abused your sensitive clit. Tears fell from your eyes as you felt your knot tighten.

“Dave, I’m gonna- fuck, I’m gonna...!” Your mouth crashed down on his, making him swallow every little noise that escaped your lips as you melted around him.

At the same time, he felt his own orgasm crashing over him, his cock throbbing as he shot his hot seed deep into your still-fluttering cunt. He gripped your hips tightly, pulling you down onto him as he emptied himself inside you, filling you with his cum.

You tried, really tried not to make a sound. After that overwhelming orgasm, you didn’t think you’d feel anything more intense.

But feeling him spill into you took you to another level. Your lips parted and a loud, pornographic moan left your lips.

The effect was immediate. You heard Todd curse and the pretty girl squeal. The curtain was flung open, everyone staring at each other with wide eyes. Too surprised to move.

The girl was still bent over the counter, Todd was behind her, his cock still hard and with a pearl of pre-cum leaking from the head. He and Dave stared at each other, almost as if they were in silent conversation.

You felt Dave's throat ripple as his eyes alternated between the girl's dripping, needy pussy and the soft swell of her breasts. A whimper left your lips as you felt his cock begin to harden inside you.

"What the fuck?"

Your eyes flickered back to the girl's, torn between an embarrassed apology or... you swallowed - or something that made you feel like a cheap little slut. Her eyes glinted with something dangerously similar to the one glinting in yours.

"Todd," she called, her voice low, needy. His dark eyes quickly returned to hers. "We're not done yet."

His eyebrows rose, but when he noticed her incisive gaze, he didn't question it. His breath caught in his throat as he watched him guide his cock to her entrance. The girl closed her eyes, arching her body, as if offering herself.

The realization hit you hard.

Your toes curled at the lewd sound. Whimpering as you felt your pussy clench in response. You turned your eyes back to Dave, he blinked, looking away from the girl, his cheeks flushed. "Please," you begged, your voice needy, rolling your hips against his.

Todd and the girl were willing to share this moment. You couldn't be petty and not reciprocate equally.

[haechanhues]

He Sucked Anyway

pairing : friend!lee han x fem!reader

genre : smutty. kind of angsty. fluff if you squint really hard, wink and send your head straight through a broken window. longer than a typical drabble - a better name would be a short fic.

warnings : SMUT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. sex in the kitchen. barely any mention of said baking ingredients. not proofread. lee han is referred as both ‘lee han’ and ‘donghyun’.

word count : 0.8 words

summary : you finally broke up with your ex and the first thing you do is bake cake with the friend he was worried about.

Your ex boyfriend, for lack of better word, was a piece of shit. He didn’t allow you a lot of things - flour, sugar and Lee Han. All three of them, you were now currently reuniting with in this moment of ‘oh sweet sorrow’. It had never been like this with Donghyun, ever but your ex was so worried about it all the time. 

At least now he had something to whine about. 

He’s got you on the counter, legs spread just enough to be an open invitation. You feel a sprinkle of flour cascade down your front as Lee Han steps closer,his hand running up the curve of your jaw painted with sugar. The tension between you heated and wrung like tea towels, just begging to be snapped. 

He briefly leans over to observe the recipe, regarding it with a smirk, “We’ve got about 40 minutes until the cake is ready.” 

You take the time to observe him, noticing how handsome he’s gotten in your absence, he’s gotten thicker and his stomach has a little snail trail you want to run your fingers over, using it as a tool to tempt him into fucking you. He bites his lip, his hand traveling slowly from your jaw, to the hungry part of your throat, all the way to your stomach. The phantom dripping of your sexual tension paves the path for which you want his hand to follow and find the ‘X’ located between your legs and marked with a pool of your arousal. 

You surge forward, taking his lips for your own, sounds emitting from you both naughty and rushed, fuelling the movements that feel like punishment as time goes by. 

You mewl into the kiss as he bunches the thick clothing at the centre of your belly, squeezing it towards him and feeling the growing bulge against your thinly veiled core. He moans back, his kisses quickening and his hips thrusting into the spot that has your eyes rolling back. 

“Mm-” You squeeze out a strangled moan, the urge to place your hands down your pants and give yourself the relief you crave. As you wriggle in place, Lee Han pulls apart from the kiss, both of his palms slamming your hands against the counter surface. 

“It’d be better if you were patient,” He promises into the shell of your ear, “Then I could do it for you.” 

His own hands return to the core of your stomach again, removing your clothes one by one. The closer they are to your pussy, the more likely it is to peel away silky wet. He bends a little, suckling at your clit for a few brief seconds, loving the way you jolt with pleasure and even worse when he adds tongue, a long stripe up your sex all before he sucks at all he can, the sounds emitting from him diabolical. 

“Fuck me,” You curse, sweat marking your forehead and the heart of your cheeks. 

“I’m getting there,” Donghyun chuckles as he stands to his normal height, kissing you on the mouth again and again until he feels like you get just how crazy good you taste. 

He frees himself of the confines of his clothes, and you begin to fluster at his tip that already leaks. His cock promises the drag of his cock all up in your walls, the thickness of him truly mouth watering. 

He grabs himself, letting the tip of his cock run down the bud of your clit before he dips his cock into your wet entrance, mouth dropping at the way your walls suck him in when he slowly drags his hips back. 

He whines, lips falling onto yours again in gratitude, thrusting at a punishing pace, feeling your face contort and struggle to breathe as pleasure overwhelms you completely. 

You’re both swelling with whines and moans, grunting into each other’s mouths at the feeling of each other. How good each other feels. 

“Fuck-” His lips press together in an attempt to control his sounds, failing at it, “Oh fucking-” 

“Mhmm-” You pause as your body squeezes to the point of constriction, lungs robbed of air and your mewls pinched, your orgasm washing over you like no other. You’re in the air, refusing to release it all into what would be a memory. 

You squeeze at his shoulders, squeezing him in between your legs. Watching the way his orgasm washes over him, feeling the hot squirt of his thick cum on the inside of your thigh and up your stomach, the drop of his head into your neck. 

The moan he lets out is tempting enough to want to ruin him, hear it again and again until he’s completely spent and spread. You kiss him again, seeking salvation from your deviant thoughts. Finding it when he smiles into the kiss. Yours.

[song-witch]

Someone Old, Someone New

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Agatha Harkness, Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal

Word Count: 4,591

Warnings: No Powers, adultery, divorce, pregnancy (Wanda), this is so angsty

Summary:

“I want a divorce.” Agatha breathed the words out, holding her hands tighter as if it would end what was happening. She wasn’t perfect. Neither of them were. That’s why they had worked so well.

“What?” Agatha hated just how upset Wanda looked. Absolutely… broken. And yet… The worst part was over. It had been a long divorce in the making.

“I want a divorce.” Agatha was firmer in her words, her eyes a sea of dark blue. Wanda’s green eyes blinked back at her, her hands going slack in the woman’s hold.

A/n: i can't reread this without crying so... hope yall enjoy !!

Agatha entered the room as quietly as possible, stopping the door before the hinges could squeak like she knew they would, eyes scanning quickly. Wanda was fast asleep, propped against the headboard with her legs crossed under her, hands holding her belly. Dread pooled in her stomach at the thought of the woman waiting up for her, but it was easily replaced by the adrenaline of the night still coursing through her. Rio. Rio, Rio, Rio. 

“Agatha?” Wanda’s tired voice flowed through the dimly lit room, making the brunette stop in her tracks. She had hoped to sneak in unnoticed, change in their bathroom and slip into bed without disturbing the redhead, considering how she had fallen asleep. Of fucking course, the redhead managed to screw up that plan.

“It’s just me, hon.” The pet name had her stomach churning in ways it hadn’t for a long, long time, disgust curling around her head. The worst part was; Wanda hadn’t done anything. Not counting getting pregnant, or marrying her, or falling for her in the first place, or- She had no reason to blame the redhead, not really, but she couldn’t blame herself. It’s not her fault who she falls for, or falls out of, for that matter.

“What took you so long?” And there was that god awful question. Wanda was good at that, asking what she didn’t want to hear. Speaking when she didn’t want to listen. Loving when she didn’t love back. Christ, she hated Wanda. Hated Rio. Hated herself. 

“Work ran late, accident on the way home. Off of Ninety-five.” Agatha kept her tone light, though she spoke through bared teeth. It was easy enough to head into their bathroom to change, needing the space to clear her mind. She kept the door cracked, once again slipping into her role of loving wife. She hated how often she did it, almost like Wanda had placed a spell on her, put her in a role she couldn’t escape. Except, she could. She could ask for a divorce now, tell the redhead she didn’t love her, hadn’t for months, maybe even years now, leave her with nothing and run off with Rio. If only…

“That’s terrible, baby. I hope everyone’s okay. I’m sorry work kept you so late again, I know how much you hate it.” And again, that woeful voice pulling her back to the present, right where she didn’t want to be. She should have taken Rio up on her offer, should have spent the night at her house. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so… so pitied.

Agatha only hummed in response, not caring if she was loud enough for the woman to hear or not. She’d be asleep soon enough anyways. It’s not like Agatha owed her anything. She had given her heart years ago, was that not enough? Clearly it wasn’t as the redhead began to talk again.

“Dinner’s in the fridge if you’re hungry. I made carbonara, there’s garlic bread on the counter to go with it. I didn’t have time to make it, but I picked up a boysenberry pie from that one place you like down the street.” She knew the redhead was stalling in an attempt to stay awake from the way her words were strewn together and beginning to slur together, occasional yawns accompanying her words. The worst part is that she knows how much Wanda dislikes said pie, despite how much she herself loved it. She wonders if Wanda knows. Knows she and Rio are… if she’s making her favorite meals in an attempt to keep Agatha all for herself. If she’s waiting for the right moment to rip them apart, to lawyer up and sue her to hell and back for her own personal entertainment. 

Agatha knows better, though. Knows Wanda’s too insecure for that. Especially now that she's pregnant. She thinks about the nursery. She still hadn’t gotten around to painting it, despite the persistent nagging from the younger woman. Maybe Wanda had done it herself, if she wasn’t still so cautious about every goddamn thing either one of them did. She wonders how they had ever clicked, considering just how different they seemed to be now. She laughs at the fact that they thought they were soulmates. That Wanda still thinks that.

It was simple enough to go through her routine and ignore the redhead, the faucet running a constant noise that helped to drown her out. She found herself comparing Wanda and Rio, especially in the early days of their relationship. Wanda had been so lively. Somehow both spontaneous and preplanning everything at the same time. Rio was so much more. Rio could do what Wanda couldn’t. Rio could go out to dinner without bringing up them or their future. Rio could say fuck you to anything and everything in favor of either one of them. Rio could make her day brighter just by being… Rio. Could fuck her, plain and simple. 

By the time she made it back into the bedroom, Wanda was laying down, facing the bathroom, though she seemed to be asleep. Once again, kept awake waiting for Agatha. The brunette could only scoff under her breath, pity rushing through her. Wanda was too wrapped up in herself to notice how Agatha would pull away first whenever they’d hug, always initiated by the redhead. Too wrapped up in this world of love they created long ago to notice how Agatha didn’t touch her anymore, how she was always the one giving and not receiving, per Agatha’s half-assed mumbles of being tired. She didn’t know how every time, she wasn’t thinking of Wanda. No, she was imagining someone else, eyes closed the entire time, even as Wanda spoke and touched her. 

The thoughts weighed her down as she slipped into bed, glaring at the wedding band that stayed in the jewelry dish Wanda had gifted her years ago, yet another thing she hated. She laid on her side, facing away from the redhead as she tugged the covers over herself, her mind working a mile a minute and somehow blanking at the same time.

“I love you.” Wanda mumbled as she rolled over, clearly with more difficulty than she used to, arms wrapping around the brunette’s waist. Well, as much as they could considering the growing bump that separated them. Agatha was almost thankful for that, silently glad that their child was already saving her in ways she could never tell them. 

“Love you too.” Agatha sighed out, something she could easily chalk up to being tired and not hatred, not bothering to cuddle into the redhead like she might have once had. Wanda’s forehead rested against the top of the back of her neck, a soft kiss placed there before her breathing evened out. Agatha couldn’t help but shiver at that, both in discontent and some awfully mangled version of the slight amount of love that still lingered in her heart for the younger woman, squeezing her eyes tight in hopes sleep would overcome her soon.

*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*\/*

“Wanda, can we talk?” 

“Of course, baby. What’s up?” Wanda’s smiling as she sets her purse back on to the small side table she had picked it up from, her phone set next to it as she turns back to smile at Agatha and the woman couldn’t be more upset. This was going to ruin Wanda’s day. Her life, potentially. She’ll get over it. She watches as confusion works its way through the redhead’s face as she glances between her and sees Rio, her fingers circling her wedding ring. “Rio! I didn’t know you’d be joini-”

“Oh, please. Save the pleasantries for someone else.” Rio scoffed, an eye roll accompanying her less than kind tone, leaning against her hand as her head rolled with her eyes. Wanda’s fingers stop moving as she looks back towards her wife, shock evident in the way her mouth was slightly agape, as if looking for answers. Agatha could only grimace slightly yet not enough to actually do anything, instead urging the redhead towards the couch.

“Don’t mind her,” Agatha waved the brunette off as she continued to scowl in her chair, instead gently taking her wife’s elbow with as little contact as possible, “we need to talk.”

“Is everything okay, buttercup?” Wanda’s eyebrows knit together as she used the older woman’s hand and the arm of the couch to lower herself down, out of both concern and slight discomfort. Agatha intentionally kept her eyes on Rio, would tell Wanda she was making sure Rio listened if she asked. But she knew Wanda wouldn’t. Knew Wanda would sit prettily. Would listen as she spoke. Would cry at the inevitable. Oh well.

Agatha chose to kneel in front of the redhead, her back angled away from Rio, gently taking the woman’s hands into her own. It was the most touch she had initiated in weeks if not months. She thinks about how hands-on they had been when they met and even into the first few years of their marriage. How they could hardly make it out of the house, let alone leave the other alone once out. They had been so… obsessed with each other. Couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. Bitterness washes over her at the thought that that’s how her relationship with Rio was. Both now and before Wanda. She couldn’t find it in her to care.

“Well,” Agatha found herself sighing, rubbing the girl’s knuckle’s with her thumbs. She had decided how long ago that they needed a divorce and yet she couldn’t even bring herself to say the words. Rio’s eyes on the back of her head weren’t helping. Her throat felt like it was full of cotton and she couldn’t even push the words out if she wanted to.

The room felt dead. All energy had been sucked out and replaced by solemness, a strange mix of heaviness and delight swirling through the air. Her heart felt heavy. She was nervous. She was never nervous. So why now? Well, for one, she was about to ask for a divorce. Not ask, tell. Tell Wanda they were getting a divorce and that would be that, lawyers be damned. And Wanda didn’t even know. Couldn’t prepare herself for it. Why did she care so much? She wouldn’t have to see her after this. Their child, sure, but not Wanda. 

“Jesus, get on with it already.” Rio scoffed from the chair. Looking back to glare at the woman, Agatha wants nothing more than to push her leg off the arm and back onto the floor, telling her to sit properly if she’s going to participate in their adult conversation. Or maybe… maybe she wants to ravish the woman then and there, make her wife watch and hope she gets the memo. Yeah, maybe that would be better. Rio did look extremely tempting in her slacks and white button up and her woody perfume and-

“On with what? What’s going on?” And Wanda was confused again, glancing between the women as if they were conspiring against her. She hates that she’s right. Little miss know-it-all strikes again. That son of a bitch. 

“Wanda, hun,” Agatha started, sucking in a deep breath even as her thoughts ran in circles, hoping the pet name would at least sugarcoat her words a little, “you know I love you very much.”

Wanda merely hummed in agreement, shifting her wrists to instead entangle their fingers. The move made the brunette grimace. Why did she have to choose now to be all lovey dovey. It was bullshit and they both knew it. Based on the look of concern on the woman’s face, maybe she didn’t. She once would have longed to reach out, take the redhead’s face in her hands and smooth the wrinkle between her eyebrows, tell her not to worry her pretty little head and that everything was okay. Had she been lying everytime she had said it? Had she set Wanda up from the very beginning? Had her heart always belonged to Rio? 

“And that I would never want to hurt you.” Agatha shook the thoughts away, struggling to refocus her attention on her wife. Her thoughts keep drifting back to Rio. Rio behind her watching them. Rio’s lips on hers just minutes before Wanda had come downstairs. Rio’s back pressed to the wall of their dining room after baiting her. Rio’s hands. Her hands in her hair, running up and down her sides, pressing hard into her hips, hard into her-

“Yes.” Wanda’s reassuring squeeze of their hands pulled her back to reality, that sick smile she had come to hate plastered across her face. She remembers how Wanda would ask her if she were reacting the ‘right way.’ Agatha had been confused at first; Wanda was going on 23, herself 31. She had thought it strange for the woman to ask her that; they had only been together for three months and yet the girl was hyper aware of every reaction she had. It had taken time to realize that Wanda had been behind the curve growing up in a country that wasn’t her home, trying her best to associate with others without having anyone. And though that had dissipated over the five years of their relationship, she could still picture the girl, quiet and yearning, softly asking if she was doing good in the late hours of the night. 

“I want a divorce.” The picture still bright in her head, Agatha breathed the words out, holding her hands tighter as if it would end what was happening. As if she weren’t the one who brought it up. As if she weren’t the villain. As if she were the victim. Though, neither was Wanda. She wasn’t perfect. Neither of them were. That’s why they had worked so well. 

“What?” Agatha hated just how upset Wanda looked. Absolutely… broken . And yet… And yet, a part of her rejoiced. The worst part was over. Now, it would be long before she was free. It had been a long divorce in the making. She hadn’t ever been free. Not really. 

“I want a divorce.” Agatha was firmer in her words, her eyes a sea of dark blue. Wanda’s green eyes blinked back at her, her hands going slack in the woman’s hold. And oh how she hated that she still needed the redhead in some twisted way.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” Wanda shook her head, hands limp in Agatha’s, her eyes misty. Agatha could tell she was trying not to cry, trying to keep her ever changing hormones in check, act less upset than she was. She knew the inner turmoil the redhead was likely enduring, questions of what would happen, why, when, potentially who. 

“What’s there not to understand? Your wife doesn’t love you and wants a divorce, plain and simple.” Agatha almost wanted to smother Rio for the fact that she couldn’t fucking keep to herself for once, forcing herself into the conversation she wasn’t a part of. It wouldn’t be Rio if she didn’t cause some sort of chaos though, would it?

Agatha was turning towards the dark haired woman with a scowl, unintentionally pulling Wanda forward with her as her hands were still being gripped. “I don’t… Was it something I did?” 

“Look, Wanda, it’s not-” Agatha was turning back around before she could berate Rio, a pang of sadness running through her chest. She wanted to reprimand Rio more than she wanted to comfort her own wife. How fucked up was that? What would people think of her when they heard about this ? What had she ever fucking cared?

“Did I… Did I say something wrong? The redhead was clearly reaching for something . Trying to find anything that would serve as an explanation. Tears ran down her cheeks, though she seemed unbothered by them as she searched Agatha’s eyes. Attempting to find a trace of something.

“You didn’t say anything wrong, it’s just-” There was nothing Agatha could say that would reassure the woman. Well, besides maybe telling her it was a shitty joke and that she was still desperately in love with her. But that would be a lie. And despite knowing she was killing the woman, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to her as well. Maybe just a little, but not about love. No, they both had too much trauma to lie about that .

“Was it the pillows? I know you didn’t love them, but we can return them if, if-” Wanda’s voice was more apprehensive than she had heard in a long time, an undertone of pleading coloring her soft crying. She hated those pillows so much. They weren’t ugly, per se, but Wanda had picked them out just under a month ago. They were a deep green, matching the accent wall on the far side of the living room, square and so grossly homely. 

“It wasn’t the fucking pillows, will you just listen -” Agatha squeezed her hands as if that would make Wanda shut up. It was better than strangling her. 

“Jesus fuck, I can see why you’re over her. Won’t shut the fuck up for five seconds.” Rio scoffed and neither of them had to turn around to know she was rolling her eyes. Typical. 

“I- what?” Wanda shook her head. She was momentarily shocked, as if she couldn’t believe the words Rio had said. Agatha couldn’t blame her. They were downright mean, even for Rio. 

“Don’t listen to her. She’s not even supposed to be here right now, I was waiting for-” Instead of acknowledging the younger woman like Agatha knew she wanted, she turned her full attention back to Wanda, smoothing her thumbs over the veins in her hands. She deliberately avoided her wedding ring, praying Wanda wouldn’t notice. Knew she was too out of it to.

“You invited me over.” Rio interjected, a sly grin gracing her features. Almost if she knew she had won. In a way, she had. She had convinced Agatha enough to be in the position they were in. She hated the effect the woman had on her. Hated it so much she couldn’t get enough of it. Except for right now. 

“Rio! Would you stop interjecting so I can talk to my wife .” Agatha knew those were fighting words, knew how much more tense it would make the room. How pissed off it would make Rio. How sad it would make Wanda. How conflicted it would make herself. She didn’t care, though. 

“Was it-” Wanda cut herself off with a soft sob, as if it pained her to ever think about what she would say next. She inhaled shakily once as she looked into Agatha’s eyes, her own fleeting between the two, as if she were steeling herself for what she was going to say. “Is it the baby? Does he- do they remind you of Nic-”

It was her own gasp cutting Wanda off, one she thinks is coupled with a noise similar from Rio. And Wanda was looking between them, some mix of fear and pure sadness so evident on her face it almost hurt. She hated that look. She had once sworn she’d never see the woman so dejected again. Yet… Yet here they are, with the redhead looking more broken than she had when Pietro had died.

“It’s not… It’s not the baby, not Nic-” Agatha dropped one of the woman’s hands in favor of cupping her cheek, her own eyes becoming misty at the accusation. Neither of them talked about him. The few times they had, had been filled with so much trust and tears. Wanda had been so worried when bringing up her desire for children that Agatha would up and leave her then and there. It had been quite the opposite whenever it had been brought up until the last year and a half. Wanda had wanted to be so sure that Agatha would be okay.

“Don’t ever talk about him like that. You don’t fucking deserve to talk about him at all, you fucking bitch!” Rio was looming over her so quickly that she was sure the woman had levitated, casting a dark shadow over the women. Her pointer finger jabbed at the redhead’s chest, fire blazing in her eyes. 

“Hey! You don’t fucking talk to her like that!” Agatha stood as a physical boundary between the two women. She knew Wanda wouldn’t do anything. Far too docile and timid to actually be of any threat, Rio however… Rio was a ball of bottled up emotions waiting to explode and now was not the time and Wanda was not the person. She was so fed up with her loveless marriage that she never thought she’d be defending the woman again, but Rio had absolutely no right to take it out on her.

“Oh, please. You don’t even like her! Who fucking cares how I talk to her?” Rio rolled her eyes with another scoff, clearly fed up. Agatha had told her so much about their relationship that it was entirely ridiculous that she would even care. If anything, she expected the older woman to be on her side. 

“You don’t get to disrespect my wife just because we’re getting divorced!” Agatha knew they were fighting words, knew they would twist the knife just a little more. There was no reason for Rio to be awful. 

“Please stop.” Wanda muttered pathetically behind her hands in a sad attempt at hiding her tears, body hunched over as the two fought. They didn’t pay her any attention, too caught up in their own world.

“You’re so fucking pathetic, oh my god.” Rio laughed. Straight up laughed in Agatha’s face, her voice low and dark in a stark contrast to the yelling just moments earlier. It sent shivers down her spine. 

“Me? I’m the pathetic one?” And Agatha was the one scoffing now. Because who was Rio to call her pathetic? Yes, she may have been cheating on her wife, but Rio was nowhere near perfect either. Death incarnated, as she used to say. 

“Yes!” Rio cried. 

“Please enlighten me, Rio. How am I pathetic?” Agatha gestured to the short amount of space between them, in a ‘the floor is yours’ motion. She almost wished she had popcorn for the theatrics of what she could only imagine the woman would say. 

“You’re defending your lousy ass wife, who you don’t even love by the way, considering you seemed to have forgotten that part!” Rio threw her arm out wildly, just barely missing Wanda’s head with her erratic movement. Had Wanda not been bent over as much as she could, she would have hit her. She knew Rio would’ve taken delight in that. 

“As if you’re any better.” Agatha crossed her arms, some mix of negative emotions swirling inside her. 

“Oh, really? Well, do enlighten me, Agatha, how am I not any better?” And if their back and forth couldn’t get any worse, Rio was scoffing again, the air hanging thickly with the threat baited in her words. 

“You can’t get over anything! You’re so fucking caught up in the past, you had to stoop down to my level to-” Rio stalked forward, jabbing her finger into the older woman’s chest, reminiscent of the way she had to the younger’s just minutes earlier. Agatha couldn’t go far, standing still as she leaned back.

“ENOUGH!” Wanda choked out through her tears, loud enough to stop the bickering between the two women but not quite yelling. No, her throat was constricting too much for that. Whether that was from crying or nausea based on the slight grey hue to her face, Agatha was unsure. Either way, it reminded her where she was, yelling at her lover while her wife sobbed to herself on the couch. God, she was so fucked up. She’d live.

“Wanda…” Agatha dropped back to her knees, one hand cupping the woman’s knee, the other hovering just inches away from her cheek. She didn’t know how her touch would comfort her, if her touch would comfort her. It had for years been something Wanda went out of her way to receive and she went out of her way to give. But now… now Wanda looked like a terrified little kitten, shaking and small, acting braver than she was. 

“Please don’t… Please don’t touch me.” Wanda’s voice trembled just as much as her hands did as she looked away, pushing the woman’s hand off of her knee. Agatha retracted it as if she had been burned. In a way, she had. She was the one rejecting Wanda, not the other way around. 

“Wanda, c’mon sugar, let’s talk this through.” Agatha attempted to grab one of her fleeting hands. Longed to pull it closer to her and kiss it, convince her it’d be okay. Despite them both knowing it’d be a lie. 

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna go… Gonna go.” Wanda mumbled softly as she stood, an eerily blank look in her eyes as she wrapped her cardigan more securely around herself, roughly wiping at her nose with her crumpled tissue. The sight made Agatha’s heart clench as she laid her hand where the redhead was just sitting, watching in silence as she waddled towards the garage door, reaching for her car keys with a soft cry. 

“Your jacket.” Agatha made a move to get up as the younger woman opened the door to the garage, her body hiccuping with hardly contained sobs. She didn’t make it past the couch before the door had closed, though, sudden sadness washing over her as Wanda clearly made sure the door didn’t slam as she closed it, knowing how it shook the house. 

Agatha stared for a long while before the car had pulled out of the driveway, not bothering to move as she knew Rio stood watching her, unknowing of where the redhead would go. She could feel her heart blackening, becoming even darker at how she had ruined the woman’s life. 

“Agatha-” 

“Not now, Rio.” Agatha muttered, not bothering to look at the woman. She turned away as a bony hand wrapped around her shoulder. She wasn’t in the mood for Rio’s pity. Her own arms wrapped around her middle, her right hand coming up to roll her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. She was anxious and she didn’t even know why. Perhaps it was Rio’s looming presence behind her, the atmosphere of the place where she and Wanda had once shared so much love now dark and dim. 

“You’re the one who wanted to divorce her! Don’t ‘not now’ me.” Rio picked the stack of papers up from the coffee table, shoving them in the brunette’s face as if she needed a reminder of what had just happened. Her eyes lit up in anger, meeting the raven haired woman in rage.

“I said not now, Rio.” Agatha bit out, shoving the papers out of her face with a slight snarl. 

“Y’know what? Fuck this.” Rio threw the papers on the coffee table, breezing through the falling sheets towards the door. It was like a scene straight out of a movie with the amount of chaos the stack had caused, flurrying around Rio in a cacophony of noise, almost veiling the woman with how fast she was out of the house. The sounds didn’t stop with the slam of the front door. And despite the papers settling into silence, it washed over everything, leaving the house still.

And so Agatha was alone. Again. 

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[tropicalcontinental]

Human fear is the window to the soul or whatever ://

[waitineedaname]

brought myself to tears thinking about luo binghe and his loneliness. during all the worst times of his life, he was alone. when his mother died, he had no one. when he was being abused on qing jing, he had ning yingying but there wasn't much she could do for him. in the abyss, he was alone. when he was grieving sqq for five years, he had subordinates but he didn't have anyone to hold him and comfort him

and it's that loneliness and isolation that xin mo capitalizes on. those feelings of loneliness and isolation make his self esteem worse and his emotional state more unstable, because deep down is a miserable and lonely child that wants to be held and comforted and love

luckily for him, all shen qingqiu wants is to hold him and comfort him and make him feel loved! I think post-canon, they'll spend a long time confronting those wounds left by loneliness, except now instead of having to bear it alone, sqq will be there to hold him in his arms and tell him I'm sorry you were hurting, I'm sorry you were alone, you never should have gone through that. and there's the promise that he won't ever have to be alone again because that's the promise sqq made to him. from now on, wherever binghe goes, shen qingqiu will follow

[b0nelessdoodles]

buncha heket doodles cause i love the frog i love her so much beloved big frog

[mylove-themoon]

The whole ending for the main timeline kinda sucks for Zaun, even the one good thing they get is backhanded as fuck.

Like sure, Sevika is on the council- but the council relies on majority vote, and every other member of the council only work in the interests of themselves or of piltover. Nobody else cares about Zaun, so nothing will change.

And Piltover shows they will alway protect and prioritize their own over everything else

Cait gets no consequences for her actions from the last two acts, despite doing many, many crimes. She released the Gray on the Undercity- which is going to cause disease, death, etc to many innocent people (the same disease Viktor was dying of, it was a direct result of Piltover’s oppression and the gray- I could go on and on about his ending but I shan’t.), arresting random Zaunites- including children- and just leaving them in prison, and even tho we hate Singed, threatening to throw him under the fucking prison was a little far. She gave him the opportunity to either join her or die. So the people of Zaun are animals and criminals until they’re useful?

And the scene of the Noxian guy (can’t remember his name) literally torturing that Jinxer??? Ambassa’s dead and so is he, so I guess thats their consequence, but nothing for Cait? No, Cait gets to have a nice life, she might feel guilty and maybe she’ll have a couple nightmares but really she’s not facing a single consequences You guys remember when Jayce almost got exiled for Hextech in season one? A crime in which nobody died or was grievously harmed? Yet there are no consequences Caitlyn hmmm

After everything the people of Zaun have gone through, they get nothing- they see their oppressor hailed as a hero, they see their children die of a disease that should never have touched the new generation (or just straight up suffocate while it was actively being deployed- if they get caught in that they are dead- little lungs and little legs yk- if they can’t escape it then they die) they see their only hope (Sevika) repeatedly shot down by the council, they see the abuse will continue. Even after everything they lost- all those who fought in Piltovers war- they get nothing. They helped, they worked with them when working against them didn’t work, and they still get nothing.

I think Ekko’s ending really drives it home- the ONE character who deserves the world above everybody else is sitting alone in the end. He did everything right but was still alone. If he -and Jinx- hadn’t rallied their forces and convinced the people of Zaun to fight then Piltover would have lost to Noxius. He convinced his people to fight and die for Piltover- but Cait’s the hero, and he’s still fighting for his own people.