#they should kiss and hold hands or whatever

[captain-hawks]

i wish you would write a proper follow-up to reader and roommate!kuroo's aphrodisiac fiasco because i MUST know what happens next !!!

(continued from)

18+

>>: kuroo........

groaning in frustration as your vibrator dies a pleasureless, low-power death between your legs, you text kuroo before you can think better of it.

your roommate answers faster than you were expecting, the message hovering on your lock screen as you rifle around in your nightstand for a charging cord. kuroo: .........yes

the tangle of miscellaneous cords in your hand falls onto the carpet, and you groan at the hot, swollen ache that pulses below your navel, sending your ability to think straight wholly off kilter.

>>: what >>: the fuck

the typing indicator pops up and disappears several times before he finally answers.

kuroo: am i politely pretending i don't know what you're talking about or are we making this weird

>>: we accidentally ate viagra chocolate my vibrator is checked out and i need you to talk me out of pathetically relapse texting my ex we are past weird

and yet it only occurs to you after you hit send—

>>: wAIT are you >>: nvm

something inside of you burns hot at the thought that kuroo's probably got a hand wrapped around his cock right now. he hightailed it out of the living room before you, after all. he's got to be just as affected—

the typing indicator dance ensues.

kuroo: chances are very high i will punch him if that asshole sets foot in our apartment

>>: bokuto's been replying to all of my selfies with fire emojis lately >>: should i text him

kuroo: this is really effective at killing my boner actually keep going kuroo: but also please don't

>>: i heard lev's back in town

kuroo: please no more have mercy on me kuroo: i'm doordashing you a vibrator

you choke out a laugh.

>>: my knight in shining armor<3 >>: but it probably won’t come charged though so >>: square one

dots. more dots. more dots that appear and disappear.

>>: wait are we sexting right now

the door to your bedroom swings open suddenly, and for a brief moment, you forget that you're lying in bed naked from the waist down, tits spilling out of your tank top, your purple vibrator slick with arousal sitting forgotten on the sheets beside you.

you forget, because kuroo's standing there in your doorway shirtless, hair askew in every which way like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly, face and neck flushed, sporting an erection tented at the front of his gym shorts that leaves your throat dry.

kuroo's eyes go a little wide at the sight of you, but he recovers quickly, approaching the foot of the bed and placing his hands on the edge of it, leaning down to meet you at eye level.

"you're not calling your shithead ex-boyfriend."

you nod.

"and you're not calling bokuto."

you nod again.

"or lev."

you have to stifle a laugh at the last one—you weren't going to fucking call lev.

"you're going to look me in the eye and pick one of two options."

you swallow, a sharp swell of arousal cresting inside of you at the intensity in his gaze as he holds up two fingers.

"you can sit here waiting for your vibrator to charge. and i'm going to politely act like i don't hear you whimpering while you fuck yourself with it once it is—like i do most nights, by the way. like a good rommate. and then i'm going to put my phone on do not disturb and jerk off in peace."

he puts a finger down.

you might pass out.

"or, i fuck you until you're satisfied. with my fingers, my mouth, my dick. whatever the hell you want. until we get this out of our systems. and then we don't have to talk about it ever again."

he puts his other finger down, and your own fingers clench the sheets painfully tight. your cunt aches.

-

four orgasms later, you're too fucked out to think too hard about the way you're more than satisfied, but you're still curled up beside kuroo. still slotting your spit-slick lips against his, whimpering and moaning into his mouth between slow, deep kisses as he lazily fingers your oversensitive cunt, teasing your wet hole until you're trembling through yet another climax.

(he pretends like he's not aware that this is far beyond whatever the chocolate's done to both of you, that every desperate, needy sound you're making now is for him and because of him—and him alone.)

and you're rubbing your slick folds up and down his shaft until he's hard again, climbing into his lap to straddle him and gasping as he slides right back into your messy hole, fucking his cum right back inside of you.

[urno1luv]

all i can think about is ningning taking your virginity and making you her puppet, so i have to share it with u!!

like imagine being best friend with ningning and one day at sleepover she decides she wants to fuck you and she doesn’t know what to do so she randomly comes behind up and start massaging your boobs and you’re kind of confuse but it feels good and she’s like you like that? but you know you shouldn’t!! she’s your best friend after all, best friends don’t do that

then you confess to her you’re a virgin and she’s like i know babe but she still asks you if you can make her feel good so you try

then it leads to her fucking you with a strap!!

i hope you don't mind but i changed a little bit of the request bc i couldn’t write this, my brain was just not working👉👈kinda long

hot best friend ningning x oblivious reader

You'd had a hundred sleepovers with Ningning before — messy skincare routines, late-night snacks, and half-hearted movie marathons where you both ended up scrolling your phones instead. Tonight was supposed to be just like any other night.

Except... it wasn't.

Maybe it was how she'd been looking at you all evening — eyes lingering just a little too long, her playful teasing feeling heavier somehow. Or the way her fingers would brush your thigh under the blanket, pretending not to notice how your breath caught every time. You tried to tell yourself you were imagining it.

Ningning was your best friend. She'd always been touchy, always called you baby in that soft, sing-song voice. But when she suggested sharing the bed instead of setting up the couch like usual... something shifted. Now you're lying side by side in the dim light, both in oversized t-shirts and tiny shorts, bodies close under the blankets. Her perfume lingers between you — warm, sweet, dangerous.

"You tired?" she asks softly, her voice low, lazy. You shake your head, trying not to notice how her leg is pressed against yours. "No... not really."

There's a beat of silence.

You feel her shift, propping herself up on one elbow. When you glance at her, her eyes are already on you — darker than usual, half-lidded, like she's sizing you up.

"You always get so shy around me."

Your stomach flips. "I'm not—"

She cuts you off with a soft little laugh, fingers brushing over your bare thigh — just barely there, like she's testing how far she can push. "You are."

Her voice is quieter now, closer. "It's cute."

Your breath catches. You should pull away, crack a joke — anything to break whatever this is. But you don't.

You just lie there, heart pounding, heat pooling low in your stomach as her fingers trace slow circles against your skin. "You ever wonder what it would feel like?" she murmurs, leaning in so close her breath is warm against your lips. "What?"

Her eyes flick down to your mouth — then back up, lazy and deliberate.

"If I kissed you."

Your whole body goes still. You've never thought about Ningning like that... or maybe you have, but buried it so deep you forgot it was even there.

"I..."

She smiles — soft, teasing — like she knows exactly how flustered she's making you.

"You can tell me to stop." Her fingers slide higher, brushing just under the hem of your shorts. "But I don't think you want me to.

You don't. God, you don't.

"Ning..."

That's all you get out before her lips are on yours — slow, testing — like she's been holding back for way too long.

She tastes sweet, like the strawberry lip balm you borrowed earlier, her hand slipping under your shirt to rest against your waist. When she pulls back, her eyes flick between yours, waiting.

"You like when I'm soft with you, huh?" she whispers.

You nod, breathless.

Her lips brush your jaw, trailing lower — your neck, your collarbone — until you're tilting your head back without even thinking.

"But I could be so much meaner if you asked."

Her hand dips lower between your thighs, fingers brushing where you're already aching for her — barely there, just enough to make you gasp.

"You gonna let your best friend take care of you, baby?"

She's teasing, playing with you — but there's heat behind it, like she's been waiting for this moment longer than you'd ever realized.

You whimper — half nodding, half falling apart — and that's all the permission she needs.

Her fingers are still teasing between your thighs — featherlight touches that have your whole body trembling under the blanket. Ningning's smile is lazy, half-lidded, like she’s been waiting to get you like this for way too long.

"You always this quiet, baby?" she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw.

Your heart's pounding so hard you're sure she can feel it under her palm. You're dizzy — from the heat, from how close she is, from how good her hands feel without even really doing anything yet.

"I—" Your voice catches in your throat. You squeeze your legs together, trying to squirm away from her touch — but she just smiles, pressing her thigh between yours to keep you in place.

"You what?" she whispers, breath warm against your ear.

Your whole face burns. You've never felt like this before — not with anyone. Every brush of her fingers sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs, but...

"I've never..."

You can't even finish the sentence.

Ningning freezes — just for a second — and then she laughs.

It's low, soft, teasing — like she just stumbled onto the best secret in the world.

"Oh my god..." she breathes, grinning down at you. "You're a virgin?"

You bite your lip, turning your face away — but she catches your chin between two fingers, making you look at her.

"Baby..." she coos, mock-sweet. "Were you just gonna let me ruin you without even telling me?"

You feel like you're going to die — but the worst part is how wet you are just from the sound of her voice.

"I didn't— I didn't think—"

"You didn't think I'd find out?" Her thumb brushes your bottom lip, smirking when you gasp. "Or you didn't think I'd like it?"

Your breath catches.

She likes it?

Her eyes flick down your body — to where you're squirming under her, thighs clenched tight around her leg — then back up to your face.

"Oh, baby..." she purrs. "You're so cute."

Her fingers slide higher, slipping under your shorts — still not touching where you want her, just teasing along the inside of your thigh.

"You want me to be gentle with you?"

You should nod. You should say yes. But the way she's looking at you — like she wants to devour you — makes your whole body ache.

You shake your head, breathless.

Ningning's smirk deepens.

"Didn't think so."

Her fingers brush over your soaked panties, and you gasp — hips bucking up into her hand without even meaning to. She watches every little twitch, every shaky breath, like she's studying you.

"You've been thinking about this, haven't you?" she murmurs. "Letting your best friend touch you like this... even if you didn't wanna admit it.

You whimper — and that's all the answer she needs.

"Don't worry, baby..." she coos, finally slipping her fingers beneath the fabric. "I'll be gentle..."

Her lips brush your ear — voice dropping lower —

"...at first."

You're gone. Completely. All those years of friendship, every line you thought you'd never cross — they're already ruined under her hands, and she's only just getting started.

Her hand drifts lower under the blanket, fingers brushing between your legs again — but this time, she doesn't tease. She cups you through your ruined panties, palm pressing down just enough to make your hips buck into her hand.

"You want me to stretch you out, baby?" she whispers against your lips. "Wanna feel what it's like to really get fucked?"

Your breath catches — and you don't even realize you're nodding until she's already smirking down at you like she owns you.

"Good girl."

You barely register her slipping out of bed — too dazed, too soaked between your thighs to do anything but watch as she opens her overnight bag and pulls out...

Oh.

You sit up on your elbows, eyes wide.

"Ning... you brought that to a sleepover?"

She flashes you a wicked little grin, the black strap-on hanging loose from her fingers.

"I was hoping you'd finally let me fuck you sooner or later."

Your whole body burns — but before you can even think of something smart to say, she's crawling back onto the bed, strapping the harness low on her hips like she's done it a million times before.

"You still want me to be gentle, baby?" she purrs, stroking the silicone along your thigh — not quite where you need it, just enough to make you squirm.

You bite your lip, eyes flicking between her face and the strap — heart pounding so hard you're sure she can hear it.

"...No."

Her smile curves slow and dangerous.

"That's what I thought."

She hooks her fingers under your shorts and panties, sliding them down your legs in one slow motion —Ningning freezes — just for a second — and then she laughs.

You're already soaked again, slick dripping down your thighs — and Ningning sees it. Her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, eyes locked on your messy little cunt like she's ready to eat you alive.

"Fuck, baby... you're so wet for me."

You whimper — half embarrassed, half aching — but she just shushes you, leaning down to kiss your thigh.

"I'll make it feel good," she promises softly. "Gonna make you forget anyone else ever even touched you."

She lines the strap up between your legs, dragging the head through your slick folds — slow, teasing — just to watch you squirm.

"Look at you..." she murmurs, voice low and sweet. "All shy and innocent — and now you're about to let your best friend fuck you."

You gasp, clutching at the sheets as the tip nudges against your entrance — stretching you open inch by inch, so slow it hurts.

Ningning groans low under her breath, even though she can't feel it — like she's imagining how tight you are, how wet.

"You're so fucking tight, baby..." she breathes, hips rolling forward just a little deeper. "Relax... let me in."

You try — but she's so big, and it's so much — and she can feel you clenching around the strap, watching every little whimper that spills from your lips.

"You're taking me so well, baby..." she coos, kissing your cheek. "Such a good girl for me."

She doesn't stop until she's buried to the hilt — hips flush against yours, her breath hot against your neck.

You feel so full you're dizzy — stretched open and ruined on your best friend's cock, panting into her mouth as she starts to move.

Slow at first — gentle — just rocking her hips against yours while one hand slips between your thighs to rub soft little circles over your clit.

"That's it, baby... let me take care of you..."

You can't do anything but take it — legs wrapped around her waist, nails digging into her back as she fucks you into the mattress.

Every thrust makes you gasp — this slow, steady rhythm that has your body melting under her. "Does it feel good?" she whispers, biting at your jaw. "Is this what you've been waiting for?"

You nod, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes — so overwhelmed you can't even speak. Ningning loves it. "Poor baby..." she coos, pressing her thumb harder against your clit. "Gonna come for me again, huh? Gonna let your best friend fuck all those shy little noises out of you?"

You're already so close — hips grinding up into hers, breath catching with every slow, deep thrust. She leans in — lips brushing your ear —

"Come for me, baby... let me ruin you."

And you do — falling apart under her with a broken little cry, legs shaking around her waist as she fucks you through it. When it's over, she doesn't pull out right away — just holds you there, cock still buried deep, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

"You did so good for me..." she murmurs, brushing sweaty hair out of your face.

"Such a pretty little slut."

You're still trembling when she finally pulls out — slick dripping down your thighs, body wrecked from the inside out.

But Ningning just smirks, pulling you close against her chest. "You want me to clean you up?" she whispers, trailing her fingers down your stomach.

"Or shall we find out how many times i can make you cum before the sun comes up?"

[korn-dawg]

AUGGHHHGUUDHSDH 🤤🤤🤤✂✂✂

(building more on situationship!abby n the lil plot i have 4 her n reader) (first hookup)

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situationship!abby who's been your best friend for 4 years now

situationship!abby who’s had a crush on you almost the entire time and shows it in very subtle ways, constantly watching over you, doing little things here and there, letting you touch her way more than she'd allow anyone else, not moving away when you squeeze her arms playfully or hang on her when you're drunk

situationship!abby who gets the text for her to come over and drops what she's doing, immediately scrambling to get done and get her ass to your doorstep

situationship!abby who's at your place in about 15 minutes (she was 25 minutes away)

situationship!abby who sees you out of your usual baggy clothes, sitting on your couch in a sports bra and cotton shorts and freezes, staring at you like a deer in headlights until you look over at her

situationship!abby who loses her usual cool demeanor when you pat the space next to you excitedly and start to ramble on about why you wanted her over, overthinking how much space she should put between the two of you

situationship!abby who barely registers whatever you say, all she knows is it's something about some new movie you wanted to watch

situationship!abby who finds herself still on the couch an hour later, sipping on a beer and watching some overly gory slasher movie

situationship!abby who can't stop stealing glances at you throughout the movie, watching your expression and reaction to nearly everything

situationship!abby who catches you steal a few glances at her, too and straightens out her back, suddenly hyper-focused on her appearance

situationship!abby who turns her head slightly to catch another glimpse of your face during a particularly uninteresting part of the movie, only to meet your gaze, already tracing over her cheekbones

situationship!abby who immediately whips her head the other way so fast her neat braid smacks her jaw, blood rushing to her face

situationship!abby whose muscles tighten when she feels your skin on hers, a hand on her bicep, tracing upwards past her shoulder, lingering on her throat before closing around her jaw

situationship!abby who's sat back against the arm of the couch a few minutes later, moaning into your mouth with her hands grabbing at your hips

situationship!abby who grinds her hips up into yours, desperately trying to get some friction through the rough material of her cargo pants

situationship!abby who lets you take her up to your bedroom, following behind you eagerly

situationship!abby who strips her clothes off so fucking quick she probably broke a world record, helping you out of your shirt with gentle hands

situationship!abby who has this entire scenario planned out in her head from the nights she's spent in her room daydreaming

situationship!abby who grabs at every inch of skin she can while kissing down your throat, sucking a hickey right on your clavicle

situationship!abby who lets you grab at her hair when she takes the sensitive skin of your chest into her mouth, running her tongue around your nipple with a quiet moan

situationship!abby who continues down your stomach, spending extra time sucking hickeys and biting into your hips and thighs

situationship!abby who holds your thighs open when she eats you out, too nervous to open her eyes as she flicks her tongue across your clit, whimpering into the heated mess of arousal and her own saliva

situationship!abby who pumps her fingers into you at a dizzying pace, curling them just right to get you to writhe beneath her

situationship!abby who forgets about her own pleasure entirely until after you cum on her tongue hand hand, shifting up to position her pussy against yours

situationship!abby whose head tips back at the sheer pleasure when she grinds her cunt against yours, skin sliding against skin with lubricated ease

situationship!abby who holds one of your legs up against her waist, the other hand right beside your hand to hold herself up

situationship!abby whose thighs shake when her lower stomach twists and white overtakes her vision, cunt clenching around nothing while her orgasm washed over her, pure gratification ebbing and flowing in her veins

situationship!abby who ends up going 4 more rounds before cleaning you both up, laying next to you

situationship!abby whose cheek pushes against the memory foam of your pillow, watching your face as you trace over the freckles on her shoulder like connect the dots

situationship!abby who drifts off to sleep slowly but surely, having no idea what the hell she just got herself into

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[heaven4lostgirls]

prompt: friends ༉ @moonwater-microfic ༉ word count: 445

cw: mild sexual content, mdni, credit to @indigostation for the ‘little dove’ nickname, regulus is down bad (as he should)

“this means nothing,” regulus mumbles as he tugs remus’ gryffindor tie to his chest as their lips meet in a searing kiss

remus smirks into their kiss, “whatever you say little dove.”

his voice is teasing and amused yet it has regulus weak in the knees.

he doesn’t do this. have hookups, he’s a pureblood raised in a ‘date to marry’ culture.

it’s unimportant that it’s subsequently also the same culture that holds a special preference to such incestous pairings.

nevertheless, regulus had always planned to be a ‘one and done’ man.

he watched as his brother paraded around his own flavours of the week and any idea that seemed to be dubbed the ‘sirius black way’ had thus removed any will he once had to commit such acts.

which is why it was so suprising to find himself thrust against the bookshelf’s in the hogwarts library being quite decently snogged if he did say so himself.

by one of his brother’s gryffindor friends no less.

remus lupin was an enigma, a quiet, witty and sarcastic enigma that regulus stood no chance against.

the taller boy has him caged tightly against the bookshelf’s, old hardcovers wedging themselves into his vertebrae yet the slightly chapped lips meeting his own cause him to lose all sense of reality.

he knows he is well and truly fucked as soon as remus’ arms travel from where he leans down to meet regulus’ kiss to thread his hands through his dark curls.

regulus lets out a squeak that is equal parts embarrassing and arousing as remus growls into their kiss before tugging his hair.

let it be known that regulus black has never claimed to be a person with a strong sense of authority when stood before a tall, pretty boy.

regulus shamelessly hooks his legs around remus’ hips and arches his back to curl himself further into remus’ body.

remus detaches their lips which has regulus whimpering at the loss, breath hitching however as remus trails his lips down to his neck before sucking what he knows will be a prominent dark bruise tomorrow morning.

“still mean nothing?” remus whispers as he nips regulus’ ear with suspiciously sharp teeth.

regulus takes a moment to come out of his lustful daze, blinking his eyes owlishly before shaking his head without talking.

remus tugs regulus by the chin to lock eyes with him, “words, little dove” remus says, confident yet with a flicker of hesitation in his gaze.

“no, this means something” regulus whispers, lips glossy and pupils blown.

remus smirks wickedly before regulus pulls him back into a teeth-clashing kiss that leaves them both breathless and giggling like children.

[ffleurist]

🕸️ 029 . a delicate balance

synopsis you confront him about his hidden identity as spider-man, leading to a vulnerable moment where he admits his struggle with love. as the emotional connection deepens, a strange unease fills the room when the nurse lingers with an unsettling gaze. wc 1667

the hospital room hums quietly under the dim lights. kaiser leans against the pillows, mask discarded, revealing the exhaustion etched into his face. you should leave, visiting hours ended long ago but you can't. not when his usual cockiness has given way to something softer.

"you should go home," he murmurs, but his hand finds yours. his grip is weak, but the warmth sends a flutter through your chest.

"not a chance," you say softly, brushing a strand of blonde hair from his face. "you'll start climbing walls again the second i’m gone."

he huffs a weak laugh. "tempting."

for once, he doesn't fight your care. when you adjust the bandages, he just watches you, quiet and unguarded. it's that silence that pulls something raw from him.

"you really stayed," he says after a pause, voice softer. "even after everything."

"of course i did," you reply. "what, you thought i'd leave you to flirt with the nurses?"

a ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips. "jealous?"

"don't push your luck, kaiser."

“mihya.” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“what?” you ask, not sure if you heard him right.

“earlier... you called me that. please, say it again.”

you pause, your heart suddenly racing at the vulnerability in his voice. “mihya,” you repeat softly, unsure of what’s happening but feeling an unexpected pull.

his gaze softens, and for a moment, it feels like the world around you fades. he looks at you, eyes wide with something raw and unspoken, as if he’s just let down a wall he’s been holding up for so long. “nobody has given me a nickname before.”

“well then mihya, let me be the first.”

his smile fades, and something more serious lingers in his gaze. "i'm not used to this. someone staying."

your heart aches at his honesty. without thinking, your fingers curl tighter around his. "well, you better get used to it. i'm not going anywhere."

his eyes soften in a way that makes it hard to breathe. "good," he murmurs, head tilting slightly toward you. "because if you left, i'd probably do something reckless."

"like what?"

"like this."

before you can respond, he leans in, brushing his lips softly against yours. the kiss is light and hesitant, like he's afraid to break whatever fragile thing has settled between you but when you don't pull away, his hand moves to the back of your neck, deepening it just enough to make your heart stutter.

"you're a terrible influence, spider-man."  you whisper, your forehead resting against his and just for a moment, the danger outside the hospital walls feels a little farther away.

“but how did you know? what gave it away?” he asks, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“your tattoos, mostly,” you reply, trying to keep your tone steady. “and your injuries. you weren’t as careful as you thought. i’ve been thinking about it a lot, and everything started to fall into place. it all makes sense now.”

he looks at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. then, he exhales slowly, the weight of the silence settling between you. “you always were sharper than i gave you credit for,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before meeting your eyes again, the tension in the air thickening.

“i didn’t want you to know,” he admits, his voice quieter now, raw with unspoken fears. “i didn’t want to drag you into this mess.”

you stood away, your voice soft but resolute. “i’m already in it, whether you like it or not.”

he looks back at you, a mix of uncertainty, something softer, yet equally dangerous. "and what if I’m not the person you think i am?” he asks, his words heavy with something deeper.

“not this again, but then we’ll figure it out,” you reply, your gaze unwavering. “but i’m not walking away. not now.”

a flicker of vulnerability passes through his eyes, and he’s silent for a long beat. then, his lips curl into a faint smile, though it’s more weary than anything else. “you’re stubborn, you know that?” he says, almost in awe.

“maybe," you say with a small grin. "but i don’t mind being stubborn about this."

“i was bitten by a radioactive spider, and ever since i saw you at the stadium, i knew i had to get to know you better. when you caught me with the hoodie soaked in blood, and i watched you rush an injured man to the hospital, in that moment, i just… fell for you. i let myself get too close, too attached and i was already in too deep. but knowing the kind of man i am, one without the love of a family, one who finds solace only in soccer, i had to pull away. when i was spider-man, i felt invincible, like i could do anything. i felt reborn. i thought that with spider-man, i could love you and protect you. but instead, i just ended up putting you in danger.”

his words hang in the air, thick with the weight of his confession. you’re speechless for a moment, absorbing everything he’s said. slowly, you step closer, your voice quiet but steady. “you’re not the only one who’s afraid of getting someone hurt,” you reply, your eyes meeting his. “but running away, pushing me away, won’t keep me safe. it’ll just keep me distant.”

he looks at you, his eyes searching, as if trying to gauge whether he can trust what you’re saying. “to be honest with you,” he begins, his voice raw with vulnerability, “i don’t know how to love. i’ve been searching for it my whole life, and when i finally get close, i just push it away, and i—”

“mihya,” you interrupt softly, stepping closer. “stop rambling. i told you, i’m here. i’ll teach you how to love but only if you’ll let me.”

he stares at you for a moment, a mix of disbelief and hope flickering in his eyes. he opens his mouth, as if to say something, but the words seem to get stuck, as if there’s something holding him back.

then, suddenly, a third voice cuts through the silence.

“ahem.” the nurse clears her throat, and you glance up, the sound sharp in the otherwise still room. there’s something unsettling about her tone—too calm and too composed for the situation. “miss, you should really head home.”

you feel an odd chill in the air, a slight shift in the atmosphere, but you push it aside. still, the nurse's eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, as though she’s studying you, almost calculating.

you glance over at mihya, who seems equally taken aback, his eyes flicking between you and the nurse, a frown forming on his face.

“righttt,” you mutter, trying to shake off the odd feeling, but the weight of the moment hangs in the air. “i’ll let you rest. we’ll finish this conversation later.”

he gives a small nod, his eyes still locked on yours, but there's an unspoken weight between you now. as you turn to leave, you feel his gaze follow you, the tension lingering in the air. “take care on your way home, mein Schatz.” 

the nurse watches you leave, her gaze too steady, too sharp.

you pause, turning to face him, the sound of the german term of endearment catching you by surprise. his gaze is gentle, almost tender, as if he’s offering you a piece of himself he’s rarely shown.

"don’t think this is over," he adds, his voice carrying both a promise and a hint of vulnerability. “i’ll be waiting for you once i recover.”

you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest, a promise you want to believe, but the eerie feeling from the nurse’s gaze still lingers. you give mihya a small nod, trying to push past the unease. "i’ll be careful," you reply, though it doesn’t sound convincing, even to you.

even as you stood outside the door, the nurse’s eyes remain fixed on you, too steady, too sharp, like she's watching you leave for a reason. you turn to walk down the hallway, but with every step, that unsettling feeling grows, gnawing at you.

you pause, the weight of the moment pulling you back. something doesn't feel right.

turning back around, you find yourself walking back towards mihya’s room, feeling a strange pull to go back. when you step inside, the room is empty—mihya’s bed is untouched, the nurse gone as well.

but there’s something else.

the window is wide open. the cold night air rushes in, making the room feel even more hollow. you step toward it cautiously, noticing the curtains swaying slightly as if someone just left.

your eyes flick to the window, and that’s when you see it—a faint green flicker from below, glowing just beyond the edge of the building. you freeze. it’s almost imperceptible at first, like the shadow of a lightning strike without the thunder. another flicker—this time brighter, stronger. a green light cutting through the darkness.

your breath catches in your throat. the air around you feels heavier now, the chill from the window mixing with a rising sense of dread. you step closer to the window, peering out carefully, but the light vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving only the dim, cold streets below.

was it just a reflection? a trick of the light?

no. there’s no mistaking it. the green flickers came from the direction of the alley behind the building—too controlled to be random, too deliberate to ignore. your mind races, the pieces clicking together. it’s him. the green goblin.

what just happened?

your mind races, but you can't quite piece everything together. and yet, the echo of mihya’s words remains, a quiet promise hanging in the air.

 “i’ll be waiting for you once i recover.”

despite everything, you feel like you can’t walk away just yet. not when you just got him back.

series MASTERLIST

notes from lily ❦⋆ : i have no words.. lol

TAGLIST

@mixolya @x3nafix @96jnie @tamashithe2nd @cookielovesbook-akie @yuiearyi @noomimi @stargirljas @jhsluvv @lotusofia @livelaughloveshidou @swagkittybear @axquella @passw-0-rd @hwaassaa @saeglazer @tofumiarchives @justanotherweeb666 @metaphorically-here @ravenbc @levihanmyotp @rybunnie @adrnmyknight @etherealrin @shosuki @90s-belladonna @wwastro @shr00mfairy @pan-kojiwa @pctterheadd @shumeow-h @deadlydollsstuff @renchai @nomyimi @beomn @heartmaddie @orphicarchive @sky-casino @8x9d @hanmastattoos @biscuitsx [tell me if i missed out anyone]

© ffleurist 2025 do not plagiarise, translate, or rewrite my writings without my permission !

[shroompette]

It's not like his mates didn't know about you; Soap always bragged about the sweet little bird he had at home. They just had no idea that he was being...literal.

After the latest successful mission, Johnny invited them for a dinner at his place. They arrive around seven, with bottles and flowers as gifts for the missus, but she's nowhere to be found when Johnny beckons them inside. "She'll be here any minute. Bird gets antsy if she doesn't have a flight before dinner." He opens the window wide and peeks out, as if looking for you. Ghost huffs. "She a bloody Batman or something?"

Johnny simply chuckles and crosses his arms on his chest, leaning against the radiator.

Not even five minutes later, a tiny European robin lands on the inside windowsill. They recognize the bird; it was Johnny's favourite to draw. At least that's what they assumed when they watched him flip through his art book during missions. Pages and pages of birds, but this specific one appeared the most often; raven, cardinal, canary, robin, crow, swan, robin, robin, blue tit, swallow, robin, woodpecker, robin, hummingbird, pigeon, robin, robin, robin...

"Aye, there's my little feathery luvie," Johnny coos, finger gently stroking down the orange patch on the bird's chest.

Gaz and Price exchange a slightly concerned look while Ghost gives him a deadpan stare.

"I told you, one of these days, you'll stand too close to an explosion and it's gonna fuck with your head."

Johnny glances at him briefly, opening his palm and letting the robin hop into it. "Dinnae know what yer talking about."

"Son," Price began, a tired look on his face. "You...you don't think of the bird as your partner, do you?"

"What else would she be?" he questions, looking genuinely surprised, as if there's nothing unusual about claiming the little chirping thing in his hand is his girlfriend.

Gaz lets out a snort of disbelief, unsure if he should laugh or be seriously concerned for his friend.

Before anyone can say anything else, the robin flaps its wings and its form contorts into a human shape. Suddenly, there you stand. Dolled up and dressed in a cute little flowery dress, a bright smile on your face. The men sit there completely flabbergasted while Johnny, wearing the most shit-eating grin ever, leans in and kisses the top of your head before introducing you: "Guys, this is my darling bird."

After fumbling out awkward apologies and introducing themselves, the men dine with you two, asking how you met and where you're from. They're surprised to learn Johnny came across you while he took a trip to his motherland.

When he wasn't with his family, he'd spend the days in the forest, sketching whatever caught his eye. At one point, it was you. A cute little thing, perched up on a branch, singing sweet melodies to which he started responding with whistling. That supposedly caught your attention and you started posing while he sketched you. This would happen daily for nearly a week before you flew down and sat on his shoulder, looking at all the drawings of you, seemingly pleased.

One day, he brought you a pebble. It was just a goof, a funny little thing he remembered his superstitious granny saying whenever he'd walk with her in the nature as a little lad and point out all the different birds in the trees. "If ye give a pebble to a female robin, she'll bring you a pretty lass to cherish."

He was eager to see what you'd do with it and nearly fell on his ass when you shifted to a human in front of him in all your naked glory, holding the pebble in your palm, eyes sparkling and soft chirps flowing from your mouth. He had a very difficult time explaining to his Ma and siblings who this bare lady clinging to his arm was when he brought you home.

You still chirp when you talk, but your speech is pretty clear. Soap looks like a lovestruck puppy, heart-eyed, hanging onto your words and you're no better; pressed against his side at all times, batting your lashes and holding his hand under the table, your ring finger adorned by a golden band with the fateful (proposal) pebble in the middle.

[burningcheese-merchant]

cmon burningcheese headcanon generator 3000. I know you got some more in there so SPIT IT OUT ALREADY!!!

Should I change my blog name to that, I wonder 🤔

Rough day today so I'm going to answer this particular ask in an attempt at self-soothing because BurningCheese makes me happy haha

For Valentine's Day, Burning Spice likes to show off his surprising way with words by writing Golden Cheese poetry. Even today, after knowing him for so long (and knowing he's not dumb, far from it), she still can't help but feel astonished by the silver tongue he hides in his mouth. He's been doing this since long before they ever got together (he started when she began tolerating him enough to allow him near her outside of their usual sparring sessions lol) and he's never missed a day. Even when she still hated him, she was never able to refuse (both because he knew to play to her love of gifts, and because he wouldn't leave her alone until she took the damn envelope lol)... Nowadays she almost acts like a schoolgirl with a crush, in how excited she is to see what he writes her next. She keeps them all safe in an everything-proof box and it's one of her favorite things to receive from him (like so haha)

Likes To Bite x Likes Being Bitten (and it goes both ways lol. GC just waits until they're alone to give him a nibble. He loves it so fucking much you have no idea)

BS's main love language is physical touch, which he gives GC in spades. A hand on her shoulder, an arm around her waist, grabbing her and yanking her away from whatever she's doing and into an inescapable hug, holding her in his lap, smothering her with kisses, adult fun time (wink wink)... He simply cannot keep his hands off of her, nor does he want to, nor will he ever. (this also extends to fighting. They still spar all the time, for fun. Old habits die hard)

BS is extremely clingy at bedtime, he will grab onto GC and fall asleep and not let her go no matter what (he won't wake up either, he sleeps like the dead... Unless she tries to get up to drink water or something, then he's awake and grumbling and fussing like a spoiled baby until she's back in his indestructible cage of an embrace)

GC doesn't like spicy food at all. She indulges BS when he wants her to try food from his homeland because that's what lovers do for each other (and she's too proud to chicken out), but... goodness, those people are insane. They think this amount of spice in a dish is acceptable??? BS just thinks it's really funny to watch her sputter and her face turn red when she eats a mouthful of vindaloo lol (although he secretly hopes that any children they have do not inherit her spice intolerance)

BS helps GC preen or otherwise tend to her wings when necessary. She used to ask her attendants to help, now he's the only one who's allowed to (they've come a long way since this haha)

They're both very jealous and not jealous at the same time, if that makes any sense. Neither doubts the other's loyalty or devotion, not one bit. Buuuuut alsooooooo they don't like when anyone else tries anything with the other lol. Someone even LOOKS at GC Like That and BS is either getting in their face to intimidate them or being overly touchy with GC to establish dominance lol. (GC usually doesn't need to step in if the reverse happens, BS will just tell other women to fuck off point-blank. But if they don't listen, then it's HER turn to be overly touchy to establish dominance lol. Also, lots of mean girl insults. That's what you get for trying something with her man)

BS proposed to GC on the same cliff where he tore up her wings. Very macabre and tasteless on the surface, admittedly, but he saw it as undoing the dark, unfortunate significance that place held. Making new, happy memories to replace the old, unhappy ones, ykwim? (She understood what was meant by them being there when it happened, she was actually very touched)

BS is GC's new throne. Being significantly smaller than him means she fits really snug in his lap. An extra throne was not built for him after they married because GC said that he's allowed to sit in hers and she'll just sit in his lap when he does lol

GC tastes rich and a bit salty; BS tastes very hot and spicy. His is actually the only spice she can tolerate (and thinks is delicious)

Something kid-related just because: GC named their son, BS named their daughter. But you probably could've guessed that on your own haha

[writeriguess]

Oh goodness can I rq Joel Miller (tlou) x afab!reader smut?

Shelter in the Storm

The safehouse isn’t much—four walls, a rickety door, and a mattress in the corner that smells of dust and time. But it’s shelter. It’s safe, at least for now. And after days of running, of fighting to survive, you’ll take whatever you can get.

The air inside is thick with the scent of sweat, gunpowder, and something deeper—something unspoken that’s been simmering between you and Joel since the moment you met.

He’s sitting on an overturned crate, legs spread, elbows on his knees, running a hand over his face. The tension rolls off him in waves, coiled tight in his shoulders, in the firm set of his jaw. You can see it in the way he grips his thigh, in the way his fingers flex like he needs something to hold onto.

Or someone.

You should look away. Should say goodnight, should roll onto the mattress and will yourself into restless sleep. But you don’t. Instead, you step closer, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

His eyes flick up to meet yours. Dark, searching.

"You okay?" His voice is low, rough.

"Yeah," you murmur. But your body tells a different story.

You don’t know what possesses you to reach out, but you do. Your fingers graze his shoulder, a fleeting touch. Testing.

Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches you, his eyes dropping to your lips, to the rise and fall of your chest, to the way your fingers linger against him. And then—so suddenly it steals your breath—he’s up. Towering over you, crowding into your space, the heat of him radiating against your skin.

"You sure?" he asks, voice gravelly, like he’s holding back.

"Yes," you breathe.

And then his mouth crashes against yours.

It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s hunger and desperation, his hands framing your face, his beard scraping against your skin as he kisses you deep, his tongue sweeping against yours. He tastes like sweat, whiskey, and something raw, something entirely Joel.

You whimper into his mouth, clutching at his jacket, and he groans, pressing you back against the wall. His hands roam, rough palms dragging over your sides, your hips, gripping you tight.

"You have no fuckin’ idea," he mutters against your lips. "No idea how long I’ve wanted this."

"Then take it," you whisper.

A growl rumbles low in his throat, and then he’s stripping you. Your jacket hits the floor. Your shirt follows. His hands are on your bare skin, roaming, exploring, squeezing your breasts before rolling your nipples between his fingers. A sharp gasp leaves you, back arching into his touch.

"Yeah," he breathes, watching you, pupils blown wide. "Like that, don’t you?"

You nod, unable to form words, and then his mouth is on you. Lips wrapping around a nipple, sucking, biting just enough to make you cry out. His free hand slides down, fingers working at your pants, shoving them past your hips.

"Fuck," he mutters when he cups you, feeling how soaked you are. "Already so wet for me."

"Joel—"

He drags a finger through your slick folds, teasing, parting you before circling your clit with slow, torturous precision. You keen into his touch, gripping his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket.

"That’s it, baby," he murmurs, pressing a thick finger inside you.

A moan tumbles from your lips. He curls his finger just right, dragging against that sweet spot inside you before adding another. The stretch is perfect, the slick sound of him working you open echoing in the quiet room.

"Look at you," he groans, watching the way you clench around his fingers. "Takin’ me so fuckin’ well."

He pumps them deep, thumb circling your clit in slow, firm strokes, and the coil in your stomach tightens fast.

"Joel—I’m gonna—"

"Come for me," he growls. "Come on my fingers, sweetheart."

The command sends you over the edge. Your body shudders, walls pulsing around his fingers as pleasure crashes through you. You cry out his name, and he groans, pressing his forehead against your shoulder, murmuring curses as he feels you fall apart in his hands.

But he’s not done.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, and before you can catch your breath, he’s lifting you, carrying you to the mattress. He lays you down, his broad body settling between your thighs, and then you hear the sharp clink of his belt, the rustle of fabric as he shoves his jeans down.

And then he’s there.

Thick, heavy, the flushed tip dragging through your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

"You still sure?" he asks, voice wrecked.

"Yes," you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Please."

He presses in, slow at first, letting you feel every inch of him as he stretches you open. The burn is delicious, the pressure overwhelming.

"Fuck," he groans. "So tight, baby."

You gasp as he sinks deeper, bottoming out with a shuddering breath. The stretch is intense, almost too much, but the way he fills you, the way his cock throbs inside you, it’s everything.

"Jesus," he mutters. "You’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight."

He pulls back, just enough to thrust in again, slow at first, then faster, harder, every deep stroke hitting something devastating inside you.

"Joel—oh god—"

"That’s it," he grits out, hands gripping your hips, holding you still as he fucks into you.

Each thrust drags against your walls, rubbing you raw, sending sparks of pleasure racing through you. The sound of skin against skin, the wet, filthy noises of him pounding into you, fills the room.

"You like that?" he pants, thrusting deeper.

"Yes—fuck—"

"You gonna come for me again?" His thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast, ruthless, pushing you closer.

"Joel—I’m—"

"Come," he growls. "Come all over my cock."

The orgasm crashes over you, ripping through your body. You convulse beneath him, walls clamping down hard, milking his cock as you scream his name.

"Shit," Joel groans, hips stuttering. "Fuck—gonna—"

His rhythm falters, grip tightening on your waist as he thrusts deep one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you. He groans, low and wrecked, his body shaking as he pumps you full of his cum, warmth flooding your core.

For a long moment, all you hear is heavy breathing, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears.

Joel collapses onto his forearms, pressing a kiss to your temple, still buried deep inside you.

"Jesus," he mutters against your skin.

You hum, completely spent, legs still locked around his waist.

He pulls back slightly, gaze roaming over you. "You okay?"

You nod, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. "More than okay."

A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest. "Yeah. Me too."

You stay like that, tangled together in the dim light, the world outside forgotten. For now, there is only this. Only warmth. Only Joel.

[concretejunglefm]

I've been having virgin!Noah thots all week 😩

please please give me your virgin!noah thots. I go between soft and sweet ones but then more perverted, because he can't help himself okay 🫣

He's definitely big on making out when he's with someone, he just loves kissing okay? He loves the way your mouth feels, even if he's a little shy and awkward at first. After you've taught him how to kiss, especially, then he's practically insatiable, he just wants to do it all the time. Is it you? Or is it just how it feels to kiss you? Honestly probably both, because when he's made out with someone before, it's never been like this. As we know from him mentioning the many failed attempts and 'relationships'.

Dry humping too, but without the intention of fucking you. Like he loves how it feels to just rut against you, your pillow, the mattress, whatever you're letting him do it against, even if he's clothed and when it's the opposite of you grinding yourself on him? God he looses it within seconds.

He's such a sucker for the soft intimacy, holding your hair, playing with your hair, the way you lay your head in his lap. He loves to just have you close to him without the pressure that you're going to try and push for more, because maybe he's a little nervous, maybe he's someone who's trying to 'find the right person' or is honestly a little fearful when it comes to the actual act of sex.

NSFW'ish below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

Just because it's a virgin who may be a little intimidated about actual sex doesn't make him any less of a horn dog. He has his own sexually explicit fantasies and maybe one day he confesses them to you while you're making out; you straddling his lap, your fingers in his hair and pulling his head back, forcing him to look at you as he confesses he's always been a secret peeping Tom. There was a neighbor across the street from him who would always keep her curtains open and he knew he shouldn't have been looking, but sometimes she would so obviously undress or strut around naked how was he supposed to ignore that?

It doesn't stop there because he confesses that he has these tendencies with you. He tried not to, tried to be respectful of you. It started out innocently at first, just catching glimpse of you every time you would change in front of him, or maybe bend over in a dress which rose a little too high, but soon it found himself actively secretly watching you when you showered. You always leave the door open a crack, what's the harm? And maybe you always knew, always sensed that you were being watched, it's why you would always use your shower time as your 'unwinding' time. When you ask him if he ever saw you do that, he'll just go all shy and red in the face, and nod. It makes you wonder what else he's done.

It takes a little pressing but you find out he's stolen some of your used underwear, too. It shouldn't surprise you really, but you like that he's been that horned up over you that he'll go to desperate lengths just to have a piece of you.

Just because he hasn't had sex, nor is considering it just yet doesn't mean he isn't willing to try and please you. His fingers certainly have a skill of their own you can utilize, but with how desperate he sounds in his confession regarding your panties (and the numerous depraved things he's done with them after), maybe munch!noah is on the cards first? This is where he confesses to watching porn (a lot and expect him to mention hentai, the little freak I love him), as well as 'practicing' techniques on fruit, because he heard that's how you should do it. Either way, don't expect him to have any skill beyond almost biting you and being a little too hesitant at first until you take control. He likes when you have a hand on the back of his head and start to guide him into it, when you're instructing him where to go and what to do with his mouth and tongue. By the time you actually cum, you're just bucking your hips and grinding against his face but the boy is in heaven. Is this what he's been missing? Now you're never going to get him from between your thighs, because it's all that he's going to be dreaming about.

Speaking of, sometimes he likes to be the one with his head in your lap, your fingers in his hair as he kisses your thigh, sometimes sneaking a kiss against the front of your panties too, because he can, but he does it so shyly, as if he thinks you're going to stop him or tell him off (maybe part of him wants to you).

[pjomakesyourkidsgay]

. . . leo valdez

˖°𓇼 bf!leo absolutely ends up being an accidental romantic. bf!leo who doesn't really care that it's valentines day, specifically, but he just really likes to spend time with you and make you happy. bf!leo who cracks annoying jokes and calls you weird terms of endearment like "cute little chicken mcnugget" and "adorable miniscule metal scrap with eyes" and "special sparky mcdonald's sprite". bf!leo who drags you to a burger king at a ghastly eight in the morning to grab a burger because he was working late the night before. bf!leo who makes an effort to clean out bunker nine so that you can spend the day there comfortably. bf!leo who, out of nowhere, takes you out on a ride with festus to get groceries for a spontaneous private camping night. bf!leo who prepares his famous tofu tacos just for you. bf!leo who starts the bonfire but ends up getting his hair on fire. bf!leo who plays just dance with you on a switch he made. he definitely knows all the latest dances. bf!leo who tries to cheat in uno by making a machine but he fails because you can see every little thing he's doing. bf!leo who toasts the marshmallows just perfectly. bf!leo who tells festus to ward off every other camper that tries to get near your date site. bf!leo who makes you little custom gifts made out of the extra parts and pieces of his projects. bf!leo who warms you up at night by cuddling with you. bf!leo who lets you play with his unruly, curly mess of hair. bf!leo who's a total best friend kind of boyfriend. bf!leo who reserves the most emotional part of him for your eyes only because of the immense trust he has for you. bf!leo who can't go a full day without, at some point, holding your hand in his perpetually warm, calloused ones. bf!leo who falls asleep next to you, his face buried in your stomach as he snores, really loudly...

"bro, pay attention to me."

leo's head whips away from whatever he's tinkering with between his fingers, sending you a carefully practiced look, one eyebrow raised to his hairline. "bro?"

"i'm-"

"well, okay, dude," he shoots back. "what is it you want to tell me, buddy? are you alright, mate? perhaps this chap right o'here wanted a l'il ol' chat? well, buckaroo, did you want attention from your special bruzz?"

"leo!" you shove him by the shoulder, cackling at the offended look on his face (that had melted the moment you started laughing at his antics). if you hadn't called his name he might've named every name in the book of bro code, and you really didn't need that. even festus blew a column of smoke into the latino's face.

"i know we're comfy and all but a random bro? seriously? weren't we just kissing by the fire?"

"that's enough," you interrupt him, a hue of red flushing your features, but if anyone asked you'd swear it was the flame reflecting back on your face. "i'm sorry, my hyper little elf boyfriend. is that better?"

"infinitely so, my blushing fairy maiden of a girlfriend, though we should go easy on the 'little'."

"i'm not blushing!"

"of course not, it must be my eyes playing tricks on me."

you shove him, again, with your foot this time. your socks were matching with his, cute miniscule fire-breathing dragons in yellow and red. "hey, you're gonna make me drop this!"

you halt your attack and scoot on over closer to him, peeking over his shoulder, his dark curls poking your eye. "what's that?"

"woah, there, ms. nosy!" he yelps, tucking the item back into a clasped hand and throwing an arm around your waist, bringing you down. "not yet." he mutters incoherent things, muffled because of his face practically pressing up against your stomach.

you complain immediately in his hold. "you're too hot."

"yeah, i know i'm hot."

"you suck!" you try to wriggle out of his grasp but he pulls you closer, holding onto you as if you were a giant teddy bear. "leo, i'm going to start overheating!"

he looks up at you then, grinning. "then we'll overheat together."

you give his hair a slight (and loving) yank, plastering a serious face on. "bruh."

"that's so not sigma of you," he whines, sitting back up and pulling something out of his pocket. "alright, then, i'll give it to you now."

"are you gonna fight me? get ready to catch these hands, you absolue L rizz."

"i'm supposed to be the brainrot one!"

with a joking eyeroll, he finally opens his hands in the way one would do when proposing. in his palm was a little metal box, about two inches on all sides, tightly closed.

you watch it for a couple of seconds, finally realizing that it wasn't about to do anything. you look at the latino boy questioningly.

"put the pad of your thumb here," he points at the spot, "it has a fingerprint sensor. it opens only to you."

so you do as you're told, and the tiny box opens, transformers-style. a round, rotating platform rises from the middle, showing tiny statues of what could only be you and him mid-wrestle, faces contorted with mirth. your favorite song plays as mini-you-and-leo spin around to the music, a scene of pure love between the two of you captured with the perfect backtrack.

"oh my gods," you gasp out, lips parted. you reach out to push his hands safely out of the way before kissing him. lips on lips, full of passion and obvious gratitude.

you pull away, he's still wonderstruck, you're peppering kisses all over his cute face with a 'thank you' between each one.

"ladies, ladies!" he laughs, closing the music box and placing it gently into your hand. "calm down! take a few deep breaths."

you open the box again immediately after you receive it, singing the lyrics to the song softly until leo kisses your cheek and sings them louder, word for word.

eventually the night dissolves into song, into you and leo's song, and screw it if all the other campers can't sleep.

dividers by: @strangergraphics and @ianrkives

[nickistuffs]

Almost Perfect, Almost Enough Part 1

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: A heartfelt gift goes terribly wrong, haunted by the weight of unspoken pain.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Angst. self-worth, body image struggles, miscommunication, and emotional disconnect

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

…

Harry always wanted to shower you with gifts. He noticed the little things—the items you left sitting in your online cart, the Pinterest boards filled with outfit inspirations, the way your fingers lingered on certain fabrics or accessories when you accompanied him shopping. He paid attention, memorizing each detail like a quiet devotion.

Anyone would love to be spoiled, and Harry wanted nothing more than to give you everything you desired. But you weren’t like most people. Since you were young, you had learned to weigh the difference between a want and a need, hesitating before indulging in something that wasn’t essential. It wasn’t about depriving yourself; it was just how you were. You lived simply, your wardrobe minimal, your jewelry sparse—something Harry had mistaken for preference rather than restraint.

He didn’t understand at first. He thought maybe you just hadn’t found the right things yet, that you were waiting for something special. So he tried. Little surprises, gifts wrapped carefully in ribbon, things he was sure you’d love. But every time he handed you something new, there was a flicker in your eyes—gratitude, yes, but also hesitation. As if accepting too much made you uneasy. As if love, when materialized, felt heavier than it should.

And that was the part that killed him the most. Because Harry didn’t just want to give you things. He wanted to give you proof—proof that he saw you, that he understood you, that he cherished every small, fleeting moment that made you you.

But maybe love, to you, was never about possession. Maybe it was about presence. And Harry didn’t know how to love you in a way that didn’t feel like giving.

...

That’s when Harry saw it—a beautiful dress, minimal yet sleek, the kind of piece that blended effortlessly into an everyday wardrobe. It wasn’t extravagant or flashy, but it had an understated elegance that reminded him of you.

His fingers traced the fabric, soft and weightless, and for a moment, he could already picture you in it—the way it would drape over your frame, the way you’d instinctively run your hands down the material, testing its feel. He found a size he thought would fit you, holding it up as if trying to convince himself that this, out of everything he had ever wanted to give you, was something you might actually accept.

Because this wasn’t just a gift. It was a quiet understanding, a way of saying, I see you. I know you. And maybe, just maybe, this time, you wouldn’t hesitate to take it.

When he went to the register, he didn’t even glance at the price. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the thought of you wearing it, the way it would complement you so effortlessly. For once, he hoped you wouldn’t overthink it—that you’d simply take it, wear it, and feel even a fraction of the warmth he felt when he thought of you.

...

Harry made a surprise visit to your flat, his excitement practically radiating off him as he greeted you with a quick, eager kiss at the door. His hands found your waist, guiding you backward with effortless ease until the backs of your knees met the couch.

You barely had a moment to process before you noticed the way he was holding something behind his back, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You laughed, tilting your head as you narrowed your eyes at him. “What are you up to now?” you asked, giggling at his antics.

Harry grinned, biting his lip like he was barely holding back his excitement. “Close your eyes,” he murmured, his voice soft but insistent.

Covering your eyes with a playful sigh, you felt the weight of something settle onto your lap—a paper bag, soft and crinkling under your fingers.

"Okay, now open your eyes," Harry murmured, anticipation lacing his voice.

Blinking, you glanced down at the bag, your heart already tightening at the realization. "Harry… you didn’t have to," you said softly, looking up at him with a mixture of fondness and hesitation.

But Harry only shook his head, his smile unwavering. "I wanted to."

With hesitation, you reached into the bag, fingers brushing against the smooth fabric as you carefully pulled out the dress. Your eyes practically sparkled as you took in the design—the simplicity, the elegance, the way it was so perfectly you.

"Wow… this is beautiful, Harry. Thank you," you breathed, holding it up against your chest. But then, as the weight of the gesture sank in, doubt crept in alongside your excitement. "I don’t know if I can accept this..."

Harry, however, only grinned, leaning forward as if to dismiss your uncertainty before it could settle too deep. "No expense spared," he said with that effortless confidence of his. "You deserve everything."

His words were meant to reassure, but they left you feeling slightly off balance. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful—you were. It was just that, ever since you were a child, you had been taught to refuse gifts, to be mindful of generosity, to say no even when you secretly wanted to say yes.

And now, sitting there with a dress that felt both too much and just right, you found yourself caught between old habits and the undeniable warmth of being seen.

"Go on, try it on for me. Please?" Harry murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His voice was gentle, but there was a quiet plea beneath it, a hope that you wouldn’t let hesitation win this time.

You hesitated for a second longer, the familiar instinct to decline tugging at you—but then you looked at him. His eyes held nothing but warmth, nothing but the purest intention. He wasn’t trying to overwhelm you. He just wanted to see you in something he knew you’d love.

With a small, breathy laugh, you nodded. "Alright… but only because you asked so nicely."

Harry beamed, stepping back as you stood, dress in hand, already imagining the way his face would light up when you returned.

...

You stepped into your room, closing the door softly behind you. Facing the mirror, you held the dress against your chest, admiring the way the fabric fell effortlessly over your frame. For a moment, excitement bubbled in your chest—you wanted to love this, to let yourself have this moment.

But as you slipped into the dress and reached for the zipper on the side, your heart sank. It wouldn’t go up. No matter how you twisted, tugged, or adjusted, the fabric wouldn’t budge past a certain point.

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach.

Harry had been so excited. You had been excited. And now, instead of feeling beautiful, all you could think about was how you had let yourself believe—just for a moment—that this could be easy, that accepting something so thoughtful wouldn’t come with a sting of self-doubt.

You hated how quickly your mind turned on itself, whispering cruel thoughts. That maybe this was why you never let yourself want things too much. That maybe it was a mistake to let yourself get swept up in the moment.

You exhaled sharply, blinking back the frustration burning in your eyes. Don’t do this. Don’t ruin this.

But now, standing there in a dress that didn’t fit, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to walk back into that room and face Harry without disappointing him.

...

You took a deep breath, fingers gripping the fabric near the stubborn zipper. There was no point in hiding it—not from Harry. You weren’t shy about things like this anymore. You were used to it, to the quiet disappointment of a dress not fitting quite right, to the feeling of something so close to perfect slipping just out of reach.

So you walked out, head held steady, the dress still draped over you as best as it could be. Harry, who had been sitting on the couch, perked up immediately at the sight of you. His eyes flickered with excitement—until they landed on your hands gripping the side, the zipper still undone.

You gave him a small, almost resigned smile. "Looks like I’ve still got to shrink to get into this," you said lightly, trying to turn it into a joke, to keep the air from turning heavy.

Harry didn’t laugh. Instead, he stood up, crossing the room in just a few strides, his brows knitting together in something that wasn’t disappointment—but something else entirely.

"Hey," he said softly, fingers brushing over yours where they held the fabric. "That’s not on you, alright? That’s on the damn dress."

The warmth in his voice made your throat tighten. You weren’t sure what you had expected—maybe some fleeting awkwardness, maybe even guilt on his part for choosing the wrong size. But instead, there was only understanding, only that unwavering way he looked at you like none of this changed a thing.

"We can exchange it," he continued, giving you a small, reassuring grin. "Or we can get it tailored. Or—" He tilted his head, eyes glinting mischievously. "I can just let you keep it open and call it avant-garde."

That pulled a laugh from you, quiet but real. The tension in your shoulders eased, and for the first time since putting the dress on, you allowed yourself to believe that this moment wasn’t ruined—just another part of the story.

"It’s fine, Harry. No need to exchange it," you said, forcing a small smile. "You can return it and get your money back—it’s okay with me."

You tried to keep your tone light, but the words felt heavier than you intended. You glanced down at the fabric in your hands before adding, "Especially from a high-end store… I know they don’t really make sizes for plus-size women like me."

You meant it as a simple fact, something you had come to accept over time—knowing that high-end brands catered to rigid beauty standards, ones that had been set in stone long before you ever had a say in them. They didn’t design for women like you, didn’t want their clothes to be seen on bodies they deemed too much.

But as soon as the words left your mouth, you saw the shift in Harry’s expression—the way his jaw tensed slightly, the way his brows furrowed, as if he was already preparing to argue with you.

"Hey, don’t say that," Harry cut in, his voice gentle but firm. "There are always other clothes we can look at. Ones that actually deserve you."

He said it so easily, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like the problem wasn’t you—it was the clothes, the brands, the standards you had spent so long making peace with.

But the way he looked at you, unwavering and certain, made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, he was right. But, no

"No need, Harry. Thanks, but no thanks," you said blankly, turning on your heel as you walked back to your room to change.

You didn’t mean for it to sound so cold, but you just wanted this moment to be over. The dress, the conversation, the way his kindness only made the tightness in your chest worse—it was all too much.

But before you could disappear behind the door, his voice stopped you.

"I just wanted to give you something nice, Y/N… is that so bad?"

There was no anger in his tone, no frustration—just something softer, something almost hurt. And that was the worst part of all.

"I never asked you to give me these gifts, Harry," you said, your voice quieter this time, but no less firm. "I didn’t want this dress."

You gestured vaguely around your apartment, a small, lived-in space that was nothing like the world Harry came from. "God, just look at this place. We live very different lifestyles."

It wasn’t just about the dress. It was everything—the way he spent without thinking, the way he wanted to give and give while you had spent your whole life learning how to go without. He moved through the world so effortlessly, while you had always been careful, always conscious.

And standing there now, in an expensive dress that didn’t even fit, you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever truly understand.

"We both understand what it means to work hard for our money," you continued, your voice steady but tired. "But not everyone wants the extravagant life celebrities are always portraying."

You meant it as a simple truth—one you had lived by for as long as you could remember. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you saw something flicker across Harry’s face, something unspoken but unmistakable.

That hurt.

Because that’s what he thought you saw when you looked at him—an A-lister, someone wrapped up in a life of luxury, of excess, of things that didn’t matter to you.

And maybe that was the worst part. No matter how much he tried to show you otherwise, you still believed there was a distance between you that couldn’t be bridged.

You both stood there in silence, the weight of unspoken words settling between you like a barrier neither of you knew how to cross.

Harry’s fingers twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should. His jaw clenched for a second before he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

You, on the other hand, just held onto the fabric of the dress, staring at the floor, feeling the tension wrap around you like a second skin. You hadn’t meant to hurt him. And yet, here you were, watching the light in his eyes dim just a little.

Neither of you knew what to do next. Neither of you knew how to fix this.

Without another word, you turned and stepped into your bedroom, closing the door softly behind you.

Leaning against it for a moment, you let out a slow breath, your fingers tightening around the dress. The excitement you’d felt earlier had long since faded, replaced with something heavier—something you couldn’t quite name.

You changed quickly, slipping back into your usual clothes, ones that felt safer, less complicated. But even as you shed the dress, the weight of the moment still clung to you.

Outside, you could still feel Harry’s presence, still picture the way he had looked at you, caught between understanding and hurt. You hated that look. Hated that you had put it there.

And now, you weren’t sure how to walk back out and face him.

Your breathing was heavy, uneven—shaken by the fear creeping up your spine. Not fear of him, but of what you had just done. Of the way your words had landed, sharp and unintended, leaving behind wounds you couldn’t take back.

Seeing Harry hurt by something you had said—it scared you to death.

With trembling hands, you peeled the dress off, careful, almost reverent, as if letting a single tear fall onto the delicate fabric would shatter whatever was left of this moment.

But it was already ruined. The excitement, the warmth, the way he had looked at you like you deserved nice things—it was all gone now, slipping through your fingers before you even had the chance to hold onto it.

The only thing you could think about was how much you had hurt him.

It replayed over and over in your mind—the way his expression had shifted, how his eyes dimmed just slightly, the subtle tension in his posture as if he was bracing himself for more. You had never wanted to push him away, never wanted to make him feel like his kindness was unwelcome.

But you had.

And now, standing there in the quiet of your room, staring at the paper bag the dress had come in, you wondered if you had just ruined more than just this moment.

Harry was surprised—he had never seen or heard you say anything mean before. Not to him, not to anyone.

But tonight, your words had cut, not because they were cruel, but because they carried something deeper—something sharp with exhaustion, with walls built from years of disappointment. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

He didn’t know if he should leave or stay.

Part of him wanted to give you space, to let you sit with your thoughts and breathe. But another part—the stronger part—couldn’t bear the idea of walking away, of letting this moment settle between you like something permanent.

So he stood there, unmoving, caught between his instinct to hold on and his fear that maybe, this time, you wanted him to let go.

You took deep, shaky breaths, but it didn’t help. The memories came rushing back, uninvited and relentless—voices from the past whispering, taunting, telling you to be slimmer, to take up less space, to mold yourself into whatever version of acceptable they had decided for you.

Your chest tightened, anger and hurt tangling together until you couldn’t tell which was stronger. It made your head spin, made your fingers curl into fists at your sides.

You thought you had buried this. Thought you had learned to live past it. But here you were, standing in your bedroom, a beautiful dress in your hands, and all you could feel was that same suffocating weight of never being enough—or maybe, being too much.

Gripping the paper bag tightly as if it could steady you. The weight of the moment pressed down on your chest, but you knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever.

Harry was still out there, waiting.

You weren’t sure what you were going to say, or if anything could fix the tension lingering between you, but you had to face him. Swallowing hard, you squared your shoulders, steeling yourself before reaching for the door.

Harry’s attention snapped to the door the moment it creaked open. His eyes landed on you—on your rigid posture, the way your fingers clutched that damn dress like it was something heavier than fabric.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just stood there, face to face, the silence stretching between you, thick with everything left unsaid. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—soft, searching—held something that made your throat tighten.

You weren’t sure who was supposed to speak first. Or if words would even be enough.

You held out the paper bag to him, your fingers trembling slightly as you forced yourself to speak.

"I—I’m sorry," you stammered, the words feeling small, pathetic, not nearly enough.

Harry took the bag, but his eyes never left your face—watching, waiting. You couldn’t meet his gaze. Your eyes stayed downcast, focused on anything but him, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. Your chest felt too tight, breaths coming slow and heavy, like each one was a battle.

A beat of silence. Then—

"I’m sorry too," Harry murmured, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. "I should go."

The finality in his words settled like a stone in your stomach.

Harry didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t spare one last glance.

He just turned, walked to the door, and left.

You heard the way his footsteps picked up, turning into a jog as he made his way to his car—like he couldn’t get out fast enough. Like he just needed to be anywhere but here.

The door shut behind him with a quiet click, but it might as well have been a slam for how final it felt.

And just like that, he was gone.

The moment the door closed, the weight of it all crashed down on you.

A loud, broken sob tore from your throat, your breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady the ache, but it was useless. The dam had burst, and there was no holding it back now.

Tears streamed down your face, silent at first, but then the sobs came harder, louder—shaking your whole body. You didn’t even try to stop them.

Because he was gone. And the worst part?

You weren’t sure if he’d come back.

...

I had to, I'm sorry.

[spider-ghoul]

Big brown eyes w luke castellan (they hate each other but theyre desperately inlove)

(Go listen to Lola young btw)

Cw: mentions of sex stuff but no real smut, kissing, idk

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

You really wish it had been anyone else.

Seriously, anyone.

It was on the brink of obsession with how tightly you were wrapped around Luke Castellan's finger.

One look and you'd be sneaking out to meet him at the strawberry fields, the edge of the woods, the beach, or anywhere he found that he thought would give the two of you enough privacy for the night. One note slipped into your pocket (you still weren't quite sure how he did that), and you'd be leaving campfire early to slip away with him. The power he had over you was definitely a problem.

He was cocky, and arrogant, and such a flirt with everyone he deemed pretty or handsome enough- and you'd ignored all of that because of those big brown eyes and how'd they look at you, with his hand guiding your lips to meet his while his other wandered to tug on your belt loops and grip your hips.

If anyone were to find out, you'd blame him. You'd deny anything that pointed to you watching him teach some new kid a sword drill, waiting for him to take a break so you could ask him to meet you tonight. You'd deny being as desperate for him as you were. You'd deny it being anything other than late night sessions. You'd deny wanting his hands to hold yours in a more tender way.

Having a crush on Luke Castellan was definitely an accident, quickly turning into a problem. Especially when his hands pawed at your thighs and your hands were in his hair.

You knew he was aware of your eyes on him. There was no way he didn't notice your gaze on his camp shirt, the way it scrunched around his arms didn't go unnoticed.

Though, what you didn't know was how much it distracted him. How much he felt your eyes glaring into him, making his chest tight. How early he ended that kid's practice (sorry Ness) to go bother you.

You had to suppress a small smile when he approached the stands.

"You like what you see?"

You scoffed, "You wish, Castellan." Your voice was dry, but tense. He knew the tone.

You scoffed harder when his grin widened.

"So tonight?"

You groaned.

"Can you say that any louder?" You muttered, rubbing between your eyes, "Yes, asshole."

"If you keep being so mean about it we could reschedule," he was calling your bluff, and he had that stupid smile to prove it, "no weight off my back."

"I despise you." Then, quieter, "Tonight."

He grinned, "Yeah, yeah, I've got it. Usual spot?"

"Yes, fine, whatever."

He laughed at you, a sound that made your stomach swirl almost as much as it made your blood boil.

------

You jumped a little at the sound of foot steps on grass, snapping you back to reality when you saw Luke next you.

By the time you'd actually heard him, he had gotten close enough to wrap his arms around your waist. It had to be some Hermes thing, being so good at moving around without a sound.

"I should put a bell on you-" you sighed, turning to face him, is arms still snugly around you waist.

"What? I like seeing you jump."

You huffed, though before you could make another remark at him, his lips were pressed on yours and you decided to be rude later.

He pulled you a bit closer to him, humming when your hands found his shirt. After a moment, he pulled away. Looking at you for a long moment of content, he sighed happily.

"Dammit, sweetheart," he whispered, "I can't stay away from you anymore." His smile dropped for a moment.

You watched his face, his eyes were on yours, his eyes flicking over your face as if it was the last time you'd ever seen it.

"You aren't exactly staying away right now, are you?"

"That's not what i meant."

"Then what did you mean--?"

Luke sighed, letting his arms drop from your waist. He seemed uncomfortable. Wow. Making Luke Castellen uncomfortable must've been some sort of accomplishment.

"Luke?" You pushed a bit further, letting your own hands find his, holding them lightly. You were looking at his hands in yours when he spoke up.

"I want you, sweetheart." He whispered, his hands twisting to intertwine with yours. Your eyes flicked up to his.

"You have me." Your hands complied, letting his hands consume yours and squeezing his hand once.

"I want you more than..this." He said it so quietly, dropping your hands.

You paused, hands now colder, and heart stopped in your chest. you reached for his hands again.

"You can have me. More than this." You whispered, bringing one of his hands up to cup your face, "As much as you want."

He tugged your face closer, kissing you again, softer this time.

You got a few weird looks when you showed up to breakfast the next day, holding Luke's hand and wearing one of his shirts.

[sumeriandeathsquad]

"Kiss out of habit" but it's platonic bucks. Matty comforting nicky after a nightmare (nightmares are bullshit, can you tell me had one?) [Mouse]

Osaka.

Matt wakes up and it’s almost dark. All the lights in their room had been off when they went to sleep, the only light filtering through the window from the outside. The room is nice - much nicer than anything they were able to afford years ago - but it’s two queen beds in a suite instead of two suites, the kind of hotel mishap that they would’ve done an ungracious funny Instagram skit about a year ago, when they were in the real throes of doing something different and worse so that Matt stopped nearly hating the thing they both love so much.

He won’t post about this today though. It meant more to them both than he realised, coming back to Japan, until they were here and the sights and sounds and spending time with Masa of it all hit them like a truck. So the hotel messed up and they’ll take it quietly because it’s kind of fun, kind of nostalgic, calls back to so many years ago when they couldn’t even afford two single beds and instead crammed into a tiny double together - all over the world, not just Japan.

In the gloom, though, the almost dark, he wakes up with the sense of something wrong. He rubs his eyes and he can see Nick’s back on the far edge of the other bed, his finer details swallowed up by the lamp light that halos him. He’s sat on the edge, hunched, hands on his face. His hair’s come out of the looped ponytail he usually sleeps in, the hairtie stuck halfway down instead.

“Sweetheart?” Matt’s too nearly forty to bolt upright; the scratchy sleepy concern will have to do. Nick’s Nicky and sweetie and honey when Matt remembers that he’s an, the older, oldest brother. The first thing he thinks is: “You sick?”

Nick’s quiet, so something’s really wrong. Matt’s back complains about the mattress but he ignores it, pulling himself up and out of bed, pushing his hair (the bun’s kind of loose, it’s a pain in the ass) out of his face, pacing in his boxers around to Nick’s side of the bed and sitting down next to him. Nick looks at him, eyes hazy and face all uncertain, and under the beard he looks so little for a second, the same little guy who used to have nightmares back in Rancho Cucamonga because they thought the house was haunted. The familiarity is how Matt knows what’s wrong, too, and leans in, loops his arm around Nick’s shoulder. Nick leans into him with a frustrated groan.

“I didn’t think you still got nightmares.”

“I don’t,” Nick says, voice thick but petulant, a little muffled with his face smushed on Matt’s shoulder. He’s his little brother; he’s never gonna be too big to hold. “Not often.”

Matt pets his crummy ponytail gently. “You wanna talk about it?” Before Nick can say much, he adds, “I think you should talk about it,” because sometimes Nick doesn’t recognise instructions (or at least strong suggestions) if they’re couched in a question.

“I don’t remember much. It was just, you know. Coming back here has been pretty overwhelming. I had bad dreams before Tokyo, too. Nothin new.”

“Oh.” Matt frowns. He didn’t know. He wonders when Nick grew out of coming to tell him he had a nightmare, and realises they’re for real adults and kind of old. Things change sometimes, he guesses, but not without a little ache in his chest.

“Nostalgia’s one hell of a, uh… whatever.”

“Yeah.” Matt turns his head, finds the familiar spot: plants a kiss directly onto Nick’s forehead, in the middle of his hairline. He hasn’t given Nick the kind of actual, comforting kiss for a long time either, as habitual as it feels, and so he’s changed too, in a way. Nick’s kind of sweaty but Matt doesn’t mind. He’s never minded. His mouth muffled into Nick’s hair. “You’re okay.”

Nick hums. There’s a long silence where Matt can tell he’s thinking about something. Matt just waits. Then Nick says: “Am I too old to share with you?”

“What do you think? Come on.” Another kiss into his hairline, then, and a squeeze of his shoulder before he stands up, pulling Nick by the wrist to his bed. Nick’s sheets are going to be gross and sweaty from dreaming anyhow.

It’s old and familiar to pick a side, to get in and immediately steal one of now-Nick’s pillows, to flump down carelessly and watch Nick carefully as he lies down.

There’s a furrow that is slowly evening out in his brow. Nick looks at the ceiling, then, “Thanks.”

Matt knows Nick’s gonna get annoyed if he keeps looking. He turns over, leaves Nick with the warmth of his back. “Anytime.”

[sapphicshitnvibes]

Ovulating is not for the weak I s2g. Because the number of fantasies that I now want to play out with my girlfriend (if she wants to, obviously) that only popped into my head as of today should be fucking studied.

Railing me from behind with a strap while she tells me what a good lil cumbunny I'm being? Fuck yeah. (The "bunny" thing is a recent development too tbh. I haven't mentioned it to her yet because I'm too embarrassed😅) But tbh I'd love to just sit on her lap, cockwarming her stap while she tells me how pretty I look.🥰 Debuting a pastel lingerie set and some bunny ears, maybe even a tail plug if I'm feeling fancy~

Or, putting a blindfold on me, tying my hands up, and maybe even playing music/white noise/whatever the hell in my headphones while she has her way with me. All I can go off of is her touch, and I could only guess what she'd do next. Maybe she'd eat me out for hours, going and going until I couldn't anymore. Maybe she'd edge me forever, or hold my legs apart so I'd have to take whatever she gave me.

Fucking myself with a remote controlled dildo while I eat her out, so she gets to decide when I cum. Maybe she'll try to sync it with her own orgasm, or maybe she won't let me cum until she does. Maybe she'll keep me cumming over and over again while my head is between her legs.

She sits behind me so her front is to my back while I'm playing on my switch or something, and she starts asking me about the game I'm playing. While I'm explaining it, she starts touching me all over. Slowly at first, maybe with some kisses on my neck while she gropes my boobs. But when I start to stumble over my words, she keeps moving lower, gripping my neck a little while she puts her hand down my pants. "Go on babe. I wanna hear about your game.😇" (The game is long forgotten.)

Maybe the roles are reversed. Maybe she rides my face, grinding against my tongue while I eat her out like a woman starved. She grips my hair, making me moan against her, and I grab her hips to keep her moving against me while I listen to the pretty noises she makes.

69ing while I suck on her clit until she screams?

Her putting a toy in my ass and my pussy while she either eats me out or shoves her fingers in my mouth, calling me a good little slut? Calling me needy for wanting all of my holes to get used at the same time? Her telling me that she's so glad that only she gets to see me like this, whiny and desperate to be used?

That's just a couple of them tbh😅

[anxiousthoughts365]

First Kiss

Mature audiences, minors DNI. Everybody lives AU

Bilbo stood in the largest council chamber in Erebor that had survived Smaug's reign, trying his hardest to listen as Dain made florid speeches and declarations on behalf of his people. The leader of the Iron Hills clan was telling his version of the story of their journey, their pledge to help their brethren regain their homeland. The speech was that of a pompous wind-bag, desperately clutching at the chance to change history, to be painted as a saviour rather than someone who had ignored his cousin's pleas for many, many years.

The hypocrisy of it was really getting under Bilbo's skin.

He didn't really know why he was here, other than that Balin had called to him to join them as he'd been attempting to sneak away when the meeting had been called just after breakfast. Now, standing in an overcrowded room full of noisy Dwarves, Bilbo's already thin patience was wearing out. He had wanted to try and make the most of the baths being empty, had wanted nothing more than a long soak and a good book. Instead, he was stuck here.

His large foot tapped against the floor in his impatience, a bad habit he'd had since childhood. Every time he noticed it, he would still it, only for the irritated movement to resume when he became distracted once more. This happened multiple times. The thing that finally stopped the tapping was the not-so-gentle nudge of someone's elbow in his back.

Bilbo staggered forward ever so slightly, and whipped his head around to glare daggers at the culprit, assuming he would meet the mischievous gazes of one of the princes, or perhaps the twinkling mirth of his friend Bofur. He did not expect to see the King Under the Mountain standing behind him, handsome face impassive as he stared into the centre of the crowd, where Dain continued to hold court. Bilbo watched Thorin for a moment before preparing to turn away, to look over his other shoulder, thinking that the nudge surely must have come from someone else.

But then Thorin's striking blue eyes sliced down, meeting his for the briefest of moments before the King looked away once more, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly.

Heat flooded through Bilbo, and he drew himself to his full height, nose in the air as he determinedly turned away from Thorin. He was still pulling himself together when the slightest whisper of warm air brushed over the pointed tip of his ear. The Hobbit's hand flew up instinctively, covering the sensitive body part, and he had to take a steadying breath before he could lower his hand again. He refused to turn, would not let on that the Dwarf had successfully riled him. Whatever the King was playing at, Bilbo would not give him the satisfaction -

The elbow met his back again, and Bilbo lost all grip on his self-control. Without looking at Thorin, he spun on his heel and marched from the room, heading for his chambers. It was one thing to have to endure Dain's speech when he was still entirely uncertain that he should even be included in the council meetings at all. It was quite another to have the King, who had recently been stirring up a multitude of confusing and conflicting emotions within Bilbo, use him as a plaything to distract from his own boredom.

He made it down three corridors before he heard the tread of feet behind him. Whoever it was made no attempts at hiding their step, and they were keeping almost perfect pace with Bilbo. Following him. Grinding his teeth together to contain a frustrated shriek, Bilbo spun around and pointed one finger right into the centre of Thorin's very solid chest.

'Now listen here, Your Majesty,' Bilbo growled, laying heavy sarcasm over Thorin's title. It wound him up further when the Dwarf just smirked in response, and Bilbo had to try very hard to keep his next words civil. 'I don't know what game you think you're playing, but I am not a willing participant. Kindly return to your duties, and allow me some peace.'

'I grow tired of my duties,' Thorin replied, leaning over slightly and grinning when Bilbo flushed - whether from his growing rage or their proximity, even Bilbo was unable to tell. Thorin's voice lowered to an almost dangerous purr as he added, 'Besides, my game would not be half as fun if you were a willing participant, Master Burglar.'

Something in the self-satisfied little quirk of the King's mouth made Bilbo want to do something, anything, that would wipe that infuriating expression right off the Dwarf's face. So, with that as the only thought in his mind, Bilbo reached out, wrapped his hands in the King's tunic, and pulled him down into a hard kiss.

The world around them froze, heat crackling up Bilbo's spine at the connection. He gasped, his eyes flickering closed as a myriad of emotions and feelings coursed through him. His heart raced in his chest, and his head sang along in time to the quick rhythm. Yes, this, yes, more, yes, mine ...

Bilbo came to his senses suddenly, and broke away from the King, landing back in his heels with a bump. Thorin was still bent over him, Bilbo's hands still fisted into the front of his tunic, his blue eyes wide and his eyebrows almost hitting his hairline. They stared at each other, the seconds stretching between them, until Bilbo could no longer take it.

'Thorin, I -'

A large hand rose, carding through the curls at the back of his head to cradle around the base of Bilbo's skull. His breath caught in his throat when Thorin's gaze, darkened and deeper than he'd ever seen it, dropped and locked onto his mouth. The hand at the back of his head kept him still, but he was too stunned to move away, even as Thorin leaned in again.

The kiss that the King laid against his lips was softer, sweeter than the one Bilbo had given, and he felt himself melt into it immediately, a high strangled noise escaping through his nose as Thorin sealed their mouths together. The King released a deep rumble in response, his other hand snaking around Bilbo's hip to press against his lower back, molding the Hobbit's smaller frame against his own.

Bilbo whimpered softly at the feel of the King's broad form, a form he had seen many times during their travels and daydreamed about on many more occasions, and the sound seemed to break Thorin from some sort of trance. He pulled back, away from the kiss, and his eyes were sharp again as he scanned Bilbo's face. Whatever he saw there made him soften, made him smile, and Bilbo couldn't help but smile back.

The smile turned into a chuckle as he considered their position. A respectable Hobbit of 50 years old and a damned Dwarven King, playing truant from a likely very important meeting to canoodle in the corridors like a couple of tweens. It was absurd. Thorin's smile grew at the sound of his laughter, and the King leaned in again, this time to press his forehead to Bilbo's in a clear sign of affection.

It was enough to sober Bilbo, and all at once he didn't want to be out in the corridors. He wanted to be behind a very much closed door, with Thorin locked in with him. He wanted to talk, and he wanted to listen, and he wanted oh, so many other things.

Thankfully, it seemed as though Thorin were sharing his thoughts, as only moments later the King straightened, pausing only to almost shyly lace his fingers through Bilbo's, before leading them deeper into the mountain, towards the royal bed chambers.

[buckleyflower]

Can I ask 34 and 59 mixed? ❤️

34. Scars

59. Touch-Starved

(I apologize because this ended up being much more longer than I expected and I could have gone on lmao thanks for asking, hope you like it💓)

Buck has always known that Eddie is gorgeous. The first time he glanced at him, Eddie was shirtless and showing his abs off, and they’ve been sharing a locker room since then, so, yeah, Buck is painfully aware of how hot Eddie is.

But, while they navigate through the new development in their relationship (that is shifting from best friends to boyfriends), Buck figures out something else: he is desperate to be touching Eddie at all times. He desperately craves to be held by Eddie, to be cuddling with him more than he wants to have sex with him. Or… well, maybe that’s not true but for the first time, Buck wants— or, actually, needs to lie down naked with another person not just because of sex or after or before sex.

He just wants to lazily make out with Eddie while they only have their boxers on, wants Eddie to hug him so close that it becomes uncomfortable, he wants— he wants Eddie to take his face into his hands and squeeze until the only thing he can focus on is his boyfriend’s gentle touch. And he wants to hold Eddie just as much. He wants to become one with him.

There’s only one downside to this whole thing, this newfound “desire”: to get all that, Eddie will end up seeing him, all of him. And it’s not like Eddie has never seen him naked, quite the opposite actually, Eddie has helped him shower after the firetruck bombing, and has spent so long with him after the lightning strike that he has Buck’s body memorized inch by inch. But… the next time Eddie sees him naked, Eddie will be looking at his boyfriend, so Buck thinks and thinks and thinks and… what if Eddie decides that he is not enough?

It’s ridiculous and Eddie would probably be surprised that such a thought has even crossed Buck’s mind, Buck knows. But he still hears that voice telling him he’s not enough every time Eddie touches him.

So it goes on for some time.

There’s this time, for example, when he’s sitting on one of his kitchen stools and Eddie is standing behind him, arms wrapped around Buck’s torso and his chin lazily grazing Buck’s shoulder while Buck scrolls on Amazon looking for something that Eddie has completely ignored in favor of draping himself over his boyfriend.

“Buck,” he whispers in Buck’s ear, making goosebumps appear all along Buck’s neck.

“Yeah?” Buck is trying his hardest to not give in to his desperate wish to be held, staying ramrod straight even if he wants nothing more than pushing back into Eddie’s chest.

“Wanna come to the couch?” Eddie offers, smiling sweetly.

“Uh- I- I have this thing to do, you can start the movie and I-”

Eddie knows that something is up, he knows that Buck is stalling but he loves him so he ends up squeezing his hips and kissing behind his ear, to put him out of whatever misery he’s put himself into and “Okay, I’ll be there,” says.

One other time, Eddie is lying on top of Buck, in his bed, when he slips one hand under Buck’s sleep shirt, to stroke the skin on his belly and Buck goes rigid under his touch, instead of relaxing, so Eddie takes his hand away but still says nothing.

Then, one night, it’s particularly hot outside and despite the fan, inside too, so Eddie offers Buck to lie in just his underwear. Why would he not, after all? But Buck refuses, telling him that he’s okay, even if he’s sweating, Eddie can tell.

Eddie knows that something is bothering his boyfriend but he doesn’t know what it is, if he should push or wait for Buck to come to him.

Things start to get weirder when Eddie notices that Buck tries to get changed whenever he thinks Eddie is not looking at him, both at the station and at home, but he still says nothing.

After all, Buck still finds every excuse to cuddle up to him, even if they’re at work and their teammates start teasing them, so what if they haven’t had sex yet or Buck seems to not want Eddie’s hands on him?

Eddie stays quiet, even if he has to swallow some hurt, until he can’t anymore.

It comes to a head when Buck gets hurt on a call. They were called to a park where a man was randomly attacking people with a knife. So it was just a medical call but Buck, because he has the worst luck on the planet or because he can’t just stay still, managed to get himself injured by tackling the man to the ground. So here they are, in the hospital, while a nurse stitches his arm up and Eddie hovers over him.

“Hey,” Eddie softly says, putting a hand on Buck’s knee and squeezing, “it’s okay.”

It’s just a straight cut on Buck’s left forearm, nothing major. It just needs a couple of stitches and he’ll be good as new. That doesn’t mean that Eddie hasn’t freaked out at seeing his boyfriend’s blood soaking white gauze, but that’s a story for another time.

So, in the end, Buck is okay and they are alone in this cold, antiseptic ER room, waiting for Buck’s discharge papers, something that will apparently take a little longer because of the ward being short-staffed.

“Buck,” Eddie tries again when Buck doesn’t move his eyes, fixed completely on his now patched-up wound.

He goes to sit on the bed next to him and gently uses a hand to turn Buck’s head towards him. “Baby,” he breathes out softly. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie’s heartbeat quickens because Buck’s eyes are full of unshed tears.

“Nothing…”

“Buck.”

Eddie interlaces their fingers and softly strokes his knuckles.

“This— this will, uh… leave a scar,” Buck eventually mumbles, dropping his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Okay…” frowning but carefully Eddie says.

“Okay? Eddie…” Buck sighs, looking like every ounce of fight is leaving his body. “This— I’m already—”

Eddie, for some reason, decides that that is a good time to get up, get between Buck’s thighs, and hug him against his chest.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” He asks while he buries his chin in Buck’s curls.

“I— Eddie, I—”

Buck ends up crying, or at least Eddie thinks he does, because he can feel hot tears wetting his t-shirt. “Come on, baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere else?”

In the end, Eddie gives up and steps back to take Buck’s face in his palms, drying his tears with his fingers.

Buck seems so defeated, so small, so helpless that Eddie wants to wrap him up and never let him go, but he can’t, so he does the next best thing: he kisses his boyfriend’s head, again and again until Buck calms down.

“I love you,” he repeats.

Buck shakes his head, “this will be ugly, Eddie,” he whines, ducking his head quite adorably if only despair weren’t written all over his features.

“What are you talking about, Buck?”

“I— I’m covered in scars, fuck, do you even remember my leg?” Buck blurts out. “It’s— it’s—”

Eddie finally connects all the dots and wishes he had never done that because he feels like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs.

“Baby,” he softly whispers. “Buck.”

“Evan,” he tries again, squeezing Buck’s face. “Please don’t tell me you have been… ashamed? Of your scars? Of your body?”

Eddie sounds devastated, but Buck barely manages to meet his eyes.

“No,” he murmurs. “No! I mean… like— you deserve better than this,” he eventually deflates, pointing at himself with his good hand.

Eddie frowns so deeply that Buck fears it’ll become a permanent fixture on his face. “Buck, is that why you’ve been so… distant?”

Buck flinches. “Uh… yeah? I don’t know, I’m so sorry, Eds, now I—”

“You are the same fucking gorgeous man that I love, even with another scar.”

Buck collapses in Eddie’s chest, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie hugs him again, a bit tighter this time. “Let’s go home, I wanna cuddle with boyfriend, preferably naked,” he declares.

Maybe actions will speak louder than any words, and judging by the way Buck’s eyes light up, he thinks he succeeds.